UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION

GIFT OF THE PUBLISHER

No. 7 7/7 Received /

773-

LIBRARY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.

GIFT

Class [ \ 3

"P 74%

INTRODUCTION

AMERICAN LITERATURE

INCLUDING

ILLUSTRATIVE SELECTIONS

WITH NOTES

F. V. N. PAINTER, A.M., D.D.

PROFESSOR OF MODERN LANGUAGES IN ROANOKE COLLEGE

AUTHOR OF "A HISTORY OF EDUCATION," " HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE,

" ELEMENTARY GUIDE TO LITERARY CRITICISM," " POETS OF

THE SOUTH," ETC.

SIBLEY & COMPANY
BOSTON CHICAGO

Norfeont?
Berwick * Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

PREFACE.

THIS work is intended to be a companion volume to the " Intro-
duction to English Literature," which has been cordially received
by teachers in all parts of our country. As will be seen on
examination, it follows substantially the same plan, though its
limited field makes a fuller treatment desirable and feasible.

What was said in the preface to that work about teaching
literature may be substantially repeated here. Literature can-
not be learned from the ordinary manuals. While they furnish
many bare facts about literature, they do not present literature
itself. As a result, the student knows nothing by his own investi-
gation, and his literary training is reduced to an exercise of
memory.

The present work aims to introduce the student to American
literature itself,, with such helps as will give him an intelligent
appreciation of it. The introductory chapter contains, it is hoped,
some helpful observations. The " General Survey " of each
period presents the conditions under which the various authors
wrote. The sketches of the representative writers give with con-
siderable fulness the leading biographical facts, together with a
critical estimate of their works. The selections for-special study,
which are chosen to illustrate the distinguishing characteristics of
each author, are supplied with explanatory notes. In this way,
it may fairly be claimed, the student will gain a clear and satis-
factory knowledge of our best authors. .

But in pursuing this method, another important result is
obtained. In addition to this knowledge of our principal writers,
the student learns something of the manner in which any author
is to be studied. His literary taste is developed ; and in his sub-
sequent studies in literature, he will be capable, in some measure
at least, of forming an intelligent and independent judgment.

iii

223714

IV PREFACE.

It should not be forgotten that this book, as its name indicates,
is but an introduction to American literature. It is not intended
to be a comprehensive manual of reference. It treats only of the
leading periods and principal writers. In using the book in the
class-room, for which it is chiefly designed, it is not necessary that
the students be restricted to the texts supplied. If time permits,
it is desirable that the study of the various authors be more
extended. Other texts may be introduced in their proper periods ;
and for such teachers as may desire to follow this course, or to give
merely a general preparation for the intelligent reading of our
leading authors, an edition is published without the annotated
selections.

With grateful feelings for the kind reception accorded his
"Introduction to English Literature," the author sends forth the
present work in the hope that it may be found likewise to supply a
want.

F. V. N. PAINTER.

ROANOKE COLLEGE,
March, 1897.

PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION.

THE present edition has been somewhat enlarged by the intro-
duction of a number of prominent authors into the text, and also
by a fuller treatment of the present or " Second National Period."
Greater prominence has been given to the writers of the South and
the West. The lists of writers prefixed to the several periods have
been rewritten and expanded. In submitting the present revised
and enlarged edition, the author wishes to express the hope that
it will be found still more worthy of the cordial reception that has
been given the book in all parts of our country.

F. V. N. PAINTER.

SALEM, VIRGINIA,
October 14, 1903.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

INTRODUCTION i

FIRST COLONIAL PERIOD 9

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH 21

COTTON BATHER 26

II.

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD 32

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 43

JONATHAN EDWARDS , 53

III.

REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD 61

THOMAS JEFFERSON 75

ALEXANDER HAMILTON 85

IV.

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD 95

WASHINGTON IRVING 124

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 138

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 150

EDGAR ALLAN POE 166

RALPH WALDO EMERSON 180

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 197

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 210

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 227

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 241

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 255

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD 268

vi CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIVE SELECTIONS WITH NOTES.

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH PAGE

His Capture by the Indians 325

COTTON MATHER

The Voyage to New England 332

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Preliminary Address to Poor Richard's Almanac 341

JONATHAN EDWARDS

Resolutions c .... 351

THOMAS JEFFERSON

Declaration of Independence 359

ALEXANDER HAMILTON

The Federalist 368

WASHINGTON IRVING

Rip Van Winkle 375

The Broken Heart 389

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER

Escape from a Panther 399

WILLIAM CUI.LEN BRYANT

Thanatopsis 407

To a Waterfowl 409

A Forest Hymn 410

To the Fringed Gentian 413

The Death of the Flowers 414

The Evening Wind 415

EDGAR ALLAN POE

The Raven 423

The Masque of the Red Death 426

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Art 438

CONTENTS. vii
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

PAGE

The Gray Champion 451

Fancy's Show-Box 458

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

A Psalm of Life 466

Footsteps of Angels 467

The Skeleton in Armor 468

The Arsenal at Springfield 473

The Building of the Ship 474

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

What Mr. Robinson Thinks 491

The Present Crisis 493

The Vision of Sir Launfal 496

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

Memories 511

The Ship-Builders 513

Barclay of Ury 513

Maud Muller 519

Tauler 523

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Old Ironsides . 529

The Last Leaf 530

The Height of the Ridiculous 531

The Chambered Nautilus 532

Contentment 533

The Deacon's Masterpiece 535

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

INTRODUCTION.

No other study is more important than that of literature.
It not only supplies the mind with knowledge, but also
refines it in thought and feeling. Literature embodies the
best thought of the world, a knowledge and appreciation of
which is the essential element of culture. Of all literature,
that of our native or adopted country stands in closest
relation to us, and naturally possesses for us the greatest
interest.

The term literature needs to be carefully considered,
and its general and its restricted meaning clearly com-
prehended. In its widest sense, literature may be re-
garded as including the aggregate body of printed matter
in the world. It is thus a record of the acts, thoughts,
and emotions of the human family. Its magnitude ren-
ders it absolutely impossible for any man ever to become
acquainted with more than a very small part of it. The
largest libraries, notably that of the British Museum and
the Bibliothtque Nationale of Paris, number each more
than a million volumes.

This general or universal literature, of which we have
just spoken, is obviously made up of national literatures.
A national literature is composed of the literary produc-

2 * AMERI'C'AN LITERATURE.

tions of a particular nation. After reaching a state of
civilization, every nation expresses its thoughts and feel-
ings in writing. Thus we have the literature of Greece,
of Rome, of England, of America, and of other nations
both ancient and modern.

But the word literature has also a restricted meaning,
which it is important to grasp. In any literary produc-
tion we may distinguish between the thoughts that are
presented, and the manner in which they are presented.
We may say, for example, " The sun is rising; " or, ascend-
ing to a higher plane of thought and emotion, we may
present the same fact in the language of Thomson :

" But yonder comes the powerful King of Day,
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach
Betoken glad." 1

It is thus apparent that the interest and value of litera-
ture are largely dependent upon the manner or form in
which the facts are presented. In its restricted sense,
literature includes only those works that are polished or
artistic in form. The classic works of a literature are
those which present ideas of general and permanent in-
terest in a highly finished or artistic manner.

Literature is influenced or determined by whatever af-
fects the thought and feeling of a people. Among the
most potent influences that determine the character of
a literature, whether taken in a broad or in a restricted
sense, are race, epoch, and surroundings. This fact should
be well borne in mind, for it renders a philosophy of litera-
ture possible. We cannot fully understand any literature,

J The Seasons. Summer, line 81.

INTR ODUC T1ON. 3

nor justly estimate it, without an acquaintance with the
national traits of the writers, the general character of the
age in which they lived, and the physical and social con-
ditions by which they were surrounded. This fact shows
the intimate relation between literature and history.

It has been questioned whether we have an American
literature. But there is no reasonable ground for doubt.
A fair survey of the facts will show that the literature of
this country is distinctive in its thought and feeling. Our
best works are not an echo of the literature of England,
but a new and valuable contribution to the literature of
the world. The best of Irving's writings, the tales of
Hawthorne, the " Evangeline " and " Hiawatha " of Long-
fellow, not to mention many others, are filled with Amer-
ican scenery, American thought, and American character.

During the first two centuries of our history, while
Shakespeare, Bacon, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Addison, John-
son, and Goldsmith were adding lustre to English letters,
our country produced but few works that deserve a place
in classic literature. It could hardly have been otherwise.
Our people were devoting their energies chiefly to the
great task of subduing a wild continent, building towns
and cities, producing mechanical inventions, conquering
political independence, and establishing a social order
based on the principle of human equality and human free-
dom. These achievements are no less important than
the production of an elegant literature, and really form
the basis upon which the arts and sciences naturally rest.
Material prosperity and political independence bring the
leisure and culture that foster letters. It was so in the
age of Pericles, of Augustus, of Elizabeth, and of Louis
XIV.

4 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The literature of America is the youngest of national
literatures. While we must seek its beginnings in the
early part of the seventeenth century, it is scarcely more
than two generations ago that our literature entered upon
a vigorous development. Though there are two great
names in the eighteenth century, those of Franklin and
Edwards, our polite literature really begins with Irving,
Bryant, and Cooper, in the first quarter of the nineteenth
century. This is a recent date in comparison with the
literature of the leading nations of Europe.

The literary history of England extends through no
fewer than twelve centuries ; and already five hundred
years ago it had produced in Chaucer one of the world's
great writers. The literary history of France covers an
equally extended period ; and already in the Middle Ages
it counted several famous epics. In Germany the great
" Nibelungen Lied " was composed in the twelfth century.
While it is true that we are " heirs of all the ages," and
as such have inherited the literary treasures of the. past,
the growth of our literature has been too short to realize
the fulness of power that will come with greater maturity
of age.

During the nineteenth century, American literature had
a remarkable development. In various departments
history, criticism, poetry it fairly vied with that of the
mother country. Yet our highest literary achievements
probably lie in the future. With a territory capable of
supporting a population of five hundred millions, the
task of the American people is not yet half accomplished.
Material interests and social problems will continue, it
may be for a long time, to absorb a large part of the best
talent of our land. We are at present living our epic

INTRODUCTION. 5

poem, the greatest the world has seen. But after this
period of ardent striving and conflict is past, our golden
age will come; and, having time to listen, we shall, per-
haps, encourage some Homer or Milton to sing.

No other country seems to present more favorable
conditions for the development of a great literature. The
most interesting factor in literature is the human element,
the presentation of the thoughts, emotions, and experi-
ences of men. As literature naturally reflects national life,
the nature of this element depends upon the culture and
experience of the people. Nowhere else has life been
more varied and more intense than in America ; and no-
where else, in the years to come, will it afford richer and
more picturesque materials.

American literature is an offshoot of English litera-
ture, and shares the life of the parent stock. It uses the
same language ; and its earliest writers were colonists who
had received their education in England. The culture of
this country is distinctively English in origin and char-
acter ; the differences are but modifications growing out
of the new environment. We owe our laws and our reli-
gion chiefly to England ; and the political independence
achieved through the Revolution did not withdraw us from
the humanizing influence of English letters.

In recent years, through the importation of French,
German, and Russian books, our literary culture, as in
other progressive countries, has become more cosmopolitan
in character. But before that time, our reading was con^
fined almost exclusively to English authors. The great
English classics, from Chaucer down, we justly claim as
our natural heritage. The leading movements in the lit
erary history of England have been reflected in America

6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

In many cases a similarity of thought and style may
be traced, as between Goldsmith and Irving, Scott and
Cooper, Carlyle and Emerson. But this resemblance has
not risen from feeble or conscious imitation ; it has not
interfered with the individuality of our authors, nor 5m
paired the excellence of their works.

The literary history of our country may be divided into
several periods, the general character of which is more or
less sharply defined, though their limits naturally shade
into one another by almost imperceptible degrees. The
first period, which includes nearly the whole of the sev-
enteenth century, may be called the First Colonial Period.
The principal productions of this period represent, not
American, but English, culture, and are concerned chiefly
with a description of the New World, with the story of
its colonization, or with a discussion of the theological
questions that grew out of the great Protestant Reforma-
tion in Europe. The next period, beginning with the eigh-
reenth century, and extending to the Revolution, may be
known as the Second Colonial Period. In the literature
of this period, American life is reflected more fully, and
two writers, Franklin and Edwards, stand out with great
prominence. Then follows what we may designate the
Revolutionary Period, extending from the Revolution to
the War of 1812. The dominant influence in this period
was the establishment of a new and independent govern-
ment. Here belong the names of Washington, Jefferson,
Hamilton, Madison, and Jay. This was followed by an
era of literary bloom, which may be characterized as the
First National Period. It covers the time lying between
the War of 1812 and the Civil War, and furnishes the be-
ginning of what is called polite literature, or belles-lettres^ in

INTRODUCTION. f

this country. To this period belong the greatest names of
our literary history, Irving, Cooper, Bryant, Hawthorne,
Longfellow, and others. Lastly, we have the present pe-
riod, which for convenience may be called the Second Na-
tional Period. It begins with the Civil War, and exhibits
a broad cosmopolitan tendency. Though it has produced
but few writers of pre-eminent ability, it is characterized
by unexampled literary activity, and by great excellence of
literary form.

FIRST COLONIAL PERIOD.

REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS.

JOHN SMITH. COTTON MATHER.

(See sketches at the close of this section.)
OTHER WRITERS.

VIRGINIA.

WILLIAM STRACHEY, born 1585; secretary of the Virginia Colony 1610-
1612. Wrote " Wracke and Redemption of Sir Thomas Gates," and
" Historic of Travaile into Virginia."

GEORGE SANDYS (1577-1644). Removed to America in 1621, and became
treasurer of the Virginia Colony. Translated in Virginia ten books of
Ovid's " Metamorphoses."

ALEXANDER WHITAKER (i588-after 1613). An Episcopal clergyman who
came to Virginia in 1611. He baptized Pocahontas, and officiated at her
marriage. He wrote "Good Newes from Virginia," one of the first books
written in the colony.

NEW ENGLAND.

WILLIAM BRADFORD (1588-1657). One of the Mayflower colonists, gov-
ernor of Plymouth for many years. " History of Plymouth Colony "
from 1620 to 1647.

JOHN WINTHROP (1588-1649). Came to Massachusetts in 1630, and was
governor for many years. "History of New England" from 1630
to 1649.

JOHN COTTON (1585-1652). Educated at Trinity College, Cambridge.
Migrated to Boston in 1633, and became pastor of the P'irst Church.
A distinguished preacher. " Singing of Psalms a Gospel Ordinance."

10 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

EDWARD JOHNSON (1599-1672). Came to New Englan 1 in 1630. Was a
representative in the General Court or legislature of Massachusetts
for several terms, " Wonder-working Providence of Zion's Saviour in
New England."

JOHN ELIOT (1604-1690). Graduated at Cambridge in 1623, and came
to Boston in 1631. "The Apostle to the Indians," into whose language
he translated the Bible. In 1660 he published in England, "The
Christian Commonwealth ; or, The Civil Policy of the Rising Kingdom
of Jesus Christ."

ANNE BRADSTREET (1612-1672). Wife of Governor Bradstreet. The
earliest writer of verse in America. Her first volume was published
in England under the title, "The Tenth Muse lately Sprung up in
America."

INCREASE MATHER (1638-1723), Graduated at Harvard in 1656; took his
M.A. degree at Trinity College, Dublin. Pastor of Second Church in
Boston ; for sixteen years (1685-1701) president of Harvard College. His
publications number one hundred and sixty.

FIRST COLONIAL PERIOD.
(1607-1689.)

GENERAL SURVEY. The English were slow in estab-
lishing colonies in the New World. While Spain was
subduing Mexico and a large part of South America, they
remained comparatively inactive. The French were ahead
of them in Canada. But when at last the English under-
took the work of colonization, the Anglo-Saxon vigor as-
serted its superiority, and took possession of the fairest
part of the American continent. From insignificant and
unpromising beginnings, the English colonies rapidly de-
veloped into a great nation, rivalling the mother country
not only in commercial interests, but also in science and
literature.

The English occupation of this country began early in
the seventeenth century with the establishment of two
colonies, which were as different in character as they were
widely removed from each other in space. The first of
these colonies was founded in 1607 at Jamestown in Vir-
ginia; the other in 1620 at Plymouth in New England.
Both settlements, in their subsequent development, were
destined to play an important part in the political and lit-
erary history of our country. In a measure they repre-
sented two different tendencies in politics and religion :
the Virginia colonists upholding the Church of England

12 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

and standing by the king ; the New England colonists fa-
voring a change in the English Church, and adhering to
the Parliament. The one was thus conservative, the other
progressive, characteristics that are perceptible at the
present day.

Virginia. It is beyond the scope of the present work
to follow in detail the various trials and vicissitudes of the
young settlement at Jamestown. The story is well known.
Nearly the whole century was consumed in getting the
colony firmly on its feet. For a time disease carried off
a large number of the colonists and discouraged the rest.
The Indians frequently became unfriendly, and made re-
peated attempts to massacre the colonists. Many of the
governors were incompetent and selfish ; and the energies
of the people were at times wasted by dissension and
strife. One man alone, during this- early period, was able
to plan and execute wisely ; and that was Captain John
Smith.

At various times during the century the colony re-
ceived new accessions of immigrants. After the Civil
War in England, and the establishment of the Protector-
ate under Cromwell, many of the Royalists, adherents of
Charles I., sought a home in the New World, and gave
a distinct Cavalier tone to Virginia society. The man-
ners of the mother country were in a measure reproduced.
" The Virginia planter was essentially a transplanted Eng-
lishman in tastes and convictions, and emulated the social
amenities and the culture of the mother country. Thus
in time was formed a society distinguished for its refine-
ment, executive ability, and generous hospitality, for which
the Ancient Dominion is proverbial." 1

1 Winsor, Narrative and Critical History of America, Vol. III., p. 153.

FIRST COLONIAL PERIOD. 13

It will be readily understood that the conditions in Vir-
ginia during this period were not favorable to the produc-
tion of literature. For the greater part of the first century,
after the planting of the colony, the energies of the people
were almost entirely absorbed in the difficult work of es-
tablishing for themselves a permanent home. This task
included not only the building of houses and the clearing
of farms, but also the subduing of hostile and treacherous
tribes of Indians. Under the stress of this toilsome and
dangerous life, there could be but little leisure for the
cultivation of literature as an art. The writings of the
time were, for the most part, of a practical nature, designed
either to preserve the history of the planting of the young
nation, or to acquaint the people of the mother country
with the wonders of the New World.

In addition to these unfavorable surroundings, it can
hardly be claimed that the social conditions in Virginia,
during the period under consideration, were likely to foster
literary taste and literary production. The colonists, de-
voted to tobacco-planting and agriculture, settled on large
plantations. There were no towns ; and even Jamestown,
the capital, had at the close of the century only a state-
house, one church, and eighteen private dwellings. But
little attention was paid to education. There is scarcely
any mention of schools before 1688; and learning fell
into such general neglect that Governor Spottswood in
1715 reproached the colonial assembly for having fur-
nished two of its standing committees with chairmen who
could not " spell English or write common sense." There
was no printing-press in Virginia before 1681 ; and the
printer was required to give bond not to print anything
" until his Majesty's pleasure shall be known." For

14 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

nearly forty years of this period, from 1641 to 1677, Sir
William Berkeley exerted his influence and power " in fa-
vor of the fine old conservative policy of keeping subjects
ignorant in order to keep them submissive." 1 When
questioned in 1670 about the condition of Virginia, he
said : " I thank God there are no free schools nor print-
ing ; and I hope we shall not have, these hundred years ;
for learning has brought disobedience, and heresy, and
sects into the world, and printing has divulged them, and
libels against the best government. God keep us from
both." 2 Surely under these circumstances there was but
little encouragement to literature.

Toward the close of the period before us, a growing
interest in higher education resulted, in 1692, in the
founding of the College of William and Mary, the oldest
institution of learning in the South, and, after Harvard,
the oldest in the United States. It received a cordial
support not only in Virginia, but also in England. The
lieutenant-governor headed the subscription list with a
generous gift, and his example was followed by other
prominent members of the colony. After the sum of
twenty-five hundred pounds had thus been raised, the Rev.
James Blair was sent to England to solicit a charter for
the institution. This was readily granted ; and as a fur-
ther evidence of the royal favor, the quit-rents yet due
in the colony, amounting to nearly two thousand pounds,
were turned over to the college. For its further support,
twenty thousand acres of land were set apart for its use,
and a tax of a penny a pound was laid on all tobacco ex-
ported from Virginia and Maryland to other American

1 Tyler, History of American Literature, p. 89.

2 Campbell, History of Virginia, p. 273.

COLONIAL PERIOD. 1^

colonies. The college was located at William sburg ; and
the Rev. James Blair, who had been active in securing its
establishment, was chosen as its first president. In the
language of the charter, the college was founded " to the
end that the Church of Virginia may be furnished with a
seminary of ministers of the Gospel, and that the youth
may be piously educated in good letters and manners, and
that Christian faith may be propagated among the western
Indians to the glory of God." The founding of this col-
lege, though without influence upon literature during the
First Colonial Period, supplied in the next century a num-
ber of men who became illustrious in the political and
literary history of their country.

New England. Thirteen years after the founding of
Jamestown, the Mayflower, with one hundred and two
colonists, landed at Plymouth. They were Puritans, who
for the sake of conscience first exiled themselves in Hol-
land ; and there considering that their nationality would
finally be lost among the hospitable Dutch, they heroi-
cally resolved to migrate to the New World. They recog-
nized the difficulties of the undertaking ; but, as one of
their number tells us, it was replied that "all great and
honorable actions are accompanied with great difficulties,
and must be both enterprised and overcome with answer-
able courages."

Religion was a dominant factor in the character of the
Puritans. In coming to America, they sought a refuge
where, to use their own language, they " might glorify
God, do more good to their country, better provide for
their posterity, and live to be more refreshed by their
labors." They were thorough-going Protestants ; but in
their adherence to Scripture they fell into Hebrew rigor

1 6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

They not only abstained from all forms of immorality,
but they discountenanced innocent pleasures.

Notwithstanding the difficulties which attended their
settlement, the rigor of the climate, the hostility of the
Indians, and the interference of foes abroad, the Puri-
tan colony rapidly grew in numbers and influence. The
despotism of Charles I. and the persecution instigated by
Archbishop Laud drove some of the best people of Eng-
land to seek religious and political freedom in the colony
of Massachusetts. By the year 1640 the colony numbered
more than twenty thousand persons, distributed in about
fifty towns and villages. Tyranny had made them friends
of constitutional government.

In spite of superstition and religious intolerance, -
evils belonging to the age, New England was from the
start the friend of popular intelligence and social prog-
ress. The printing-press was introduced in 1639; an d
though it was kept under close supervision, it was not
allowed to remain entirely inactive. The Puritans deserve
the credit of being the first community in Christendom
to make ample provision for the instruction of the people.
" In the laws establishing common schools, lies the secret
of the success and character of New England. Every
child, as it was born into the world, was lifted from the
earth by the genius of the country, and, in the statutes
cf the land, received, as its birthright, a pledge of the
public care for its morals and its mind."

In order that the Scriptures might be properly under-
stood, and that learning might not be buried in the grave
of their fathers, as the Act of the General Court stated,
it was ordered in 1647 in all the Puritan colonies, "that

i Bancroft, History of the United States, Vol. I., p. 459.

FIXST COLONIAL PERIOD. I/

every township, after the Lord hath increased them to
fifty householders, shall appoint one to teach all children
to write and read ; and when any town shall increase to
the number of one hundred families, they shall set up a
grammar school ; the masters thereof being able to instruct
youth so far as they may be fitted for the university."

Harvard College, the oldest institution of learning in
the United States, was founded in 1636. In that year
the Massachusetts assembly " agreed to give four hundred
pounds towards a school or college." This appropriation
was equivalent to the colony tax for one year, and from
this point of view would equal at the present time several
millions of dollars. Newtown, which was afterwards
changed to Cambridge in memory of the English univer-
sity town, was chosen as the site of the new college.
When John Harvard, who died shortly after the founding
of the college, bequeathed to it his library and one-half
of his estate, his name was associated with the institution,
which was destined to exert an untold influence upon the
literary history of our country.

We can now understand the literary pre-eminence of
New England. From the first it was colonized by an
earnest body of men of unusual intelligence. They lived
together in towns, where perpetual contact sharpened
their wits, and kept them in sympathy with subjects of
common interest. Their attitude to religion led them to
theological discussion. With some conception at least of
the magnitude and far-reaching results of their undertak-
ing, they minutely noted the facts of their experience, and
sought to build a solid political structure. The tasks im-
posed upon them, as well as their novel and picturesque
surroundings, stimulated their minds to the highest ac-

IS AMERICAN LITERATURE.

tivity. From their surroundings and character we would
not expect artistic form. They hardly thought of litera-
ture as a fine art. But in their literature we find a manly
strength and intense earnestness of purpose.

The seventeenth century produced a large number of
writers in New England. Most of their works, however,
are of interest now only to the antiquarian or specialist.
No masterpiece of literature, such as the Puritan Milton
produced in England, appeared to adorn American letters.
The first book printed was the " Bay Psalm Book," a rude
rendering of the Hebrew. As the preface informs us,
"It hath been one part of our religious care and faithful
endeavor to keep close to the original text. If, therefore,
the verses are not always so smooth and elegant as some
may desire or expect, . . . we have respected rather a
plain translation than to smooth our verses with the sweet-
ness of any paraphrase ; and so have attended conscience
rather than elegance, fidelity rather than poetry." After
this introduction we are not much surprised to read the
following version of Psalm XIX. :

" The heavens doe declare

the majesty of God:
also the firmament shews forth

his handywork abroad.
Day speaks to day, knowledge

night hath to night declar'd.
There neither speach nor language is,

where their voyce is not heard.
Through all the earth their line

is gone forth, & unto
the utmost end of all the world,

their speaches reach also :
A Tabernacle hee

in them pitcht for the Sun,

FIRST COLONIAL PERIOD. 19

Who Bridegroom like from's chamber goes

glad Giants-race to run.
From heavens utmost end,

his course and compassing;
to ends of it, & from the heat

thereof is hid nothing."

Both in Virginia and New England the range of subjects
is limited. The life of the times, as in every age, is re-
flected in its literary works. Not aesthetic enjoyment but
practical utility is the end aimed at. A glance at the titles
of the principal works of this period, as given in the pre-
ceding list of writers, will show that narration and descrip-
tion, history, religion, and theology, and civil administration
were the principal themes. And in their treatment we
find abundance and force rather than self-restraint and
perfection of form.

To these remarks, however, there are at least two im-
portant exceptions one in each colony. Amid the suffer-
ings, hardships, and dangers of establishing a home on this
wild continent, two souls still sought opportunity to culti-
vate the muse of poetry. The first was George Sandys,
who, coming to Virginia in 1622, there completed his
translation of the fifteen books of Ovid's " Metamorpho-
ses." "This book," to use the words of Tyler, "may
well have for us a sort of sacredness, as being the first
monument of English poetry, of classical scholarship, and
of deliberate literary art, reared on these shores. And
when we open the book, and examine it with reference to its
merits, first, as a faithful rendering of the Latin text, and,
second, as a specimen of fluent, idiomatic, and musical
English poetry, we find that in both particulars it is a
work that we may be proud to claim as in some sense our
own, and to honor as the morning-star at once of poetry

2O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

and of scholarship in the new world ! " A few lines must
suffice for illustration :

"The Golden Age was first; which uncompeld
And without rule, in faith and truth exceld,
As then there was no punishment nor fear;
Nor threat'ning laws in brass prescribed were;
Nor suppliant crouching prisoners shook to see
Their angrie judge."

The other exception to the prevalent utilitarian author-
ship was Mrs. Anne Bradstreet of Massachusetts, who was
known as " the tenth muse lately sprung up in America."
She found time, even among the cares of rearing eight
children, to acquire considerable stores of learning. She
was well versed in ancient history. In her poetry learning,
it must be confessed, frequently supplanted inspiration.
Sometimes we meet with a rather startling bit of realism,
as when, in speaking of winter, she says :

" Beef, brawn, and pork are now in great'st request,
And solid'st meats our stomachs can digest."

But she loved nature ; and in her descriptions of flowers,
and birds, and streams, she often reaches the plane of
genuine poetry. Her moralizing is naturally in the sombre
Puritan vein. In her " Contemplations," a moral and de-
scriptive poem of no slight excellence, she sings :

" Under the cooling shade of a stately elm

Close sate I by a goodly river's side,
Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm;

A lonely place, with pleasures dignified.
I once that lov'd the shady woods so well,
Now thought the rivers did the trees excel,
And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell."

are tkeJLlfltS that jht\ thy TaCe but
hat pie w thy &rO.Cc #n<t (ftory, brighter
Thy Faire-DiJcoueries and JFowlt, - Overthrown
Of Sillv&iJCS.much, Civittiz'J fy

thy Spirit and to it Glor
widioutrlu

CAP7 'A IN J OHN SMI TH. 2 1

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH.

DURING the early colonial period, the first writer in time,
as, perhaps, in prominence, is Captain John Smith of Virginia.
His personal history, which he has himself related in full, reads
like a romance. Indeed, so interesting and remarkable are the
incidents of his life, as given in his several volumes, that it
is impossible to escape the suspicion that he has freely sup-
plemented and embellished the facts from the resources of
his ample imagination.

Yet, after all due abatement is made, the fact remains in-
contestable, that his career presented striking vicissitudes of
fortune, and that in the midst of trials and dangers he showed
himself fertile in resources, and dauntless in courage. In more
than one emergency, the colony at Jamestown owed its preser-
vation to his sagacity and courage; and though from the begin-
ning his superior abilities made him an object of envy, he had
the magnanimity to extinguish resentment, and the unselfish-
ness to labor for the good of his enemies.

John Smith was born in Lincolnshire, England, in 1580,
the son of a well-to-do farmer. He received a moderate edu-
cation in the schools of Alford and Louth. His parents died
when he was a lad of fifteen ; and though they left him a com-
fortable fortune, he was not content quietly to enjoy it. His
youthful heart was set on adventures abroad ; and only his
father's death prevented his running away from home and
going to sea. He was afterwards bound as an apprentice to
Thomas Sendall, a prominent merchant of Lynn ; but his rest-
less disposition could not be satisfied with the unromantic
duties of a counting-house, and hence he made his escape to
give himself to a life of travel and adventure.

2 2 AM ERIC AX LITER A Ti 'RE.

The next few years witnessed an astonishing amount of
roving adventure. We find him in turn in Europe, Asia, and
Africa, and everywhere encountering dangers and making mar-
vellous escapes. He read military science, and disciplined
himself to the use of arms. He served under Henry IV. of
France, and then assisted the Dutch in their struggle against
Philip II. of Spain. Afterwards, to use his own words, "He
was desirous to see more of the world, and try his fortune
against the Turks, both lamenting and repenting to have seen
so many Christians slaughter one another."

Taking ship at Marseilles with a company of pilgrims
going to Rome, he was angrily reproached for his Protestant
heresy; and when a storm was encountered, his violent and
superstitious fellow-travellers cast him, like another Jonah, into
the sea. .His good fortune did not desert him in this emer-
gency. He succeeded in reaching a small, uninhabited island,
from which he was shortly rescued and taken to Egypt. After
other vicissitudes, including the capture of a rich Venetian
argosy, he finally reached Vienna, and enlisted under the
Emperor Rudolph II. against the Turks.

In the campaigns that followed, he won the confidence of
his commanders. At Regal, in Transylvania, he distinguished
himself in the presence of two armies by slaying in succession,
in single combat, three Turkish champions. For this deed of
prowess he received a patent of nobility, and a pension of three
hundred ducats a year. Afterwards he had the misfortune to
be wounded in battle, and was captured by the Turks. Hav-
ing been sold as a slave, he was taken to Constantinople,
where he touched the heart of his mistress by relating to her,
like another Othello, the whole story of his adventures. Sub-
sequently, after spending some time in Tartary, he made his
escape through Russia, and at length returned to England in
1604. But his spirit of adventure was not yet satiated, and he
at once threw himself into the schemes of colonization that
were then engaging attention. He was one of the founders
of the London Company.

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 2$

The landing of the colony at Jamestown and their early
difficulties and trials have already been spoken of. In the
language of Smith, "There were never Englishmen left in a
foreign country in such misery as we were in this new discov-
ered Virginia. We watched every three nights, lying on the
bare cold ground, what weather soever came, and warded all the
next day, which brought our men to be most feeble wretches.
Our food was but a small can of barley sodden in water to
five men a day. Our drink, cold water taken out of the river,
which was, at a flood, very salt, at a low tide, full of slime and
filth, which was the destruction of many of our men." In less
than six months, more than one-half of the colony had per-
ished.

Smith encouraged the disheartened colonists, and wisely
directed their labors, always bearing the heaviest part himself.
Houses were built, and the land was tilled; and as often as
supplies of food were needed, he succeeded in begging or
bullying the Indians into furnishing what was needed. As
opportunity presented itself, he diligently explored the country.
It was on an expedition of discovery up the Chickahominy that
he fell into the hands of Powhatan ; and in spite of his fertility
in resources, he escaped death only through the well-known
intercession and protection of the noble-minded Pocahontas.

In recent years the truth of this story has been questioned ;
but an examination of the evidence hardly warrants us in pro-
nouncing "the Pocahontas myth demolished." Until a stronger
array of facts can be adduced, it must still stand as the most
beautiful and most romantic incident connected with the found-
ing of the American colonies.

While Smith had the direction of the colony as president,
it prospered. The Indians were kept in subjection, and the
colonists were wisely directed in their labors. But in 1609 a
change took place. Five hundred new colonists arrived, and
refused to acknowledge his authority. They robbed the In-
dians, and plotted the murder of Smith. While dangers were
thus gathering, an accident changed the course of events. As

24 AMERICAN LITERATURE.'

Smith lay sleeping in his boat, the powder bag at his side
exploded, and frightfully burned his body. In his agony he
leaped overboard, and narrowly escaped drowning. In his
disabled condition and need of medical aid, he returned to
England in October,' 1609, and never visited Virginia again.
His absence was sorely felt. The colonists soon fell into
great disorder and distress. "The starving time " came on;
and in five months death reduced the number of colonists from
four hundred and ninety to sixty.

Two of the survivors of " the starving time " have left a
noble estimate of the character of Smith : " What shall I say ?
but thus we lost him that in all his proceedings made justice
his first guide and experience his second ; ever hating base-
ness, sloth, pride, and indignity more than any dangers ; that
never allowed more for himself than his soldiers with him ;
that upon no danger would send them where he would not lead
them himself ; that would never see us want what he either
had, or could by any means get us ; that would rather want
than borrow, or starve and not pay; that loved actions more
than words, and hated cozenage and falsehood more than
death ; whose adventures were our lives, and whose loss our
death."

The next few years of his life, from 1610 to 1617, Smith
spent in voyages to that section of our country which he
named New England. While fishing for cod and bartering
for furs, his principal object was to explore the coast, with a
view to establish a settlement. He explored and mapped the
country from the Penobscot to Cape Cod. His explorations
in this region earned for him the title of " Admiral of New
England." On his last expedition he was captured by a
French pirate, and carried prisoner to Rochelle. But soon
effecting his escape, he made his way back to England, which
he seems never to have left again. The last years of his life
were devoted to authorship. Among his numerous works may
be mentioned the following : "A True Relation " (1608) ; " A
Description of New England" (1616); "The General History

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 2$

of Virginia" (1624); and "The True Travels" (1630). He
died June 21, 1631, and was buried in St. Sepulchre's Church,
London.

He has left us an admirable summary of his remarkable
life : " Having been a slave to the Turks ; prisoner among the
most barbarous savages ; after my deliverance commonly dis-
covering and ranging those large rivers and unknown nations
with such a handful of ignorant companions that the wiser sort
often gave me up for lost ; always in mutinies, wants, and mis-
eries; blown up with gunpowder; a long time a prisoner among
the French pirates, from whom escaping in a little boat by my-
self. . . . And many a score of the worst winter months have
I lived in the fields ; yet to have lived thirty-seven years in the
midst of wars, pestilences, and famine, by which many a hun-
dred thousand have died about me, and scarce five living of
them that went first with, me to Virginia, and yet to see the
fruits of my labors thus well begin to prosper (though I have
but my labor for my pains), have I not much reason, both pri-
vately and publicly, to acknowledge it, and give God thanks ? "

After all necessary abatement is made in the account he
has given of his life, it is apparent that he was no ordinary
man. He was great in word and deed. His voluminous writ-
ings are characterized by clearness, force, and dramatic energy.
His intellect was cast in the large mould of the era to which
he belonged. He was a man of broad views. As a leader he
displayed courage and executive ability ; and few American
explorers have shown the same indomitable energy. Though
restless, ambitious, and vain, he was noble in aim and gener-
ous in disposition. During the first quarter of the seventeenth
century " he did more than any other Englishman to make an
American nation and an American literature possible."

26 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

COTTON MATHER.

AMONG the numerous writers of the first colonial era in New
England, Cotton Mather stands as a kind of literary behemoth.
In literary productiveness, though not in weighty character, he
appears in the literature of the time with something of the
hugeness that afterwards distinguished Samuel Johnson in
England. His published writings reach the astonishing num-
ber of three hundred and eighty-three ; and while many of
them, it is true, are only pamphlets, there are also among them
bulky volumes.

He was the third of a line of distinguished ancestors, the
relative standing of whom is given in an old epitaph :

" Under this stone lies Richard Mather,
Who had a son greater than his father,
And eke a grandson greater than either."

This grandson was of course Cotton Mather, who was born
Feb. 12, 1663, in Boston. On the side of his mother, who was
a daughter of the celebrated pulpit-orator John Cotton, he like-
wise inherited talents of no usual order. After receiving his
preparatory training in the free school of Boston, he entered
Harvard College, at the age of twelve years, with superior at-
tainments. During his collegiate course he was distinguished
for his ability and scholarship ; and at the time of his gradua-
tion, the president of the college, with a reference to his double
line of illustrious ancestors, said in a Latin oration : " I trust
that in this youth Cotton and Mather will be united and flour-
ish again."

He may be regarded as a typical product of the Puritan cul-
ture of his time ; and with this fact in mind, his life becomes

COTTON MATHER. 2/

doubly interesting. He possessed a deeply religious nature,
which asserted itself strongly even in his youth, and drove him
to continual introspection. Troubled with doubts and fears
about his salvation, he became serious in manner, and spent
much time in prayer and fasting. At the same time he was
active in doing good, instructing his brothers and sisters at
home, and fearlessly reproving his companions for profanity
or immorality.

After leaving college, Cotton Mather spent several years in
teaching. But inheriting two great ecclesiastical names, it
was but natural for him to think of the ministry. Unfortu-
nately, he was embarrassed by a strongly marked impediment
of speech; but upon the advice of a friend, accustoming him-
self to "dilated deliberation " in public speaking, he succeeded
in overcoming this difficulty. He preached his first sermon at
the age of seventeen, and a few months afterwards was. called
to North Church, the leading congregation in Boston, as asso-
ciate of his father. His preaching was well received a fact
about which, perhaps, he was unduly concerned. With his
habit of dwelling upon his inward states of mind, he noted in
his Diary (to which we are much indebted for an insight into
his subjective life) a tendency to sinful pride, which he en-
deavored to suppress by the doubtful expedient uf calling him-
self opprobrious names.

His method of sermonizing and preaching is well worth
noting. It was the age of heroic sermons, the length of which
was counted, not by minutes, but by hours. When -he was at a
loss for a text, " he would make a prayer to the Holy Spirit of
Christ, as well to find a text for him as to handle it." But he
was far from a lazy reliance upon divine aid. He carefully
examined his text in the original language, and consulted the
commentaries upon it. He very properly chose his subjects,
not with a view to display his abilities, but to edify his hearers.
Unlike his father, who laboriously committed his sermons to
memory, he made use of extended notes, and thus gained both
the finish of studied discourse, and the fervor of extemporane-
ous speaking.

28 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

The question of marriage was suggested, not by the draw-
ing of a tender, irresistible passion, but by calm, rational con-
siderations of utility. Accordingly, there was nothing rashly
precipitate in his courtship ; " he first looked up to heaven for
direction, and then asked counsel of his friends." The person
fixed upon at last as his future companion was the daughter of
Colonel Philips of Charlestown, to whom he was shortly after-
wards married. " She was a comely, ingenious woman, and an
agreeable consort" This union, as also his second marriage,
was a happy one ; but it is a suggestive fact that his third wife
is referred to in his Diary only in Latin. She made his life
wretched ; and it is still uncertain whether she was the victim
of insanity or of a demoniac ill-temper.

From childhood, as is the case with most persons of ex-
traordinary gifts, he was conscious of his superior ability, and
expected and labored to be a great man. He assiduously em-
ployed every moment of time, keeping up a perpetual tension
of exertion. Over the door of his library he wrote in capital
letters the suggestive legend, " BE SHORT." His daily life
was governed by a mechanical routine ; yet, after the Puritanic
fashion, he upbraided himself with slothfulness.

He mastered not only Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, which
was expected of every scholar of the time, but also Spanish,
French, and one of the Indian tongues, in most of which he
published books. He had the marvellous power, possessed by
Spurgeon, Gladstone, and Macaulay, of mastering the contents
of a book with almost incredible rapidity. According to the
testimony of his son, " He would ride post through an author."
He had the largest library in New England ; and its contents
were so at command, that " he seemed to have an inexpres-
sible source of divine flame and vigor." His literary activity
was extraordinary. In a single year, besides keeping twenty
fasts and discharging all the duties of a laborious pastorate,
he published fourteen books. It is not strange that one of his
contemporaries, in the presence of this extraordinary activity,
should exclaim :

"Is the blest Mather necromancer turned?'*

COTTON MATHER. 29

Among his numerous works, there is one that stands with
monumental pre-eminence ; it is the " Magnalia Christi Ameri-
cana; or, The Ecclesiastical History of New England," from its
first planting in the year 1620 to the year of our Lord 1698.
It may justly be regarded as the most important book pro-
duced in America during the seventeenth century. Its scope
will appear from the topics treated of in its seven books. The
first book gives an account of the settlement of New England ;
the second contains " the lives of the governors and the names
of the magistrates that have been shields unto the churches of
New England ; " the third recounts " the lives of sixty famous
divines, by whose ministry the churches of New England have
been planted and continued ; " the fourth is devoted to the
history of Harvard College, and of " some eminent persons
therein educated ; " the fifth describes " the faith and order of
the churches ; " the sixth speaks of " many illustrious discov-
eries and demonstrations of the divine providence in remark-
able mercies and judgments " the book in which, it is said,
his soul most delighted ; and the seventh narrates " the afflic-
tive disturbances which the churches of New England have
suffered from their various adversaries," namely, impostors,
Quakers, Separatists, Indians, and the Devil.

The work is a treasure-house of information. No histo-
rian was ever better equipped for his work. Besides access to
a multitude of original documents that have since perished, he
was acquainted with many of the leading men of New England,
and had himself been identified with various important politi-
cal and ecclesiastical interests. Yet the manner in which he
discharged the functions of historian is not altogether satisfac-
tory. Perhaps he was too near the events to be strictly impar-
tial. His personal feelings his friendships or his animosities
were allowed, perhaps unconsciously, to color his statements;
and in regard to his facts, he is open to the very serious charge
of being careless and inaccurate. While his work is indispen-
sable for a thorough understanding of New England history, it
is always safe to have his statement of important facts corrobo-
rated by collateral testimony.

3O AMERICAX LITERATURE.

Notwithstanding his laborious application to reading and
study, Cotton Mather was interested in a surprising number of
philanthropic undertakings. He wrote a book entitled " Boni-
facius, an Essay upon the Good that is to be Devised and
Designed, with Proposals of Unexceptionable Methods to do
Good in the World," a work that places philanthropy upon
a business basis, and anticipates many of the benevolent asso-
ciations of the present day. Of this book Benjamin Franklin
says that it " perhaps gave me a turn of thinking, that had an
influence on some of the principal future events of my life." *
Cotton Mather sought to check the vice of drunkenness, and
was perhaps our first temperance reformer. Though he pur-
chased a slave (for slavery then existed in New England), he
interested himself in the education of negroes, and at his own
expense established a school for their instruction. He wrote
a work on the Christianizing of the negroes, and noted in his
Diary : " My design is, not only to lodge a copy in every family
in New England, that has a negro in it, but also to send num-
bers of them into the Indies." He took an interest in foreign
missions, and proposed to send Bibles and Psalters among the
nations.

The darkest feature in the life of Cotton Mather a fea-
ture which avenging critics have by no means lost sight of is
his connection with the witchcraft tragedy. In common with
people of every class in his day, he believed in the reality of
witchcraft. In 1685, the year he was ordained, he published a
work entitled "Memorable Providences relating to Witchcraft,"
which had the misfortune of being quoted as an authority in
connection with the Salem horrors. Looking upon himself as
specially set for the defence of Zion, he gave himself with Old
Testament zeal to the extermination of what he believed a
work of the Devil.

Over against this dreadful delusion should be placed his
heroic conduct in advocating vaccination at a time when it was
considered a dangerous and impious innovation. When the

1 Autobiography, chap. i.

COTTON MATHER. 31

smallpox made its appearance in Boston, the physicians, with
one honorable exception, were opposed to the newly advocated
system of vaccination on the general principle, strange to say,
that " it was presumptuous in man to inflict disease on man,
that being the prerogative of the Most High." The matter
was discussed with great bitterness of feeling ; and the mass
of the people, as well as the civil authorities, were against the
new treatment. But Cotton Mather had been convinced of
the efficacy of vaccination ; and accordingly, though he knew
it would cost him his popularity, and perhaps expose him to
personal violence, he resolutely faced the popular clamor, and
boldly vindicated the truth. It was only after the lapse of con-
siderable time that he had the satisfaction of seeing the popu-
lar prejudice give way.

It was a great disappointment to Cotton Mather that he
was never chosen president of Harvard College, a position to
which he ardently, though as he thought unselfishly, aspired.
On two occasions, when he confidently expected election, he
was humiliated by seeing less learned men chosen for the
place. He attributed his defeat to the influence of his ene-
mies, and never for a moment suspected the real cause, which
was a distrust, perhaps top well founded, of his prudence and
judgment

He died Feb. 13, 1728. Though not a man of great ori-
ginal genius, his mind was massive and strong. He had the
quality which some have held to be the essential thing in
genius, the power of indomitable and systematic industry.
His spiritual life, while influenced by Puritanic ideals, was
profound ; and unbelief has sometimes mocked at experiences
which it lacked the capacity to understand. He was followed
to the grave by an immense procession, including all the high
officers of the Province ; and the general feeling was that a
great man had fallen, the weight of whose life, in spite of
imperfections, had been on the side of righteousness.

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD.

REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. JONATHAN EDWARDS.

OTHER WRITERS.

NEW ENGLAND.

DAVID BRAINERD (1718-1747). Missionary to the Indians. A man of
strong mental powers, fervent zeal, and extensive knowledge. " Mira-
bilia Dei inter Indices" and "Divine Grace Displayed" are made up of
his missionary journals.

MATHER BYLES (1706-1788). Congregational preacher, poet, and wit, of
Boston. He published a volume of poems in 1736.

SAMUEL SEWALL (1652-1730). A graduate of Harvard, and chief-justice
of Massachusetts in 1718. Among his works are "Answer to Queries
respecting America," and especially his " Diary," which presents an
interesting and graphic account of Puritan life in the seventeenth
century.

MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH (1631-1705). Congregational clergyman at Mai-
den, Mass. His " Day of Doom," an epic of the Last Judgment, was for
more than a. century the most popular poem in New England. " God's
Controversy with New England," written in a time of great drought, is
also in verse.

MIDDLE COLONIES.

WILLIAM LIVINGSTON (1723-1790). A statesman, governor of New Jersey
1776-1790. Author of "Philosophic Solitude" in verse, "Military
Operations in North America," and a "Digest of the Laws of New
York." (See text.)

SAMUEL DAVIES (1724-1761). Presbyterian clergyman, and fourth president
of Princeton College. He wrote a number of hymns still in use, and
published five volumes of sermons popular in their day.

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD. 33

THOMAS GODFREY (1736-1763). First dramatic author in America. Served
as a lieutenant in the colonial militia. Author of " Juvenile Poems on
Various Subjects with the Prince of Parthia, a Tragedy." (See text.)

VIRGINIA AND NORTH CAROLINA.

WILLIAM BYRD (1674-1744). Founder of the cities of Richmond and
Petersburg. Author of the " History of the Dividing Line " between
Virginia and North Carolina " one of the most delightful of the literary
legacies of the colonial age."

JAMES BLAIR (1656-1743). Founder of William and Mary College. Author
of " The Present State of Virginia and the College," and " Our Saviour's
Divine Sermon on the Mount."

WILLIAM STITH (1689-1755). President of William and Mary College, and
author of the " History of the First Discovery and Settlement of Vir-
ginia " " in accuracy of detail not exceeded by any American historical
work."

JOHN LAWSON (16 1712)- Surveypr general of North Carolina, burned at

the stake by the Indians. The story of his adventures and observations
was published under the title " History of North Carolina."

II.

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD.
(168^-1763.)

THE early history of America has a peculiar interest
for those who perceive the relation of its events to the
subsequent development of the country. The growth of
a great nation can be clearly traced step by step. Great
interests were involved in the success or failure of ap-
parently small enterprises. The life of a nation princi-
ples upon which the welfare of future millions depended
was often at stake in some obscure and apparently in-
significant struggle.

The history of this period, with its small exploring
parties, savage massacres, and petty military campaigns,
seems at first sight to be a confused mass of disconnected
events. But in the life of nations, as of individuals,
" there is a destiny that shapes our ends ; " and- through-
out all the maze of injustice, tyranny, and bloodshed, it
is now possible to discern the divine purpose. God was
keeping watch by the cradle of a great people.

With the beginning of the eighteenth century, America
entered upon a new stage of progress. All the thirteen
colonies, except Georgia, had been established. The toil
and dangers of early settlement had been overcome. The
colonies had largely increased in population ; and agricul-
ture, manufacture, and commerce had made a substantial

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD. 35

beginning. By the close of the period the population of
the colonies had reached more than a million and a half.
In 1738 forty-one topsail vessels, averaging a hundred and
fifty tons, were built in Boston.

The educational interests of the colonies kept pace
with their material advancement. In New England there
was not an adult, born in this country, who could not read
and write. During this period seven colleges Yale,
Princeton, King's (now Columbia), Brown, Queen's (after-
wards Rutgers), Dartmouth, and Hampden-Sidney were
founded. In 1704 the News-Letter, the first periodical
of the New World, was published in Boston ; and before
the close of the French and Indian War in 1763, ten
other newspapers had made their appearance in various
colonies. The press at last became free. Official censor-
ship received its death-blow in New York in 1734, when
Andrew Hamilton, an aged lawyer of Philadelphia, ad-
dressed the jury in behalf of an imprisoned printer : "The
question before you is not the cause of a poor printer, nor
of New York alone ; it is the best cause the cause of
liberty. Every man who prefers freedom to a life of sla-
very will bless and honor you as men who, by an impartial
verdict, lay a noble foundation for securing to ourselves,
our posterity, and our neighbors, that to which nature
and the honor of our country have given us a right
the liberty of opposing arbitrary power by speaking and
writing truth."

It is not strange that the future greatness of America
began to dawn upon the minds of men. The world had
never before witnessed such a rapid increase of prosperity
and power. In contemplating the rising glory of America,
an Italian poet sang that the spirit of ancient Rome, in>

36 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

mortal and undecayed, was spreading towards the New
World. Bishop Berkeley, in prophetic vision, foretold a
"golden age," when the arts would flourish, and when
a race of " wisest heads and noblest hearts " would be
born :

"Not such as Europe breeds in her decay,

Such as she bred when fresh and young v
When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way:

The first four acts already past,
A fifth shall close the drama with the day;

Time's noblest offspring is the last."

In England it was believed that the colonial leaders
were secretly meditating and planning independence.
Though this was undoubtedly a mistake, yet a growing
national feeling is clearly discernible in the utterances
and relations of the colonies. It could not well be other-
wise in the presence of their increasing prosperity and
promising future, and of the strengthening ties that bound
them together. The colonists were chiefly of Teutonic
origin. They came to this country as voluntary exiles in
order to escape religious or political oppression, and were
thus united by the sympathy of suffering and sacrifice.
For the most part they used the English language; and
though there were Puritans, Episcopalians, Quakers, Hu-
guenots, and Presbyterians, they were nearly all warm
adherents of Protestantism. Yet, in spite of these strong
affinities, the colonies were for a long time jealous and
distrustful of one another. Their interests were not re-
garded as common ; and without the pressure of external
circumstances they would probably have remained a long
time separated.

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD. 37

This external pressure, which was necessary to bring
the colonies into closer relationship, was not lacking. It
came from two opposite sources. In the first place, the
policy of England was admirably adapted to develop a
spirit of freedom, and to unite the colonies in a common
resistance of oppression. At that time it was the prevail-
ing view abroad that the colonies existed solely for the
benefit of the mother country. Consequently, the meas-
ures of government were adopted, not for the welfare of
the colonies, but for the profit of England. This unjust
policy naturally provoked opposition in a people who had
abandoned home and country for the sake of freedom.

The other influence impelling the colonies to confede-
ration came from the ambitious schemes of France. As
will have been noticed, the English colonies extended
along the Atlantic seaboard from Maine to Florida.
Though their territory theoretically extended across the
continent, their settlements did not reach inland more
than a hundred miles. To prevent the further extension
of the English colonies, the French formed the magnifi-
cent plan of occupying the interior of the continent, and
thus of confining their enemies to a narrow belt on the
Atlantic coast. They already had possession of Canada ;
and ascending the St. Lawrence, they established forts
and trading-posts along the southern shores of the Great
Lakes, and thence down the Mississippi to New Orleans.
Having discovered the Mississippi, they laid claim to all
the territory drained by its waters ; that is to say, to the
magnificent empire lying between the Alleghany and the
Rocky Mountains. " If the French," wrote the governor
of New York in 1687, "have all that they pretend to have
discovered in these parts, the king of England will not

38 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

have a hundred miles from the sea anywhere." A con-
flict between the English and the French thus became
inevitable ; and the stake involved was nothing less than
the life of the English colonies, and the possession of the
American continent. In the presence of this conflict, the
instinct of self-preservation drew the colonies into closer
sympathy and union.

The struggle between England and France for the
possession of America a struggle that lasted with inter-
missions for more than seventy years began in 1689,
the dividing-point between the two colonial periods. First
came King William's War, when Louis XIV. espoused
the cause of James II., and Count Frontenac was sent to
be governor of Canada, with orders to conquer New York.
Then followed in quick succession Queen Anne's War, or
the War of the Spanish Succession ; King George's War,
or the War of the Austrian Succession ; and lastly, the
Seven Years' War, or the French and Indian War. These
various wars, as their names generally indicate, grew out
of conflicting European interests ; but since England and
France, as hostile nations, were invariably opposed to each
other, their colonies in America were always drawn into
the conflict. The course of these successive wars, with
their varying fortunes and sickening massacres, cannot
here be followed in detail. With the Treaty of Paris in
1763 the conflict in America. finally came to an end by
the cession of Canada and the Mississippi Valley to Eng-
land. At one blow the French possessions in America
and French schemes for a great western empire were
forever swept away.

Had the issue of this protracted struggle been in favor
of France, the course of American history and of Ameri-

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD. 39

can literature would have been very different. French
colonization in America represented three distinct tenden-
cies, from all of which the English colonists had broken
away. First of all, in direct antagonism against popular
government, Louis XIV. stood for despotism. His atti-
tude toward France is indicated in his famous saying,
" L ' Etat cest moi" In the second place, the colonization
undertaken by the French carried with it the feudal sys-
tem. Instead of the political and social equality recognized
and encouraged in the English colonies, it meant the class
system of nobles and inferiors. In the third place, the
success of the French meant the establishment of a wholly
different form of belief and worship. The most enter-
prising and devoted of the French explorers were Jesuits,
whose self-sacrificing work among the Indians sometimes
reached the highest point of heroism. In short, if the
French schemes had been successful, the result would
have been, as was contemplated, a new mediaeval France,
which in its development, having possession of the largest
and fairest part of the continent, would have driven the
English colonies into the Atlantic Ocean.

The first step towards a general union of the American
colonies was taken in 1684. The French had encroached
upon the territory of the Five Nations in New York ; and
in preparation for the inevitable conflict, the Indians de-
sired to form a treaty of peace with the English. Accord-
ingly, a convention composed of delegates from Virginia,
Maryland, New York, and Massachusetts, met at Albany.
For the first time, the northern and the southern colonies
came together to consider the common welfare. The con-
ference resulted in a treaty ; and the Mohawk chief at its
conclusion spoke better than he knew when he said : " We

40 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

now plant a tree whose top will reach the sun, and its
branches spread far abroad, so that it shall be seen afar
off, and we shall shelter ourselves under it, and live in
peace without molestation."

The necessity of a closer general union gradually be-
came more apparent. In 1698 William Penn proposed a
plan of federation. In 1754 the Convention of Albany,
composed of representatives from six of the colonies, re-
solved that a union ought to be formed, and accordingly
recommended the adoption of a constitution, the outlines
of which had been drawn up by Franklin. But this con-
stitution was disapproved in England, because it allowed
too much freedom to the colonies ; and it was rejected by
the colonies, because it gave too much authority to Eng-
land. Thus, though the sentiment of union was steadily
growing, it did not reach full practical realization. That
consummation, which was to mark the birth of the Amer-
ican nation, was reserved for the following period.

The changed conditions of American life during this
period exerted a salutary influence upon literature. While
the conditions were far from being ideal, they marked a
considerable advance upon those of the earlier period, and
thus gave a broader scope and better form to literary
productions. The hard and unceasing struggle for exis-
tence characteristic of the greater part of the first colonial
period had given place to comparative ease and comfort.
While there was but little accumulation of wealth, there
were, especially in the older colonies, many comfortable
homes, in which books and leisure supplied the opportunity
for culture. Several considerable cities Boston, New
York, and Philadelphia served in some degree as lit-
erary centres. The growing number of schools added to

SECOND COLONIAL PERIOD. 41

the popular intelligence. The newspapers furnished
topics for general thought and discussion, while the closer
relations and larger interests of the colonies gave a wider
horizon to the intellectual life of the people.

As will be seen on examining the list of writers prefixed
to this period, the development of American literature
followed the growth of the colonies. The middle colonies,
New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, now come into
prominence. Though Franklin and Edwards, who have
been chosen for special study as representative writers,
were born in New England, they both ended their lives
in the middle colonies. Franklin's great life was spent
chiefly in Philadelphia. The tide of authorship extended
southward from Virginia; and in the Carolinas and
Georgia there were men who could wield the pen as
well as the axe and the sword.

As might be naturally expected, there is a gradual ex-
tension of the range of subjects, and a perceptible ad-
vancement in the matter of style. Though historical and
theological subjects are still predominant, philosophy,
science, and literary miscellany receive increasing atten-
tion. Authors become more numerous, and the number
of writers in verse is surprising. The influence of the
Queen Anne writers Dryden, Pope, Addison is dis-
cernible in an improved literary form. Franklin formed
his style after the Spectator, and we catch an echo of
Pope in Livingston's " Philosophic Solitude" :-

" Let ardent heroes seek renown in arms,
Pant after fame, and rush to war's alarms;
To shining palaces let fools resort,
And dunces cringe to be esteemed at court;
Mine be the pleasure of a rural life,
From noise remote, and ignorant of strife;

42 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Far from the painted belle, and white-gloved beau,
The lawless masquerade, and midnight show;
From ladies, lap-dogs, courtiers, garters, stars,
Fops, fiddlers, tyrants, emperors, and czars."

This period saw the birth of the first American drama,
a tragedy entitled " The Prince of Parthia," and written
by Thomas Godfrey. It is an Oriental story of love, lust,
jealousy, murder, ruin. It is cast in the large mould of
the Elizabethan dramatists, and its style shows that the
author had studied Shakespeare to good purpose. Take
the following passage in illustration of its poetic vigor :

" Vardanes. Heavens ! what a night is this !
Lysias. 'Tis tilled with terror;

Some dread event beneath this horror lurks,
Ordained by fate's irrevocable doom;
Perhaps Arsaces' fall; and angry heaven
Speaks it in thunder to the trembling world.
Vardanes. Terror indeed ! It seems as sickening Nature
Had given her order up to general ruin:
The heavens appear as one continued flame;
Earth with her terror shakes; dim night retires,
And the red lightning gives a dreadful day,
While in the thunder's voice each sound is lost.
Fear sinks the panting heart in every bosom;
E'en the pale dead, affrighted at the horror,
As though unsafe, start from their marble jails,
And howling through the streets are seeking shelter."

^ ^ . ^

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 43

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

No other American, excepting only the Father of his Coun-
try, is more interesting to people of every class than Benjamin
Franklin. His popularity has been extraordinary. Since his
death, a little more than a hundred years ago, no decade has
passed without the publication of a biography or a new edition
of his works. His " Autobiography," the most popular histori-
cal work of America, possesses a perennial interest. It is re-
plete not only with interesting incident, but also with genial
humor and profound practical wisdom.

The facts of his life are so well known that it is not neces-
sary to dwell upon them. He was born in Boston, Jan. 17,
1706 the youngest of an old-fashioned family of ten children.
From his father, who was a candlemaker and soap-boiler, he
inherited not only a strong physical constitution, but his " solid
judgment in prudential matters." He attended the free gram-
mar schools of Boston about a year, and gave promise of
becoming a good scholar ; but owing to the straitened cir-
cumstances of his father, he was taken away in order to cut
wicks, mould candles, and run errands all which he heartily
disliked.

From childhood he was passionately fond of reading, and
he used the little money that came into his hands to buy books.
His first purchase was Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress," which
after being read and re-read was sold to buy Burton's " Histori-
cal Collections " a class of writings of which he was specially
fond. Among the books of his early reading were Plutarch's
"Lives " and Mather's "Essay to do Good," which he specially
mentions as exerting a salutary influence upon his mind and
character. He did not escape the common temptation of book-

44 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ish youths to attempt poetry, and wrote two ballads which, in
spite of a flattering success at the time, he afterwards charac-
terized, and no doubt justly, as " wretched stuff." From the
danger of becoming a sorry poet he was timely rescued by his
father, who with Philistine coldness called his attention to the
fact that " verse-makers were generally beggars."

But his literary instincts were not to be quenched ; and
though he gave up poetry, he cultivated prose with great ardor.
To increase his fluency, he was accustomed to engage in dis-
cussion with another literary lad by the name of Collins ; but
he had the good sense to escape the disputatious habit which
this practice is in danger of developing, and which wise people,
he tells us, seldom fall into. He modelled his style after Addi-
son's Spectator, which was then a novelty in the colonies.
But he had too much force of mind and character to become
a mere imitator; and through a laborious apprenticeship he
developed a style that is admirable for its simplicity, clearness,
and force.

He was early encouraged in his literary efforts. At the age
of twelve he had been apprenticed to his brother James to
learn the printing business. Here he worked on the New Eng-
land Courant, the second newspaper that appeared in America.
Some of the contributors occasionally met in the office to dis-
cuss the little essays that had appeared in the paper. Having
caught the mania for appearing in print, and fearing to have
his productions rejected if the authorship were known, he dis-
guised his hand, wrote an anonymous paper, and slipped it at
night under the door of the printing-house. It was found next
morning, and discussed by the little company that called in as
usual. "They read it," he says, "commented on it in my hear-
ing, and I had the exquisite pleasure of finding it met with their
approbation, and that, in their different guesses at the author,
none were named but men of some character among us for
learning and ingenuity." It is not strange that he continued
his anonymous communications for some time.

The apprenticeship, though not till he had mastered the

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 45

printer's trade, came to an abrupt termination. Long dissatis-
fied with the ill-treatment received from his brother, who was
a high-tempered, overbearing man, he at last ran away at the
age of seventeen. He landed first at New York ; and failing
to find employment there, he continued his journey to Philadel-
phia. The figure he cut that first Sunday morning as he walked
the streets with a roll under each arm, and excited the laughter
of the young lady he afterwards married, is familiar to every
one. He found employment, and attracted the notice of Gov-
ernor Keith, who after a time persuaded him to go to England
for a printer's outfit.

On reaching England, he found that he had been duped by
Keith, who belonged to that class of men lavish in promises
but miserly in help. The letter of credit which the governor
had promised was wanting. In his embarrassment, Franklin
was advised by a prudent business man whom he had met on
the vessel, to seek employment at his trade. "Among the
printers here," his friend argued, "you will improve yourself,
and when you return to America, you will set up to greater
advantage." This advice he wisely followed, and successively
worked in two large printing-houses, where he used his eyes to
good advantage. He practised his usual industry and temper-
ance, and commanded the respect of his associates.

After spending eighteen months in London, where his life
morally was far from being a model, he received an advanta-
geous offer to return to Philadelphia and enter a store as clerk.
After a promising beginning, this arrangement was in a few
months brought to an end by the merchant's death. Franklin
then returned to printing, and engaged with Keimer, for whom
he had worked before going to England. The deficiencies of
the printing-office were supplied by Franklin's ingenuity ; for he
cast type, prepared engravings, made ink, was "warehouse
man, and, in short, quite a factotum" But as he taught the
other workmen of the office, among whom were " a wild Irish-
man " and "an Oxford scholar," his services became less ne-
cessary ; and on the first opportunity his employer provoked a

46 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

quarrel, and brought the engagement to an end. This led to
Franklin's setting up for himself; and he now entered upon
a career of uninterrupted prosperity, which was to continue for
more than sixty years.

But in the midst of his business projects, he did not neglect
his literary culture. He formed a club, which was called the
Junto, and to which most of his friends of literary taste, be-
longed. Its object was mutual impiovement by means of es-
says and discussions. For greater convenience of reference,
a library was formed, each member of the club loaning such
books as he could spare. Afterwards Franklin started a sub-
scription library, the first of its kind in America. The club
continued for nearly forty years, and was the best school of
philosophy, morality, ^r-.d politics in the province.

Beyond most men, Franklin had the power of self-control.
He was thus able from early manhood to bring his conduct
under the direction of principles which he had deliberately
adopted in the light of reason. When he was told by a Quaker
friend that he was generally thought to be proud, and when he
was satisfied of the fact by the evidence adduced (it would
have been hard to convince most men), he at once added hu-
mility to the list of virtues in which he was to exercise himself;
and he succeeded in acquiring at least its. outward expression.
He gave up his dogmatic manner in conversation and argu-
ment ; and in place of positive assertion, he formed the habit
of introducing his opinions with modest diffidence. He recog-
nized the truth of Pope's lines

" Men must be taught, as if you taught them n -t.
And things unknown proposed as things forgot."

He accustomed himself to introduce his statements with
" I conceive," ** I apprehend," " It appears to me at present,"
and other similar expressions. "And this mode," he says,
"which I at first put on with some violence to natural inclina-
tion, became at length easy, and so habitual to me, that perhaps

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 47

for the last fifty years no one has ever heard a dogmatical
expression escape me. And to this habit (after my character
of integrity) I think it principally owing that I had early so
much weight with my fellow citizens, when I proposed new in-
stitutions, or alterations in the old ; and so much influence in
public councils, when I became a member ; for I was but a
bad speaker, never eloquent, subject to much hesitation in my
choice of words, hardly correct in language, and yet I generally
carried my point." All which is delightfully frank, and takes
us, as it were, behind the scenes.

To return to his printing business, he pushed it with great
shrewdness and energy, and with his usual frankness he lets us
into what he considers the secret of his success. " In order tc
secure my credit and character as a tradesman, I took care not
only to be in reality industrious and frugal, but to avoid the
appearances to the contrary. I dressed plain, and was seen at
no places of idle diversion. I never went out a fishing or shoot-
ing ; a book, indeed, sometimes debauched me from my work,
but that was seldom, was private, and gave no scandal ; and to
show that I was not above my business, I sometimes brought
home the paper I purchased at the stores, through the streets
on a wheelbarrow. Thus being esteemed an industrious, thriv-
ing young man, and paying duly for what I bought, the mer-
chants who imported stationery solicited my custom ; others
proposed supplying me with books, and I went on prosper-
ously."

As opportunity afforded, he judiciously increased his busi-
ness, publishing a newspaper which became the most influential
in the colonies, and opening a stationer's shop. He regarded
his newspaper as a means of benefiting the public ; and besides
reprinting extracts from the Spectator, he frequently contributed
little essays of his own. Among these he mentions " a So-
cratic dialogue, tending to prove that, whatever might be his
parts and abilities, a ^icious man could not properly be called
a man of sense."

In 1732 he began the publication of an Almanac under the

4 8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

name of Richard Saunders ; it was continued about twenty-five
years, and was commonly called " Poor Richard's Almanac."
It had an annual sale of about ten thousand copies, and proved
quite a profitable undertaking. Considering it a useful means
of conveying instruction to the common people, he filled every
available corner " with proverbial sentences, chiefly such as
inculcated industry and- frugality as the means of procuring
wealth, and thereby securing virtue ; it being more difficult for
a man in want to act always honestly, as, to use here one of
those proverbs, // is hard for an empty sack to stand upright."
These proverbs, very few of which were original, represent
the practical wisdom of many nations and ages. In 1758 he
brought the principal ones together in the form of a connected
discourse, which is supposed to be delivered by a wise old man
to the crowd attending an auction. "The piece," to give
Franklin's account of it, "being universally approved, was
copied in all the newspapers of the American continent, re-
printed in Britain on a large sheet of paper, to be stuck up in
houses ; two translations were made of it in France, and great
numbers bought by the clergy and gentry, to distribute gratis
among their poor parishioners and tenants. In Pennsylvania,
as it discouraged useless expense in foreign superfluities, some
thought it had its share of influence in producing that growing
plenty of money, which was observable for several years after
its publication."

By this time Franklin had become a prominent person in
the community ; and his business success having put him in
easier circumstances, he was able to turn his attention more
fully to public affairs. In 1736 he was chosen clerk of the
General Assembly, and the following year he was appointed
postmaster at Philadelphia. As a public-spirited citizen he
sought to improve the condition of the city, and to this end he
organized a regular police force, supported by taxation, and
a voluntary fire company. When the Quaker Assembly refused
to pass a militia law during the war of the Spanish Succession,
he strongly set forth the defenceless condition of the province,

BENJAMIN FRANA'LIN. 49

and proposed the organization of a voluntary body of troops.
The success of the enterprise was astonishing. At a public
meeting in Philadelphia, the enrolment numbered more than
five hundred in a single evening ; and including the enlistment
in the country,, the number of volunteers at length reached
ten thousand men, who formed themselves into companies
and regiments, chose officers, and provided themselves with
arms.

Labors and honors were now heaped upon him. He was
appointed postmaster-general for America. Both Harvard and
Yale honored him with the master's degree. He was the chief
promoter in establishing an academy which afterwards became
the University of Pennsylvania. In his educational views he
was progressive beyond his time. He deserves a place among
educational reformers. While building up his business, he had
also gained a reading knowledge of French, Italian, and Span-
ish. From these he passed to Latin, for which he found the
"preceding languages had greatly smoothed the way." Thus
he was led by experience to recognize the truth of the maxim of
Comenius, that " the nearer should precede the more remote. 57
Hence he argued, as the philosopher Locke had done before
him, that ancient languages should be approached through the
study of the modern languages.

In 1754 he was appointed a delegate to the Albany conven-
tion to consult with the Six Nations in regard to the common
defence of the country against the French. It was then that
he proposed " a plan for the union of all the colonies under one
government, so far as might be necessary for defence and other
important general purposes." It always remained his opinion
that the adoption of this plan of union would have averted or
certainly delayed the conflict with the mother country. "The
colonies so united," he wrote in his old age, "would have been
sufficiently strong to have defended themselves ; there would
then have been no need of troops from England; of course
the subsequent pretext for taxing America, and the bloody
contest it occasioned, would have been avoided. But such

50 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

mistakes are not new; history is full of the errors of states and
princes.

' Look round the habitable world, how few
Know their own good, or knowing it, pursue.' "

In Braddock's disastrous campaign, Franklin rendered the
proud and over-confident general important aid; and if his pru-
dent counsel had been followed, victory would have taken the
place of defeat. Later he was commissioned to take charge
of the defence of the western frontier of Pennsylvania, and
discharged his difficult task in an energetic and successful
manner. He knew the art of managing men, and under his
direction three forts or stockades were built and provisioned
in a short time.

In 1746 Franklin began his electrical experiments, which
in a few years gave him a reputation abroad as a philosopher.
Besides a number of new experiments invented by him, he
was the first to point out clearly the existence of positive and
negative electricity, and by his well-known experiment with
the kite to prove the identity of lightning and electricity. His
experiments and conclusions were set forth in various papers
with the lucidity characteristic of his thought and style. His
essays were read before the Royal Society, published in Eng-
land, and afterwards, through the influence of the great natu-
ralist Buffon, also in France. Though his views were attacked
at various times, he abstained from all controversy on princi-
ple, and left his conclusions to take care of themselves. When
urged, on one occasion, to defend his invention of the light-
ning-rod, he replied: "I have never entered into any contro-
versy in defence of my philosophical opinions ; I leave them
to take their chance in the world. If they are right, truth and
experience will support them ; if wrong, they ought to be re-
futed and rejected. Disputes are apt to sour one's temper and
disturb one's quiet." In recognition of his important contri-
butions to electrical science, he was elected a member of the
Royal Society, and awarded the Copley medal for the year 1753.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 5 I

Among the scientists of the eighteenth century Franklin occu-
pies a high rank.

It would extend the sketch too far to trace in detail Frank-
lin's labors abroad, first as the representative of Pennsylvania,
and afterwards of the United States. In England he was cor-
dially received as a philosopher and statesman. The univer-
sities of St. Andrews and Oxford conferred upon him the degree
of Doctor of Laws. Learned societies enrolled his name in
their membership. The municipality of Edinburgh gave him
the freedom of the city. In France he received a greater ova-
tion than had been accorded Voltaire. The people were en-
thusiastic ; the nobility feted him, medals and medallions were
struck off in great numbers. A Frenchman gave brilliant ex-
pression to Franklin's achievements in the famous line :

" Eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis." l

It was chiefly through his influence that the independence
of the United States was recognized by France, and that
French aid was extended for its achievement. He was one of
the five commissioners appointed by Congress to negotiate the
peace that put an end to the War of the Revolution in 1782.

In 1785, at his own request, he was relieved of his duties
as minister to France, and returned to his native country. He
received an enthusiastic welcome. After his fifty years of
public service, it was his desire to spend his few remaining
days in quiet. "I am again surrounded by my friends," he
writes, "with a fine family of grandchildren about my knees,
and an affectionate, good daughter and son-in-law to take care
of me." His hopes, however, were disappointed. He was
called to the gubernatorial chair of Pennsylvania for three
successive years the limit fixed by law. In 1787 he was a
member of the convention to frame the Constitution of the
United States. It was owing, perhaps, to his influence that
the Constitution was unanimously adopted.

1 He has seized the lightning from heaven, and the sceptre from tyrants.

52 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The two or three last years of his life were a fitting close
to his extraordinary career. Though suffering at times much
physical pain, he lived in comfortable retirement, in the midst
of his grandchildren and the company of friends. He retained
his faculties to the last; and that genial humor, which char-
acterized his life, never deserted him. His manners were easy
and obliging; and his large benevolence diffused about him
an atmosphere of unrestrained freedom and satisfaction. He
looked forward to his approaching end with philosophic com-
posure. "Death I shall submit to," he said, "with the less
regret as, having seen during a long life a good deal of this
world, I feel a growing curiosity to be acquainted with some
other; and can cheerfully, with filial confidence, resign my
spirit to the conduct of that great and good Parent of mankind
who has so graciously protected and prospered me from my
birth to the present hour." The end came the iyth of April,
1790, at the age of eighty-four years; and his body, followed
by an immense throng of people, was laid to rest by that of
his wife in the yard of Christ Church.

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 53

JONATHAN EDWARDS.

IN considering a man's life, we should take into considera
tion its historic environment. We should judge it, not by the
standards of our day, but by the standards then prevailing.
Only for moral obliquity must there be small allowance; for
whatever may be the laxity of the times, every man has in his
breast a monitor against vice.

If we study Jonathan Edwards with proper sympathy, we
must pronounce his life a great life. Though his character
was colored by Puritan austerity, and his religious experience
involved what many believe to have been morbid emotions,
there is no questioning the fact of his masterful intellect and
his stainless integrity. He certainly was not, what a ferocious
critic has styled him, a theological "monomaniac." There
is much less reason to dissent from the judgment of another
reviewer who says of him: " Remarkable for the beauty of
his face and person, lordly in the easy sweep and grasp of
his intellect, wonderful in his purity of soul and in his sim-
ple devotion to the truth, the world has seldom seen in finer
combination all the great qualities of a godlike manhood." 1

Jonathan Edwards, who was born at East Windsor, Conn.,
Oct. 5, 1703, was of excellent Puritan stock. His father, the
Rev. Timothy Edwards, was for sixty-four years the honored
pastor of the Congregational church of East Windsor; and his
mother was the daughter of the Rev. Solomon Stoddard, who
was pastor at Northampton, Mass., for more than fifty years,
and one of the most eminent ministers of his day. From his
mother, who was a woman of superior ability and excellent ed-
ucation, he inherited not only his delicate features and gentle

1 Bibliotheca Sacra, xxvi., 255.

54 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

disposition, but also a large measure of his intellectual force.
His father, who was distinguished as a Latin, Greek, and He-
brew scholar, was accustomed for many years, in addition to
his regular ministerial duties, to prepare young men for col-
lege. With no mediaeval prejudice against the higher educa-
tion of woman, he instructed his daughters (there were no fewer
than ten of them) in the same studies pursued by the young
men. It was in this cultivated -and studious home, under the
refining influence and instruction of his older sisters, that
young Edwards received his preparatory training.

In his childhood he exhibited extraordinary precocity. He
was not, as sometimes happens, so absorbed in his books as
to lose taste for the observation of nature. For an English
correspondent of his father's, he wrote at the age of twelve
years an elaborate paper upon spiders, which shows remarkable
powers of observation. It is said actually to have enlarged
the boundaries of scientific knowledge. Had the young author
given himself to natural science, there can be no doubt that
he would have stood in the foremost rank.

In 1716, when in his thirteenth year, young Edwards en-
tered Yale College. It was the day of small things with the
institution; and the president residing at a distance of forty
miles, the government and discipline were chiefly in the hands
of tutors. The result was, as might be expected, a good deal of
idleness and disorder among the students. But such was young
Edwards's thirst for knowledge that he not only refrained from
the insubordination of his fellow-students, but by his scholar-
ship and integrity retained their respect and confidence.

At the age of fourteen he read Locke's "Essay on the Hu-
man Understanding; " and though it can hardly be classed as
juvenile literature, he declared that in the perusal of it he en-
joyed a far higher pleasure "than the most greedy miser finds,
when gathering up handfuls of silver and gold from some newly
discovered treasure." While proficient in every department of
study, he excelled especially in mental science. He had been
trained by his father to make much use of the pen in studying;

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 55

and while still an undergraduate, he began to put into clear
shape his ideas about the leading terms of mental philosophy,
such as cause, existence, space, time, substance, matter, and
so on. His notebook of this period shows surprising depth of
thought and lucidity of expression. At graduation he stood
head and shoulders above his class.

Religion, which became the dominant interest of his subse-
quent life, engaged his attention toward the end of his college
course. He passed through the deep spiritual conflicts that so
often, especially under the Puritan type of faith, are associated
with profoundly earnest natures. But at last his spiritual
struggles issued in a sweet "sense of the glorious majesty and
grace of God" a feeling that added a strange charm to ex-
ternal nature. "The appearance of every thing," he says, "was
altered. There seemed to be, as it were, a calm, sweet cast,
or appearance of divine glory, in almost every thing."

After graduating, he spent nearly two years at the college
in theological study. At the age of nineteen he was licensed
to preach the gospel, and sent to New York to minister to
a small congregation of Presbyterians. Though he filled the
pulpit with great acceptance, the relation did not become per-
manent, and in 1723 he was elected tutor in Yale College. At
this time the office of tutor was a trying position, and it is a
significant fact that a year later he wrote : " I have now abun-
dant reason to be convinced of the troublesomeness and vex-
ation of the world, and that it never will be another kind of a
world." But such was his skill in discipline and success in
instruction, that President Stiles spoke of him and his associ-
ates as "the pillar tutors, and the glory of the college at this
critical period."

In his twentieth year, and just before entering upon his
tutorship, he drew up seventy resolutions for the government
of his heart and life. Though they are tinged with a Puritan
austerity, and unduly accentuate, perhaps, the religious ele-
ment of life, they reveal an extraordinary depth and earnest-
ness of character.

56 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

In 1726 Jonathan Edwards was called as pastor to North-
ampton, where the next twenty-four years of his life were passed.
The following year he was married to Miss Pierrepont of New
Haven, a lady who added to unusual intellectual gifts and at-
tainments an executive ability and considerate sympathy that
fitted her in an eminent degree to be the helpmate of her hus-
band. She relieved him entirely of domestic cares. There is
a tradition that he did not know his own cows. Though his
constant inattention to the concerns of his household hardly
rendered him a model husband, he gave himself with all the
more devotion to his sermons and theological studies. He
regularly spent thirteen hours a day in his study; and when
Dut for recreation, which was usually on horseback, he carried
pen and paper with him to note down such valuable thoughts
as might occur to him. In order to keep up the necessary
physical strength for his great intellectual labors, he was care-
ful to take regular exercise, and observed the strictest temper-
ance in eating and drinking. He was exceedingly thorough in
his methods of study. He could never be satisfied with hasty
or superficial work; and as we read his sermons and numerous
volumes, his clearness of view, his power of analysis, and his
irresistible cogency of reasoning, afford continual astonishment
and pleasure.

Among the many able preachers of America, he stands as
one of the greatest. He dwelt habitually on the weightiest
doctrines of the Christian faith ; and in his treatment of them
there is a Miltonic grasp of thought and vigor of language.
He was not eloquent in manner or expression ; his voice was
weak, and he kept his eyes closely fixed on his manuscript;
but such was his overpowering spiritual earnestness that his
sermons were sometimes startling in their effect. When he
preached his famous sermon, " Sinners in the Hands of an
Angry God," the feelings of his audience deepened into an
insupportable agony; and at last the cry burst forth, "What
must we do to be saved ? " In those days people did not go to
church to be entertained; and with an endurance that seems

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 57

almost incredible now, they listened, with unflagging attention,
to closely reasoned sermons two hours long. It was for audi-
ences of this kind that the sermons of Edwards were prepaied-
and to such persons as take them up with sufficient determina
tion, and are able to appreciate their powerful reasoning, they
appear veritable masterpieces.

Under his preaching in 1735 there began at Northampton a
new interest in religion, which afterwards extending throughout
the American colonies has been known as the "Great Awak-
ening." The celebrated Whitefield contributed much to this
revival. Though attended at times with great excitement and
extravagance, this movement upon the whole seems to have
been helpful to morality and piety. It was in this connection
that Edwards wrote "Some Thoughts concerning the Present
Revival of Religion in New England" a work of such spir
itual discernment, practical wisdom, and conservative judg-
ment, that it has since been regarded as an authority on the
subject. He was not friendly to the fanatical tendencies some-
times exhibited during the "Great Awakening; " and in order
to distinguish between the true and the false evidences of a
Christian life, he wrote his "Treatise concerning the Religious
Affections." Though defective in style, as indeed are all his
works, it occupies a very high rank as a treatise on practical
religion.

For nearly twenty years Jonathan Edwards had a firm hold
upon the affections of his people. Then there came a reac-
tion, which finally resulted in his being ejected from his pasto-
ral charge. Contrary to the prevailing custom at Northampton
and in other parts of New England, he maintained that only
consistent Christians should be admitted to the Lord's Sup-
per. A bitter controversy followed. Though contending with
heroic courage for what he believed to be right, he constantly
exhibited the beauty of a meek and forgiving spirit. He was
finally forced to resign in 1750.

In 1751 he was called to Stockbridge, forty miles west of
Northampton, to serve as pastor to a congregation there, and

58 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

at the same time to act as missionary to a tribe of Indians
in the vicinity. The congregation was small, and the work
among the Indians unpromising. It was a field that especially
required persistent personal work. Confirmed, as he was, in
retiring and studious habits, it is not strange that, in spite of
his faithful preaching, he was unsuccessful as a missionary.
But among the unfavorable surroundings of a frontier settle-
ment, he continued his literary labors, and composed his ablest
works.

In 1754 appeared his famous treatise entitled "Inquiry into
the Freedom of the Will." It is his greatest work, the argu-
ment of which he had been slowly elaborating for years. It
placed him at once, not only at the head of American writers,
but among the world's profoundest thinkers. "On the arena
of metaphysics," says the great Dr. Chalmers, "he stood the
highest of all his contemporaries, and that, too, at a time when
Hume was aiming his deadliest thrusts at the foundations of
morality, and had thrown over the infidel cause the whole e'clat
of his reputation." According to the judgment of Sir James
Mackintosh, "In the power of subtile argument, he was, per-
haps, unmatched, certainly unsurpassed among men." Among
his other works published while he was at Stockbridge are "A
Dissertation on the Nature of True Virtue," and a treatise on
"Original Sin."

In 1758 he was called to the presidency of the College of
New Jersey, a position which he accepted with hesitancy and
misgivings. He questioned his natural aptitude for the office,
and hesitated to assume duties that would interfere with the
studious habits of his life. In a letter to the trustees, in which
he speaks with great frankness, he furnishes some interesting
facts about his manner of life. "My method of study," he
says, "from my first beginning the work of the ministry, has
been very much by writing ; applying myself, in this way, to
improve every important hint ; pursuing the clue to my utmost,
when any thing in reading, meditation, or conversation, has
been suggested to my mind, that seemed to promise light in

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 59

any weignty point; thus penning what appeared to me my best
thoughts, on innumerable subjects, for my own benefit." In
the same letter he speaks of a great work that he had on his
"mind and heart ; " namely, his "History of the Work of Re-
demption."

The plan, as he outlines it, reminds us of Milton and
Dante. "This history," he says, "will be carried on with
regard to all three worlds, heaven, earth, and hell; consider-
ing the connected, successive events and alterations in each,
so far as the Scriptures give any light; introducing all parts of
divinity in that order which is most Scriptural and most natu
ral, a method which appears to me the most beautiful and en-
tertaining, wherein every divine doctrine will appear to the
greatest advantage, in the brightest light, and in the most
striking manner, showing the admirable contexture and har-
mony of the whole." This work, so grandly outlined, was left
unfinished at his death; but the manuscript sermons, which
formed the basis of it, were reduced to the form of a treatise
by his friend Dr. Erskine of Edinburgh, and the work, which
has had a wide circulation, first appeared in that city in 1777.

He was inaugurated as president of the College of New
Jersey in 1758, but performed the duties of his office less than
fi/e weeks. The smallpox having made its appearance in
Princeton, he deemed it advisable to be inoculated. / t that
time inoculation was regarded as a more serious thing t'ran at
present. The trustees were consulted, and gave their consent.
A skilful physician was engaged to come from Philadelphia to
perform the operation; but in spite of all precautions, the in-
oculation terminated fatally. He died March 22, 1758, in the
fifty-fifth year of his age. In his last hours he retained the
beautiful faith and resignation that had characterized his
active life. Shortly Lifore he expired, some friends, not
thinking that he heard them, were lamenting the loss that his
death would bring to the college and the church. Interrupting
them he said, "Trust in God, and ye need not fear," These
were his last words.

60 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

"Other men have, do doubt, excelled him in particular
qualities or accomplishments. There have been far more
learned men; far more eloquent men; far more enterprising
and active men, in the out-door work of the sacred office. But,
in the assemblage and happy union of those high qualities,
intellectual and moral, which constitute finished excellence,
as a man, a Christian, a divine, and a philosopher, he was, un-
doubtedly, one of the greatest and best men that have adorned
this, or any other country, since the Apostolic age." 1

1 Miller, Life of Jonathan Edwards, p. 213.

REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD.

REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS.

THOMAS JEFFERSON. ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

OTHER WRITERS.

NEW ENGLAND.

JOHN TRUMBULL (1750-1831). Born in Connecticut, and graduated at Yale.
Wrote essays in the style of the Spectator, and in 1782 completed "Mc-
Fingal," a satire upon the Tories in the manner of Butler's " Hudibras."
(See text.)

JOEL BARLOW (1754-1812). Poet and politician, born in Connecticut. In
1787 he published an epic poem entitled "The Vision of Columbus,"
which appeared anew in revised form in 1805 under the title of "The
Columbiad." It is a dull epic, but his "Hasty Pudding" is still read-
able. Ambassador to France in 1811. (See text.)

TIMOTHY DWIGHT (1752-1817). President of Yale College from 1795 to the
time of his death. A theologian whose works are still instructive. He
wrote the hymn, "I love Thy Kingdom, Lord," and the patriotic song,
"Columbia, Columbia, to Glory Arise."

JOHN ADAMS (1735-1826). Born in Massachusetts. A statesman of great
ability; ambassador to England in 1785, and second President of the
United States in 1797. He published an elaborate "Defense of the Con-
stitution of the United States" (3 vols.), in London in 1787.

MRS. SUSANNA ROWSON (1762-1824). A novelist of English birth, residing
in Boston. Her "Charlotte Temple" was the most popular story of its
day. Besides a half dozen novels, she wrote several dramatic pieces.

PHILLIS WHEATLEY (1753-1794). A verse writer of African birth. Brought
to this country as a slave, she was purchased by Mrs. Wheatley of Bos-
ton, by whom she was well educated. Her " Poems on Various Subjects "
were published in London in 1773, and gained a temporary popularity.

62 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

MIDDLE STATES.

CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN (1771-1810). The first American novelist.
Born in Philadelphia. He studied law, but abandoned it for literature.
He wrote " Wieland," " Ormond," and " Arthur Mervyn," all of which are
characterized by imaginative and sometimes weird ingenuity. (See text.)

FRANCIS HOPKINSON (1737-1791). A lawyer and politician, born in Phila-
delphia. One of the first graduates of the College of Philadelphia,
afterwards the University of Pennsylvania. One of the signers of the
Declaration of Independence. He wrote many satires, the best known
of which is "The Battle of the Kegs."

JOSEPH HOPKINSON (1770-1842). A distinguished lawyer. He graduated
at the University of Pennsylvania, and was a member of Congress in
1815-1819. He is best known as the author of " Hail Columbia," which
was written for the benefit of a player at a Philadelphia theatre.

PHILIP FRENEAU (1752-1832). A poet, editor, and political writer, born in
New York and educated at the College of New Jersey. Edited several
papers, among which were the N. Y. Daily Advertiser and the National
Gazette of Philadelphia. He published several volumes of poems, of
which "Lines to a Wild Honeysuckle" and "The Indian Burying
Ground" are regarded the best. (See text.)

THOMAS PAINE (1737-1809). A native of England, who came to Phila-
delphia in 1774. His pamphlet entitled "Common Sense," an able
defence of the American Colonies, won him the friendship of Washing-
ton, Franklin, and other distinguished American leaders. His " Rights
of Man" (1791) is an eloquent defence of the French Revolution. "The
Age of Reason," written while in a French prison, favors Deism.

HUGH HENRY BRACKENRIDGE (1748-1816). A lawyer and humorist of
Philadelphia, whose works were quite popular in their day. "Modern
Chivalry" was his principal work, though he wrote a dramatic poem,
"Bunker's Hill," and a few lyrics.

ALEXANDER WILSON (1766-1813). A Scottish poet and ornithologist, who
came to this country in 1794. His narrative poem, "Watty and Meg,"
had in its day an immense vogue 100,000 copies sold in a few weeks.
But his principal work is " American Ornithology."

VIRGINIA.

JAMES MADISON (1751-1836). A great statesman and political writer. He
was Secretary of State under Jefferson, and in 1809 became President.
One of the authors of the " Federalist."

REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 63

JOHN MARSHALL (1755-1835). A statesman, and Chief Justice of the United
States. He was a captain in the American Revolution, and Secretary
of State under John Adams. As Chief Justice, to which office he was
appointed in 1801, he was said to be "conscience made flesh, reason
incarnate." His "Life of Washington" is an elaborate and judicious
biography.

WILLIAM WiRT (1772-1834). A native of Maryland, he long resided in
Virginia, where he practised law and served in the legislature. He was
Attorney-General of the United States, 1817-1829. He afterwards settled
in Baltimore. He wrote " Letters of a British Spy," containing sketches
of popular orators, and a " Life of Patrick Henry," an excellent biography.

GEORGE WASHINGTON (1732-1799). Commander-in-chief during the Revo-
lution and first President of the United States. His writings, including
his diary and correspondence, fill fourteen volumes. His "Farewell Ad-
dress" would be sufficient to give him a place in the literature of his
country.

III.

THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD.
(1763-1815.)

THE Revolutionary Period embraces about fifty years,
and includes two events of great importance. The first
of these is the War of Independence ; the other, the adop-
tion of the Constitution. Around these two events gathers
nearly all the literature of the time. This literature can
be understood only as we comprehend the spirit and prin-
ciples of the founders of our republic. No other period
better illustrates the relation of literature to prevailing so-
cial conditions. For half a century the struggle against
British injustice and oppression, and the establishment of
a great national government, absorbed a large part of the
intellectual energies of the people. Great practical ques-
tions were pressing for solution. It was the age of politi-
cal pamphlets and popular oratory. The literature of the
time arose, not to enrich the treasures of artistic expression,
but to mould and move popular thought and action.

The leaders of the revolutionary movement were heroes.
We cannot peruse their determined and often eloquent
words without being moved with admiration. There is
an ardor in them that kindles anew the spirit of freedom.
The deliberate and resolute courage of the Revolutionary
patriots has never been surpassed. True to the spirit of
their forefathers, who had sought refuge from oppression

6 4

THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 65

in the wilds of a new continent, they were bravely jealous
of their liberties. With Anglo-Saxon fidelity they were
loyal to England until repeated and inexcusable acts of
tyranny drove them into resistance. It was only when
the hope of receiving justice from the mother country had
completely died out, that the desire and purpose of inde-
pendence arose.

The general cause of the Revolution was the stupid
and tyrannical claim of the British government " to bind
the colonies in all things whatsoever." The fatal course
of George III. and of his ministers may be best explained
as a madness sent from heaven, like the hardening of
Pharaoh's heart, to prepare the way for the coming of a
great nation. For many years the British king, supported
by Parliament, had pursued a policy of usurpation and tyr-
anny. The list of grievances in the^ Declaration of Inde-
pendence, where each statement points to a particular
fact, makes up a terrific indictment. Jefferson was only
faithful to facts when he declared, " The history of the
present king of Great Britain is a history of unremitting
injuries and usurpations, among which appears no solitary
fact to contradict the uniform tenor of the rest, but all
have in direct object the establishment of an absolute
tyranny over these states." The petitions and remon-
strances of the colonists remained unnoticed. The king
demanded absolute and abject submission.

But it was impossible that the people of America
should become a race of slaves. Liberty was a part of
their inheritance as Englishmen. They cherished the
memory of Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights of 1689.
The tragic fate of Charles I., brought to the block for his
tyranny, was not forgotten. The hardships and dangers

66 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

connected with the subjugation of an untamed continent
had served to develop their native strength, courage, and
independence. They were the last people in the world
tamely to submit to oppression and wrong. They main
tained that, by nature as well as by common law, the
right of taxation rests with the people. To take their
property by taxation without their consent was justly held
to be tyranny. When, in violation of this fundamental
principle of civil liberty, the British government persisted
in the claim to tax the colonies at pleasure, the inevitable
result was united and resolute resistance.

The necessities of the times produced a generation of
political thinkers and writers. The Continental Congress
of 1774, which included among its members Washington,
Jefferson, Franklin, and Adams, was one of extraordinary
ability. No abler legislative body ever came together.
The leaders of popular thought were forced to reflect upon
the fundamental principles of government. The result
was a clearness of vision in relation to human rights that
is almost without parallel. The discussions and state
papers of the time have extorted praise from the ablest
European statesmen. Many of the speeches of the time
possess an eloquence that compares favorably with the
highest oratory of either ancient or modern times. While
the belles-lettres literature of the Revolutionary Period is
insignificant in both quantity and quality, no more inter-
esting or important body of political literature was ever
brought together in the same space of time. It is neces-
sary to mention only the Declaration of Independence, the
Constitution, and "The Federalist."

In the beginning of the revolutionary movement, the
people of America did not aim at independence. They

THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 67

were loyal to England. At first their object was simply
to correct the injustice done them by the British govern-
ment. Their petitions were accompanied with sincere pro-
fessions of loyalty to the British crown. But the spirit
of independence imperceptibly gained in strength. At
last, as the conflict deepened, separation from Great Brit-
ain became inevitable. Submission and reconciliation were
no longer possible. On the 4th of July, 1776, the rep-
resentatives of the colonies, in Congress assembled, issued
their sublime Declaration of Independence, and America
entered upon its career of grandeur and freedom.

The Americans based the justice of their cause on two
grounds : first, their rights as Englishmen ; and second,
their natural rights as men. Since the days of the Great
Charter, the king had been denied the right of imposing
taxes at pleasure. The attempt to do so was an act of
tyranny that had aiready cost one king his head. The
colonies maintained that they were not under the jurisdic-
tion of Parliament. They were not represented in that
body. The right of taxation rested only with their own
popular assemblies. The effort of Parliament to impose
taxes upon them was, therefore, an evident usurpation of
authority.

But the American colonists went farther than a de-
fence of their rights under the constitution and common
law of England. They appealed to their natural rights as
men. ' Among the natural rights of the colonists," wrote
Samuel Adams in 1772, " are these : First, a right to life ;
secondly, to liberty; thirdly, to property together with
the right to support and defend them in the best manner
they can." In the Declaration of Independence the same
appeal is made to fundamental natural principles.

68 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The happy issue of the Revolution in 1783 settled
forever the questions which related to British oppression,
and which for twenty years had so largely occupied the
thought of Americans. Then followed an era of discus-
sion in relation to the form and powers of the national
government. During the Revolution there had been
no central power. Under the Articles of Confederation
adopted in 1778, the colonies were organized into a loose
confederacy. Congress was narrowly restricted in its
powers, and the ratification of nine States was necessary
to complete an act of legislation. "The fundamental de-
fect of the Confederation," says Jefferson, "was that Con-
gress was not authorized to act immediately on the people,
and by its own officers. Their power was only requisi-
tory ; and these requisitions were addressed to the several
legislatures, to be by them carried into execution, with-
out other coercion than the moral principle of duty. This
allowed, in fact, a negative to every legislature, on every
measure proposed by Congress ; a negative so frequently
exercised in practice, as to benumb the action of the Fed-
eral government, and to render it inefficient in its general
objects, and more especially in pecuniary and foreign con-
cerns." During the continuance of the Revolution, the
sense of common danger naturally held the colonies to-
gether. The requisitions of Congress were generally com-
plied with. But after the war, the country fell into great
disorder and distress, and the inadequacy of .the Confede-
ration became generally apparent.

Accordingly, in 1787, a general convention was held
in Philadelphia to revise the Articles of Confederation.
Washington was chosen president. A committee of revis-
ion submitted as its report the first draft of the present

THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 69

Constitution of the United States. The discussions, which
were secret, lasted for several months ; and in view of con-
flicting opinions and interests, the convention was several
times on the point of giving up in despair. The nation
trembled on the brink of dissolution and ruin. But in
each instance further deliberation resulted in compromise
and agreement. When completed, the Constitution did
not wholly satisfy any one ; it was unanimously accepted,
however, as the best result attainable under the circum-
stances. It remedied the obvious defects of the Articles
of Confederation. It established a national government
with legislative, executive, and judicial departments ; and
the results thus far have justified the judgment of Glad-
stone, that it is " the most wonderful work ever struck off
at a given time by the brain and purpose of man."

After the completion of the work of the convention,
the Constitution came before the people of the several
States for ratification or rejection. For the first time the
American people were divided into two great parties. All
local differences were swallowed up in the larger issue
relating to the national government. Those who favored
the adoption of the Constitution were known as Federal-
ists ; those who opposed it were called Anti-Federalists.
Political feeling ran high. The question of ratification
was discussed in the newspaper and debated in the public
assembly. Party opinion was sometimes emphasized by
mob violence. In New York the leader of the Anti-Fed-
eralists was Governor Clinton. The leader on the oppo-
site side was Hamilton, who, in co-operation with Madison
and Jay, largely influenced popular sentiment by the series
of powerful essays known collectively as "The Federalist."
In Virginia, Patrick Henry used all his influence and elo-

70 AMERICAN LITERATURE

quence to prevent the adoption of the Constitution ; but
he was successfully opposed by Edmund Randolph, gov-
ernor cf the State.

The general ground of opposition lay, first, in dislike
of a strong national government ; and secondly, in the
absence of sufficient guarantees (since supplied by amend-
ments) to secure the liberties of the people. The reasons
in favor of adoption are succinctly stated in the preamble
of the Constitution itself : namely, " to form a more per-
fect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquillity,
provide for the common defence, promote the general wel-
fare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and
our posterity."

In spite of the strong feeling against the Constitution,
it was ratified by eleven States before the end of 1788.
The following year the new government was inaugurated,
with Washington as the unanimous choice of the people
for president. There remained, however, many perplex-
ing questions to be settled. The financial policy of the
government ; the relations of the United States with
foreign powers; the acquisition of new territory these
were some of the questions that engaged the attention
of thoughtful minds. In 1812 it again became necessary
to meet British insolence and aggression by force. The
ground of hostilities was compressed into the rallying cry
of " Free trade and sailors' rights." In a conflict lasting
more than two years, England was again defeated. With
the happy solution of all these problems, and the rapid
development in population and wealth, the United States
at last assumed an honorable place among the great family
of nations.

Such were the prevailing influences controlling litera-

THE KEl'OLVTIOXAKY PERIOD, 71

ture during the Revolutionary Period. It would be a mis-
take, however, to suppose that the entire literary activity
of the country was confined to popular oratory, political
pamphlets, and official documents. Theology was not en-
tirely neglected; and Timothy Dwight's "Theology Ex-
plained and Defended," in a series of sermons, was a
standard in its day, and may still be studied with profit.
The mighty influences at work naturally sought an auxil-
iary in poetry. Accordingly, we find a large' number of
satires, more or less extended, many popular ballads,
mostly crude in composition, and at least one pretentious
epic, so stately and tedious that it is never read. Here
and there we find a poem or other literary production
independent of the political controversies of the time.
Such is Philip Freneau's " The Wild Honeysuckle : " -

" Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,

Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honey'd blossoms blo\\ ;
Unseen thy little branches greet;
No roving foot shall find thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear."

Here should be mentioned the works of Charles Brock-
den Brown, who among our native authors has the credit of
first adopting literature as a profession. His early years
were marked by an extraordinary fondness for study and
by a rare precocity of genius. Virgil and Homer stirred
his poetic impulses, and scarcely out of school, he planned
three epic poems connected with American history. Colum-
bus, Cortez, and Pizarro appealed to him as epic heroes.

He first gave himself to the practice of law ; but like
not a few others in the history of American literature, he

72 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

soon abandoned the bar for the pen. He became a con-
tributor to the periodical literature of New York and
Philadelphia, and in 1803, in the latter city, he founded
the Literary Magazine and American Register, which had
a career of five years. He was not indifferent to the
political questions of his day ; and in his " Cession of
Louisiana to France," he advocated, with decided energy
of style, the purchase of that region and the progressive
territorial expansion of the United States.

But Brown's principal claim to a place in the history of
our literature depends upon his fiction. In spite of his
feeble health, which necessitated the utmost care in diet
and exercise, he wrote no fewer than six novels, among
which " Wieland," " Ormond," "Arthur Mervyn," and
" Edgar Huntley " deserve special mention. He was
influenced in his matter and style by the English novelist
William Godwin, in whose " Caleb Williams " he finds
"transcendent merits as compared to the mass of novels."
He deals with the mysterious; but in spite of their improb-
ability, his novels still possess an unmistakable power.
Though lacking in the delineation of character, he has
something of Poe's power in describing weird scenes and
morbid psychologic conditions.

The principal satire of the period is John Trumbull's
" McFingal," which was undertaken, as he tells us, " with
a political view, at the instigation of some leading mem-
bers of the first Congress," and was published in part in
Philadelphia in 1775. It is written in imitation of But-
ler's " Hudibras," and does not suffer in comparison with
that famous satire upon the Puritans of England. Some
of its lines are easily mistaken for Butler's, and have been
so quoted ; for example :

THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 73

"A thief ne'er felt the halter draw
With good opinion of the law."

Or this,

" For any man with half an eye
What stands before him may espy;
But optics sharp it needs, I ween,
To see what is not to be seen."

Trumbull does not always spare his countrymen. In
the following lines there is a very good hit at slavery.
After describing the erection of a liberty-pole, he con-
tinues :

" And on its top, the flag unfurled
Waved triumph o'er the gazing world,
Inscribed with inconsistent types
Of liberty and thirteen stripes."

The hero McFingal is a Tory squire, who in resisting
the Whigs comes to grief, and suffers the peculiar revolu-
tionary punishment of tar and feathers.

" Yankee Doodle " belongs to this period. The tune
is an old one ; and the hero himself, who had previously
figured in Holland and England, may be regarded as
American only by adoption. The song was first used in
derision of the motley troops of the colonies; but like
many another term of reproach, Yankee Doodle was taken
up by the American soldiery, and made a designation of
honor. The first complete set of words appears to date
from 1775, and is entitled "The Yankee's Return from
Camp."

" Father and I went down to camp
Along with Captain Gooding ;
And there we see the Ynen and boys
As thick as hasty-pudding."

In 1807 "The Columbiad," an epic poem in ten books,
by Joel Barlow, made its appearance in a sumptuous edi-

74 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

tion. It is our first epic' poem, and this fact constitutes
its principal claim upon our attention. The plan of the
work is very simple. While Columbus is lying in prison,
the victim of his country's ingratitude, Hesper appears,
and conducts him to the " hill of vision " commanding the
western continent. Here the celestial visitant unfolds to
the great discoverer the history of America, including the
conquest of Mexico by Cortez, the establishment of the
English colonies, the French and Indian War, and the Rev-
olution. Last of all, " the progress and influences of mod-
ern art and science are pointed out, the advantages of
the federal government, and of a larger confederation of
nations, with an assimilation and unity of language ; an
abandonment of war, and a final blaze of rockets over the
emancipation of the world from prejudice, and a general
millennium of philosophic joy and freedom."

THOMAS JEFFERSON.

Do great epochs make great men, or do great men make
great epochs ? This question has often been discussed; and
the consideration of every important era is likely to start it
afresh. Neither question is true to the exclusion of the other.
Great epochs and great men go together, each exerting an in-
fluence upon the other. In a nation, as in an individual,
there is usually a large amount of ability unutilized. Under
ordinary conditions it lies latent. When there comes that
conflict of ideas, and often of physical force, which marks a
new stage in human progress, the latent energies of the people
are roused to action: great men rise to meet the responsibili-
ties and to seize the opportunities presented to them. They
often succeed in directing or controlling the new movement,
and out of chaos they bring forth order and beauty.

Among the great men developed and brought into promi-
nence by the conflict with Great Britain, a very high place
must be assigned to Thomas Jefferson. After Washington,
whom a grateful country has invested with an almost ideal
beauty, he must be ranked with Adams, Franklin, and Hamil-
ton, as one of the founders of our republic. Among the many
distinguished sons whom Virginia has given to America, Jef-
ferson stands very close after "the father of his country."
His labors in the Legislature of Virginia, in the Continental
Congress, and afterwards in the president's chair, displayed
the wisdom and the patriotism of a great statesman.

Thomas Jefferson was born in Albemarle County, April 2,
1743. His father, who was of .Welsh descent, was a man of
no great learning, but of excellent judgment and great physi-
cal strength. His mother, who was a Randolph, belonged to

76 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

one of the most distinguished Virginia families. The Ran-
dolphs traced their pedigree to noble families in England and
Scotland a fact "to which," says Jefferson in his "Auto-
biography," "let every one ascribe the faith and merit he
chooses." Considering the mental and physical traits of his
father and mother, we see that Jefferson was fortunate in his
parentage.

After an excellent preparatory training, including English,
French, Latin, and Greek, Jefferson entered William and
Mary College, which was generally patronized at that time by
the aristocratic families of Virginia. He was a diligent stu-
dent, often working, as he tells us, fifteen hours a day. He
united a decided taste for both mathematics and the classics.
He had little taste for fiction, and it is said that "Don Qui-
xote " is the only novel he ever keenly relished or read a sec-
ond time. He delighted in poetry, and read Homer, Horace,
Tasso, Moliere, Shakespeare, Milton, and Pope. For a time
he was extravagantly fond of Ossian, and "was not ashamed
to own that he thought this rude bard of the North the great-
est poet that had ever existed/' But many years before his
death he formed a juster estimate of Macpherson's forgeries.
He took no interest in metaphysical studies, and frequently
expressed "unmitigated contempt for Plato and his writings."

While in Williamsburg, at that time the capital of the
State, Jefferson became a law student under George Wythe,
one of the ablest and purest lawyers Virginia has produced.
He won the favor of Governor Fauquier, at whose table he
was a frequent guest. "With him," Jefferson writes, "Dr.
Small and Mr. Wythe, his amid omnium horarum, and myself
formed a partie quarree, and to the habitual conversations on
these occasions I owed much instruction." This intimate fel-
lowship with learned and distinguished men while he was yet
scarcely out of his teens, indicates the presence of no ordinary
intellectual and social gifts.

In 1767, at the age of twenty-four, Jefferson entered upon
the practice of law. His preparation had been thorough, and

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 77

he was eminently successful from the start. Though he was
not, like his friend Patrick Henry, an eloquent speaker, he was
a man of excellent judgment and untiring industry. While ca-
pable of seizing at once upon the strong points of a case, he
had a genius for details. Nothing can surpass the minuteness
of his observations, and the patience of his methodical clas-
sification. He was rapidly advancing to a prominent place
among the ablest lawyers of Virginia, when the struggle with
Great Britain called him to a wider and more important field
of action.

In 1769 Jefferson was elected a member of the Virginia
House of Burgesses for his native county. The aristocratic
class, to which he belonged by birth and association, was gen-
erally conservative. They were loyal to the English crown and
to the English church. It speaks forcibly for Jefferson's pa-
triotism and for his noble independence of character, that he
threw off his inherited prejudices and sided with the colonies.
At this meeting of the House of Burgesses resolutions were
passed boldly declaring that the right of levying taxes in Vir-
ginia belonged to themselves; that they possessed the privi-
lege of petitioning the king for a redress of grievances; and
that the transportation to England of persons accused of
treason in the colonies, in order to be tried there, was uncon-
stitutional and unjust. In advocating these resolutions, Jef-
ferson took a decided and prominent part.

In 1772 Jefferson married Mrs. Martha Skelton, a young
widow of great attractions in person, mind, and estate. She
was of frank, warm-hearted disposition; and "last, not least,
she had already proved herself a true daughter of the Old
Dominion in the department of house-wifery." She added to
her husband's estate, which was already very large, about forty
thousand acres of land and one hundred and thirty-five slaves.
Thus they were unembarrassed by those disagreeable domestic
economies that sometimes interfere with wedded bliss; and
Monticello became as noted for bounteous hospitality as for
domestic felicity.

78 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

In 1773 Jefferson was again in the House of Burgesses.
The gathering storm became more threatening. A resolution,
ordering the appointment of a committee of correspondence
with the other colonies, was passed. Jefferson was a leading
member of this committee, and its duties were promptly and
ably discharged. The result was of the highest importance.
Similar committees were appointed in the other colonies; and
thus a means of communication was opened among them, the
feeling of common interest was strengthened, and a general
congress met the following year to consider the great questions
that were agitating the continent.

In 1774 the British Parliament, in retaliation for the famous
"Tea Party," passed the Boston Port Bill, which aimed to
deprive that town of its foreign trade. When the news of
this bill reached Williamsburg, the patriot leaders, Jefferson,
Henry, the Lees, and others, met as usual for consultation,
and resolved to take steps to rouse the "people from the
lethargy into which they had fallen." A day of fasting and
prayer was agreed on as the best expedient to accomplish their
object. Accordingly, a resolution was "cooked up," to use
Jefferson's rather irreverent phrase, "appointing the first day
of June, on which the Port Bill was to commence, for a day
of fasting, humiliation, and prayer, to implore Heaven to avert
from us the evils of civil war, to inspire us with firmness in
the support of our rights, and to turn the hearts of the king
and parliament to moderation and justice." The scheme was
successfully carried through. The day was fittingly observed;
and the effect throughout the colony was like an electric
shock, arousing every man to a sense of the situation.

Jefferson was prevented by illness from attending the con-
vention which met several months later to elect delegates to
the first general congress. But he forwarded a paper which he
proposed as instructions for their guidance. The paper was
regarded as too strong for formal adoption by the convention ;
but it was ordered to be printed in pamphlet form, under the
title of "A Summary View of the Rights of British America."

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 79

It is a production remarkable for its strong statement of the
natural and constitutional rights of the colonies, and for a
particular enumeration of the various acts of injustice and
tyranny on the part of the British government. It supplied
principles, facts, and phrases for the Declaration of Indepen-
dence two years later.

In June, 1775, Jefferson took his seat in the Continental
Congress. He was then thirty-two years old the youngest
member but one in that illustrious body. His reputation as
a writer and patriot had preceded him, and he accordingly met
with a flattering reception. He now entered upon that larger
sphere of action that closely identified him for many years
with his country's history. On the floor of Congress he spoke
but little, for he was neither an orator nor a debater. But he
was so clear in his convictions, and so active in committee
and in his personal relations with his fellow-members, that he
exerted a strong influence. " Prompt, frank, explicit, and de-
cisive" are the terms in which John Adams described him at
this period. He had been in Congress but five days when he
was appointed on a committee to prepare a report on "the
causes of taking up arms against England." Here, as in the
Virginia legislature, he showed himself bold, resolute, and
defiant.

Events of great importance now followed one another in
rapid succession. The blood shed at Lexington and Bunker
Hill had thoroughly roused the American people. Reconcil-
iation was recognized, even by the most conservative, as no
longer possible. The colonies, throwing off British rule, were
organizing independent governments. On the 7th of June
Richard Henry Lee, acting under instructions from the Vir-
ginia convention, offered in Congress a resolution declaring
that the "United States are, and of a right ought to be, free
and independent states." As it seemed impossible to secure
unanimity of action at that time, a final vote was postponed
till the first of July. Meanwhile, a committee, consisting of
Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger

8o . AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Sherman, and Robert Livingston, was appointed to prepare
a suitable Declaration of Independence. The preparation of
this important document was devolved upon Jefferson. Adams
and Franklin made a few verbal changes. When taken up
in Congress, it was discussed for two days, and numerous
changes and omissions were made. Finally, on July 4, 1776,
it was almost unanimously adopted, and the foundation of a
great republic was laid.

A new government had been established in Virginia, and
Jefferson elected a member of the legislature. Believing that
he could render important service to his native State, where
there were "many very vicious points which urgently required
reformation," he resigned his seat in Congress. He became
once more a leading spirit in the legislature of Virginia, and
carried through several bills which changed in large measure
the subsequent social condition of the State. Among these
was a bill abolishing the system of entails, and another estab-
lishing religious freedom, one of the three great acts of his
life for which he wished to be remembered.

It was also in connection with a bill requiring a general
revision of the laws that Jefferson proposed his educational
system, providing for the establishment of schools of every
grade. Had it been carried out, it would have contributed
immeasurably to the intelligence of the people and the pros-
perity of the State. His plan contemplated, to use his own
words, "ist. Elementary schools, for all children generally,
rich and poor. 2d. Colleges for a middle degree of instruc-
tion, calculated for the common purposes of life, and such as
would be desirable for all who were in easy circumstances.
And 3d. An ultimate grade for teaching the sciences gen-
erally, and in their highest degree." The support of these
schools was to be provided for by general taxation. But inas-
much as the system thus threw on the rich and aristocratic
classes, who had the law-making power in their hands, a large
part of the burden of educating the poor, it was never carried
into effect.

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 8 1

It is beyond the limits of this sketch to trace at any length
the subsequent public career of Jefferson. In 1779 he was
elected governor of Virginia, and discharged the duties of that
office, at a difficult period, with fidelity and ability. In 1783
he was again elected a delegate to Congress. The currency of
the country coming under discussion, Jefferson proposed the
dollar as our unit of account and payment, and its subdivision
into dimes, cents, and mills in the decimal ratio the system,
it is needless to say, that was adopted. In 1784 he was ap-
pointed to go to France, for the purpose of negotiating, in
connection with Franklin and Adams, treaties of commerce.
After a time he was appointed minister to the Court of Ver-
sailles, where his talents, culture, and character reflected credit
upon his country.

In 1789 Jefferson received permission to return to this coun-
try. During his absence the Constitution had been adopted,
and the new government inaugurated, with Washington as
President. Jefferson accepted a place in the cabinet as Sec-
retary of State. He reached New York, the seat of govern-
ment at that time, in March, 1790. Having left France the
first year of its Revolution, he was filled with ardor for the
natural rights of man. He was therefore surprised and grieved
to find, as he thought, a sentiment prevailing in favor of a con-
solidated or even monarchical form of government.

This introduces us to a new phase in Jefferson's life. With
immovable convictions in favor of democratic principles, he
opposed with all his might the tendency to consolidate or
centralize the federal government. He became the recognized
leader of the party in favor of State rights and a general gov-
ernment of restricted and carefully defined powers. His op-
ponent in the cabinet was Alexander Hamilton, a man of
extraordinary ability and energy, who for time exerted great
influence upon the policy of the government. In spite of
Washington's effort to preserve harmony, the irreconcilable
conflict of principles between the Secretary of State and the
Secretary of the Treasury degenerated into bitter personal hos-

82 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

tility. At length, in December, 1793, Jefferson carried out his
long-cherished purpose of resigning.

During the next several years, Jefferson lived upon his es-
tate at Monticello, engaged in the agricultural pursuits for which
he had longed for many years. But he was not to spend the
rest of his life in retirement. In the election of 1801, which
was attended with extraordinary excitement and danger to the
republic, the Federalists, who had controlled the government
for twelve years, were defeated. Their party was divided,
and the Alien and Sedition Laws were not sustained by public
sentiment. Jefferson, the candidate of the Republican or Dem-
ocratic party, was chosen President. In his inaugural address
he laid down an admirable summary of principles, among
which were "equal and exact justice to all men, of whatever
state or persuasion, religious or political; peace, commerce,
and honest friendship with all nations; entangling alliances
with none; absolute acquiescence in the decisions of the ma-
jority; and economy in the public expense that labor may be
lightly burdened."

His administration, in conformity with the principles he
had announced, was a brilliant one. He introduced republi-
can simplicity in place of the stately formalities of previous
administrations. He greatly reduced the public debt; the
territorial area of the United States was doubled; taxes were
decreased; a war with France and Spain was honorably
averted; the Barbary pirates were subdued; and the internal
prosperity of the country vastly increased. His popularity
became second only to that of Washington himself. He was
accordingly re-elected for a second term, throughout which he
continued, likewise, to administer the affairs of the govern-
ment with great wisdom and broad statesmanship.

In 1809, after witnessing the inauguration of his succes-
sor, Madison, Jefferson left Washington for Monticello. After
forty years of political" turmoil and strife, he retired finally
to the seclusion of private life. During this closing period,
which was burdened bv financial embarrassment, he gave much

THOMAS JEFFERSON 83

time and labor to the founding of the University of Virginia.
He planned the buildings, designated the departments of in-
struction, and framed the laws for its government. As presi-
dent of the Board, he exerted a controlling influence for a
number of years. The scheme of government at first proposed,
which included a co-operative feature, did not come up- to his
expectations. It erred on the side of laxity; and very soon a
spirit of riot and insubordination among the students brought
the university to the verge of dissolution. Stricter regulations
were afterwards adopted, and the university entered upon its
career of usefulness and honor.

With advancing years naturally came increased infirmity.
As the end drew near in the summer of 1826, he earnestly de-
sired to see one more return of the day that commemorated
the Declaration of Independence. His prayer was heard. He
passed away on the morning of July 4, fifty years after the
adoption of his immortal Declaration. A nation mourned his
death. The voice of partisan prejudice was lost for a time in
the general homage paid to his life and character. He was
buried at Monticello, where a modest granite shaft marks his
resting-place. It bears the inscription composed by himself
and found among his papers :

HERE LIES BURIED

THOMAS JEFFERSON,

AUTHOR OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE,

OF THE STATUTE OF VIRGINIA FOR RELIGIOUS FREEDOM,

AND FATHER OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA.

The general features of his character have been Drought
out in the course of this sketch. He was a frank and honest
man; and as. he expressed himself freely in his writings, we
have ample facilities for knowing him well. His intellect
was capacious, penetrating, and strong. To the refinement
of a superior literary culture he added rich stores of general
information. He was singularly independent in thought and

84 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

action a natural leader among men. He was a prince among
statesmen. The services he rendered his country are second
only to those of Washington. His fundamental political faith
was that all legitimate government is based on the consent of
the governed. He had faith in humanity, and was opposed
to aristocratic institutions of every kind. He was the friend
of popular liberty. His integrity was above reproach. He
loved a life of simplicity and retirement; and nowhere else
does he appear more admirable than in the patriarchal dignity
with which he presided over his large estate and numerous de-
pendents at Monticello.

ALEXANDER HAMILTON 85

ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

IT is not without reason that we inquire after the ances-
try of our great men. The transmission of personal and na-
tional traits from parents to children is a well-established fact.
While heredity does not explain every peculiarity in offspring,
it often furnishes us a key to leading traits. In order to un-
derstand any character thoroughly, it is necessary to know his
antecedents. All this is illustrated in Alexander Hamilton,
who was born en the island of Nevis, Jan. n, 1757. "From
his father, a cool, deliberate, calculating Scotchman, he inher-
ited the shrewdness, the logical habits of thought, which con-
stitute the peculiar glory of the Scottish mind. From his
mother, a lady of French extraction, and the daughter of a
Huguenot exile, he inherited the easy manners, the liveliness
and vivacity, the keen sense of humor, the desire and the abil-
ity to please, which so eminently distinguish the children of
the Celtic race." 1

When yet a mere boy, he was placed in a clerkship, and
intrusted with the management of important interests. He met
the responsibilities thrown upon him with extraordinary abil-
ity. But he was not at peace in the drudgery of his position.
He felt in himself, as many other great men have felt in youth,
the promise of higher things. In a letter preserved to us from
this period, he says: "I contemn the grovelling condition of
a clerk, or the like, to which my fortune condemns me, and
would willingly risk my life, though not my character, to exalt
my station. I am confident, Ned, that my youth excludes me
from any hopes of immediate preferment, nor do I desire it;
but I mean to prepare the way for futurity." This ambitious
l McMaster, History of the People of ihe United States.

86 AMERICAiV LITERATURE.

purpose in a boy of thirteen contains the promise of future
distinction.

He had a decided bent for literature. Pope and Plutarch
were at that time his favorite authors. His unusual abilities
began to attract attention, and finally funds were provided to
send him to America, where a wider field of opportunity was
open to him. He reached Boston in October, 1772, and thence
went to New York. By the advice of judicious friends, he en-
tered a grammar school at Elizabethtown, where he pursued
his studies with restless energy. His literary instinct found
vent in both prose and poetry, which possessed noteworthy
merit. At the end of a year he entered King's (afterwards
Columbia) College, where he continued his studies with char-
acteristic vigor. "In the debating club," it has been said,
"he was the most effective speaker; in the recitation-room, the
most thorough scholar ; on the green, the most charming
friend; in the trial of wit, the keenest satirist." Those who
knew "the young West Indian," as he was called, recognized
something extraordinary in him, and vaguely speculated about
his promising future.

The colonies were now deeply stirred over their relations
with England. The Revolutionary storm was gathering fast.
Which side of the conflict was the promising young collegian
to espouse? His inclinations were at first on the side of Great
Britain; but it was not long "until he became convinced," to
use his own words, "by the superior force of the arguments in
favor of the colonial claims." Perhaps he instinctively felt,
or with keen penetration discerned, that the eminence to which
he aspired lay on the colonial side. An occasion was soon
offered to embark in the patriot cause. A mass-meeting was
held in July, 1774, to urge New York, which was in possession
of the Tories, to take its place along with the other colonies
in resisting British aggression. Hamilton was present; and
not satisfied with the presentation of the colonial cause in
the speeches already delivered, he made his way to the stand,
and after a few moments of embarrassment and hesitation, he

ALEXANDER HAMILTON. /

astonished and captivated the crowd by an extraordinary out-
burst of youthful oratory.

During the Revolutionary Period public opinion was
largely influenced by political pamphlets and elaborate dis-
cussions in the newspapers. Hamilton was soon introduced
into this species of controversy, for which his natural abilities
fitted him in an eminent degree. In the discussion of politi-
cal and constitutional questions he had no superior. In 1774
there appeared two ably written tracts that attacked the Conti-
nental Congress, and did the patriot cause considerable harm.
To counteract their influence, Hamilton wrote two pamphlets
in reply; and so ably did he vindicate the claims of the colo-
nies, that in spite of his youth he at once took rank as a leader
among the patriots.

Once fairly enlisted in the cause of American liberty,
Hamilton's fiery nature made him active and aggressive. -By
pen and voice he continued to mould public opinion. But his
ardor never betrayed him into rashness. His love of order and
justice restrained him from inconsiderate violence. He even
risked his life and (what was perhaps more to him) his repu-
tation with the people, in resisting the madness of a mob.
When the British ship of war Asia opened fire on New York,
a mob thronged the streets, threatening destruction to every
Tory.. Dr. Cooper, the. president of the college, was one of
the most prominent adherents of the crown; and thither the
crowd rushed, bent upon mischief. But Hamilton already stood
on the steps of the building, and arrested the tumultuous
throng with his vigorous expostulations.

But Hamilton's efforts in behalf of the colonies were not
confined to words. After the battles of Lexington and Bunker
Hill, it became increasingly evident that a peaceful solution
of the controversy with Grea; Britain was no longer possible.
In preparation for the inevitable appeal to arms, Hamilton
studied military science, and to gain practical experience
joined a company of volunteers. In several trying situations
he displayed unflinching courage. In 1776 the New York

88 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

convention ordered the organization of an artillery company
Hamilton made application for the command, and established
his fitness by a successful examination. He rapidly recruited
his company, and expended of his own means to equip it.
By constant drill he brought it to a high degree of efficiency.
At the battle of Long Island and of White Plains his battery
rendered effective service. At the end of six months Hamil-
ton had won the reputation of a brave and brilliant officer.

The ability of Hamilton did not escape the attention of the
commander-in-chief. Accordingly, in March, 1777, he was
appointed a member of Washington's staff, with the rank of
lieutenant-colonel. During the next four years he was inti-
mately associated with the commanding general, and in vari-
ous capacities rendered him valuable aid. His chief duty,
however, was the conduct of Washington's large correspon-
dence. For this work his great natural gifts, as well as his
previous training, peculiarly fitted him. A large part of the
letters and proclamations issuing from headquarters at this
time were the work of Hamilton. No doubt the great com-
mander indicated their substance; but their admirable form
was due, in part at least, to the skill of his able secretary.

But Hamilton's connection with Washington's staff Came
to an abrupt and unexpected end in February, 1781. Having
been sent for by the commander-in-dyef, he failed to respond
promptly to the summons. When he made his appearance,
after a brief delay, he was sharply reproved by Washington,
who charged him with disrespect. The rebuke touched Hamil-
ton's high-strung nature, and he replied: "I am not conscious
of it, Sir; but since you have thought it, we part." Under all
the circumstances it seems difficult to justify this outburst of
the youthful aide. But he never liked the office of an aide-
de-camp; and there is reason to believe that he was irritated
because he had not been preferred to more important posts
to which he aspired. Though he rejected Washington's over-
tures looking to a restoration of their former relations, he con-
tinued to serve in the army with the rank of colonel, and at

ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 89

Yorktown he led an assault upon a British redoubt with resist-
less impetuosity.

Hamilton was never popular with the masses. His posi-
tive and aggressive character raised him above the low arts of
the demagogue. He preferred to guide rather than to flattef
the people. But he was never without loyal friends. His ex-
traordinary force of character made him a centre of attraction
for less positive natures. While his natural gifts made him
a recognized leader, his generous nature inspired a loyal de-
votion. He was popular with his associates in the army; and
the French officers especially, whose language he spoke with
native fluency, regarded him with enthusiastic affection.

Whether under favorable circumstances Hamilton would
have made a great general must remain a matter of specula-
tion. But war was not the sphere for which his talents were
best adapted. He was eminently gifted to be a statesman;
and while in active service in the army, he could not refrain
from considering the political and financial needs of the coun-
try, and from suggesting a remedy for existing evils. In 1780
he addressed to Robert Morris, the financier of the Revolution,
an anonymous letter, which is noted for the penetration with
which it treats of the financial difficulties of the colonies.

But Hamilton's thirst for military and civic glory did not
prevent him from falling in love. There is no security against
the shafts of Cupid but flight. On Dec. 14, 1780, he married
Misc Elizabeth Schuyler, daughter of General Schuyler, and
a charming and intelligent woman. Apart from the domestic
happiness it brought him, the marriage allied him to an old,
wealthy, and influential family. The only fortune Hamilton
brought his bride was his brilliant talents and growing repu-
tation; but when his father-in-law generously offered him finan-
cial aid, he proudly declined to receive it. Conscious of his
abilities, he felt able to make his way in the world alone.
After leaving the army he entered upon the study of law, and
after a brief course he was admitted to the bar in 1782. His
strong logical mind and his great force of character fitted him

9 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

to achieve distinction in the legal profession. But his coun-
try had need of his services in a different and higher sphere.

In November, 1782, he took his seat in Congress. That
body had sadly declined in ability and prestige. It was in-
capable of grappling with the serious problems that presented
themselves, and the country seemed to be rapidly drifting to
destruction. No longer held together by a sense of common
danger, the Confederation was on the point of disintegrating.
There was no adequate revenue ; the debts of the government
were unprovided for; and the army was about to be disbanded
without receiving its long arrears of pay. Hamilton made
strenuous efforts to correct these evils. He advocated the
levying of a duty on imports ; set forth the necessity of main-
taining the public credit and public honor; and urged a just
and generous treatment of the army that had achieved Ameri-
can independence. But his efforts were in vain. The pusil-
lanimous body could not rise equal to the situation. Local
interests and jealousies prevailed over broad and patriotic sen-
timents. Hamilton's career in Congress was not, however,
without important results. It increased his reputation as a
patriotic statesman, and also excited that distrust in demo-
cratic institutions that ever afterwards made him an advocate
of a strongly centralized and, as some claimed, a monarchical
form of government.

Hamilton's greatest service followed the adoption of the
Constitution by the convention. Though he was not thor-
oughly satisfied with it, he gave it his hearty support as the
best thing attainable under existing conditions, and as a great
improvement on the Articles of Confederation. In New York,
as in the other States, there was a strong sentiment against the
Constitution. The opposition was thoroughly organized and
ably led. As a part of the plan to prevent the ratification of
the Constitution, it was attacked in a series of elaborate and
well-planned essays. This was a field in which Hamilton was
well-nigh matchless. He accepted the challenge, and with the
assistance of Madison and Jay he prepared that powerful series

ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 91

of eighty-five essays forming the "Federalist." The effect
was immediate and far-reaching. The " Federalist " did more
than any other writing to secure the adoption and support of
the Constitution throughout the country. It is a profound dis-
quisition on the principles of our government, and has since
been quoted as of the highest authority on constitutional ques-
tions.

But it is more than a political and controversial treatise.
Its masterly style raises it to the rank of real literature. Most
of the controversial writings of the Revolutionary Period have
been forgotten. Having served their temporary purpose, they
have been swept into oblivion. But the "Federalist" endures
as one of the masterpieces of the human reason. Its sustained
power is wonderful. The argument, clothed in elevated, strong,
and sometimes eloquent language, moves forward with a mighty
momentum that sweeps away everything before it. It is hardly
surpassed in the literature of the world as a model of master-
ful popular reasoning. By this production Hamilton won for
himself a foremost place in the literature of his time.

But the "Federalist" was not the only service he rendered
the Constitution. It was chiefly through his able leadership
that the New York convention adopted the Constitution. The
result was one of the most noted triumphs ever achieved in a
deliberative body. When the convention assembled, the Clin-
tonian or Anti- Federalist party had forty-six out of sixty-five
votes. "Two-thirds of the convention," wrote Hamilton, "and
four-sevenths o~ die people, are against us." In spite of the
great odds against him, he entered into the contest with reso-
lute purpose. The Anti-Federalists employed every artifice
known to parliamentary tactics to delay and defeat ratification.
Day after day the battle raged. Hamilton was constantly on
his feet, defending, explaining, and advocating the Constitu-
tion. His mastery of the subject was complete; and gradu-
ally, his cogent and eloquent reasoning overcame partisan
prejudice. "At length Hamilton arose in the convention,
and stating that Virginia had ratified the Constitution, and

92 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

that the Union was thereby an accomplished fact, moved that
they cease their contentions, and add New York to the new
empire of Republican States." The vote was taken, and the
Constitution adopted.

The new government was organized early in 1789; and
upon the establishment of the Treasury Department in Septem-
ber, Hamilton was called by Washington to tak^ charge of it.
His practical wisdom never shone to better advantage. As
Secretary of the Treasury, he left his impress upon the institu-
tions of his country. He gave to the Treasury Department
the organization it has since substantially retained. He was,
perhaps, the master-spirit in putting the new government into
practical operation.

The opposition to Hamilton's policy, which constantly
aimed at strengthening the national government, at length took
form as the Republican or Democratic party. Jefferson natu-
rally became its head. Intensely republican at heart, he had
come to entertain exaggerated, and even morbid, views con-
cerning what he believed to be the monarchical aims of the
Federalists. As a patriot and leader, he felt it his duty to
arrest as far as possible this centralizing tendency. His re-
lations with Hamilton in the cabinet, to use his own phrase,
suggested the attitude of "two cocks in a pit." The feud at
length grew beyond Washington's power of conciliation, and
Jefferson finally withdrew from the cabinet.

It is impossible, within the narrow limits of this sketch,
to follow Hamilton through all the labors and controversies of
his political career. He sometimes made mistakes, as in sup-
porting the odious Alien and Sedition Laws; but beyond all
question he stood among the foremost statesmen of his time.
By some he is assigned the highest place. " There is not in
the Constitution of the United States," says Guizot, "an
element of order, of force, of duration, which he did not
powerfully contribute to introduce into it, and to cause to pre-
dominate." Tallyrand, who saw Hamilton in New York, said:
" I consider Napoleon, Fox, and Hamilton the three greatest

ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 93

men of our epoch, and without hesitation I award the first
place to Hamilton." His official integrity, though, alas! not
his moral character, was unsullied. The investigation of his
conduct as Secretary of the Treasury, set on foot by his ene-
mies in Congress, recoiled upon their own heads.

After serving nearly six years in Washington's cabinet, he
retired in 1795 to private life, to gain an adequate support for
his family. He resumed the practice of his profession in New
York. His brilliant abilities and distinguished public services
immediately brought him an extensive practice. He speedily
rose to the head of the bar. His legal acumen was profound,
while his clear thought, copious and forcible language, and pas-
sionate energy of will, gave him great power as an advocate.

But the end was drawing near. His brilliant career was
cut short by the requirements of a false and barbarous " code
of honor." Hamilton did not allow his professional labors to
destroy his interest in public affairs. He continued the leader
of the Federalist party, not only in his adopted State, but in
the country at large. In the political contests of New York,
his principal opponent was Aaron Burr, a brilliant but unprin-
cipled man. Hamilton had twice thwarted Burr's political
ambition. When at last he brought about the latter's defeat
for the governorship of New York, Burr resolved upon a deadly
revenge. He sought a quarrel with Hamilton, and then chal-
lenged him. The duel was fought at Weehawken, July n,
1804. At the first fire Hamilton fell mortally wounded, dis-
charging his pistol in the air. His death caused an outburst
of sorrow and indignation that has scarcely been surpassed in
the history of our country.

In person Hamilton was considerably under .size. But
there was a force in his personality, a fire in his impassioned
eye, that made him impressive. He was one of the most ef-
fective speakers of his "time. In his social relations he was
genial, high-spirited, and generous. He was idolized by his
family. Though he was never popular with the masses, whom
he distrusted, he had the power of surrounding himself with a

94 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

band of able and loyal followers. He was a great constructive
thinker a leader of leaders. In the judgment of his rival
Jefferson, he was " of acute understanding, disinterested, hon-
est, and honorable in all private transactions, amiable in so-
ciety, and duly valuing virtue in private life." Chancellor
Kent pays a tribute to "his profound penetration, his power
of analysis, the comprehensive grasp and strength of his un-
derstanding, and the firmness, frankness, and integrity of his
character." Like all great men, perhaps, Hamilton was con-
scious of his power; and at times it made him self-assertive
and dictatorial. He relied for success, not upon treacherous
diplomacy, but upon open methods, and, if need be, upon
hard fighting. He possessed extraordinary versatility of gen-
ius; and he was at once a brilliant officer, a powerful writer,
an able lawyer, a great financier, a strong party leader, and a
wise statesman.

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD.

REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS.

WASHINGTON IRVING.
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
EDGAR ALLAN POE.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

OTHER PROMINENT WRITERS.

NEW ENGLAND.

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1780-1842). Preacher, lecturer, and Unita-
rian leader of Massachusetts. Author of various works in prose and
verse. Among his best prose writings are " Life and Character of Napo-
leon Bonaparte," " Milton," and " Self-Culture."

AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT (1799-1888). Born in Connecticut. An educator
and philosopher of interesting personality. Author of " Essays," "Table
Talk," " Concord Days," and other works in prose and verse.

HENRY DAVID THOREAU (1817-1862). An eccentric recluse and student of
nature. Born in Massachusetts. Author of"Walden; or, Life in the
Woods," " Cape Cod," " The Maine Woods," etc.

MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI (1810-1850). A gifted woman of Massachusetts.
Editor of the Dial, and author of " Woman in the Nineteenth Century,"
" Art, Literature, and the Drama," " At Home and Abroad," etc.

96 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ALEXANDER H. EVERETT (1792-1847). Diplomatist and prose writer of
Massachusetts. Ambassador at The Hague in 1818, and at Madrid in
1825. For several years editor and proprietor of The North American
Review. His principal works are " Europe," " America," and " Critical
and Miscellaneous Essays."

EDWARD EVERKTT (1794-1865). A distinguished orator and statesman of
Massachusetts. Editor of The North American Review, member of Con-
gress, Governor of Massachusetts, Minister to the Court of Saint James,
President of Harvard College, and Secretary of State. Principal works
"Defence of Christianity," "Orations and Speeches," and "Importance
of Practical Education."

CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK (1780-1867). A famous educator and nov-
elist of Massachusetts. She conducted a school for girls at Stockbridge
for fifty years. Among her novels are " Hope Leslie," " Clarence,"
" A New England Tale," and " Redwood," which had the distinction of
being reprinted in England and translated into several Continental
languages.

LYDIA HUNTLY SIGOURNEY (1791-1865). A Connecticut writer of both prose
and poetry; well described as "The American Hemans." Among her
fifty-three volumes are " Traits of the Aborigines of America," " Post
Meridian," " Letters to Young Ladies," " Poems," etc.

LYDIA MARIA CHILD (1802-1880). A well-known editor and prose writer
of Massachusetts. Among her numerous writings may be mentioned
" Hobomok, an Indian Story," " The Rebels," a tale of the American
Revolution, " History of the Condition of Women in All Ages and Na-
tions," " Looking toward Sunset," and " The Romance of the Republic."

WASHINGTON ALLSTON (1779-1843). A famous painter, poet, and prose
writer, who, though born in South Carolina, belongs by residence to
Massachusetts. Author of the poem " The Sylphs of the Seasons," and
the art novel " Monaldi." His " Lectures on Art " appeared after his
death.

RICHARD HENRY DANA (1787-1879). A poet, editor, and prose writer of
Massachusetts. One of the founders of the North American Review ;
author of "The Buccaneer and Other Poems," and the novels "Tom
Thornton," and " Paul Felton."

WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT (1796-1859). A celebrated historian of Bos-
ton. Author of a series of standard histories on Spanish themes : " His-
tory of Ferdinand and Isabella," " Conquest of Mexico," " Conquest of
Peru," and " Philip the Second." (See text.)

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 97

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY (1814-1877). A distinguished author of Massachu-
setts, who wrote an admirable series of historical works relating to Hol-
land : " The Rise of the Dutch Republic," " The History of the United
Netherlands," and " Life of John of Barneveld." He wrote, also, two
novels, " Morton's Hope," and " Merry Mount." (See text.)

GEORGE BANCROFI' (1800-1891). A statesman and historian of Massachu-
setts. Minister to England 1846-1849, and to Prussia and Germany
1867-1874. Author of a standard " History of the United States," writ-
ten in rhetorical style. (See text.)

RICHARD HILDRETH (1807-1865). A lawyer and journalist of Boston, who
wrote a "History of the United States" down to 1820. Among other
things he wrote an antislavery novel, " Archy Moore," and "Japan as it
Was and Is."

JAMES GORHAM PALFREY (1796-1881). A Unitarian clergyman of Cam-
bridge, Mass., and Professor in Harvard University. He wrote a pains-
taking " History of New England."

FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD (1812-1850). A poet and magazine writer of
Massachusetts. A volume of poems, " A Wreath of Wild Flowers from
New England," was much admired in its day. " Mrs. Osgood," wrote
Poe, " has a rich fancy, even a rich imagination, a scrupulous taste,
a faultless style, and an ear finely attuned to the delicacies of melody."

JAMES T. FIELDS (1817-1881). A well-known publisher, editor, and author
of Boston. Born in New Hampshire. Edited the Atlantic Monthly from
1861 to 1871. Besides a volume or two of verse, he wrote "Yesterdays
with Authors," and " Underbrush," a collection of essays.

JACOB ABBOTT (1803-1879). A native of Maine, and a voluminous author
of books for the young. Among his works are the " Rollo Books "
(28 vote.), "The Lucy Books" (6 vols.), and Harper's Story-Books"
(36 vols.).

JOHN S. C. ABBOTT (1805-1877). Brother of Jacob Abbott, and, like him, a
minister. Author of numerous moral and historical works, the latter
being characterized by a partisan tone. Noteworthy are " History of
Napoleon Bonaparte," "Napoleon at Saint Helena," "The French Revo-
lution of 1789," etc.

JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND (1819-1881). Poet, novelist, and editor of Mas-
sachusetts. Edited the Springfield Republican 1849-1 866, and Scribner's
Magazine from 1870 till his death. His longest poems are " Katrina,"
and " Bitter-Sweet " ; his best novels are " Miss Gilbert's Career," "Arthur
Bonnicastle," and "The Story of Sevenoaks."

98 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE (1812-1896). A native of Connecticut, and author
of numerous novels of unequal merit. Her " Uncle Tom's Cabin " has
been, perhaps, the most widely read of American books. Other novels
are "The Minister's Wooing," "The Pearl of Orr's Island," "Oldtown
Folks," etc.

FRANCIS PARKMAN (1823-1893). An eminent historian of Massachusetts,
who wrote a number of volumes under the general title, " France and
England in North America."

MIDDLE STATES.

JAMES K. PAULDING (1779-1860). A versatile author of New York City,
though born in Maryland. Secretary of the Navy under Van Buren.
Among his numerous writings are " The Diverting History of John Bull
and Brother Jonathan," "The Dutchman's Fireside," "Life of George
Washington," and a spirited defence of slavery in America. (See text.)

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE (1795-1820). A physician of New York City, author
of "The Culprit Fay," a poem of considerable merit, and the well-known
lyric, "The American Flag." A friend of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with
whom he worked for a time in literary partnership. (See text.)

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK (1790-1867). A native of Connecticut, but for many
years clerk in a New York banking-house, and later confidential adviser
to John Jacob Astor. Author of a long poem called " Fanny," and of
the stirring lyric, " Marco Bozzaris." (See text.)

SAMUEL WOODWORTH (1786-1842). A publisher, prose writer, and poet of
New York City, though born in Massachusetts. One of the founders of
The New York Mirror, long the most popular journal in this country.
Author of an " Account of the War with Great Britain," and a volume
of "Poems, Odes, and Songs," the most popular of which is "The Old
Oaken Bucket."

WILLIAM WARE (1797-1852). Unitarian minister, lecturer, editor of the
Christian Examiner, and historical novelist of New York City. Prin-
cipal works, " Zenobia," originally published in the Knickerbocker Maga-
zine, " Aurelian," describing Rome in the third century, and " Julian, or
Scenes in Judea," in which the most striking incidents in the life of Jesus
are described.

JAMES GATES PERCIVAL (1795-1856). A native of Connecticut, Professor of
Chemistry at West Point, and State Geologist of Wisconsin. Assisted
Noah Webster in revising his large dictionary. He published several vol-
umes of poetry, the last and best known of which is entitled "The Dream
of Day and Other Poems."

FIRS 7' NATIONAL PERIOD. 99

SARAH JOSEPHA HALE (1788-1879). A poet, prose-writer, and editor, who
was born in New Hampshire. Edited the Ladies' Magazine in Boston
from 1828 to 1837, tne nrst periodical in this country devoted exclusively
to woman, and afterwards combined with Godey's Lady's Book of Phila-
delphia, of which she was editor for forty years. Principal works, " The
Genius of Oblivion and Other Poems," "Northwood, a Tale," " Sketches
of American Character," and " Woman's Record."

GEORGE P. MORRIS (1802-1864). A journalist and poet of New York City.
In 1823, with Samuel Wood worth, he established The New York Mirror.
Among his works are "The Deserted Bride and Other Poems," "The
Whip-poor-will, a Poem," "American Melodies," and, in conjunction
with Willis, "The Prose and Poetry of Europe and America." His most
popular piece is " Woodman, Spare that Tree."

NATHANIEL P. WILLIS (1806-1867). A popular litterateur of New York
City, editor of The Mirror. Once overrated and now, perhaps, unduly
neglected. His " Sacred Poems " are excellent, as are also some of his
miscellaneous pieces. Among his other works are " People I have Met,"
" Pencillings by the Way," and " Letters from under a Bridge."

SAMUEL G. GOODRICH (1793-1860). A publisher and author of Boston and
New York, best known as " Peter Parley." He wrote a series of books for
children which extended through more than a hundred volumes. Among
his other works are " The Outcast and Other Poems," " Fireside Educa-
tion," " History of All Nations," and " Illustrated Natural History."

JOHN GODFREY SAXE (1816-1887). A journalist and poet of New York,
though born in Vermont. In humorous poetry he ranks next to Holmes.
The titles of his successive works are " The Money King and Other
Poems," "Clever Stories of Many Nations," "The Masquerade," "Fables
and Legends of Many Countries," etc.

WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892). Printer, schoolteacher, carpenter, and poet,
a native of New York. His principal work, " Leaves of Grass." By some
assigned a very high rank, by others scarcely regarded as a poet at all.

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ (1822-1872). A painter and poet of Philadelphia.
His first volume of poems appeared in 1837. Among his other works are
"The Female Poets of America," "The New Pastoral," "The Wagoner
of the Alleghanies." His most popular poem is "Sheridan's Ride,"
though poetically inferior to " Drifting."

BENSON J. LOSSING (1813-1891). A biographer and historian of New York.
Among his numerous works are a " Life of Washington," " Field-Book
of the Revolution," and " Pictorial History of the United States."

IOO AMERICAN LITERATURE.

BAYARD TAYLOR (1825-1878). A well-known traveller, poet, and novelist of
Pennsylvania. Among his best works are "Views Afoot," "Byways of
Europe," "Lars, a Pastoral of Norway," "Masque of the Gods," "Prince
Deukalion," " Story of Kenneth," and a translation of Goethe's " Faust,"
by which he will be longest known.

GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS (1824-1892). Editor, essayist, and novelist of
New York. A member of the famous Brook Farm Association. For
thirty-five years he filled the Easy Chair department of Harper's Monthly,
and was political editor of Harper's Weekly for nearly the same length of
time. His principal works are " Prue and I," "Trumps," and " Potiphar
Papers," a satire upon society.

THE SOUTH.

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS (1806-1870). A native of South Carolina, and
voluminous writer of fiction and poetry. He wrote a dozen volumes of
verse, among which are " Atalantis " and " Areytos, or Songs and Ballads
of the South," and some thirty romances, among which are "The Yemas-
see," "The Partisan," and "Beauchampe." (See text.)

RICHARD HENRY WILDE (1789-1847). A lawyer and member of Congress
from Georgia, author of a " Life of Tasso," and the beautiful lyric, " My
Life is Like the Summer Rose."

JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY (1795-1870). A novelist and politician of
Maryland, and Secretary of the Navy under Fillmore. He wrote old-
time society novels, among which are " Swallow Barn," " Horse-Shoe
Robinson," and " Rob of the Bowl."

JOHN ESTEN COOKE (1830-1886). A noted novelist and historian of Vir-
ginia. Among his novels, founded on the early history of Virginia and
on the events of the Civil War, are " Henry St. John," " Surrey of Eagle's
Nest," and " The Virginia Comedians." He wrote also a " Life of Gen-
eral Lee," and " Virginia, a History of the People." (See text.)

JOHN R. THOMPSON (1823-1873). A lawyer and litterateur of Virginia.
Editor of The Southern Literary Messenger from 1847 to l %59' Once
popular as a lyric poet.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY (1779-1843). A lawyer and poet of Maryland. His
"Poems" were published after his death in 1857, with a sketch by his
brother-in-law, Chief Justice Taney. His literary fame is due chiefly to
"The Star-spangled Banner," written during the bombardment of Fort
McHenry.

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. IOI

EDWARD COATE PINKNEY (1802-1828). A lawyer and poet of Baltimore.
He displayed an excellent lyric gift in the volume of " Poems " published
in 1825.

PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE (1816-1850). A lawyer and poet of Virginia. In
1857 he published his " Froissart Ballads, and Other Poems," which con-
tains his well-known lyric " Florence Vane."

GEORGE D. PRENTICE (1802-1870). An editor and poet, who, through the
Journal, made Louisville one of the literary centres of the South. He
wrote a " Life of Henry Clay," and a collection of his witty and pungent
paragraphs has been published under the title " Prenticeana." His best
poems are "The Closing Year" and "The Flight of Years."

PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE (1830-1886). A native of South Carolina, and,
considering the quantity and quality of his verse, one of the very best
poets the South has produced. A complete edition of his " Poems "
appeared in 1882. (See text.)

HENRY TIMROD (1829-1867). A poet and editor of South Carolina. He
possessed a genuine lyrical gift. His "Poems" were published in 1873
with a generous tribute by Hayne. (See text.)

IV.

FIXST NATIONAL PERIOD.
(1815-1861.)

THE First National Period extends from the close of
the War of 1812 to the beginning of the Civil War. It
covers nearly half a century, and exhibits great national
expansion. The arduous tasks imposed upon the people
during the Colonial and Revolutionary Periods were suc-
cessfully achieved. The dreams of our forefathers began
to be realized. "America," says Hegel, " is the land of
the future, where in the ages that lie before us the bur-
den of the world's history shall reveal itself." During the
period under consideration it made a long stride toward
its coming greatness.

With the establishment of peace in 1815, the United
States entered upon an unparalleled era of prosperity.
The development of the country went forward with great
rapidity. An increasing tide of immigration, chiefly from
Great Britain, Ireland, and Germany, swept to our shores.
Of kindred blood, the great body of immigrants readily
adjusted themselves to their new surroundings, and vig-
orously joined with our native-born people in developing
the agricultural, mineral, and industrial resources of our
country. The population increased from 8,438,000 in
1815 to 32,000,000 in 1861, thus equalling the leading
nations of Europe.

102

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 1 03

The great valley of the Mississippi was occupied. Its
fertility made it one of the most favored agricultural re-
gions in the world. The invention of agricultural machi-
nery made it possible to harvest immense crops of wheat
and corn, for which a market was found in Europe. Trade
and manufactures naturally attended upon agriculture ; and,
as a result, flourishing towns and cities sprang up with
unexampled rapidity. Cincinnati grew from a town of
5,000 in 1 8 1 5 to a city of 161,000 in 1860, while the growth
of St. Louis and Chicago was still more phenomenal.

The Atlantic States showed a development no less re-
markable. The frontier, carried beyond the Mississippi,
made the toils and dangers of border life a tradition. The
invention of the steam-engine gave a new impulse to com-
merce and manufacture. In addition to excellent high-
ways, railroads traversed the country in all directions.
The New England States developed large manufacturing
interests. The seaboard cities grew in size, wealth, and cul-
ture. Baltimore increased from 49,000 in 181 5 to 212,000
in 1860. Within the same period, Boston increased from
38,000 to 177,000; Philadelphia from 100,000 to 508,000 ;
and New York from 100,000 to 813,000.

The intellectual' culture of the people kept pace with
their material expansion. The public-school system was
extended from New England throughout the free States.
In the West liberal appropriations of land were made for
their support. Gradually the courses of study and the
methods of instruction were improved through the efforts
of intelligent educators like Horace Mann and Henry
Barnard. Schools of secondary education were founded
in all parts of the country. No fewer than one hundred
and forty-nine colleges were established between 1815 and

104 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

1861. These institutions, liberally supported by denomi-
national zeal or by private munificence, became centres of
literary culture. Harvard College exerted an astonishing
influence. Between 1821 and 1831 it graduated Emerson,
Holmes, Lowell, Sumner, Phillips, Motley, and Thoreau.
Bancroft and Prescott were graduated* at an earlier date.
Longfellow, though a graduate of Bowdoin, for some years
filled the chair of Modern Languages. This list, as will
be seen, contains a number of the most honored names
in American literature.

The periodical press became a powerful agency in the
diffusion of knowledge. In no other country, perhaps,
has greater enterprise been shown in periodical literature
than in America. Our newspapers, as a rule, show more
energy, and our magazines more taste, than those of Eu-
rope. In 1860 there were 4,051 papers and periodicals,
circulating annually 927,951,000 copies, an average of
thirty-four copies for each man, woman, and child in the
country. They gradually rose in excellence, and stimu-
lated literary production. A few of our ablest writers,
Bryant, Poe, Whittier, and Lowell, served as editors. The
North American Review, which was founded in 1815,
numbered among its contributors nearly every writer of
prominence in the First National Period.

As the foregoing considerations show, our country now,
for the first time, presented conditions favorable to the
production of general literature. The stress of the Colo-
nial and Revolutionary Periods was removed, and the in-
tellectual energies of the people were freer to engage in
the arts of peace. The growing wealth of the country
brought the leisure and culture that create, to a greater or
less degree, a demand for the higher forms of literature.

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 1 05

The large cities became literary centres. Large publish-
ing-houses were established. Under these circumstances
it is not strange that there appeared writers in poetry,
fiction, and history who attained a high degree of excel-
lence. Irving, Cooper, Bryant, Hawthorne, Longfellow,
Bancroft, Prescott, and others are names that reflect credit
upon their country.

It will be noticed that nearly all the great writers of
this period were from New England. It was there that
the conditions were most favorable. The West was still
too new for much literary activity. Like the early colo-
nists, the people were engaged in the great task of sub-
duing an untamed country. In the South the social
conditions were hardly favorable to literature. Slavery
retarded the intellectual as well as the material develop-
ment of the Southern States. It checked manufacture,
and turned immigration westward. While the slavehold-
ing class were generally intelligent, and often highly
cultured, the rest of the white population were compara-
tively illiterate. The public-school system, regarded as un-
favorable to the existing social relations, was not adopted.
The energies of the dominant class were devoted to poli-
tics rather than to literature. Thus, while the South had
great debaters and orators, like Calhoun and Clay, and
Robert Y. Hayne, it did not, during this period, produce
many writers of eminence.

So far our inquiry has sought an explanation of the
literary activity of this period. The general causes, as
in every period of literary bloom, are sufficiently patent.
We may now examine the influences that gave literature
its distinctive character as contrasted with that of the pre-
ceding periods. The result will not be without interest.

106 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The period under consideration witnessed a wonderful
stride in the march of human progress. There was a re-
naissance, based not on a restoration of ancient literature,
but upon invention and science. It was not confined to
any one country, but extended throughout the Christian
world. It is not necessary to enumerate the various in-
ventions which in a few decades revolutionized the entire
system of agriculture, manufacture, and commerce. The
drudgery of life was greatly relieved, the products of hu-
man industry were vastly increased, and the comforts of
life largely multiplied. The nations of the earth were
drawn closer together, and the intellectual horizon was
extended until it embraced, not a single province, but the
civilized world.

Bat the period was distinguished scarcely less by its
spirit of scientific inquiry. Emancipating themselves
largely from the authority of tradition, men learned to
Jook upon the world for themselves. Patient toilers care-
fully accumulated facts upon which to base their conclu-
sions. All the natural sciences were wonderfully expanded.
The origin of man, the history of the past, the laws of
society, were all brought under new and searching investi-
gation. As a result of all this scientific inquiry, a flood
of light was shed upon the principal problems of nature
and life. Christendom was lifted to a higher plane of in-
telligence than it had ever reached before.

This general renaissance produced a corresponding
change in literature. It enriched literature with new
treasures of truth. It taught men to look upon the uni-
verse in a different way. Literary activity was stimulated,
and both poetry and prose were cultivated to an extraor-
dinary degree. New forms of literature were devised to

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. IO/

hold the rich fruitage everywhere at hand. The frigid
classicism of the age of Pope was abandoned as artificial
and inadequate. The creative impulse of genius demanded
untrammelled freedom. The essay acquired a new impor-
tance. History was suffused with a philosophic spirit that
gave it greater depth. Fiction entered a broader field, and
while ministering to pleasure, became the handmaid of
history, science, and social philosophy.

The effect of this renaissance was felt in America
largely by reflection. The literary expansion we have
been considering went forward more rapidly in the British
Isles than in the United States. It had already begun
there, while the people of this country were still strug-
gling with the great problems of political independence
and national government. Before the close of the Revo-
lutionary period here, Cowper and Burns had given a new
direction to poetry in Great Britain. During the period
under consideration, there arose in England and Scotland
a group of able writers who were pervaded by the mod-
ern spirit, and who, to a greater or less degree, influenced
contemporary literature in America. Scott wrote his mas-
terful historical novels. Wordsworth interpreted the in-
audible voices of mountain, field, and sky. Byron poured
forth his eloquent descriptions, irreverent satire, and som-
bre misanthropy. Carlyle and Macaulay infused new life
into history and essay. Dickens and Thackeray held up
the mirror to various phases of social life. Coleridge in-
terpreted to England the profound thoughts of German
philosophy. The Edinburgh Review, founded by Jeffrey,
Sydney Smith, and Henry Brougham, exercised its lordly
dominion in the realm of letters.

During the First National Period, there were two po-

IO8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

litical questions that exerted a considerable influence upon
the literature of this country. These were State rights
and slavery. At frequent intervals these questions came
up to disturb the public peace. For half a century they
were dealt with in a spirit of compromise. But the views
held and the interests involved were too conflicting to
be permanently settled without an appeal to force. The
statesmen of the South generally maintained the doctrine
of State rights. It was boldly proclaimed in the United
States Senate that a State had the right, under certain
circumstances, to nullify an act of Congress. In 1830
Webster attained the height of his forensic fame by his
eloquent reply to Hayne on the doctrine of nullification.

The question of slavery was still more serious. It was
closely interwoven with the social organization of the
South. The invention of the cotton gin in 1793 increased
the demand for slave labor. The yield of cotton was rap-
idly increased from year to year, till in 1860 it reached the
enormous figure of 2,054,698,800 pounds. Thus cotton
became a source of great national wealth ; and as a result,
slavery was intrenched behind the commercial and selfish
interests of a large and influential class in all parts of the
country.

Nevertheless, there was a growing moral sentiment
against slavery. It was felt to be a contradiction of the
Declaration of Independence, and a violation of the natu-
ral rights of man. In 1830 William Lloyd Garrison began
the publication of an antislavery paper called The Libera-
tor, and with passionate zeal denounced a constitution that
protected slavery, as " a league with death and a covenant
with hell." The agitation for abolition was begun. In
1833 an antislavery society was formed. Whittier, Long-

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. IOQ

fellow, Lowell, Phillips, and others lent the weight of their
influence and the skill of their pens to the antislavery
movement. Harriet Beecher Stowe exerted no small in-
fluence upon public sentiment in the North by " Uncle
Tom's Cabin," a work in which the cruelties of slavery
were graphically depicted. In a few years the /abolition
party became strong enough to enter national politics.
The feeling between the North and the South became
more pronounced and irreconcilable. Finally attempted
secession precipitated a civil war, which resulted in the
abolition of slavery, and the cementing of our country
into a homogeneous and indissoluble union.

With the First National Period our literature assumed,
to some extent at least, a distinctively American charac-
ter. New themes, requiring original treatment, were pre-
sented to the literary worker. In the East, Indian life
had become sufficiently remote to admit of idealistic treat-
ment. In Cooper's works the Indian is idealized as much
as the mediaeval knight in the novels of Scott. The pic-
turesque elements in pioneer life were more clearly dis-
cerned. The wild life of the frontiersman began to appear
in fiction, which, possessing the charm of novelty, was cor-
dially received abroad. In the older parts of the country,
tradition lent a legendary charm to various localities and
different events. The legends of the Indians were found
to possess poetic elements. From these sources Irving,
Longfellow, Hawthorne, and Simms drew the materials for
some of their most original and popular works.

In the first half of the present century there were in
New England two closely related movements that deserve
mention for their important effect upon literature. The
first of these was the Unitarian controversy. Though the

I 10 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Unitarian doctrine is very old, and was held by a few New
England churches in the eighteenth century, the contro-
versy began in 1805, when Henry Ware, a learned Unita-
rian, was elected professor of divinity in Harvard College.
The capture of this leading institution by the Unitarians
naturally provoked a theological conflict. The champions
on the Unitarian side were Henry Ware, William Ellery
Channing, and Andrews Norton ; on the Trinitarian side,
Leonard Woods, Moses Stuart, and Lyman Beecher.
From 1815 to 1830 the discussion was the leading ques-
tion of the time. Though conducted with great earnest-
ness on both sides, the controversy was without that
venomous character distinguished as odium theologicum.
A large number of Congregational churches adopted the
Unitarian belief. Emphasizing the moral duties rather
than the doctrinal beliefs of Christianity, the Unitarians be-
came very active in education, philanthropy, and reform.
It is not too much to say that all the leading writers of
New England felt the stimulating and liberalizing influence
of the Unitarian movement.

The other movement referred to belongs to the sphere
of philosophy, though it also affected religious belief. It
has been characterized as transcendentalism. In spite of
the levity with which the movement has sometimes been
treated, it was an earnest protest against a materialistic
philosophy, which teaches that the senses are our only
source of knowledge. It was a reaction against what is
dull, prosaic, and hard in every-day life. The central
thing in transcendentalism is the belief that the human
mind has the power to attain truth independently of the
senses and the understanding. Emerson, himself a lead-
ing transcendentalist, defines it as follows : " What is

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. Ill

popularly called. Transcendentalism among us is Idealism :
Idealism as it appears in 1842. As thinkers, mankind
have ever divided into two sects, Materialists and Ideal-
ists ; the first class founding on experience, the second on
consciousness ; the first class beginning to think from the
data of the senses, the second class perceive that the
senses are not final, and say, the senses give us represen-
tations of things, but what are the things themselves, they
cannot tell. The materialist insists on facts, on history,
on the force of circumstances and the animal wants of
man ; the idealist on the power of Thought and of Will,
on inspiration, on miracle, on individual culture."

This idealistic or transcendental philosophy did not
originate in New England, though it received a special
coloring and application there. It began in Germany
with the writings of Kant, Fichte, and Schelling ; it was
transported m to England by Coleridge and Carlyle, through
whose works it first made its way to America. It abounded
in profound and fertile thought. It was taken up by a
remarkable group of men and women in Boston and Con-
cord, among whom were Emerson, Alcott, Thoreau, Parker,
and Margaret Fuller. Their organ (for every movement
at that time had to have its periodical) was The Dial.
Transcendentalism exerted an elevating influence upon
New England thought, and gave to our literature one of
its greatest writers in the person of Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Contemporary with the transcendental movement, all
sorts of novelties and projects of reform kept New Eng-
land in a state of ferment. Spiritualism, phrenology,
and mesmerism attracted much attention. Temperance,
woman's rights, and socialism were all discussed in public
gatherings and in the press. Many of these schemes,

1 1 2 AMERICAN LITERA TURE.

which aimed at the regeneration of society, had the sym-
pathy and encouragement of the transcendentalists. Some
of their leading spirits participated in the Brook Farm ex-
periment, which was based on the communistic teachings
of Fourier. Though the experiment ended in failure, it
gave the world Hawthorne's " Blithedale Romance," in
which the author utilized the observations made during his
residence in the famous phalanstery.

During this period New England produced a group of
historians who have reflected credit upon American letters.
To exhaustive research and judicial calmness, they have
added the charm of literary grace. Bancroft's " History
of the United States " in twelve volumes begins with
Columbus and ends in 1789. The first volume appeared
in 1834; and to the completion of the work he devoted a
large part of his laborious life. The last volume did not
appear till 1882. His style is elaborate and rhetorical,
and the work abounds in eloquent passages.

Prescott is a historian of wide range. Though heavily
handicapped by partial blindness, he was able, through
ample means and indefatigable industry, to achieve great
eminence. His chosen field was Spanish history ; and he
spared neither pains nor expense in accumulating large
stores of material. His " History of Ferdinand and Isa-
bella," which occupied him for eleven years, appeared in
1837. It was at once translated into five European lan-
guages, and established his reputation as the foremost
historian of America. His "Conquest of Mexico" (1843),
"Conquest of Peru" (1847), and "Philip the Second"
(1858) were received with equal favor. Apart from its
thorough sifting of material and its judicial fairness, his
work is characterized by grace and eloquence of style.

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 113

Motley deserves a place beside his illustrious contem-
porary historians. If less ornate in style, he is scarcely
less interesting. Like Bancroft and Prescott, he was
educated at Harvard. In 1849 he published a novel
entitled " Merry Mount, a Romance of Massachusetts
Colony." But the principal literary labors of his life were
devoted to history. In 1855 he published his " Rise of
the Dutch Republic," which had cost him ten years of
toil. Its superior merit was at once recognized; and
shortly afterwards it was translated into French under the
supervision of Guizot, who wrote an introduction. Motley
continued to cultivate the same field almost to the close of
his life. His " History of the United Netherlands," the
first part of which appeared in 1860, was completed eight
years later. "The Life and Death of John of Barneveld,"
his last great historical work, was issued in 1874; and, like
its predecessors, was received with great favor.

It is deserving of notice that many of our American
authors have been more than mere men of letters. They
have been distinguished citizens as well, and have served
their country in important positions at home and abroad.
Bancroft was appointed Secretary of the Navy in 1845,
and established the Naval Academy at Annapolis. After-
wards he served as United States minister to Great Britain,
1846-1849, to Russia in 1867, and to the German Empire,
1871-1874. Motley was appointed United States minister
to Austria in 1861, where he remained for the next six
years. He was made minister to England in 1869, from
which mission, however, he was recalled the year following
without apparent good reason. The distinguished labors
of Irving and Lowell abroad will appear in the more ex-
tended sketches to follow.

114 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

A group of writers in New York, without sufficient
reason sometimes called "the Knickerbocker school,"
deserve more than passing notice. Washington Irving,
the principal writer of this group, is reserved for special
study. The other prominent members were James
Kirke Paulding, Joseph Rodman Drake, and Fitz-Greene
Halleck.

Paulding, whose educational advantages never extended
beyond those of a village school, deserves to be regarded
as a self-made man. In early manhood he became the
intimate friend of William and Washington Irving, with
whom he co-operated in the publication of the Salmagundi
papers. "The Diverting History of John Bull and Brother
Jonathan " is a good-natured satire on the attitude of Eng-
land before the breaking out of hostilities in 1812. His
pamphlet "The United States and England" (1814) at-
tracted the attention of President Madison, and thus
opened the way to his political career, in which he became
Secretary of the Navy under a subsequent administration.
His principal poetical work is the " Backwoodsman," a
narrative poem of six books, devoted to American scenery,
incident, and sentiment. It never became popular.

Paulding's prolific pen continued active for many years,
and the long list of his writings contains poetry, novels,
tales, biography, and satire. "The Dutchman's Fireside,"
a story based on the manners of the old Dutch settlers,
was his most popular work. It passed through six edi-
tions within a year ; and besides its republication in Lon-
don, it was translated into French and Dutch. Paulding's
writings were tinged with a humorous and satirical spirit ;
but the most noteworthy element in his writings was,
perhaps, their distinctive national character. He was an

FIRST NA TIONAL PERIOD. \ \ 5

ardent patriot ; and it is American scenery and American
character to which his genius is chiefly devoted.

Drake exhibited in childhood a remarkable poetic pre-
cocity. It was as true of him as of Pope that " he lisped
in numbers, for the numbers came." His juvenile poem,
" The Mocking Bird," shows unusual maturity of thought
and expression. His early years were disciplined by pov-
erty. After taking his degree in medicine, he married the
daughter of a wealthy shipbuilder in 1816, and two years
later went abroad. Travel added to his stores of culture.
On his return he spent a winter in New Orleans in the
vain endeavor to restore his health. He died of consump-
tion in 1820. His monument bears the simple tribute
written by his friend Halleck :

"None knew him but to love him,
Nor named him but to praise."

On his return from Europe in 1819, he wrote the
first of the Croaker series of poems for the Evening Post.
It was entitled " Ennui," and characterized by the editor
as "the production of genius and taste." In this series of
forty poems, mostly humorous and satirical, he was aided
by Halleck under the pen-name of Croaker, Jr. It was in
this series that he published "The American Flag," the oft-
quoted poem by which; perhaps, he is chiefly remembered.

" When Freedom from her mountain height

Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there."

"The Culprit Fay," his longest and best poem, grew
out of a conversation with Cooper, Halleck, and DeKay,
in which these gentlemen maintained that American

Il6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

streams, unlike those of Scotland with their romantic asso-
ciations, were not adapted to the uses of poetry. Drake
took the opposite side ; and in vindication of his position,
he wrote this poem of exquisite fancy and description.

Halleck was a native of Connecticut, but at the age of
twenty-one he went to New York to seek his fortune. He
first entered a banking-house as clerk, and afterwards
became a bookkeeper in the private office of John Jacob
Astor. His literary bent found expression in a few juvenile
poems ; -but it was his work in connection with the Croaker
poems in the Evening Post that first gave him celebrity.
The following stanza from " Cutting" will give an idea of
the tone and spirit of the Croaker series :

" The world is not a perfect one,

All women are not wise or pretty,
All that are willing are not won,

More's the pity more's the pity !
' Playing wall-flower's rather flat,'

L' Allegro or Penseroso
Not that women care for that

But oh ! they hate the slighting beau so ! "

" Fanny " is a satirical poem, which made a hit. The
first edition was soon exhausted. But his principal claim
upon our remembrance rests on the stirring ballad " Marco
Bozzaris," which appeared in 1825 in the United States
Review, edited by William Cullen Bryant. His poem on
Burns, though burdened with not a few weak stanzas, con-
tains some just and melodious characterization. Through
care, and pain, and woe,

" He kept his honesty and truth,

His independent tongue and pen,
And moved, in manhood as in youth,
Pride of his fellow-men."

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 117

It has been common to undervalue the literary work of
the South during the period under consideration. Though
literature was not generally encouraged, there were never-
theless two literary centres which exerted a notable influ-
ence upon Southern letters. The first was Richmond, the
home of Poe during his earlier years, and of the Southern
Literary Messenger, in its day the most influential maga-
zine south of the Potomac. It was founded, as set forth in
its first issue, to encourage literature in Virginia and the
other States of the South ; and during its career of twenty-
eight years it stimulated literary production in a remark-
able degree. Among its contributors we find Simms,
Hayne, Timrod, Cooke, John R. Thompson, and others
a galaxy of the best known names in Southern litera-
ture before the Civil War.

The principal novelist of Virginia is undoubtedly John
Esten Cooke. He has been called an inveterate book-
maker; and the list of his writings, including biography,
history, and fiction, exceeds a score of volumes. His first
novel, " Leather Stocking and Silk," a story of the valley
of Virginia, was issued by the Harpers in 1854. Not long
afterwards appeared " The Virginia Comedians," regarded
by many as his best work. It is a historical novel, intro-
ducing us to the life and manners of Virginia just before
the Revolution.

During four years of service in the Confederate army he
distinguished himself for fidelity and courage. After the
surrender of Lee, he returned to literature, and turned to
good account the treasures of his own experience. " I
amuse myself," he said in one of his prologues, "by recall-
ing the old times when the Grays and Blues were opposed
to each other." " Surrey of Eagle's Nest," giving the

1 1 8 AMERICAN LITERA TURE.

memories of a staff officer serving in Virginia, is regarded
as autobiographical. He wrote also a "Life of General
Robert E. Lee," and a " History of Virginia," in the
American Commonwealth series.

The other principal literary centre of the South was
Charleston. It has often been called the Boston of the
South. " Legare's wit and scholarship," to use the words
of Mrs. Margaret J. Preston, " brightened its social circle ;
Calhoun's deep shadow loomed over it from his plantation
at Fort Hill ; Gilmore Simms's genial culture broadened its
sympathies. The latter was the Maecenas to a band of
brilliant youths who used to meet for literary suppers at
his beautiful home." Among these brilliant youths were
Paul Hamilton Hayne and Henry Timrod, two of the best
poets the South has produced.

William Gilmore Simms was a man of rare versatility
of genius. He made up for his lack of collegiate training
by private study and wide experience. He early gave up
law for literature, and during his long and tireless literary
career was editor, poet, dramatist, historian, and novelist.
He has been styled " the Cooper of the South " ; but it is
hardly too much to say that in versatility, culture, and
literary productiveness he surpassed his great Northern
contemporary.

Simms was a poet before he became a novelist. Before
he was twenty-five he had published three or more volumes
of verse. In 1832 his imaginative poem, "Atalantis, a Story
of the Sea," was brought out by the Harpers, and it intro-
duced him at once to the favorable notice of what Poe called
the " Literati " of New York. His subsequent volumes of
poetry, among which " Areytos, or Songs and Ballads of
the South," is to be noted, were devoted chiefly to a descrip-
tion of Southern scenes and incidents.

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 1 19

Among the best of Simms's novels is a series devoted to
the Revolution. The characters and incidents of that con-
flict in South Carolina are graphically portrayed. " The
Partisan," the first of this historic series, was published in
1835. "The Yemassee " is an Indian story, in which the
character of the red man is less idealized than in Cooper's
" Leatherstocking Tales." In "The Damsel of Darien,"
the hero is Balboa, the discoverer of the Pacific.

The verse of Simms is characterized by facile vigor rather
than by fine poetic quality. The following lines are not
without a lesson for to-day :

"This the true sign of ruin to a race

It undertakes no march, and day by day
Drowses in camp, or, with the laggard's pace,

Walks sentry o'er possessions that decay ;

Destined, with sensible waste, to fleet away ;
For the first secret of continued power

Is the continued conquest ; all our sway
Hath surety in the uses of the hour ;

If that we waste, in vain walled town and lofty tower."

Paul Hamilton Hayne has been called " the poet laureate
of the South." This proud distinction is due him for the
range and excellence of his work, as well as for its quantity.
He rises highest above the commonplace, and by the ex-
quisite finish of his poetry displays a fine artistic genius.
Other American poets have shown greater originality and
have treated of weightier or more popular themes ; but it
may be fairly doubted whether any other has had a more
exquisite delicacy of touch. In fineness of poetic fibre he
is akin to Tennyson.

The poetic impulse, to which he surrendered his life
with rare singleness of purpose, manifested itself early.
His first volume of poems appeared in 1855, his second in

I2O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

1857, and his third in 1860. These volumes reveal the
spirit and workmanship of a true poet. In " The Will and
the Wing" he exhibits a loyal consecration to his art:

" Yet would I rather in the outward state

Of Song's immortal temple lay me down,
A beggar basking by that radiant gate,

Than bend beneath the haughtiest empire's crown.

" For sometimes, through the bars, my ravished eyes

Have caught bright glimpses of a life divine,
And seen a far, mysterious rapture rise

Beyond the veil that guards the inmost shrine."

Nature in all its shapes and moods had for him a per-
petual charm. The glorious dawns of the Southland, the
monarch of the woods, the mellowing fields touched by
evening's glow, the songs of happy-throated birds, the
lapse of silvery streamlets through the hills, are all de-
picted with almost matchless delicacy and truth. But it
was not alone the outward beauty of earth and sky that
appealed to him. Like Wordsworth, he was conscious of
an immanent Presence that imparted a deep spiritual mean-
ing to the objects about him :

" The universe of God is still, not dumb,

For many voices in sweet undertone

To reverent listeners come."

At the outbreak of the Civil War, Hayne was placed on
Governor Pickens's staff ; but after a brief term of service
he was forced, by failing health, to resign. His war poetry
attains a rare elevation of thought and diction. Without
hate or vindictiveness, he celebrates heroes and deeds of
heroism the chivalry that "wrought grandly and died
smiling."

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 121

The war left him in poverty. The bombardment of
Charleston had destroyed his beautiful home ; and the
family silver and other treasures, which had been removed
to Columbia for safe-keeping, were lost in Sherman's
" march to the sea." His manly courage, one of the
dominant notes in his music, did not desert him. He built
near Augusta, Ga., a primitive cottage, to which he gave
the name Copse Hill, and in which the rest of his days
were spent in brave hopefulness. He portrayed his own
spirit when he wrote :

" Still smiles the brave soul, undivorced from hope;
And with unwavering eye and warrior mien,
Walks in the shadow dauntless and serene,
To test, through hostile years, the utmost scope
Of man's endurance constant to essay
All heights of patience free to feet of clay."

Henry Timrod's life resembles that of Keats. It is a
melancholy record of poverty, ill health, unappreciation,
and disaster. There is a deep pathos in the struggles and
premature ending of this gifted life. He keenly felt the
indifference with which his songs were received, and it
chilled the poetic ardor of his soul. He was a native of
Charleston. Like so many other poets in whom the liter-
ary impulse has been strong, he gave up law for literature.
In 1849, under the nom de plume of " Aglaus," he began a
series of contributions to the Southern Literary Messenger,
some of which have not found a place in his collected
writings. He contributed, also, to Russell's Magazine,
under the editorship of Hayne, in which some of his best
productions appeared..

In 1860 a small volume of his poems was published
in Boston. Though, in the opinion of Hayne, "a better

122 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

first volume of the kind seldom appeared anywhere," it
attracted but little attention. The beginning of the Civil
War called forth some fiery lyrics especially "Carolina"
and " A Cry to Arms" which in the excitement of the
time appealed strongly to Southern hearts. They are as
intense in their sectional feeling as the antislavery lyrics
of Whittier and Lowell. " Ethnogenesis " celebrates the
birth of the Southern Confederacy ; but happily for our
country the glowing prophecies of the poem were not
fulfilled.

In 1864 he became assistant editor of the South Caro-
linian at Columbia. During a brief period of prosperity
he ventured upon his long-deferred marriage to Miss Kate
Goodwin the " Katie" of his song. But a year later, in
the path of Sherman's victorious march, his paper was
destroyed and he himself became a fugitive. In his great
need it became necessary at times to exchange necessary
household articles for bread. He died in 1867 and was
buried in Columbia, where a small shaft now marks his
grave.

A posthumous edition of Timrod's poems was pub-
lished in 1873 with a beautiful memoir by Hayne. A
memorial edition was issued in 1899. An examination of
the poems shows that they are of limited range and, in the
main, slight in subject. But they are distinguished by
simplicity, elegance, and sanity. Timrod is lacking in the
finest lyrical flights, but he is constantly true. He is
always noble in thought and sentiment. His conception
of the poetic office, as reflected in " A Vision of Poesy,"
was exalted; the poet was to his mind a prophet. The
poet "spheres worlds in himself"; and then, "like some
noble host,"

FIRST NATIONAL PERIOD. 123

" He spreads the riches of his soul, and bids'

Partake who will. Age has its saws of truth,
And love is for the maiden's drooping lids,

And words of passion for the earnest youth ;
Wisdom for all ; and when it seeks relief,
Tears, and their solace for the heart of grief. 1 '

Some of Timrod's deepest notes are sounded in his
sonnets. "Brief as the sonnet is," he said, "the whole
power of the poet has sometimes been exemplified within
its narrow bounds as completely as within the compass of
an epic." He laments, for example, that " most men
know love as but a part of life " :

" Ah me ! why may not love and life be one ?
Why walk we thus alone, when by our side,
Love, like a visible God, might be our guide ?
How would the marts grow noble ! and the street,
Worn like a dungeon-floor by weary feet,
Seem then a golden court-way of the sun ! "

124 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

To Washington Irving belongs the distinction of being the
first of our great writers in 'general literature. He was not a
great theologian like Jonathan Edwards, nor a practical phi-
losopher and moralist like Franklin, nor a statesman like Jef-
ferson and Hamilton. He was above all a literary man ; and
his writings belong, in large measure at least, to the field of
belles-lettres. In his most characteristic writings he aimed not
so much at instruction as at entertainment. He achieved that
finished excellence of form that at once elevates literature to
the classic rank. He was the first American writer to gain
general recognition abroad; or, to use Thackeray's words,
" Irving was the first ambassador whom the New World of
letters sent to the Old." Our literature has had many
" ambassadors " since ; but it is doubtful whether any other
has ever been more cordially welcomed or more pleasantly
remembered.

Washington Irving was born in the city of New York,
April 3, 1783, the youngest of eleven children. The Revo-
lutionary War was ended, and the American army occupied
the city. "Washington's work is ended," said the mother,
"and the child shall be named after him." Six years later,
when Washington had become the first President of the young
republic, a Scotch maid-servant of the Irving family one day
followed him into a shop. "Please, your honor," said she,
"here's a bairn was named after you." With grave dignity
the President laid his hand on the child's head, and bestowed
his blessing.

Not much can 1)3 said of young Irving's education. Like
many another brilliant writer in English literature, he took

WASHINGTON IRVING.

WASHINGTON IRVING. 125

but little interest in the prescribed courses of study. As was
said of Shakespeare, he knew little Latin and less Greek.
But it would be a mistake to suppose that his early years went
unimproved. His literary bent asserted itself in the neglect
of such studies as did not interest him. During his boyhood
he was an eager reader. Books of poetry and travel were
quickly devoured. The creative literary impulse was early
manifested in the composition of verses and childish plays.

Two of his brothers had been sent to Columbia College.
But his disinclination to methodical study deprived him of
this privilege. Perhaps it was just as well; for his genius
was left freer to pursue its own development. At sixteen
he entered a law office; but from what has already been said,
it will not appear strange that he neglected his law-books for
works of literature. In 1798 he spent a part of his summer
vacation in exploring with his gun the Sleepy Hollow region
which he was afterwards to immortalize with the magic of his
pen. At this period he showed symptoms of pulmonary weak-
ness; and for several years he spent much time in out-door ex-
ercise, making excursions along the Hudson and the Mohawk.
Though he did not at the time turn his experience to account
in a literary way, he was all the while, perhaps unconsciously
to himself, storing up materials for future use.

In 1804 it was thought that a voyage to Europe would be
beneficial to his health. Accordingly he took passage for
Bordeaux in a sailing-vessel. "There's a chap," said the
captain to himself as young Irving went on board, "that
will go overboard before we get across." But the gloomy
prediction was not fulfilled ; and after a voyage of six weeks
it was not the day of ocean greyhounds he reached his
destination much improved in health.

He visited in succession the principal cities of France and
Italy. He had not yet found his vocation, and his life abroad
appears sufficiently aimless. He gave free play to his large
social nature, and to the ordinary observer he seemed a mere
pleasure-seeker. But he was accomplishing more than he or

126 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

his friends understood. He made the acquaintance of many
eminent persons, and his genial nature and pleasing manners
made him welcome in the brilliant social circles to which
he was introduced. He had an opportunity to study Euro-
pean society in all its phases. He added to his knowledge
of English literature an acquaintance with the literatures of
France and Italy. He was brought into sympathetic contact
with the art and antiquities of Europe. He was one of the
keenest observers. While thus storing his memory with knowl-
edge afterwards to be invaluable to him, his culture was ex-
panding into the breadth of cosmopolitan sympathies.

He met the inconveniences and discomforts inseparable
from travel in those days with a truly philosophic spirit.
"When I cannot get a dinner to suit my taste," he said, "I
endeavor to get a taste to suit my dinner." He was no chronic
grumbler. He made it a habit all through life to look on
the pleasant side of things. "I endeavor," he said, "to be
pleased with everything about me, and with the masters, mis-
tresses, and servants of the inns, particularly when I perceive
they have all the dispositions in the world to serve me; as
Sterne says, ' It is enough for heaven and ought to be enough
for me. ' "

He did not carry with him in his travels the statesman's
interest in the political condition of Europe. Politics were
never to his taste. He preferred to wander over the scenes of
renowned achievement, to loiter about the ruined castle, to
lose himself among the shadowy grandeurs of the past. The
pathetic constancy of Petrarch for Laura appealed to him
more than the meteoric splendor of Napoleon.

In the course of his travels he visited Rome, where he met
Washington Allston. The acquaintance for a time threatened
to change the course of his life. Allston's enthusiasm for
art proved contagious. The charm of the Italian landscape,
the inestimable treasures of art in the city of the Caesars,
made a profound impression on Irving's refined and poetic
sensibilities. For a time he thought of becoming a painter.

WASHINGTON IRVING. I2/

As we may clearly discern in his writings, he had an artistic
eye for color and form. Had he adhered to this temporary
purpose, it is possible that he might, like his friend and com-
patriot, have given us some admirable paintings. But it is
well-nigh certain that the world would have been the loser;
for what pictures could compensate for the loss of the " Sketch-
Book," "Bracebridge Hall," and the "Tales of a Traveller"?

Irving returned to America in 1806, and was admitted to
the bar. His legal attainments were slender, and his interest
in his profession superficial. Instead of throwing his heart
into it, he allowed much of his time and energy to be absorbed
in social enjoyments. At this period he first gave decided
indications of his future career. A strong literary instinct
is irrepressible. In association with his brother William and
James K. Paulding, he issued a semi-monthly periodical, en-
titled Salmagundi. It was an imitation of the Spectator, and
aimed "simply to instruct the young, reform the old, cor-
rect the town, and castigate the age." The writers veiled
themselves in mystery. They affected utter indifference to
either praise or blame, and with lofty superiority criticised the
manners of the town. The wit and humor were delightful, and
from the start the paper had a flattering success. But after
running through twenty numbers, it stopped in the midst of
its success as suddenly as it had burst upon the astonished
community.

It was almost inevitable that Irving should be drawn into
politics. With no taste for law, he found it tedious waiting
for clients who never came. Local politics seemed to pre-
sent an inviting field; but a brief experience was enough. He
toiled "through the purgatory" of one election. He got'
through the first two days pretty well. Among his new as-
sociates he kept on the lookout for "whim, character, and
absurdity." Then the duties of a ward politician began to
pall upon him. Referring with characteristic humor to his
unsavory experience, he wrote: "I shall not be able to bear
the smell of small beer and tobacco for a month to come."

128 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Irving early had his romance, and it makes the most pa-
thetic incident in his life. He formed a deep attachment for
Matilda Hoffman, a young lady of great personal charm. His
love was as ardently returned. But before the wedding-day
arrived, she fell sick and died. He never entirely recovered
from this loss, which seems to have tinged his character ever
afterwards with a gentle melancholy. With a constancy as
beautiful as it is rare, he remained faithful to his first love
throughout life.

It was while burdened with a sense of his irreparable loss
that he completed the work that was to make him famous.
This was "Knickerbocker's History of New York." It is a
humorous treatment of the traditions and customs belonging
to the period of the Dutch domination. The personal charac-
teristics of the phlegmatic Dutch governors, and the leading
events in the early history of the city, are treated in a delight
ful, mock-heroic vein. The work was received with almost
universal acclaim. It became a household word. After a
lapse of forty years, Irving tells us that he found New York-
ers of Dutch descent priding themselves on being "genuine
Knickerbockers. "

The next five years of Irving's life were neither very serious
nor very fruitful. Though so strongly drawn to literature that
he was scarcely fit for anything else, he was afraid to adopt a
literary career. He entered into a mercantile partnership with
his brothers, in which he was required to do but little work.
In the interests of the firm, when Congress threatened some
legislation unfavorable to importing merchants, he made a
visit to Washington. But there, as well as in Philadelphia and
Baltimore, social pleasures occupied him more than the action
of Congress. He steadily refused to look on the darlier side
of human nature or human life. He would not believe th^t
wisdom consists in a knowledge of the wickedness of men, and
confessed that he entertained " a most melancholy good opin-
ion and good will for the great mass of my fellow-creatures."

While in Washington ^he saw a good deal of the leading

WASHINGTON IRVING. 129

men of the country. Though his sympathies were with the
Federalists, he was not a violent partisan. He was far too
broad-minded to become a bigot in either religion or politics.
He was on good terms with the leaders of both political par-
ties, and laughed equally at their extravagance. "One day,"
he writes, " I am dining with a knot of honest, furious Feder-
alists, who are damning all their opponents as a set of con-
summate scoundrels, panders to Bonaparte, etc. The next day
I dine, perhaps, with some of the very men I have heard thus
anathematized, and find them equally honest, warm, and indig-
nant; and, if I take their word for it, I had been dining the
day before with some of the greatest knaves in the nation,
men absolutely paid and suborned by the British government."

For a time the business of his brothers (they were impor-
ters of hardware and cutlery) required his services at the store
pretty constantly. The work was distasteful to him beyond
measure. "By all the martyrs of Grub Street," he exclaimed,
" I'd sooner live in a garret, and starve into the bargain, than
follow so sordid, dusty, and soul-killing a way of life, though
certain it would make me as rich as old Crcesus, or John Jacob
Astor himself." He became editor of a periodical called Select
Reviews, for which he wrote some biographies and sketches,
a few of which afterwards appeared in the "Sketch Book."
But he soon grew tired of his position, for he had an invinci-
ble aversion to regular work.

The year the second war with Great Britain closed, Irving
sailed for Europe, where the next seventeen years of his life
were spent, years rich in experience and literary activity. It
was during this period that a number of his choicest works
were produced. His reputation as the author of "Knicker-
bocker" made him a welcome guest in literary circles. In
London he dined at Murray's, where he met some of the nota-
ble writers of the day. He was cordially received at Edin-
burgh; and he spent some days with Scott, of whose home
and habits he has given so delightful a description in "Abbots-
ford."

130 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

As we should naturally expect, Irving was a great admirer
of Isaac Walton. He made more than one visit to the haunts
of the illustrious angler. On one occasion he wandered by the
banks of the romantic Dove in company with a "lovely girl,"
who pointed out to him the beauties of the surrounding sce-
nery, and repeated " in the most dulcet voice tracts of heaven-
born poetry."

Upon the failure of the branch house of his brothers in
Liverpool, he went to London to embark upon the literary
career for which nature had so evidently intended him. He
was urged by Scott to become editor of an anti-Jacobin peri-
odical in Edinburgh. This he refused to do for two reasons
already familiar to us, his distaste for politics, and his aver-
sion to regular literary work. He also declined an offer to
become a contributor of the London Quarterly, with the liberal
pay of one hundred guineas an article. " It has always been,
so hostile to my country," he said, "I cannot draw a pen in
its service." This is the language of high-toned patriotism.

In 1819 he began the publication of the "Sketch -Book."
It was written in England, and sent over to New York, where it
was issued in octavo numbers. Some of them were reprinted
in London without the author's consent; and to prevent the
entire work from being pirated, Irving found it necessary to
bring out an edition in England. After once declining it in
the polite manner for which publishers have become noted,
Murray was afterwards persuaded by Scott to bring out the
work. He purchased the copyright for two hundred pounds,
which, with noteworthy liberality, he subsequently raised to
four hundred.

In comparing the " Sketch Book " with Irving's previous
work, it is impossible not to perceive his intellectual develop-
ment. He has acquired a greater depth of thought and feel-
ing. His sympathies have gained in scope. His hand has
acquired a more exquisite touch. As a natural result of the
tribulations through which he had passed, a number of the
sketches are tinged with sadness. In only two of them does

WASHINGTON IRVING. 131

fie give rein to his inimitable humor; but these two, "Rip
Van Winkle" and the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," will en-
dure as long as the beautiful region with which they are asso-
ciated. The "Sketch Book" exerted an important influence
upon American literature. While stimulating our writers with
the bright possibilities before them, it rendered henceforth
inartistic or slovenly work intolerable.

The applause with which America greeted the appearance
of the " Sketch Book " was echoed by England. Irving be-
came the lion of the day. There seemed to be "a kind of
conspiracy," as some one wrote at the time, "to hoist him
over the heads of his contemporaries." But he was not elated
by his success. Vanity is a vice of smaller souls. "I feel
almost appalled by such success," he wrote to a friend, "and
fearful that it cannot be real, or that it is not fully merited, or
that I shall not act up to the expectations that may be formed."

In 1820 Irving made a visit to Paris, where his reputation
secured him flattering recognition. Here he made the ac-
quaintance of Thomas Moore, whom he characterized as a
"noble-hearted, manly, spirited little fellow, with a mind as
generous as his fancy is brilliant." A warm friendship sprang
up between them. Irving found too many distractions in Paris
to do much literary work. An eruptive malady, which ap-
peared in his ankles and at intervals incapacitated him for
walking, sometimes rendered literary composition difficult
or impossible. Notwithstanding these hindrances he wrote
"Bracebridge Hall," which was published in 1822, the year of
his return to England. It is made up of a series of delight-
ful sketches, chiefly descriptive of country life in England.
He had traversed that country, as he tells us, "a grown-up
child, delighted by every object, great and small." His deli-
cate and genial observation caught much of the poetry, pictur-
esqueness, and humor of English life. It shows the same
exquisite workmanship that characterized the " Sketch Book;"
and some of its stories, like "The Stout Gentleman," "Annette
Delarbre," and "Dolph Heyleger," are models of brilliant and

132 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

effective narrative. It is significant of Irving's growing repu-
tation that Murray paid a thousand pounds for the copyright.

After a visit to Dresden, where he found congenial society
in an English family, and a trip to Prague, which still kept up
"its warrior look," we find him in 1823 again in Paris. Its
gayeties had an attraction for him. He worked at irregular
intervals, for he was almost wholly dependent upon impulse
or inspiration. When the inspiration was on him, he wrote
very rapidly; and having once begun a book, he labored dili-
gently till it was completed. The following year his "Tales
of a Traveller" appeared, one of his most delightful books.
Irving himself said that " there was more of an artistic touch
about it, though this is not a thing to be appreciated by the
many." He sold the copyright to Murray for fifteen hundred
pounds, and, according to Moore, might have had two thou-
sand; but it was no part of his genius to drive shrewd bargains.

But the time had now come for him to open a new vein.
In 1826, at the invitation of Alexander H. Everett, United
States Minister at Madrid, he went to the Spanish capital for
the purpose of translating a recent collection of documents
relating to the voyages of Columbus. He found a rich store
of materials that had never been utilized, and resolved to
write an independent work. The result was the publication
in 1828 of his "Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus,"
a work of extensive research and admirable treatment. It was
eagerly read, and Jeffrey declared that no work would ever
supersede it. It at once gave Irving an honorable place among
historians.

The "Conquest of Granada," the most interesting, perhaps,
of his Spanish works, was closely related to the "Life of
Columbus." It was while pursuing his researches for the
latter work that he became interested in the stirring and
romantic scenes connected with the overthrow of the Moorish
dominion in Spain. Subsequently he made a tour of Anda-
lusia, and visited the towns, fortresses, and mountain-passes
that had been the scenes of the most remarkable events of the

WASHINGTON IRVING. 133

war. He passed some, time in the ancient palace of the Al-
hambra, the once favorite abode of the Moorish monarchs.
With these scenes fresh in his mind, he wrote the " Conquest
of Granada;" and though he allowed himself some freedom
in its romantic coloring (for the subject appealed strongly to
his imagination), he remained faithful to historical fact. It
is a graphic and thrilling narrative of romantic events.

Of his other Spanish works "The Alhambra," "Legends
of the Conquest of Spain," and " Mahomet and his Successors '*
it is not necessary to speak. The subjects were all emi-
nently congenial to his mind, and susceptible of his peculiar
felicity of treatment. They sustained, if they did not add to,
his growing fame. Literary honors were bestowed upon him.
In 1830 the Royal Society of Literature in England awarded
him a gold medal; and the year following the University of
Oxford conferred upon him the degree of LL.D., a title
which his modesty never permitted him to use.

In 1829 Irving left Spain, and served for some time as
Secretary of Legation at the Court of St. James. It was a
period of great social and political unrest in England and
France; and, for once in his life, he took a keen interest in
current events. He visited again many points of interest in
England, and had the melancholy pleasure of seeing Scott
in the sad eclipse of his powers.

In 1832, after an absence of seventeen years, he returned
to his native land, and was accorded an enthusiastic welcome
as its most distinguished representative in the world of letters.
Nothing but his modest shrinking from publicity prevented
a round of banquets in various cities. He was delighted to
note the great progress the nation had made during his absence.
To acquaint himself more fully with its resources and develop-
ment, he visited different parts of the country. His "Tour on
the Prairies" embodies the observations and experiences of a
trip to the region beyond the Mississippi, still the haunt of
the buffalo and wild Indian.

With his simple and quiet Bastes, Irving now ioriged for

134 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

a home. Accordingly he purchased a little farm at a lovely
spot on the Hudson, not far from the Sleepy Hollow he had
immortalized. The house was remodelled, and the grounds
arranged in exquisite taste. To this charming residence he
gave the name of Sunnyside. He received under his roof a
number of near relatives, including a half dozen nieces, for
whom he showed an affection as tender as it was admirable.
Henceforth Sunnyside became to him the dearest spot on
earth; he always left it with reluctance, and returned to it
with eagerness. It was here that the greater part of his life
was spent after his return to America. Few persons have been
happier in their surroundings.

The ten years succeeding his return to America were, upon
the whole, delightful to him. He had seen enough of the
world to relish the quiet of his picturesque home. He was
honored as the leading American writer of his day. But more
than that, he was esteemed for his excellence of character.
It is hardly too much to say that he was the most prominent
private citizen of the republic. Almost any political position
to which he might have aspired was within his reach. But
a public career was not to his taste. He declined to be
a candidate for mayor of New York which cost perhaps
no great struggle. But a seat in Mr. Van Buren's cabinet as
Secretary of the Navy was likewise declined. The life of a
government officer in Washington possessed no attractions for
him, and his sensitive nature shrank from the personal attacks
to which prominent officials are exposed.

During the ten years under consideration, he was busy
with his pen. He became a regular contributor to the Knick-
erbocker Magazine at a salary of two thousand dollars a year.
In addition to the "Tour on the Prairies " already mentioned,
he wrote "Abbotsford" and "Newstead Abbey " admira-
ble sketches of the homes of Scott and Byron. "Captain
Bonneville" is a story of adventure in the far West. It de-
scribes in a very vivid way the wild, daring, reckless life of
the hunter, trapper, and explorer. Among the literary schemes

WASHINGTON IRVING. 135

of this period must be mentioned his contemplated history of
the conquest of Mexico. It was a theme well suited to his
talents, and his previous work on Spanish subjects fitted him
for the task. He had collected a large amount of material, and
composed the first chapter; but learning that Mr. Prescott de-
sired to treat the subject, Irving magnanimously abandoned it-
It was a great personal sacrifice. " I was dismounted from my
cheval de bataille, " he wrote years afterwards, " and have never
been completely mounted since." In spite of Mr. Prescott's
splendid work, we cannot help regretting that Irving gave up
his cherished theme.

In 1842 the quiet but busy literary life of Irving was inter-
rupted by his appointment as minister to Spain. The nomina-
tion was suggested by Webster. In the Senate, Clay, who was
opposing nearly all of the President's appointments, exclaimed,
"Ah, this is a nomination that everybody will concur in!"
The appointment was confirmed almost by acclamation. The
appointment was a surprise to Irving; and, while he could
not be insensible to the honor, its acceptance cost him pain.
It necessitated a protracted absence from his beloved Sunny-
side. "It is hard, very hard," he was heard murmuring
to himself; "yet I must try to bear it."

There is not space to follow him in his diplomatic career.
It was a turbulent period in Spain; but he discharged the
somewhat difficult duties of his post, not only with fidelity,
but also with ability. But the splendors of court life had lost
their charm for him. From the pomp of the Spanish capital
his heart fondly turned to his home on the Hudson. " I long
to be once more back at dear little Sunnyside," he wrote in
1845, "while I have yet strength and good spirits to enjoy
the simple pleasures of the country, and to rally a happy
family group once more about me. " He gave up his mission
in 1846.

The year of his return to America he published his "Life
of Goldsmith," which is one of the most charming biogra-
phies ever written. There was not a little in common between

136 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Irving and Goldsmith. They had alike a tender and indulgent
regard for the world; they had felt the same roving disposi-
tion; they possessed a similar mastery of exquisite English.
"Perhaps it is significant of a deeper unity in character," to
borrow a delightful touch from Charles Dudley Warner, " that
both, at times, fancied they could please an intolerant world
by attempting to play the flute." Irving's treatment of Gold^
smith is exquisitely sympathetic. "Mahomet and his Suc-
cessors " appeared in 1849, and is a popular rather than a
profound treatise. Irving's greatest work in the department
of history was his "Life of Washington." The last volume
was published in 1859, shortly before his death. It was the
work of his ripe old age, and is a masterpiece of biography.
It is clear in its arrangement, admirable in its proportion,
impartial in its judgments, and finished in its style.

The closing years of his life were serene and happy. He
held a high place in the affection of his countrymen. He was
surrounded by the quiet domestic joys that h loved so well.
His labors on the life of the great hero whose name he had
received three quarters of a century before were thoroughly
congenial. Thus he lived on, retaining his kindly feeling for
the world, till the death summons suddenly came, Nov. 28,
1859. Although he had reached an age beyond the usual
period allotted to man, the tidings of his death were received
throughout the country with profound sorrow. But grief was
deepest among those who had known him most intimately.
His unpretending neighbors and the little children wept around
his grave.

What Irving was, has been indicated in some measure in
the course of this sketch. He had a large, generous nature,
the kindliness of which is everywhere apparent. Through his
wide reading and extensive travels, he acquired a culture of
great breadth. He was at home with the explorer on the
prairie, or with the sovereign in his court. The gentle ele-
ments predominated in his character; he was not inclined
to make war upon mankind, and with savage zeal to denounce

WASHINGTON IRVING. 137

their wickedness and shams. He was an observer of humanity
rather than a reformer ; and he reported what he saw with all
the grace of a rich imagination and delicate humor. He was
always loyal to truth and right. But in dealing with human
frailty, his severest weapon was kindly satire. He evoked a
smile at the foibles and eccentricities of men. His heart was
of womanly tenderness; and for the sorrows and misfortunes
of men he had tears of sympathy. The death of such a
man is a loss, not only to literature, but, what is much more,
to humanity itself.

138 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

COOPER deserves the honor of being the most national
of our writers. He was less influenced by foreign models
and foreign subjects than any of his great contemporaries.
The works upon which his fame chiefly rests are thoroughly
American. He was the first fully to grasp and treat the
stores of materials to be found in the natural scenery, early
history, and pioneer life of this Republic. He was at home
alike on land and sea; and in his narrations he spoke from
the fulness of his own observation and experience, and gave
us pictures of those early days which will grow in interest as
they are removed farther from us by the lapse of time. He
opened a new vein of thought. It was largely owing to this
freshness of subject and treatment that his works attained an
extraordinary popularity, not alone in this country, but also in
Europe. They came as a revelation to the Old World, which
had grown tired of well-worn themes. They were eagerly
seized upon, and translated into nearly every European tongue,
and even into some of the languages of the Orient. No other
American writer has been so extensively read.

James Fenimore Cooper was born at Burlington, N.J.,
Sept. 15, 1789, the eleventh of twelve children. His father
was of Quaker and his mother of Swedish descent. When he
was thirteen months old, the family moved to Cooperstown, on
the southeastern shore of Otsego Lake, in the central part of
New York. In this picturesque region, diversified with moun-
tains, lakes, and woods, the childhood of Cooper was passed.
It was at that time on the borders of civilization, and the little
village presented a striking mixture of nationalities and occu-
pations. Along with German, French, and Irish adventurers

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

were found the backwoodsman, the hunter, and the half-civil-
ized Indian. The deep impression made upon young Cooper's
mind by the wild scenery and unsettled life about him is
shown in the fact that he located three of his novels in this
region.

Cooper's education presents the melancholy story so often
met with in the lives of literary men. He took but little
interest in his studies. His first instruction was received in
the academy at Cooperstown, where, in spite of its pretentious
name, the teaching was crude. He afterwards studied in
Albany as a private pupil under an Episcopal rector. At the
age of thirteen, Cooper entered the Freshman class at Yale,
the youngest student but one in the college. According to
Kis own confession, he played all the first year, and there is
nothing to show that he did better afterwards. In place of
digging at his Latin and Greek, he delighted in taking long
walks about the wooded hills and beautiful bay of New Haven.
Nature was more to him than books, a preference that college
faculties are generally slow to appreciate. At last in his third
year he engaged in some mischief that led to his dismissal
from the college. This failure in his education was peculiarly
unfortunate. His lack of a refined and scholarly taste has tol-
erated in his works a crudeness of form that largely detracts
from their excellence.

It was now decided that Cooper should enter the navy.
The influence of his father, who was a prominent Federalist
and had been for several years a member of Congress, promised
a speedy advancement. He began his apprenticeship (there
was no naval academy then) in the merchant marine, and
served a year before the mast. He entered -the navy as mid-
shipman in January, 1808. He was stationed for a time on
Lake Ontario, where he imbibed the impressions afterwards
embodied in the graphic descriptions of "The Pathfinder."
In 1809 he was transferred to the Wasp, then under the com-
mand of Lawrence, a hero to whom he was warmly attached.
The details of his naval career are scanty. Though it does

I4O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

not appear that he was engaged in any thrilling events, he
accumulated a large store of incident, and acquired a techni-
cal knowledge, which were afterwards turned to good account
in his admirable sea stories.

His naval career was cut short by his falling in love. In
January, 1811, he married a Miss De Lancey, a lady of Hu-
guenot family, and five months later he tendered his resig-
nation in the navy. He made no unworthy choice, and his
domestic life appears to have been singularly happy. With a
sufficiently strong, not to say obstinate, will, and with high
notions of masculine prerogative in the family, he was still
largely controlled by the delicate tact of his wife, who always
retained a strong hold upon his large and tender heart. For
some time after his marriage he was unsettled. He first re-
sided in Westchester County, New York; then he moved to
Cooperstown, where he spent the next three years; afterwards
he returned to Westchester, and occupied a house that com-
manded a view of Long Island Sound, Up to this time his
chief occupation had been farming ; and he had shown no
sign whatever either of an inclination or of an ability to
write.

His entrance upon a literary career appears to have been
the merest accident. He was one day reading to his wife a
novel descriptive of English society. It did not please him;
and at last, laying it down with some impatience, he ex-
claimed: "I believe I could write a better story myself."
Challenged to make good his boast, he at once set himself to
the task. It did not occur to him to treat an American theme
with which he was familiar. America had achieved her politi-
cal but not her intellectual independence of the mother coun-
try. He accordingly produced a novel of high life in England,
which, under the title of "Precaution," was published in 1820.
It did not occur to him as an obstacle that he knew nothing
about English life. The day of an exacting realism had not
yet come, and men were still permitted to write of things that
they knew nothing about. Of course the work was a failure;

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 14 1

out it came so near being a success that Cooper was encour-
aged to try his hand again.

This time he chose an American subject, and without
knowing it fell into the vocation for which his talents emi-
nently fitted him. Years before, at the house of John Jay, he
had heard the story of a Revolutionary spy that deeply im-
pressed him. This story he made the basis of his novel ; and
the scene he laid in Westchester, with which his long resi-
dence had made him familiar, and which had been a battle-
ground for the British and American armies. He had but little
expectation of its favorable reception. He doubted whether
his countrymen would read a book that treated of familiar
scenes and interests. The result undeceived him, and fixed
him in the career to which he was to give the rest of his life.
"The Spy" appeared at the close of 1821, and in a short time
met with a sale that was pronounced unprecedented in the
annals of American literature. It was received with the en-
thusiasm that greeted the successive Waverley novels in Eng-
land. The transatlantic verdict, which was awaited with
something of servile trepidation, confirmed the American
judgment. "Genius in America," said Blackwood, "must keep
to America to achieve any great work. Cooper has done so,
and taken his place among the most powerful of the imagi-
native spirits of the age." "The Spy" was soon translated
into several European languages , and, in short, it made
Cooper's reputation at home and abroad.

His next work was "The Pioneers," which was published
in 1823. The scene is laid at the author's early home on
Otsego Lake, and describes not only the natural scenery, but
also the types of character and modes of living with which
he became familiar in childhood. In producing this work he
drew less upon his imagination than upon his memory. As we
read his life, it is not difficult to discover the originals of some
of his leading portraits. The book was written, as he has told
us, exclusively to please himself; and he has dwelt upon sepa-
rate scenes and incidents with such fondness as seriously to

142 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

retard the story. It was the first of the now famous " Leather-
stocking Tales," though hardly the best of them. It was
awaited by the public with impatience ; and by noon, the day
of its appearance, no fewer than three thousand five hunched
copies were sold in New York.

Before "The Pioneers" was published he was already at
work upon a new novel, in which he entered an untried field.
Like his first work, it sprang from the impulse of a moment.
The author of "Waverley" had recently published "The
Pirate," which came under discussion at a dinner-party in
Cooper's presence. The nautical passages were greatly ad-
mired, and were cited as a proof that Scott, the lawyer and
poet, could not have written it. Cooper dissented from this
judgment, and boldly challenged the seamanship of the work.
In spite of the nautical knowledge it displayed, it still be-
trayed to his mind the hand of a landsman. "The result of
this conversation," to quote his own words, "was a sudden
determination to produce a work which, if it had no other
merit, might present truer pictures of the ocean and ships than
any that are to be found in 'The Pirate. " ; Returning home,
with the plan of the work already shaping itself in his mind,
he said to his wife: "I must write one more book a sea-tale
to show what can be done in that way by a sailor."

Though he was discouraged in the undertaking by his
friends, Cooper wisely followed the leading of his genius.
"The Pilot" takes high rank as a tale of the sea. The plot
was suggested by the cruise of Paul Jones in the Ranger, who,
without being named, occupies the foremost place in the story.
The work appeared in 1824, and at once attained a wide popu-
larity. Its descriptions of storm, battle, and shipwreck are ex-
ceedingly vivid. It contains the character of Long Tom Coffin,
who, like Natty Bumppo, or Leatherstocking, may be regarded
as a permanent contribution to literature. It was at once trans-
lated into French, German, and Italian, and was scarcely less
popular in Europe than in America.

In 1826 appeared "The Last of the Mohicans," which

JAMES FENJMORE COOPER. 143

occupies a high rank some think the highest rank of all
Cooper's works. It belongs to the " Leatherstocking Tales."
The interest never abates from beginning to end. "It is in-
deed an open question," says an admirable critic and biog-
rapher, 1 "whether a higher art would not have given more
breathing-places in this exciting tale, in which the mind is
hurried without pause from sensation to sensation." It is
needless to say that its success was instantaneous and pro-
digious. The novelty of its scenes and characters, as well as
its powerful narrative, gave it extraordinary popularity abroad.
There can be no doubt that he idealized the Indian character.
But however different from the Indians of actual life, the crea-
tions of Cooper have appealed strongly to the imaginations of
men.

Cooper was now living in the city of New York, whither he
had moved in 1822. The income from his works had placed
him in easy circumstances. His literary reputation, unequalled
by any other American, with the possible exception of Irving,
made him a prominent figure in the social life of the city. He
founded a club which included in its membership Chancellor
Kent, Verplanck the editor of Shakespeare, Jarvis the painter,
Durand the engraver, Wiley the publisher, Morse the inventor
of the electric telegraph, Halleck and Bryant the poets. He
was a regular attendant at the weekly meetings of the club, of
which he was the life and soul.

The year "The Last of the Mohicans" was published,
Cooper carried out a long cherished purpose to visit Europe,
where he spent the next seven years. He served as consul at
Lyons for nearly three years. He made a trip through Swit-
zerland, and visited in succession Naples, Rome, Venice, Mu-
nich, and Dresden; but most of his time was spent in Paris.
He was not a man to enjoy being lionized; but after his
presence in the French capital became known he could not
escape from receiving a full share of attention. Scott met
him at an evening reception, and noted in his diary: "Cooper

1 Lounsbury, James Fenimore Cooper, p. 53.

144 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

was there, so the Scotch and American lions took the field
together. "

But Cooper's time abroad was not exclusively spent in the
enjoyment of natural scenery, art treasures, and refined society.
His literary productivity continued without serious abatement.^
Among the numerous works produced during his seven years'
residence abroad there are two that deserve particular mention.
"The Prairie" was added to the Leatherstocking series, and
"The Red Rover " to his sea-tales. Both occupy a high place
among his works. His popularity in Europe had now reached a
high point. Five editions of "The Prairie" were arranged to
appear at the same time, two in Paris, one in London, one in
Berlin, and one in Philadelphia. Outside of England he was,
perhaps, read more extensively than Scott. " In every city of
Europe that I visited," wrote the inventor of the electric tele-
graph, "the works of Cooper were conspicuously placed in
the windows of every bookshop. They are published, as soon
as he produces them, in thirty-four different places in Europe.
They have been seen by American travellers in the languages
of Turkey and Persia, in Constantinople, in Egypt, at Jeru-
salem, at Ispahan."

With the year 1830 closed the happiest and most successful
period of Cooper's literary career. After that date he became
involved in controversies abroad and at home that cost him
heavily in purse and in popularity. He was intensely Ameri-
can in sentiment proud of the institutions, the material pros-
perity, and the ~apidly growing power of his country. With
prophetic foresight he confidently predicted the growth that has
since been realized. With his honest, positive,, and pugnacious
nature, he was not a man to conceal his opinions. He under-
took to enlighten the ignorance and to correct the misrepresen-
tations of his country prevalent abroad. He wrote letters,
pamphlets, and books in defence of America. Three of his
novels written abroad "The Bravo," "The Heidenmauer,"
and "The Headsman " were designed to exalt republican in-
stitutions, and to apply American principles to European con-

JAMES FEN I MO RE COOPER. 145

ditions. The effect of all this can be easily imagined. The
information he volunteered to Europe, and especially to Eng-
land, was received ungraciously. His independent and ag-
gressive spirit provoked opposition; his works were harshly
criticised, and he himself was subject to misrepresentation and
detraction.

In 1833 Cooper returned to America. . After a brief sojourn
in New York, he purchased his father's old estate at Coopers-
town, and made that place his residence for the rest of his life.
His childhood recollections were dear to him; and in the midst
of the lovely scenery about Otsego Lake he found a grateful
repose for the prosecution of his literary work. But his life
was not destined to flow on undisturbed. His long residence
abroad, in contact with the repose and culture of the Old
World, had wrought greater changes in him than he was con-
scious of. He no longer found himself in sympathy with the
eager, bustling, restless life of America. He failed to appre-
ciate the sublimity of the conflict which was rapidly subduing
a magnificent continent. Without prudence in concealing his
sentiments, he proceeded to tell his countrymen what he thought
of them. Their restless energy he characterized as sordid
greed for gold. He found fault with what he considered their
lack of taste, their coarseness of manners, and their provincial
narrowness. With inconsiderate valor he rushed into news-
paper controversies. In short, while cherishing a deep affec-
tion for his country, he exhausted almost every means for
achieving a widespread unpopularity. It speedily came ; and
no other American writer was ever so generally and so venom-
ously assailed.

But meekness was no part of Cooper's character. He was
unwilling to rest under reckless and malicious misrepresenta-
tion. Accordingly he instituted many suits for libel against
prominent papers in New York, including the Albany Evening
Journal, edited by Thurlow Weed, and The Tribune, edited by
Horace Greeley. With the aid of his nephew, who was a law-
yer, Cooper conducted the prosecutions himself with relentless

146 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

energy, and showed himself as effective in an oral address be-
fore a jury as in his writings before the public. It is remark-
able that in every instance in which he pleaded his own cause
he got a verdict awarding him damages.

In 1839 ne published his "History of the United States
Navy." It was a subject in which he had long been interested,
and for which he possessed special fitness. Apart from his
naval experience and his skill as a narrator, he possessed the
sterling integrity of character that rendered him painstaking
and impartial. For the period it covers, the history is not
likely to be superseded. But it was impossible that such a
work should please everybody. It gave offence in England
by setting forth too prominently her numerous defeats upon the
sea. It was accordingly attacked with great vigor in some of
the leading British reviews. In this country its judicial tone
failed to satisfy the partisans of some of our naval heroes.
The newspapers were generally unfriendly, and the work was
criticised with great injustice. But malicious misrepresenta-
tion Cooper answered, as usual, with a suit for libel, in which
he was almost invariably successful. At last he fairly became
a terror to editors a class not easily frightened.

The period between 1840 and 1850 was one of great literary
activity. The motives inspiring this activity were not such, in
part at least, as to promise the best results for art. Cooper
had lost in speculation, and found it necessary to increase his
resources. He had a good many things to say to the American
public in his character as censor. The didactic element be-
came more prominent in his works. As a result, most of the
seventeen novels produced in the decade referred to add but
little to his fame. To this statement, however, there are sev-
eral noteworthy exceptions. In 1840 appeared "The Path-
finder," and the following year "The Deerslayer," two works
that rank with the best of his productions. "The Deerslayer"
completed the Leatherstocking series. Following the life of
Natty Bumppo, and not the order of their composition, this
series is as follows: "The Deerslayer," in which Leather-

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

stocking appears in his youth; "The Last of the Mohicans'*
and "The Pathfinder," in which we see him in the maturity of
his powers; "The Pioneers" and "The Prairie," in which are
portrayed his old age and death. Cooper counted these works
as his best. "If anything from the pen of the writer of these
romances," he said in his old age, " is at all to outlive himself,
it is unquestionably the series of the * Leatherstocking Tales.'
To say this is not to predict a very lasting reputation for the
series itself, but simply to express the belief that it will out-
last any or all of the works from the same hand. " Among the
other works of this period, which can only be named, are "The
Two Admirals," " Wing-and-Wing," "Wyandotte," "Afloat and
Ashore," "The Redskins," and "The Ways of the Hour."

The closing years of Cooper's life were comparatively se-
rene. The storm of criticism and detraction, against which
he had long contended, had in large measure abated. He was
growing again in favor with his countrymen; and his own
feelings, as opposition relaxed, subsided into a calmer and
kindlier mood. At last disease laid its wasting hand upon
his strong frame. It turned into an incurable dropsy. When
the physician told him there was no longer any hope, he re-
ceived the announcement with the manly courage that had
characterized him all through life. He gave up the literary
projects he was fondly cherishing, and spent his last days in
the cheerful resignation of Christian faith. The end came
Sept. 14, 1851, on the eve of his sixty-second birthday.

There is no more heroic character in the history of our
literature. Cooper was cast in a large and rugged mould.
He had deep convictions and a strong will; and hence he was
often impatient of opposition, obstinate in his opinions, and
brusque in his manners. He never acquired, and perhaps
never cared to acquire, a polished deference to the views of
others. He did not usually make a favorable impression on
first acquaintance. But these defects were only on the surface.
He was frank, honest, fearless, large-hearted ; and among those
who knew him best, he inspired a deep and loyal affection.

148 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

He could not be tempted to sacrifice principle, to scheme foi
reputation, to stoop to anything mean and low.

Cooper has often been called " the American Scott ; " and
the title, though displeasing to him, is not wholly undeserved.
He has described the scenery and manners of his native country
with a passion and power scarcely inferior to what is found in
the romances of the great Scotchman, He has thrown over
the pioneer life of America something of the same glamour
with which " the Wizard of the North " has invested the mediae-
val life of Europe. There are points of striking resemblance
in the characters of these two great writers. They belonged
to the same type of strong manhood. They were alike chival-
rous and patriotic. With abounding physical strength, they
rejoiced in the companionship of the woods and mountains.
Their hearts were open to the charms of natural scenery. They
were both, to borrow a term from mental science, objective rather
than subjective in their habits of thought ; and thus it happens
that instead of profound psychological studies, they have given
us glowing descriptions and thrilling narratives.

Cooper's works do not exhibit a high degree of literary art.
His novels, like those of Scott, are characterized by largeness
rather than by delicacy. He painted on a large canvas with a
heavy brush. He worked with great rapidity ; and as a nat-
ural consequence we miss all refinement of style. He is often
slovenly, and sometimes incorrect. The conversations, which
he introduces freely, are seldom natural, often bombastic, and
generally tiresome. His plots are usually defective. His
novels are made up of narratives more or less closely con
nected, but not forming necessary parts in the development of
a dramatic story. With some notable exceptions, his charac-
ters are rather wooden, and move very much like automatons.
They are continually doing things without any apparent or
sufficient reason. His women belong to the type which is
made up, to use his own phrase, " of religion and female deco-
rum." They are insipid, helpless, vague so limited by a
narrow and conventional decorum as to be wholly uninterest

fAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 149

ing. They rarely say anything or do anything that shows the
true womanly spirit of devotion, helpfulness, and self-sacrifice.

These are faults that are palpable and acknowledged. What,
then, are the excellences which, triumphing over these serious
drawbacks, still render Cooper one of the most popular of
authors ? First, he had the power of graphic description.
Without catching the spiritual significance of nature, he yet
presented its various forms with extraordinary vividness. " If
Cooper," said Balzac, " had succeeded in the painting of char-
acter to the same extent that he did in the painting of the
phenomena of nature, he would have uttered the last word of
our art."

But above this and above every other quality is Cooper's
power as a narrator. It is here that his genius manifests itself
in its full power. His best novels are made up of a succession
of interesting or exciting events, which he narrates with su-
preme art. We realize every detail, and often follow the story
with breathless interest. Cooper is an author, not for literary
critics, but for general readers. In the words of Bryant, " he
wrote for mankind at large ; hence it is that he has earned a
fame wider than any author of modern times. The creations
of his genius shall survive through centuries to come, and
perish only with our language."

150 . AMERICAN LITERATURE.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

GREAT genius is not always associated with exalted "char-
acter. There is much in the life of Pope, of Burns, and of
Byron that we cannot approve of. So far as their works reflect
their moral obliquities, we are forced to make abatements in
our praise. It is greatly to the credit of American literature
that its leading representatives have been men of excellent
character. Dissolute genius has not flourished on our soil.
At the funeral of Bryant, it was truthfully said, "It is the
glory of this man that his character outshone even his great
talent and his large fame." In a poem "To Bryant on his
Birthday," Whittier beautifully said :

" We praise not now the poet's art,

The rounded beauty of his song;
Who weighs him from his life apart
Must do his nobler nature wrong."

The moral element in literature is of the highest impor-
tance. It is a French maxim, often disregarded in France as
elsewhere, that "Nothing is beautiful but truth." 1 It is cer-
tain that only truth is enduring. Whatever is false is sure,
sooner or later, to pass away. Bryant gave beautiful expres-
sion to the same idea in the oft-quoted lines from his poem,
"The Battle-Field:"-

" Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;

Th' eternal years of God are hers;

But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,

And dies among his worshippers."

1 Rien n'est beau que le vrai.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. \$\

This truth is often forgotten or neglected by our men of
.etters. Whatever is false in any way, whether in fact, princi-
ple, sentiment, taste, cannot be permanent. This is the secret
of the wrecks that strew the fields of literature. The enduring
works of literature those that men are unwilling to let die
are helpful to humanity. No art, however 'exquisite, can
win lasting currency for error. Judged by this principle, the
works of Bryant are enduring. They are not only admirable
in literary art, but they are true in thought, sentiment, and
taste. It may be said of him, as was said of James Thomson,
his works contain

" No line which, dying, he could wish to blot."

William Cullen Bryant was born at Cummington, Mass.,
Nov. 3, 1794. He came of sound Puritan stock, counting
among his ancestors the Priscilla and John Alden immortal-
ized by another descendant and poet. His father was a kind,
cultured, and refined physician, who took more than ordinary
interest in the training of his gifted son. In his " Hymn to
Death," the composition of which was interrupted by the de-
cease of his father, the poet pays him a noble tribute:

" This faltering verse, which thou
Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have
To offer at thy grave this and the hope
To copy thy example, and to leave
A name of which the wretched shall not think
As of an enemy's, whom they forgive
As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou
Whose early guidance trained my infant steps
Rest, in the bosom of God, till the brief sleep
Of death is over, and a happier life
Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust."

Bryant was a child of extraordinary precocity. At the age
of sixteen months he knew all the letters of the alphabet. In
the district school he distinguished himself as an almost infal-

152 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

]ible speller. He was prepared for college by the Rev. Moses
Hallock of Plainfield. Of his Greek studies the poet says,
" I began with the Greek alphabet, passed to the declensions
and conjugations, which I committed to memory, and was put
into the Gospel of St. John. In two calendar months from
the time of beginning with the powers of the Greek alphabet,
I had read every book in the New Testament." In October,
1810, when in his sixteenth year, he entered the Sophomore
class at Williams College, where he spent only one session.
Though a diligent student, he did not find college life, owing
to its meagre comforts, entirely to his taste.

Bryant showed a rhyming propensity at an early age. He
eagerly devoured whatever poetry fell into his hands, and
early cherished the ambition to become a poet. Among his
early efforts was a political satire against Jefferson and his
party, inspired by the Embargo Act, a measure that proved
disastrous to many private interests in New England, and ex-
cited strong feeling against the President. Bryant's father
was a prominent Federalist; and the young poet, not unnatu-
rally, became a violent partisan. In "The Embargo," written
when he was thirteen, he rather uncourteously demanded Jef-
ferson's resignation:

" Go, wretch, resign the presidential chair,
Disclose thy secret measures, foul or fair.
Go search with curious eye for horrid frogs
Mid the wild wastes of Louisianian bogs."

This satire, which had quite a success at the time, the poet
afterwards would have gladly forgotten ; but, when he subse-
quently became a Democratic editor, the opposing press took
care to see that he was occasionally reminded of it.

Having failed for lack of means in completing his college
course, he decided to study law, and entered the office of Judge
Howe at Worthington. He afterwards completed his legal
studies under William Baylies at West Bridgewater. His
heart was never fully in the study of law, and his retiring dis-

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 153

position did not promise a very brilliant career at the bar.
Nevertheless, while in some measure indulging his fondness
for poetry, he gave himself with commendable diligence to
Blackstone and Coke. In a poetical effusion of the time, he
recorded his experience as follows :

"O'er Coke's black letter,
Trimming the lamp at eve, 'tis mine to pore,
Well pleased to see the venerable sage
Unlock his treasured wealth of legal lore ;
And I that loved to trace the woods before,
And climb the hills, a playmate of the breeze,
Have vowed to tune the rural lay no more,
Have bid my useless classics sleep at ease,
And left the race of bards to scribble, starve, and freeze."

He was admitted to the bar in 1815, and began practice at
Plainfield; but, finding the outlook unpromising, he removed
at the end of a year to Great Barrington. He met with a fair
degree of success, but was deeply chagrined to find that law is
not always synonymous with justice. He was far too conscien-
tious to be careless and negligent; but, as we learn from a
letter written at this period, his inclination was toward litera-
ture. "You ask," he writes to Mr. Baylies, his old teacher
and friend, "whether I am pleased with my profession. Alas,
sir, the muse was my first love; and the remains of that pas-
sion, which is not cooled out nor chilled into extinction, will
always, I fear, cause me to look coldly on the severe beauties
of Themis. Yet I tame myself to its labors as well as I can,
and have endeavored to discharge with punctuality and atten-
tion such of the duties of my profession as I am capable of
performing."

As was to be expected, nature and poetry were his refuge
and comfort in the midst of the uncongenialities of his profes-
sion. His love of nature was scarcely less strong than that
of Wordsworth. His portrayal of natural beauty is a promi-
nent characteristic of his poetry. "I was always," he says,
"from my earliest years, a delighted observer of external

154 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

nature, the splendors of a winter daybreak over the wide
wastes of snow seen from our windows, the glories of the au-
tumnal woods, the gloomy approaches of a thunderstorm, and
its departure amid sunshine and rainbows, the return of the
spring with its flowers, and the first snowfall of winter. The
poets fostered this taste in me ; and though at that time I rarely
heard such things spoken of, it was none the less cherished in
my secret mind.'' In his poem, "Green River," he reveals the
state of his mind at this period, though in a manner not very
complimentary to his clients and associates at the bar:

"Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men,
And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen,
And mingle among the jostling crowd
Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud,
I often come to this quiet place
To breath the airs that ruffle thy face,
And gaze upon thee in silent dream ;
For in thy lonely and lovely stream
An image of that calm life appears
That won my heart in my greener years."

The time had now come for a more general recognition of
Bryant's poetic gifts. Genius is apt to be recognized sooner
or later. In 1817 his father sent to the North American Review
a copy of verses which the poet had written in his eighteenth
year and laid away in his desk. "Ah, Phillips," said the
sceptical Dana to his associate editor on hearing the verses,
"you have been imposed upon. No one on this side of the
Atlantic is capable of writing such verse. " The poem in ques-
tion was "Thanatopsis," the finest poem that had yet been
produced in America, and one of the most remarkable pieces
ever written at so early an age. "There was no mistaking the
quality of these verses," says a biographer. "The stamp of
genius was upon every line. No such verses had been made in
America before. They soon found their way into the school-
books of the country. They were quoted from the pulpit and
upon the hustings. Their gifted author had a national fame

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 155

before he had a vote, and in due time * Thanatopsis took the
place which it still retains among the masterpieces of English
didactic poetry."

Another of Bryant's most exquisite poems belongs to this
period. As he was on his way to Plainfield in December,
1815, to see what inducements it offered for the practice of
his profession, he watched a solitary bird pursuing its course
southward through the roseate evening sky. He was deeply
impressed both by the beauty of the scene and by the lesson it
brought to him in an hour of uncertainty and discouragement.
That night he wrote "To a Waterfowl," which some persons
have thought the gem of all his works:

" Whither, 'midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way ?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,
The desert and illimitable air,

Lone wandering, but not lost.

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright."

At Great Barrington, Bryant met Miss Frances Fairchild,
whose native goodness, frank and affectionate disposition, and
excellent understanding, captivated his heart. Of course she
became the inspiration of a good many poems, only one of
which, however, the poet has cared to preserve:

" Oh, fairest of the rural maids !
Thy birth was in the forest shades ;
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,
Were all that met thine infant eye."

156 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

They were married in 1821, and for nearly half a century
she was "the good angel of his life." The union was a sin-
gularly happy one. The poet's tender attachment is exhibited
in several admirable poems. In " The Future Life " he asks
the question so natural to deathless love :

" How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps

The disembodied spirits of the dead,
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread?"

In "The Life that Is " the poet celebrates the recovery of
his wife from a serious illness in Italy in 1858:

" Twice wert thou given me ; once in thy fair prime,

Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met,
And all the blossoms of that hopeful time

Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set.

And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again

Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong,

From the drear realm of sickness and of pain,

Where we had watched, and feared, and trembled long."

She was indeed a helpmeet for him. "I never wrote a
poem," he said, "that I did not repeat to her, and take her
judgment upon it. I found its success with the public pre-
cisely in proportion to the impression it made upon her. She
loved my verses and judged them kindly, but did not like
them all equally well." His poem "October, 1866," written
upon the occasion of her death, is a threnody of great beauty.

With his growing literary reputation, Bryant's dissatisfac-
tion with his profession increased. He was for several years
a regular contributor to the United States Gazette, published in
Boston, and wrote for it some of his best-known pieces, most
notable of which is "A Forest Hymn." A sonnet, which in
his collected poems bears the title "Consumption," had a

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. . 157

deep personal meaning. It was written of his sister, a young
woman of rare endowments and sweet disposition, who died
in her twenty-second year :

" Death should come

Gently to one of gentle mould like thee,
As light winds wandering through groves of bloom
Detach the delicate blossom from the tree."

This sister, who had been the cherished companion of his
childhood, is the theme of the well-known poem " The Death
of the Flowers." The calm, mild days of late autumn, the
season in which she died, reminded the true-hearted poet of
her loss :

" And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side ;
In the cold, moist earth we laid her when the forests cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers."

In 1825, through the influence of friends, Bryant moved to
New York, gave up the practice of law, and fairly launched
upon a literary career. He became editor of a monthly maga-
zine at a salary of a thousand dollars a year about twice
as much, he tells us, as he received from the practice of his
profession. But the magazine did not succeed, and the poet
passed through a period of uncertainty and depression. As
usual, he turned his experience into verse. In "The Journey
of Life," written at this time, we find the following pathetic
lines:

" Beneath the waning moon I walk at night,

And muse on human life for all around
Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight,
And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,
And broken gleams of brightness, here and there,
Glance through, and leave unwarmed the deathlike air. 5 '

I 5 8 AMERICAN LITER A TURE,

But amid the discouragements of this brief period he was,
sustained by the friendship and sympathy of Cooper, Kent,
Verplanck, Morse, Halleck, and other congenial spirits.

In 1826 Bryant became connected with the Evening Post,
to which he gave more than half a century of his life. His
career as a journalist is unsurpassed in the devotion with
which he gave himself to the best interests of his country and
of humanity. He set before himself a high ideal of editorial
responsibility and journalistic excellence. His example and
influence contributed no small part to the elevation of the
metropolitan press. Though his sympathies in the main were
with the Democratic party, he was never a blind or unscrupu-
lous partisan. Principle was always more to him than party.
In his devotion to what he recognized as truth, he often took
the unpopular side. He was independent and fearless. He
developed the Evening Post into a great newspaper, which
at last, after many laborious years, brought him an ample
income.

His prose was of a high order. He wrote slowly and with
great care. He was particular even to the point of fastidious-
ness in his diction. His style was simple, clear, direct, for-
cible. "It seems to me," he said, "that in style we ought
first, and above all things, to aim at clearness of expression.
An obscure style is, of course, a bad style." To a young man,
who had asked his opinion of a piece of writing, he wrote:
" I observe that you have used several French expressions in
your letter. I think if you will study the English language,
that you will find it capable of expressing all the ideas you
may have. I have always found it so; and in all I have writ-
ten I do not recall an instance where I was tempted to use a
foreign word but that, on searching, I have found a better one
in my own language. Be simple, unaffected; be honest in
your speaking and writing. Never use a long word where a
short one will do as well. . . . The only true way to shine,
even in this false world, is to be modest and unassuming.
Falsehood may be a thick crust, but in the course of time

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

159

Truth will find a place to break through. Elegance of ian*
guage may not be in the power of us all, but simplicity and
straightforwardness are." These are the principles to which
his own prose writing is conformed.

As an editor and a man he had some little peculiarities.
His violent temper he schooled himself to keep under perfect
control. Though master of a scathing satire, he never allowed
himself to be betrayed into an abuse of that dangerous faculty.
His editorials were invariably written on the backs of letters
and other pieces of waste paper. He used a quill pen, which
he mended with a knife almost as old as himself. Indeed, he
looked upon old servants, whether animate or inanimate, with
a childlike tenderness. It is related of him that he clung to
an old blue cotton umbrella long after its day of usefulness
had passed; and a suggestion to replace his well-worn knife
with a new one he would have discountenanced almost as an
impertinence.

Bryant was fond of travel, which brought him both mental
and physical recreation. He was a hard worker; and from
time to time, in his later years, relaxation became a necessity
to him. Between the years 1834 and 1867 he made no fewer
than six visits to the Old World. He not only visited the
leading cities of Europe, but extended his travels to Egypt
and Syria. His fame preceded him, and everywhere he was
received with the marks of honor that were due him as a poet
and a man. In Great Britain he met most of the illustrious
authors and scholars of his day, including Wordsworth, Rogers,
Moore, Hallam, Whewell, and Herschel. His letters to the
Evening Post, descriptive of his travels abroad, were afterwards
collected into a volume with the title "Letters of a Traveller."
His fine sense of propriety led him to exclude from his letters
all reference to the distinguished people he met. In 1872 he
visited Cuba and Mexico, where honors were lavishly bestowed
upon him.

By reason of his distinguished position in New York, Bryant
was frequently called on for public addresses. This was espe-

160 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

cially true when the life and character of some eminent person
were to be commemorated. He delivered memorial addresses
upon the artist Thomas Cole, upon Cooper, Irving, Halleck,
and Verplanck. He was not an orator, but he delivered his
carefully prepared discourses with impressive dignity. Though
his treatment was always sympathetic, his estimates are singu-
larly judicious, and his commemorative addresses are models
of their kind.

But whatever excellence Bryant attained in other spheres,
he was above all a poet. Throughout his long and laborious
career, he remained true to the muse he had wooed in his youth.
But he was not a prolific poet. Sometimes his prosaic duties
as a journalist left but little time for poetry. There are years
in which he wrote little or nothing. Besides his lack of leisure
and favorable surroundings, he was too conscientious a work-
man to be satisfied with anything but the best he was capable
of. To him poetry was a serious vocation, which called for the
highest exercise of mind and soul. In "The Poet" he says:

" Thou who wouldst wear the name

Of poet mid thy brethren of mankind,
And clothe in words of flame

Thoughts that shall live within the general mind,
Deem not the framing of a deathless lay
The pastime of a drowsy summer day.

But gather all thy powers,

And wreak them on the verse that thou dost weave,
And in thy lonely hours,

At silent morning or at wakeful eve,
While the warm current tingles through thy veins,
Set forth the burning words in fluent strains."

In 1831 Bryant issued a small volume containing about
eighty of his poems. His simple, honest nature revolted at
everything like sham. He rejected what he called "striking
novelties of expression ; " and he had no patience with the re-
mote allusions or hazy diction, to which it is difficult to attach

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. l6l

a definite meaning. "To me it seems," he said, "that one
of the most important requisites for a great poet is a luminous
style. The elements of poetry lie in natural objects, in the
vicissitudes of human life, in the emotions of the human heart,
and the relation of man to man. He who can present them
in combinations and lights which at once affect the mind with
a deep sense of their truth and beauty is the poet for his own
age and the ages that succeed it." To these principles all his
poetry is conformed.

Bryant wished to have his poems published also in Eng-
land; and, though unacquainted with him at the time, he so-
licited Irving's influence and aid. Irving, who had a genuine
admiration for Bryant's poetry, interested himself in the enter-
prise, secured a publisher, and, to give the volume some degree
of prestige, he appeared as editor, and prefixed a dedicatory
letter addressed to Samuel Rogers. This act of disinterested
kindness was admirable, and called forth Bryant's grateful ap-
preciation. But it subsequently led to some correspondence
not entirely free from asperity. In the poem, " Song of Mari-
on's Men," occur the lines,

" And the British foeman trembles
When Marion's name is heard."

These lines were objected to by the London publisher as
reflecting upon British valor, and as likely, therefore, to preju-
dice the British public. Accordingly Irving judged it best to
change the first line into

" The foeman trembles in his camp."

Under the circumstances there was but little room to find
fault with this alteration. But Leggett, editor of the Plain-
dealer and intimate friend of Bryant's, denounced the change
as "literary pusillanimity." This severe and unnecessary
charge called forth letters from both Irving and Bryant; but
the ill-feeling engendered at the moment proved only a ripple

1 62 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

on the surface of their profound appreciation of each other's
ability and character.

Bryant's poetry has a quality of its own, as distinct and
recognizable as that of Corot's paintings. Beyond all other
verse produced in America, it has what maybe called a classic
quality. It is clear, calm, elevated, strong. Many of his
poems, in their finished form and chastened self-restraint, re-
semble Greek statuary. His poetry is pervaded by a reflective,
ethical tone. The objects of nature, which he dwells on with
untiring fondness, convey to his mind some beautiful lesson
of hope, comfort, courage. He looks, for instance, upon the
North Star, and in its beams he beholds

" A beauteous type of that unchanging good,
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way."

Though there are few that speak in praise of the wild,
stormy month of March, he bids it a cordial welcome :

" Thou bringst the hope of those calm skies,

And that soft time of sunny showers,

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,

Seems of a brighter world than ours."

He does not sigh at the increasing speed with which the
years pass by :

" Then haste thee, Time, 'tis kindness all

That speeds thy winged feet so fast;
The pleasures stay not till they pall,
And all thy pains are quickly past.

Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes,

And as thy shadowy train depart,
The memory of sorrow grows

A lighter burden on the heart."

To those who lament the degeneracy of their time, and are
filled with gloomy forebodings of the future, he says,

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 163

" Oh, no ! a thousand cheerful omens give
Hope of yet happier days whose dawn is nigh.
He who has tamed the elements, shall not live
The slave of his own passions ; he whose eye
Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky,
And in the abyss of brightness dares to span
The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high,
In God's magnificent works his will shall scan,

And love and peace shall make their paradise with man."

Bryant's poetry is not artificial. It sprang out of the depths
of his soul ; it is the natural expression of his deepest thoughts
and feelings. v It was inspired chiefly by the scenery, life, and
history of his own country, a fact that makes him pre-emi-
nently an American poet. "He never, by any chance," says
Stedman, "affected passion or set himself to artificial song.
He had the triple gift of Athene, 'self-reverence, self-knowl-
edge, self-control.' He was incapable of pretending to rap-
tures that he did not feel; and this places him far above a host
of those who, without knowing it, hunt for emotions, and make
poetry but little better than a trade."

Bryant crowned his long literary life with a translation of
the ''Iliad" and the "Odyssey." The former was undertaken
in 1865, when the poet was in his seventy-first year, and it was
completed four years later. His vigorous health and disci-
plined faculties had always enabled him to work with unusual
regularity. He was never dependent on moments of happy
inspiration. In translating Homer he set himself the task
of forty lines a day. He found fault with the translations of
Pope and Cowper, because of their lack of fidelity to the origi-
nal. "I have sought to attain," he says, "what belongs to the
original, a fluent narrative style which shall carry the reader
forward without the impediment of unexpected inversions and
capricious phrases, and in which, if he find nothing to stop at
and admire, there will at least be nothing to divert his atten-
tion from the story and characters of the poem, from the events
related and the objects described." Scarcely was the " Iliad "

164 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

finished, when he began the "Odyssey." It was completed in
two years. The entire translation, which was a credit to Amer-
ican talent and scholarship, met with a cordial reception. It
satisfied the high expectations that had preceded its appear-
ance. In fidelity to the original, in its admirable style and
diction, and in its successful reproduction of the heroic spirit,
it surpasses, perhaps, all other translations.

Besides his city residence, Bryant had two houses in the
country, one near the village of Roslyn, Long Island, com-
manding an extensive prospect of land and water; the other,
the old Bryant homestead at Cummington. He was accus-
tomed, the latter part of his life, to spend about one-half his
time at these country homes. He took great interest in beau-
tifying them, and was "aye sticking in a tree." At his home
near Roslyn, to which he gave the name of "Cedarmere," he
did some of his best work. It was the abode of simplicity and
taste, to which he welcomed many friends and distinguished
guests.

Bryant was a deeply religious man; but he attached more
importance to reverence, righteousness, and charity than to
any ecclesiastical creed. Though brought up in the Calvin-
istic faith, his later theological sympathies were with the Uni-
tarians. "The religious man," he wrote near the end of his
life, "finds in his relations to his Maker a support to his
virtue which others cannot have. He acts always with a con-
sciousness that he is immediately under the eyes of a Being
who looks into his heart, and sees his inmost thoughts, and
discerns the motives which he is half unwilling to acknowl-
edge even to himself. He feels that he is under the inspira-
tion of a Being .who is only pleased with right motives and
purity of intention, and who is displeased with whatever is
otherwise. He feels that the approbation of that Being is
infinitely more to be valued than the applause of all mankind,
and his displeasure more to be feared and more to be avoided
than any disgrace which he might sustain from his brethren
of mankind. " He had a profound reverence for the character

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 165

and teachings of Christ, whose sweetness and beneficence he
exemplified in his own life with advancing years.

The rich, full life of Bryant continued far beyond the
allotted period of man; but the end came suddenly. In the
latter part of May, 1878, he delivered an address at the un-
veiling of a statue to Mazzini, the Italian patriot, in Central
Park. He had not been feeling well for several days, and
exposure to the sun proved too much for his strength. On en-
tering the house of a friend near the Park, he suddenly lost
consciousness, and, falling backward, struck his head violently
on the stone platform of the front steps. The terrific blow
caused concussion of the brain, from which he died June 12,
in the eighty-fourth year of his age. " By reason of his vener-
able age," wrote Dr. J. G. Holland, "his unquestioned genius,
his pure and lofty character, his noble achievement in letters,
his great influence as a public journalist, and his position as
a pioneer in American literature, William Cullen Bryant had
become, without a suspicion of the fact in his own modest
thought, the principal citizen of the great republic. By all
who knew him, and by millions who never saw him, he was
held in the most affectionate reverence. When he died, there-
fore, and was buried from sight, he left a sense of personal
loss in all worthy American hearts."

1 66 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

IT is difficult to form a just and satisfactory estimate of Edgai
Allan Poe. His genius is unquestionable ; but it had a limited
range and lacked a substantial moral basis. It is not always easy
to get at the facts. Like Pope, he did not hesitate to mislead
and mystify his readers. He has been the subject of much
debate ; and his numerous biographers are generally not exempt
from the .suspicion of a friendly or a hostile bias. The latter
probably draw his character too unfavorably ; but the former are
frequently driven to extenuation or apology.

Poe occupies a peculiar place in American literature. He
has been called our most interesting literary man. He stands
alone for his intellectual brilliancy and his lamentable failure
to use it wisely. No one can read his works intelligently with-
out being impressed with his extraordinary ability. Whether
poetry, criticism, or fiction, he shows extraordinary power in
them all. But the moral element in life is the most impor-
tant, and in this Poe was lacking. With him truth was not
the first necessity. He allowed his judgment to be warped by
friendship, and apparently sacrificed sincerity to the vulgar
desire of gaining popular applause. He gambled and drank
liquor; and for these reasons chiefly, though the fact has been
denied by some, he was unable for any considerable length of
time to maintain himself in a responsible or lucrative posi-
tion. Fortune repeatedly opened to him an inviting door; but
he constantly and ruthlessly abused her kindness.

Edgar Allan Poe descended from an honorable ancestry.
His grandfather, David Poe, was a Revolutionary hero, over
whose grave, as he kissed the sod, Lafayette pronounced the
words, "Id repose un cceur noble." His father, an impulsive

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

EDGAR ALLAN POE. 16?

and wayward youth, became enamored of an English actress s
and forsook the bar for the stage. The couple were duly mar-
ried, and acted with moderate success in the principal towns
and cities of the country. It was during an engagement at
Boston that the future poet was born, Jan. 19, iSog. 1 Two
years later the wandering pair were again in Richmond, where
within a few weeks of each other they died in poverty. They
left three children, the second of whom, the subject of this
sketch, was kindly received into the home of Mr. John Allan,
a wealthy merchant of the city.

The early training of Poe may be taken as a very good
example of how not to bring up children. The boy was
remarkably pretty and precocious; and his foster-parents al-
lowed no opportunity to pass without showing him off. After
dinner in this elegant and hospitable home, he was frequently
placed upon the table to drink to the health of the guests,
and to deliver short declamations, for which he had inherited
a decided talent. He was flattered and fondled and indulged
in -every way. Is it strange that under this training he ac-
quired a taste for strong drink, and became opinionated and
perverse ?

In 1815 Mr. Allan went to England with his family to
spend several years, and there placed the young Edgar at
school in an ancient and historic town, which has since been
swallowed up in the overflow of the great metropolis. The
venerable appearance and associations of the town, as may be
learned from the autobiographic tale of "William Wilson,"
made a deep and lasting impression on the imaginative boy.

After five years spent in this English school, where he
learned to read Latin and to speak French, he was brought
back to America, and placed in a Richmond academy. With-
out much diligence in study, his brilliancy enabled him to
take high rank in his classes. His skill in verse-making and

1 Different dates are given, and Baltimore is frequently mentioned as the place
of his birth ; but the matter may be regarded as finally settled by Woodberry in his
excellent biography of Poe.

1 68 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

in debate made him prominent in the school. He excelled in
athletic exercises, especially in running and jumping; and it
is related of him that on one occasion, stimulated perhaps by
the aquatic feats of Byron, he swam a distance of six miles
against a strong tide without much apparent fatigue. But
he was not generally popular among his fellow-students.
Conscious of his superior intellectual endowments (which,
however, as is usual in such cases, were not as great as he
imagined), he was disposed to live apart, and to indulge in
moody reverie. According to the testimony of one who knew
him well at this time, he was " self-willed, capricious, inclined
to be imperious, and though of generous impulses, not steadily
kind, or even amiable."

In 1826, at the age of seventeen, Poe matriculated at the
University of Virginia, and entered the schools of ancient and
modern languages. The university has never been noted for
rigid discipline or Puritanic morals. Its laxity in both partic-
ulars chimed in well with Poe's natural impulses. Though
he attended his classes with a fair degree of regularity, he was
not slow in joining the fast set that spent more time in drink-
ing and gambling than in study. Gambling especially became
a passion, and he lost heavily. His reckless expenditures led
Mr. Allan to visit Charlottesville for the .purpose of inquiring
into his habits. The result was not satisfactory ; and, though
his adopted son won high honors in Latin and French, Mr.
Allan refused to allow him to return to the university after
the close of his first session, and placed him in his own count-
ing-room.

It is not difficult to foresee the next step in the drama
before us. Many a genius of far greater self-restraint and
moral earnestness has found the routine of business almost
intolerably irksome. With high notions of his own ability,
and with a temper rebellious to all restraint, Poe soon broke
away from his new duties, and started out to seek his fortune.
He went to Boston; and, in eager search for fame and money,
he resorted to the unpromising expedient of publishing in

EDGAR ALLAN POE. 169

1827 a small volume of poems. As viewed in the light of his
subsequent career, the volume gives here and there an intima-
tion of the author's genius; but, as was to be expected, it
attracted but little attention, and disappointed all his ambi-
tious hopes. He was soon reduced to financial straits; and, in
his pressing need, he enlisted, under an assumed name, in
the United States army. He served at Fort Moultrie, and
afterwards at Fortress Monroe. He rose to the rank of ser-
geant-major; and, according to the testimony of his superiors,
he was "exemplary in his deportment, prompt and faithful
in the discharge of his duties."

In 1829, when his heart was softened by the death of his
wife, Mr. Allan became reconciled to his adopted but way-
ward son. Through his influence, young Poe secured a dis-
charge from the army, and obtained an appointment as cadet
at West Point. He entered the military academy July i, 1830,
and, as usual, established a reputation for brilliancy and
folly. He was reserved, exclusive, discontented, and censo-
rious. As described by a classmate, "He was an accom-
plished French scholar, and had a wonderful aptitude for
mathematics, so that he had no difficulty in preparing his
recitations in his class, and in obtaining the highest marks in
these departments. He was a devourer of books; but his
great fault was his neglect of and apparent contempt for mili-
tary duties. His wayward and capricious temper made him
at times utterly oblivious or indifferent to the ordinary rou-
tine of roll-call, drills, and guard duties. These habits sub-
jected him often to arrest and punishment, and effectually
prevented his learning or discharging the duties of a soldier.' 7
The final result is obvious. At the end of six months, he was
summoned before a court-martial, tried, and expelled.

Before leaving West Point, Poe arranged for the publica-
tion of a volume of poetry, which appeared in New York in
1831. This volume, to which the students of the academy
subscribed liberally in advance, is noteworthy in several par-
ticulars. In a prefatory letter Poe lays down the poetic prin-

I/O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ciple to which he endeavored to conform his productions. It
throws much light on his poetry by exhibiting the ideal at
which he aimed. "A poem, in my opinion," he says, "is op-
posed to a work of science by having for its immediate object
pleasure, not truth; to romance, by having for its object an
indefinite instead of a definite pleasure, being a poem only
so far as this object is attained; romance presenting percep-
tible images with definite, poetry with ///definite sensations,
to which end music is an essential, since the comprehension of
sweet sound is our most indefinite conception. Music, when
combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry; music without
the idea is simply music; the idea without the music is prose
from its very definiteness." Music embodied in a golden mist
of thought and sentiment this is Poe's poetic ideal.

As illustrative of his musical rhythm, the following lines
from "Al Aaraaf " may be given:"

" Ligeia ! Ligeia 1

My beautiful onel
Whose- harshest idea

Will to melody run,
O! is it thy will

On the breezes to toss?
Or, capriciously still,

Like the lone albatross,
Incumbent on night

(As she on the air)
To keep watch with delight

On the harmony there ? "

Or take the last stanza of "Israfel :"

"If I could dwell
Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within the sky."

EDGAR ALLAN POE. \ 71

The two principal poems in the volume under considera-
tion Al Aaraaf " and " Tamerlane " were obvious imita-
tions of Moore and Byron. The beginning of "Al Aaraaf,"
for example, might easily be mistaken for an extract from
"Lalla Rookh," so similar are the rhythm and rhyme:

"O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy
O! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in w r oodland rill
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed
That like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell
Oh, nothing of the dross of ours
Yet all the beauty all the flowers
That list our Love, and deck our bowers
Adorn yon world afar, afar
The wandering star."

In' this poem there is a further imitation of Moore in the
copious annotations, in which Poe tries to appear learned by
the cheap trick of mentioning obscure names, and quoting
scholarly authorities at second-hand. It indicates his singu-
lar lack of moral integrity that he kept up this evil practice
all through his literary career.

After his expulsion from West Point, Poe appears to have
gone to Richmond; but the long-suffering of Mr. Allan, who
had married again and was expecting a lineal descendant, was
at length exhausted. He refused to extend any further recog-
nition to one whom he had too much reason to regard as un-
appreciative and undeserving. Accordingly, Poe was finally
thrown upon his own resources for a livelihood. He settled in
Baltimore, where he had a few acquaintances and friends, and
entered upon that literary career which is without parallel in
American literature for its achievements, its vicissitudes, and

1/2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

its sorrows. With no qualification for the struggle of life
other than intellectual brilliancy, he bitterly atoned, through
disappointment and suffering, for his defects of temper, lack
of judgment, and habits of intemperance.

In 1833 the Baltimore Saturday Visitor offered a prize of
one hundred dollars for the best prose story. This prize Poe
won by his tale "A MS. Found in a Bottle." This success
may be regarded as the first step in his literary career. The
ability displayed in this fantastic tale brought him to the no-
tice of John P. Kennedy, Esq., who at once befriended him in
his distress, and aided him in his literary projects. He gave
Poe, whom he found in extreme poverty, free access to his
table, and, to use his own words, "brought him up from the
very verge of despair. "

After a year or more of hack work in Baltimore, Poe,
through the influence of his kindly patron, obtained employ-
ment on the Southern Literary Messenger, and removed to Rich-
mond in 1835. Here he made a brilliant start; life seemed to
open before him full of promise. In a short time he was pro-
moted to the editorship of the Messenger, and by his tales,
poems, and especially his reviews, he made that periodical
very popular. In a twelvemonth he increased its subscription
list from seven hundred to nearly five thousand, and made the
magazine a rival of the Knickerbocker and the New Englander.
He was loudly praised by the Southern press, and was gener-
ally regarded as one of the foremost writers of the day.

In the Messenger, Poe began his work as a critic. It is
hardly necessary to say that his criticism was of the slashing
kind. He became little short of a terror. With a great deal
of critical acumen and a fine artistic sense, he made relentless
war on pretentious mediocrity, and rendered good service to
American letters by enforcing higher literary standards. He
was lavish in his charges of plagiarism, even when stealing
himself; and he made use of cheap, second-hand learning in
order to ridicule the pretended scholarship of others. He often
affected an irritating and contemptuous superiority. But with

EDGAR ALLAN POE. 173

all his humbug and superciliousness, his critical estimates, in
the main, have been sustained.

The bright prospects before Poe were in a few months ruth-
lessly blighted. Perhaps he relied too much on his genius
and reputation. It is easy for men of ability to overrate their
importance. Regarding himself, perhaps, as indispensable to
the Messenger, he may have relaxed in vigilant self-restraint.
It has been claimed that he resigned the editorship in order
to accept a more lucrative offer in New York; but the sad
truth seems to be that he was dismissed on account of his
irregular habits.

After eighteen months in Richmond, during which he had
established a brilliant literary reputation, Poe was again turned
adrtft. He went to New York, where his story of "Arthur
Gordon Pym " was published by the Harpers in 1838. It is
a tale of the sea, written with the simplicity of style and cir-
cumstantiality of detail that give such charm to the works of
Defoe. In spite of the fact that Cooper and Marryat had
created a taste for sea-tales, the story of "Arthur Gordon
Pym " never became popular. It is superabundant in horrors
a vein that had a fatal fascination for the morbid genius of
Poe.

The same year in which this story appeared, Poe removed
to Philadelphia, where he soon found work on The Gentleman's
Magazine, recently established by the comedian Burton. He
soon rose to the position of editor-in-chief, and his talents
proved of great value to the magazine. His tales and criti-
cism rapidly increased its circulation. But the actor, whose
love of justice does him great credit, could not approve of his
editor's sensational criticism. In a letter written when their
cordial relations were interrupted for a time, Burton speaks
very plainly and positively: "I cannot permit the magazine
to be made a vehicle for that sort of severity which you think
is so ' successful with the mob. ' I am truly much less anx-
ious about making a monthly ' sensation ' than I am upon the
point of fairness. . . . You say the people love havoc. I

1/4 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ihink they love justice." Poe did not profit by his experience
at Richmond, and after a few months he was dismissed for
neglect of duty.

He was out of employment but a short time. In Novem-
ber, 1840, Graham's Magazine was established, and Poe ap-
pointed editor. At no other period of his life did his genius
appear to better advantage. Thrilling stories and trenchant
criticisms followed one another in rapid succession. His arti-
cles on autography and cryptology attracted widespread atten-
tion. In the former he attempted to illustrate character by
the handwriting; and in the latter he maintained that human
ingenuity cannot invent a cipher that human ingenuity cannot
resolve. In the course of a few months the circulation of the
magazine (if its own statements may be trusted) increased from
eight thousand to forty thousand a remarkable circulation for
the time.

His criticism was based on the rather violent assumption
"that, as a literary people, we are one vast perambulating
humbug." In most cases, literary prominence, he asserted,
was achieved "by the sole means of a blustering arrogance,
or of busy wriggling conceit, or of the most bare-faced plagia-
rism, or even through the simple immensity of its assump-
tions." These fraudulent reputations he undertook, "with the
help of a hearty good will " (which no one will doubt), to
"tumble down." But, in the fury of this general destruction,
he did not allow himself to become utterly indiscriminate and
merciless. He admitted that there were a few who rose above
absolute "idiocy." "Mr. Morris has written good songs.
Mr. Bryant is not all fool. Mr. Willis is not quite an ass.
Mr. Longfellow will steal; but, perhaps, he cannot help it
(for we have heard of such things), and then it must not be
denied that nil tetigit quod non ornavit" But, in spite of reck-
less and extravagant assertion, there was still too much acu-
men and force in his reviews to allow them to be treated with
indifference or contempt.

In about eighteen months Poe's connection with Graham

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

was dissolved. The reason has not been made perfectly clear;
but, from what we already know, it is safe to charge it to Poe's
infirmity of temper or of habit. His protracted sojourn in
Philadelphia was now drawing to a close. It had been the
most richly productive, as well as the happiest, period of his
life. For a time, sustained by appreciation and hope, he in a
measure overcame his intemperate habits. Griswold, his much-
abused biographer, has given us an interesting description of
him and his home at this time: "His manner, except during
his fits of intoxication, was very quiet and gentlemanly; he
was usually dressed with simplicity and elegance; and when
once he sent for me to visit him, during a period of illness
caused by protracted and anxious watching at the side of his
sick wife, I was impressed by the singular neatness and the air
of refinement in his home. It was in a small house, in one
of the pleasant and silent neighborhoods far from the centre
of the town; and, though slightly and cheaply furnished, every-
thing in it was so tasteful and so fitly disposed that it seemed
altogether suitable for a man of genius."

It was during his residence in Philadelphia that Poe wrote
his choicest stories. Among the masterpieces of this period
are to be mentioned "The Fall of the House of Usher," " Li-
geia," which he regarded as his best tale, "The Descent into
the Maelstrom," "The Murders of the Rue Morgue," and
" The Mystery of Marie Roget. " The general character of his
tales may be inferred from their titles. Poe delighted in the
weird, fantastic, dismal, horrible. There is no warmth of
human sympathy, no moral consciousness, no lessons of prac-
tical wisdom. His tales are the product of a morbid but
powerful imagination. His style is in perfect keeping with
his peculiar gifts. He had a highly developed artistic sense.
By his air of perfect candor, his minuteness of detail, and his
power of graphic description, he gains complete mastery over
the soul, and leads us almost to believe the impossible.
Within the limited range of his imagination (for he was by no
means the universal genius he fancied himself to be), he is
unsurpassed, perhaps, by any other American writer.

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Poe's career had now reached its climax, and after a time
began its rapid descent. In 1844 he moved to New York,
where for a year or two his life did not differ materially from
what it had been in Philadelphia. He continued to write his
fantastic tales, for which he was poorly paid, and to do edi-
torial work, by which he eked out a scanty livelihood. He
was employed by N. P. Willis for a few months on the Even-
ing Mirror as sub-editor and critic, and was regularly " at his
desk from nine in the morning till the paper went to press."
It was in this paper, Jan. 29, 1845, that his greatest poem,
"The Raven," was published with a flattering commendation
by Willis. It laid hold of the popular fancy; and, copied
throughout the length and breadth of the land, it met a recep-
tion never before accorded to an American poem. Abroad
its success was scarcely less remarkable and decisive. "This
vivid writing," wrote Mrs. Browning, "this power which is felt \
has produced a sensation here in England. Some of my
friends are taken by the fear of it, and some by the music.
I hear of persons who are haunted by the ' Nevermore ; ' and
an acquaintance of mine, who has the misfortune of pos-
sessing a bust of Pallas, cannot bear to look at it in the
twilight."

In 1845 Poe was associated with the management of the
Broadway Journal, which in a few months passed entirely
into his hands. He had long desired to control a periodical
of his .own, and in Philadelphia had tried to establish a mag-
azine. But, however brilliant as an editor, he was not a man
of administrative ability; and in three months he was forced
to suspend publication for want of means. Shortly afterwards
he published in Godey's Lady's Book a series of critical papers
entitled the "Literati of New York." The papers, usually
brief, are gossipy, interesting, sensational, with an occasional
lapse into contemptuous and exasperating severity.

In the same year he published a tolerably complete edition
of his poems in the revised form in which they now appear in
his works. The volume contained nearly all the poems upon

EDGAR ALLAN FOE. 177

which his poetic fame justly rests. Among the poems that
may be regarded as embodying his highest poetic achievement
are "The Raven," "Lenore," "Ulalume," "The Bells," "An-
nabel Lee," "The Haunted Palace," "The Conqueror Worm,"
"The City in the Sea," "Eulalie," and "Israfel." Rarely
has so large a fame rested on so small a number of poems, and
rested so securely. His range of themes, it will be noticed,
is very narrow. As in his tales, he dwells in a weird, fantas-
tic, or desolate region usually under the shadow of death.
He conjures up unearthly landscapes as a setting for his gloomy
and morbid fancies. In " The City in the Sea," for example,

" There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie."

He conformed his poetic efforts to his theory that a poem
should be short. He maintained that the phrase "a long
poem" "is simply a flat contradiction in terms." His strong
artistic sense gave him a firm mastery over form. He con-
stantly uses alliteration, repetition, and refrain. These arti-
fices form an essential part of "The Raven," "Lenore," and
" The Bells." In his poems, as in his tales, Poe was less
anxious to set forth an experience or a truth than to make an
impression. His poetry aims at beauty in a purely artistic
sense, unassociated with truth or morals. It is singularly
vague, unsubstantial, and melodious. Some of his poems
and precisely those in which his genius finds its highest ex-
pression defy complete analysis. They cannot be taken
apart so that each thought and sentiment stands out clear to
the understanding. " Ulalume," for instance, remains obscure
after the twentieth perusal its meaning lost in a haze of mist
and music. Yet these poems, when read in a sympathetic
mood, never fail of their effect. They are genuine creations;

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

and, as fitting expressions of certain mental states, they pos-
sess an indescribable charm, something like the spell of in-
strumental music. There is no mistaking his poetic genius.
Though not the greatest, he is still the most original, of our
poets, and has fairly earned the high esteem in which his gifts
are held in America and Europe.

During his stay in New York, Poe was often present in the
literary gatherings of the metropolis. He was sometimes ac-
companied by his sweet, affectionate, invalid wife, whom in her
fourteenth year he had married in Richmond. According to
Griswold, " His conversation was at times almost supra-mortal
in its eloquence. His voice was modulated with astonishing
skill ; and his large and variably expressive eyes looked repose
or shot fiery tumult into theirs who listened, while his own face
glowed, or was changeless in pallor, as his imagination quick-
ened his blood or drew it back frozen to his heart. His im-
agery was from the worlds which no mortals can see but with
the vision of genius." He exercised a strong fascination over
women. " To a sensitive and delicately nurtured woman," wrote
Mrs. Osgood, "there was a peculiar and irresistible charm in
the chivalric, graceful, and almost tender reverence with which
he invariably approached all women who won his respect."
His writings are unstained by a single immoral sentiment.

Toward the latter part of his sojourn in New York, the hand
of poverty and want pressed upon him sorely. The failing
health of his wife, to whom his tender devotion is beyond all
praise, was a source of deep and constant anxiety. For a time
he became an object of charity a humiliation that was ex-
ceedingly galling to his delicately sensitive nature. To a sym-
pathetic friend, who lent her kindly aid in this time of need,
we owe a graphic but pathetic picture of Poe's home shortly
before the death of his almost angelic wife. " There was no
clothing on the bed, which was only straw, but a snow-white
counterpane and sheets. The weather was cojd, and the sick
lady had the dreadful chills that accompany the hectic fever of
consumption. She lay on the straw bed, wrapped in her hus-

EDGAR ALLAN POE. 179

band's great coat, with a large tortoise-shell cat in her bosom.
The wonderful cat seemed conscious of her great usefulness.
The coat and the cat were the sufferer's only means of warmth,
except as her husband held her hands, and her mother her
feet" She died Jan. 30, 1847.

After this event Poe was never entirely himself again. The
immediate effect of his bereavement was complete physical and
mental prostration, from which he recovered only with diffi-
culty. His subsequent literary work deserves scarcely more
than mere mention. His " Eureka," an ambitious treatise, the
immortality of which he confidently predicted, was a disap-
pointment and failure. He tried lecturing, but with only mod-
erate success. His correspondence at this time reveals a
broken, hysterical, hopeless man. In his weakness, loneliness,
and sorrow, he resorted to stimulants with increasing fre-
quency. Their terrible work was soon done. On his return
from a visit to Richmond, he stopped in Baltimore, where he
died from the effects of drinking, Oct. 7, 1849.

Thus ended the tragedy of his life. It is as depressing as
one of his own morbid, fantastic tales. His career leaves a
painful sense of incompleteness and loss. With greater self-
discipline, how much more he might have accomplished for
himself and for others ! Gifted, self-willed, proud, passionate,
with meagre moral sense, he forfeited success by his perver-
sity and his vices. From his own character and experience
he drew the unhealthy and pessimistic views to which he I as
given expression in the maddening poem, u The Conqueror
Worm." And if there were not happier and nobler lives, we
might well say with him, as we stand by his grave :

" Out out are the lights out all !

And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy ' Man,'

And its hero the Conqueror Worm/

180 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

IN literature the historian records less of action than of
thinking. Literature is a product of thought. The biography
of many great writers is a story of "plain living and high
thinking." This is pre-eminently true of Ralph Waldo Emer-
son. His outward life was uneventful. He filled no high
civic or political station ; he led no great reformatory move-
ment that changed the character of society. His quiet, unosten-
tatious life was devoted to the discovery and the proclamation
of truth. As he said of Plato, his biography is interior. From
time to time, as he felt called upon, he gave forth, in essays,
lectures, and poems, the choice treasures he had carefully
stored up in retirement and silence.

He deserves to rank as one of our greatest thinkers. It
should not be forgotten, however, that absolute originality is
far less frequent than is sometimes supposed. As some writer
has wittily said, the ancients have stolen our best thoughts.
Other ages, no less than the present age, have had earnest,
reflective souls. The same problems that press on us nature,
life, society, freedom, death, destiny pressed on them for
solution. In large measure the profound thinkers of the past
have exhausted the field of speculative philosophy. "Out of
Plato," says Emerson, "come all things that are still written
and debated among men of thought. Great havoc makes he
among our originalities." Only small advances can be made
now and then, even by the children of genius. Emerson had
a deep affinity for the imperial thinkers of our race. He
made them his intimate friends, and assimilated their choicest
thoughts. He settled the matter of plagiarism very simply.
" All minds quote," he said. " Old and new make the warp

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. l8l

and woof of every moment. There is no thread that is not a
twist of these two strands. By necessity, by proclivity, and by
delight, we all quote."

Emerson was a philosopher only in the broad, original mean-
ing of the word. He had but little power as a close, logical
reasoner. He was incapable of building up a system. " I do
not know," he says, " what arguments mean in reference to any
expression of a thought. I delight in telling what I think ; but
if you ask me how I dare say so, or why it is so, I am the most
helpless of mortal men." He belongs to that higher class of
men whom we revere as prophets or seers. His method was
not logic, but intuition. In the pure light of genius, he saw
the truth that he announced. His was " the oracular soul."
He does not argue ; he only states or reveals. He gives ut-
terance to what is communicated to him, whether men will
receive it or not.

There is an unbroken line of idealists and mystics running
through the ages. While idealism and mysticism have often
run into absurd extremes, they have fostered what is deepest
and noblest in life belief in God, in truth, and in immor-
tality. The greatest representative of this idealistic tendency
in the past was unquestionably Plato. Since his day there
have been many others Plotinus, Augustine, Eckhart, Tauler,
Schelling, Coleridge who have sought to transcend the realm
of the senses, and to commune immediately with the Infinite.
Emerson is the leading representative of this philosophy in
America. It is the source of his inspiration and power; it
contains in varied application the great message he had to
deliver to our superficial, commercial, money-loving country.
His principal essays and poems rest on a mystic sense of the
all-originating and all-pervading presence of God the source
of all life, of all beauty, of all truth.

Yet it must be remembered that he was a New Englander as
well as a transcendentalist In spite of his idealism and mys-
ticism, he never cut entirely loose from common sense. If at
times he came perilously near ecstatic and unintelligible utter-

1 82 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ance, he soon recovered his balance. His sturdy Puritan sense
saved him. His mysticism never drove him out of his com-
fortable home into starving asceticism. It did not wholly par-
alyze his active energies. Notwithstanding his strivings after
communion with the Over-soul, he was not so lost to the com-
monplace obligations of life as to neglect his family. It is true
that he often grudged the time spent in attending to ordinary
matters of business. " Do what I can," he said, " I cannot
keep my eyes off the clock." But, unlike many another mystic,
he did not let go of commonplace realities ; and in spite of his
addiction to ineffable communings, he was an estimable and
useful citizen.

Ralph Waldo Emerson was of Puritan descent, and counted
seven ministers in the immediate line of his ancestry. Born in
Boston, May 25, 1803, he may be considered the consummate
flower of a healthy and vigorous stock. Nature seems to have
seized upon the intellectual and ethical qualities of his Puritan
ancestors, and to have wrought them into the solid foundation
of his character. He was fitted for college in the public Latin
School of Boston, and entered Harvard in 1817. He took
high rank in his classes, delighted in general reading, and ex-
hibited a gentle and amiable disposition. In his senior year
ae took the second prize in English composition, and at the
conclusion of his course, in 1821, delivered the class-day poem.

After his graduation, Emerson devoted the next five years
to teaching, and met with an encouraging degree of success.
He is described by one of his pupils as being "very grave,
quiet, and impressive in his appearance. There was some-
thing engaging, almost fascinating, about him; he was never
harsh or severe, always perfectly self-controlled, never pun-
ished except with words, but exercised complete command over
the boys/' Along with his teaching, he pursued the study
of theology under Channing, the great Unitarian leader and
preacher. After three years of theological study he was " ap-
probated to preach," though grave doubts had begun to trouble
his mind. After spending a winter in South Carolina and

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 183

Florida for his health, he returned to Boston, and was ordained
as colleague of the Rev. Henry Ware, pastor of the Second
Unitarian Church. After the resignation of his colleague a
few months later, Emerson became sole pastor, and performed
his duties diligently and acceptably. With a broad and liberal
spirit, he took an interest in the affairs of the city, served on
the School Board, acted as chaplain of the State Senate, and
co-operated in the philanthropic work of other denominations.

His sermons, both in matter and form, foreshadowed his
lectures and essays. Their profound thought was clothed in
simple but felicitous diction. His manner as a speaker was
quiet, earnest, and impressive. His voice was peculiarly pleas-
ing "the perfect music of spiritual utterance." A brilliant
career lay before him in the pulpit. But, as is usual in such
cases, his doubts in regard to certain points of Christian doc-
trine and traditional ceremonies increased. At last he came to
feel conscientious scruples against administering the Lord's
Supper. His expanding views outgrew even the very spacious
liberality of his church. Had he been a time-server or a hyp-
ocrite, he would have concealed his scruples. But a man of
transparent integrity, he frankly avowed his difficulties to his
people ; and, finding the prevailing sentiment of the congre-
gation against his views, he resigned his office, and gradually
withdrew from the ministry. But on neither side was there
any bitterness of feeling ; and whatever errors there may have
been in Christian doctrine, we must recognize the presence of
the charity that " thinketh no evil."

In 1833, the year following his resignation, he went to
Europe for a few months, and visited Sicily, Italy, France, and
England. He met a number of distinguished authors, among
whom were Coleridge, De Quincey, Landor, Wordsworth, and
Carlyle. A " quiet night of clear, fine talk " was the begin-
ning of a warm friendship between him and Carlyle. His
idealistic tendencies naturally made him partial to Words-
worth's poetry, which was not without influence upon his intel-
lectual development.

1 84 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

After his return from Europe, Emerson entered upon his
new career as lecturer. For half a century he continued to
appear upon the platform as a lecturer, and gradually made
his way to a foremost place. He exemplified the truth of what
De Quincey wrote : " Whatever is too original will be hated at
the first. It must slowly mould a public for itself." When
Emerson began to present his idealistic and mystical views, he
was not generally understood. His philosophy was an exotic
growth. By the prosaic multitude he was looked upon as
mildly insane. James Freeman Clarke thus describes the gen-
eral impression made by his earlier lectures : " The majority of
the sensible, practical community regarded him as mystical, or
crazy, or affected, as an imitator of Carlyle, as racked and rev-
olutionary, as a fool, as one who did not himself know what he
meant. A small but determined minority, chiefly composed of
young men and women, admired him and believed in him, took
him for their guide, teacher, master. I, and most of my friends,
belonged to this class. Without accepting all his opinions, or
indeed knowing what they were, we felt that he did us more
good than any other writer or speaker among us, and chiefly
in two ways, first, by encouraging self-reliance; and, sec-
ondly, by encouraging God-reliance."

Emerson was not, in the usual sense of the term, an elo-
quent speaker. He did not call to his aid the resources of
intonation, gesture, and vehemence. But, in a spirit of ear-
nestness and sincerity, he spoke his deepest convictions; and,
in spite of his unimpassioned delivery, he was singularly im-
pressive. His discourses were enveloped in an atmosphere of
cheerful hopefulness that was especially helpful to the young.
He believed in the ultimate triumph of truth over error, and
inculcated a manly self-reliance and an absolute trust in God
Such a preacher (for he regarded the platform as his pulpit)
could not fail to exert a profound influence upon many lives.
James Russell Lowell has described for us the effect of Emer-
son's lectures on his younger hearers : " To some of us that
long past experience remains the most marvellous and fruitful

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

18 5

we have ever had. Emerson awakened us, saved us from the
body of this death. It is the sound of the trumpet that the
young soul longs for, careless of what breath may fill it. Sid-
ney heard it in the ballad of ' Chevy Chase/ and we in Emer-
son. Nor did it blow retreat, but called us with assurance of
victory."

In 1829, a few months after becoming a pastor in Boston,
Emerson married Miss Ellen Louisa Tucker. It is to her that
the poem, " To Ellen at the South," is addressed. Apparently
as delicate as the flowers that called to her in their devotion,
she died of consumption in 1832. Three years later Emerson
married Miss Lydia Jackson, and at once occupied the house
at Concord in which he resided till his death. In this town
of historic and literary associations, " He was surrounded by
men," to use the words of Oliver Wendell Holmes, " who ran
to extremes in their idiosyncrasies : Alcott in speculations,
which often led him into the fourth dimension of mental space ;
Hawthorne, who brooded himself into a dream-peopled soli-
tude ; Thoreau, the nullifier of civilization, who insisted on
nibbling his asparagus at the wrong end ; to say nothing of
idolaters and echoes. He kept his balance among them all."
He became the most distinguished citizen of the place ; and,
as the years passed by, his home became the object of pious
pilgrimages for his disciples and admirers. In 1836 he com-
posed the " Concord Hymn," which was sung at the comple-
tion of the battle monument :

" By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world."

For some years Emerson's studies had been in the line of
idealistic and mystical philosophy. He gave much time to
Plato ; dipped into Plotinus and the German mystics ; read
with enthusiasm the poems of George Herbert, and the prose
writings of Cudworth, Henry More, Milton, Jeremy Taylor,

1 86 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

and Coleridge. In 1836, as a result of these studies, he
published a little vblume entitled " Nature," which contained
the substance of his subsequent teachings in both prose and
poetry. It is based on a pure idealism, which teaches that
matter is only a manifestation of spirit. " We learn that the
Highest is present to the soul of man, that the dread universal
Essence, which is not wisdom, of love, or beauty, or power,
but all in one, and each entirely, is that for which all things
exist, and that by which they are ; that spirit creates ; that
behind nature, throughout nature, spirit is present ; that spirit
is one, and not compound ; that spirit does not act upon us
from without, that is, in space and time, but spiritually, or
through ourselves." The book was variously judged, according
to the insight or prejudices of the critics. From its very na-
ture it could not be popular, and some years elapsed before
it reached a sale of five hundred copies.

The year "Nature" was published, the transcendental move-
ment began to assume tangible form. Its representatives,
drawn together by common sympathies and aspirations, organ-
ized themselves into a society for mutual aid and encour-
agement. This society was known as "The Transcendental
Club," and held informal meetings from house to house for the
discussion of philosophical questions. As a class the trans-
cendentalists, among whom were Emerson, Alcott, Channing,
George Ripley, Theodore Parker, James Freeman Clarke,
Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, and others, were earnest in their
search after truth. They were optimistic, and generally favor-
able to all sorts of reforms and innovations ; but occasionally
they were also extravagant and impractical such people, in
short, as in the hard realism of to-day are denominated cranks.
. Transcendentalism is but another name for idealism. It
recognizes an all-pervading spiritual presence as the ultimate
reality. It is opposed to materialism. It teaches that man
has a faculty transcending the senses and the understanding
as an organ of truth. It believes in the existence of a Univer-
sal Reason, of which the human soul is an individual manifes-

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 187

tatioh a divine spark. The highest knowledge is intuitional;
it is an inspiration of the omnipresent Spirit. All things, ani-
mate and inanimate, are but a manifestation of infinite Spirit,
which binds the universe together in a sublime unity, and is
the source of all wisdom, truth, and beauty. The material
world is the image or symbol of the spiritual world ; all natural
objects and laws are ideas of God.

It was for the dissemination of these philosophic principles,
which now gave character to all of Emerson's thinking, that
The Dial was established. It was edited at first by Margaret
Fuller, and afterwards by Emerson, who furnished numerous
contributions in both prose and poetry. Of course the maga-
zine, with its vague and often unintelligible lucubrations, drew
upon itself a good deal of hostile criticism. Emerson com-
plained that it was "honored by attacks from almost every
newspaper and magazine." Even Carlyle wrote : " I love your
Dial, and yet it is with a kind of shudder. You seem to me
in danger of dividing yourselves from the Fact of this present
Universe, in which alone, ugly as it is, can I find any anchor-
age, and soaring away after Ideas, Beliefs, Revelations, and
such like, into perilous altitudes, as I think." It proved
too ethereal a plant for this hard, common-sense world, and
after four years it died.

There was still another important product of the transcen-
dental movement. In 1840 Emerson wrote to Carlyle : " We
are all a little wild here with numberless projects of social
reform. Not a reading man but has a draft of a new com-
munity in his waistcoat pocket. I am gently mad myself, and
am resolved to live cleanly. George Ripley is talking up a
colony of agriculturists and scholars, with whom he threatens
to take the field and the book. One man renounces the use of
animal food ; and another, coin ; and another, domestic hired
service ; and another, the state ; and, on the whole, we have
a commendable share of reason and hope." The following
year Ripley's project took form in " The Brook Farm Associa-
tion for Education and Agriculture." The object of the asso-

1 88 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

elation, in the words of its originator, was "to insure a more
natural union between intellectual and manual labor than now
exists ; to combine the thinker and the worker, as far as possi-
ble, in the same individual ; to guarantee the highest mental
freedom by providing all with labor adapted to their tastes
and talents, and securing to them the fruits of their industry."
Its aim, in short, was to furnish a model of an ideal civiliza-
tion, in which there would be the least possible manual toil,
and the largest amount of intellectual and spiritual culture.
Emerson, while looking on the experiment with friendly inter-
est, held aloof from active participation. His profound knowl-
edge of human nature seems to have inspired misgivings as to
its practical workings. Yet when the Brook Farm Association
came to an end in 1846, he pronounced it in its aims a noble
and generous movement.

In 1841 Emerson published his first volume of "Essays,"
containing History, Self-Reliance, Compensation, Spiritual Laws.
Love, Friendship, Prudence, Heroism, The Over-Soul, Circles,
Intellect, and Art. Composed under the fresh inspiration of
his idealism, these essays are unsurpassed in depth and rich-
ness by anything he subsequently wrote. Perhaps nothing
more suggestive and inspiring has been produced in the whole
range of American literature. But when the " Essays " ap-
peared, New England did not breathe freely at such altitudes
of speculation ; and various critics, failing to catch its funda-
mental philosophy, stigmatized the book as vague, extravagant,
meaningless.

It is worth while to dwell for a moment on this work. To
understand it is to master Emerson. The first essay, on His-
tory, sounds the key-note to the whole series: "There is one
mind common to all individual men. Every man is an inlet to
the same and to all of the same. He that is once admitted
to the right of reason is made a freeman of the whole estate.
What Plato has thought, he may think ; what a saint has felt,
he may feel ; what at any time has befallen any man, he can
understand. Who hath access to this universal mind is a party

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 189

to all that is or can be done, for this is the only sovereign
agent." The verses prefixed as a kind of motto or text em-
body the same idea :

" There is no great and no small
To the Soul that maketh all ;
And where it cometh, all things are ;
And it cometh everywhere."

The following lines, presenting the same thought in more
concrete form, will be found a little startling :

" I am owner of the sphere,
Of the seven stars and the solar year,
Of Caesar's hand, and Plato's brain,
Of Lord Christ's heart, and Shakespeare's strain."

In Self-Reliance, Emerson urges us to be true to our own
thought, to trust our own conviction, to shake off all spiritual
bondage. No less than other men, whether of the present age
or former ages, we are organs of the Universal Reason. " We
lie in the lap of immense Intelligence, which makes us organs
of its activity and receivers of its truth. When we discern
justice, when we discern truth, we do nothing of ourselves, but
allow a passage to its beams. If we ask whence this comes,
if we seek to pry into the soul that causes, all metaphysics,
all philosophy, is at fault. Its presence or its absence is all we
can affirm." The same thought, which lies at the basis of
nearly all his Essays in inexhaustible richness, is fully devel-
oped in The Over-Soul.

Emerson's life at this time was simple, busy, studious. He
took a lively interest in his vegetable garden and in his little
orchard of thirty trees. He had an income of about thirteen
hundred dollars from invested funds, to which he added eight
hundred dollars by his winter lectures. In a letter to Carlyle,
dated May 10, 1838, he gives us a pleasing glimpse of his
home life : " My wife Lydia is an incarnation of Christianity
I call her Asia and keeps my philosophy from Antinomian-

190 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ism ; my mother, whitest, mildest, most conservative of ladies,
whose only exception to her Universal preference for old things
is her son ; my boy, a piece of love and sunshine, Well worth
my watching from morning to night, these, and three domes-
tic women, who cook and sew and run for us, make all my
household. Here I sit and read and write, with very little
system, and, as far as regards composition, with the most frag-
mentary results : paragraphs incompressible, each sentence an
infinitely repellent particle."

But, alas ! this qtiiet abode of domestic joy was hot to re-
main unsmitten. That idolized boy of five years that "piece
of love and sunshine " - was taken away. " A few weeks
ago," wrote the stricken father, " I accounted myself a very
rich man, and now the poorest of all." His grief blossomed
in the " Threnody," one of the noblest elegies ever written.
To his overwhelming sorrow, doubt, and despair, "the deep
Heart " back of all things at last spoke comfort and cheer :

" Wilt thou not ope thy heart to know
What rainbows teach, and sunsets show ?
Verdict which accumulates
From lengthening scroll of human fates,
Voicfe of earth to earth returned,
Prayers of saints that inly burned,
Saying, What is excellent
As God lives, is permanent ;
Hearts are dust,, hearts' loves remain ,
Hearts* love will meet thee again."

In 1844 Emerson published a second volume of "Essays"
in his characteristic Veiri. Almost every year, from the time
he gave up his pastoral work, added to the list of his notable
addresses. He brought his Idealism to bear on various ques-
tions connected with theology, education, and government. In
theology he drifted farther away from orthodox Unitarianism ;
and an address delivered before the senior class of Divinity
College, Cambridge^ in 1838, caused a sensation and started a
controversy, in which he "had little more than the part of Pa-

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 1 91

troclus when the Greeks and Trojans fought over his body. 7 '
He was not a controversialist, but a seer. He deplored the
materialistic tendency of this rapidly developing commercial
age, and raised his warning voice. In a college address in
1841 he declares that the thirst for wealth " acts like the
neighborhood of a gold-mine to impoverish the farm, the
school, the church, the house, and the very body and feature
of man." His face was turned to the future with perpetual
youth, and his message always carried with it encouragement
and hope. He sympathized with every reformatory movement
that promised a better social condition. He favored the aboli-
tion of slavery, and encouraged the movement for "woman's
rights." In an address in 1855, he said: "The new move-
ment is only a tide shared by the spirits of man and woman ;
and you may proceed in the faith that whatever the woman's
heart is prompted to desire, the man's mind is simultaneously
prompted to accomplish."

In 1847 Emerson made a second visit to England, and de-
livered a number of lectures to enthusiastic audiences. The
best of these lectures he afterwards published under the title
of "Representative Men." It is one of his most interesting
and valuable works, intelligent even to the uninitiated. In
1856 appeared his " English Traits," in which he embodied the
shrewd observation and interesting reflections of his sojourn
in England. He was delighted with English life, which, of
course, he saw on the best side ; but he still preserved his
equilibrium sufficiently to smile at a foible, or point out an un-
flattering truth. Of Emerson's other prose works, "The Con-
duct of Life," " Society and Solitude," " Letters and Social
Aims," though meriting extended notice, no more than mere
mention can be made.

In 1846 Emerson published his first volume of "Poems,"
and in 1867 appeared " May Day and Other Pieces." In spite
of Matthew Arnold's judgment to the contrary, Emerson was a
true poet, as well as an impressive lecturer and surpassing es-
sayist. His poetry, no less than his prose, is pervaded by his

1 92 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

idealistic philosophy. In his admirable poem, " Wood-Notes,"
he thus speaks of nature :

" Ever fresh the broad creation,
A divine improvisation,
From the heart of God proceeds,
A single will, a million deeds."

As a product of spirit, the world is full of meaning. It is
pervaded by^ a divine symbolism, which it is the office of the
poet to read and interpret. Emerson calls the world " a temple,
whose walls are covered with emblems, pictures, and command-
ments of the Deity." "Poetry," he says, "is the perpetual
endeavor to express the spirit of the thing." Nature is to
him a continual revelation; hence he says in the little poem,
" Good-by, "

"And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools and the learned clan ;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet ? "

Emerson took his poetic office seriously. He considered
poetry the highest vocation. " The poet," he says, " is the
sayer, the namer, and represents beauty. He is a sovereign,
and stands at the centre. For the world is not painted or
adorned, but is from the beginning beautiful ; and God has not
made some beautiful things, but Beauty is the creator of the
universe. Therefore the poet is not any permissive potentate,
but is emperor in his own right." In "Merlin," Emerson

says :

"Thy trivial harp will never please
Or fill my craving ear;

Its chords should ring as blows the breeze,
Free, peremptory, clear.
No jingling serenader's art,
Nor tinkle of piano strings,

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

Can make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs."

193

Impressed with the grandeur of the poet's vocation, Emer-
son was more or less indifferent to the art of versification. He
rose above ingenious tricks and petty fancies. He has been
called a poet "wanting the accomplishment of verse." He
depended for success upon grandeur of thought, and truth of
revelation. " For it is not metres," he says, " but a metre-
making argument, that makes a poem, a thought so passion-
ate and alive, that, like the spirit of a plant or an animal, it
has an architecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new
thing." Again in "Merlin," he says:

"Great is the art,
Great be the manners, of the bard.
He shall not his brain encumber
With the coil of rhythm and number;
But, leaving rule and pale forethought,
He shall aye climb
For his rhyme."

Emerson was a loving student of nature. He reminds us
of Wordsworth in his painstaking observation. His exqui-
site appreciation of natural beauty is often expressed in words
nobly wedded to the sense. In " The Snow-Storm, " the retiring
north wind

" Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow."

And again in " Wood-Notes : "

"Thou canst not wave thy staff in air,
Or dip thy paddle in the lake,
But it carves the bow of beauty there,
And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake."

He deduces from the humblest objects in nature the richest
lessons of practical wisdom. To him the humblebee is

194 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

"Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher.
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat."

He knew the sweet, soothing influence of nature, of which
Bryant spoke. In " Musketaquid, " he says :

"All my hurts

My garden spade can heal. A woodland walk,
A quest of river grapes, a mocking thrush,
A wild rose, or rock-loving columbine,
Salves my worst wounds."

Notwithstanding his treasures of beauty and wisdom, Emer-
son can hardly be a popular poet. He dwells in the higher
regions of song. He must be content with a small but select
audience. He does not deal in sentimentality " poetry fit to
be put round frosted cake ; " he does not clothe his thought in
the richest music of numbers. He is profoundly thoughtful ;
he earnestly strives to voice the speechless messages of the
Over-soul. He grows upon us as we grasp more fully his
meaning. Though not the most entertaining of our poets, he
brings us the deepest and most helpful messages. His poetry,
like his prose, brings courage and hope to burdened and strug-
gling men. He calls them to sincerity, to faith, to truth. In
the tasks that come to us, divine help is near:

" So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When Duty whispers low, Thou must,
The youth replies, / can"

If there are any who question this estimate, let them read,
besides the poems already mentioned, "Each and All," "The
Problem," "The Rhodora," "Astraea," "Sursum Corda," "Ode

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. ^5

to Beauty," " Give All to Love," " Voluntaries," and many
others.

Emerson was peculiar in his literary methods. It is doubt-
ful whether we have had another author so frugal in husband-
ing every thought. Besides the work done in his study day
by day, he was accustomed to jot down in a note-book the
stray thoughts that came to him in conversation or on his
walks. The suggestions that occurred to him in his studies,
conversations, and meditations he elaborated in a common-
place book, where he noted the subject of each paragraph. He
thus preserved the best thoughts of his most fertile moments.
When he had occasion to prepare an essay or a lecture, he
brought together all the paragraphs relating to the subject in
his commonplace books, supplying, at the same time, such new
connective matter as might be necessary. This method wilL
explain the evident absence of logical treatment in most of his
writings, and also account for the fact, noted by Alcott, that
" you may begin at the last paragraph and read backwards."
Emerson subjected his writings to repeated and exacting revis-
ions. Paragraphs were condensed, and every superfluous sen-
tence and word were mercilessly pruned away. " Nowhere
else," as Burroughs says, " is there such a preponderance of
pure statement, of the very attar of thought, over the bulkier,
circumstantial, qualifying, or secondary elements."

The year 1867 is indicated as about the limit of his work-
ing life. He gave pathetic expression to his experience in the
poem entitled " Terminus : "

" It is time to be old,
To take in sail :
The god of bounds,
Who sets to seas a shore,
Came to me in his fatal rounds,
And said ' No more.' "

The closing years of his life resembled an ever-deepening
twilight. Hearing, sight, memory, slowly but gradually gave

196 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

way. At last, April 27, 1882, surrounded by those he loved,
he was beckoned "to his vaster home." Shall we not say that
his life was beautiful ? Men testified of him that he was radi-
ant with goodness, that his presence was like a benediction,
that he exhibited the meekness and gentleness of Christ. To
have been such a man is better than to have been a great
writer.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 197

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

IT is not difficult to portray the lives of ordinary men.
Their outward circumstances present nothing unusual, and
their inward experiences admit of ready comprehension and
description. All that is needed in such cases is diligent re-
search. But it is different with the man upon whom Provi-
dence has lavished such a wealth of gifts as raises him high
above his fellows. The outward incidents of his life may
indeed be easily narrated. But when these have been pre-
sented in the fullest measure, how inadequate and unsatisfac-
tory the portrait still remains ! That which distinguishes him
from other men, and exalts him above them, is felt to be
untouched. And when we essay to penetrate the secret of
his genius, we are puzzled and baffled at every step. Only
unsatisfactory glimpses reward our most patient observation.
Strange and beautiful flowers may burst forth under our very
gaze ; but the marvellous energy that produces them remains
invisible and mysterious. These reflections force themselves
upon us as we study the life of the most original and most
gifted of all our American writers.

The interesting historic town of Salem, Mass.. has the dis-
tinction of being the birthplace of Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Here he first saw the light, July 4, 1804. He sprang from Puri-
tan stock almost as old as the Plymouth colony. The strong
traits of his ancestry, as he himself recognized, intertwined
themselves with his personality. His ancestors occupied a
position of social and official prominence, and won an unen-
viable distinction in persecuting Quakers and killing witches.
For a hundred years before his birth they followed the sea;
"a gray-headed shipmaster, in each generation, retiring from

198 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

the quarterdeck to the homestead, while a boy of fourteen took
the hereditary place before the mast, confronting the salt spray
and the gale, which had blustered against his sire and grand-
sire." His father was a reserved, thoughtful man of strong
will ; his mother, a gifted, sensitive woman, who led the life
of a recluse after her husband's death. These traits, as will
be seen, were transmitted to their son in an intensified degree.

Only glimpses of his boyhood brief, but very distinct
are afforded us. "One of the peculiarities of my boyhood,"
he tells us, " was a grievous disinclination to go to school, and
(Providence favoring me in this natural repugnance) I never
did go half as much as other boys, partly owing to delicate
health (which I made the most of for the purpose), and partly
because, much of the time, there were no schools within reach."
One of his early teachers was Worcester of dictionary fame.
He spent a year at Raymond on the banks of Sebago Lake in
Maine, where he ran wild, hunting, fishing, skating, and read-
ing at pleasure, a period that subsequently remained with
him as a happy memory. Returning to Salem, he was tutored
for college, and entered Bowdoin in the autumn of 1821.

His college career cannot be cited as a model. " I was
an idle student," he confesses, "negligent of college rules and
the Procrustean details of academic life, rather choosing to
nurse my own fancies than to dig into Greek roots and be
numbered among the learned Thebans." He played cards on
the sly ; he drank (a student never drinks anything stronger)
"wine" and "hard cider;" he went fishing and hunting when
the faculty thought he was at his books. But in spite of his
easy-going habits he maintained a respectable standing in his
classes, and his Latin composition and his rendering of the clas-
sics were favorably spoken of. He was an exceedingly hand-
some young man ; and it is said that an old gypsy woman,
suddenly meeting him in a lonely forest path, was startled into
the question, " Are you a man or an angel ? " Among his
college associates, who afterwards achieved distinction, were
Henry W. Longfellow and Franklin Pierce.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 1 99

The youth of Hawthorne gave no startling premonitions of
future greatness. But there is evidence that he was not uncon-
scious of his latent extraordinary powers ; and some at least
of his intimate friends discerned his literary gifts. In a letter to
his mother, written in his boyhood, he says : " I do not want to
be a doctor and live by man's diseases, nor a minister to live
by their sins, nor a lawyer and live by their quarrels ; so I
don't see that there is anything left for me but to be an author.
How would you like, some day, to see a whole shelf full of
books written by your son, with ' Hawthorne's Works ' printed
on their backs ? " To Horatio Bridge, an old and intimate
friend, he says: "I know not whence your faith came; but
while we were lads together at a country college, . . . doing a
hundred things that the faculty never heard of, or else it had
been the worse for us, still it was your prognostic of your
friend's destiny that he was to be a writer of fiction."

His youthful reading was sufficiently extensive. " The Pil-
grim's Progress," as with so many others, was a favorite book.
He read Scott, Rousseau, and Froissart, though he was not fond
of history in general. He loved poetry; and with catholic taste
he studied Thomson and Pope, as well as Milton and Shake-
speare. The first book he bought with his own money was
"The Faerie Queene." But it can hardly be said that he was
a great lover of books. He never made any pretence to schol-
arship, and there are few quotations in his writings. But he
was one of the keenest observers ; and the books he loved most
were the forms of nature and the faces of men. These he read
as it were by stealth ; and, excepting the mighty Shakespeare,
no one else ever read them more deeply. The quiet forest and
the stirring city were to him great libraries, where he traced the
almost invisible writing of the Creator. Thus, as he said of
the simple husbandman in " The Great Stone Face," he " had
ideas unlike those of other men, not gained from books, but
of a higher tone, a tranquil and familiar majesty, as if he
had been talking with the angels as his daily friends."

After his graduation, in 1825, Hawthorne returned to his

200 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

home in Salem, and for several years led a life of phenomenal
seclusion and toil. His habits were almost mechanical in their
regularity. He studied in the morning, wrote in the afternoon,
and wandered by the seashore in the evening. He sedulously
shunned society; and "destiny itself," he afterwards wrote,
"has often been worsted in the attempt to get me out to
dinner." But his recluse life should not be looked upon as
gloomy and morbid. In pondering human life; he was indeed
fond of the weird and the mysterious. He explored the hidden
crypts of the soul. But his mind was far too healthy and strong
to be weighed down with permanent gloom. He never lost his
anchorage of common sense ; and a genial humor cast its cheer-
ful light upon his darkest musings.

During this period of retirement he was serving a laborious
apprenticeship to his craft Never was a writer more exacting
in self-criticisin. Much that he wrote was mercilessly consigned
to the flames. In these years of painstaking toil, from which
even the highest genius is not exempt, he acquired his exquisite
sense of form, and his marvellous mastery of English. " Haw-
thorne's English," as Hillard says, "is absolutely unique; very
careful and exact, but never studied ; with the best word always
in the best place ; pellucid as crystal ; full of delicate and va-
ried music ; with gleams of poetry, and touches of that peculiar
humor of his, which is half smile and half sigh."

During the period in question he published in the Token, the
New England Magazine, and other periodicals a considerable
number of tales. They appeared anonymously, and attracted
but little attention. Hawthorne had for a good many years
what he called " the distinction of being the obscurest man of
letters in America." It was a grievous disappointment and
humiliation. In 1837 most of these scattered productions were
brought together, and published in a volume with the happy
title of "Twice-Told Tales." It had but a limited circulation.
While it charmed a class of cultivated, reflective readers, its
very excellence prevented it from becoming widely popular.
In a review of the book, Longfellow, with clear, critical acumen,

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 2OI

said : " It comes from the hand of a man of genius. Every-
thing about it has the freshness of morning and of May. These
flowers and green leaves of poetry have not the dust of the
highway upon them. They have been gathered fresh from the
secret places of a peaceful and gentle heart. There flow deep
waters, silent, calm, and cool; and the green trees look into
them, and 'God's blue heaven.' The book, though in prose, is
written, nevertheless, by a poet. He looks upon all things in
the spirit of love and with lively sympathies ; for to him exter-
nal form is but the representation of internal being, all things
having a life, and end and aim." This volume, together with
a second series of " Tales " published in 1842, was in truth a
remarkable contribution to American literature, and by its
enduring interest, beauty, and truth, has since established itself
as a classic.

The year 1838 brought an important change in Hawthorne's
life. Under the Democratic administration of Van Buren, he
was appointed weigher and gauger in the Boston Custom-
house. It was well for him that he was thus called to com-
mon labor. He himself recognized that his life of seclusion
had been sufficiently protracted. " I want to have something
to do with this material world," he said. His new employment
rescued him from the danger of becoming morbid, broadened
his sympathies, and enriched his mind with new stores of ob-
servation and experience. He learned to know life, not as it
may be conceived of in seclusion, but as it is in reality. Hence-
forth he was able to take up his pen with the conviction " that
mankind was a solid reality, and that he himself was not a
dream."

After two years of laborious and faithful service, during
which his literary work was suspended, a change of adminis-
tration resulted in his being turned out of office. He engaged
in the socialistic experiment of Brook Farm ; and, as we learn
from his letters, he entered upon his new duties with consider-
able enthusiasm. He chopped hay with such " righteous vehe-
mence " that he broke the machine in ten minutes- Armed

202 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

with a pitchfork he made what seemed to him a gallant attack
upon a heap of manure. He turned grindstones and milked
cows ; hoed potatoes and picked apples ; made hay and gath-
ered squashes ; and then for supper devoured huge mounds of
buckwheat cakes. But at last his sense of humor, which kept
him for a time from taking life at Brook Farm too seriously,
began to fail him. His tasks became intensely prosaic ; and
finally he fell into the carnal state that made him welcome the
idleness of a rainy day, or kept him on the sick-list longer than
the necessities of the case actually required.

At Brook Farm, as elsewhere, Hawthorne not only made
"a prey of people's individualities," to use his own phrase,
but he observed nature also with microscopic vision. Accord-
ing to his custom, which he kept up through life, he stored his
note-books with interesting observations and reflections. A
few years later he etherealized his Brook Farm experience into
the " Blithedale Romance," which ranks as one of his best
productions. It was published in 1852. Though he protests
in the preface against a too literal understanding of his ro-
mance, Margaret Fuller is thought to have furnished some
traits of Zenobia ; and it is impossible not to associate Haw-
thorne himself with Miles Coverdale. The following extract,
which sets forth the cruel disillusion of the Brook Farm vision-
aries, is not fiction : " While our enterprise lay all in theory,
we had pleased ourselves with delectable visions of the spirit-
ualization of labor. It was to be our form of prayer and cere-
monial of worship. Each stroke of the hoe was to uncover
some aromatic root of wisdom, heretofore hidden from the sun.
Pausing in the field to let the wind exhale the moisture from
our foreheads, we were to look upward, and catch glimpses
into the far-off soul of truth. In this point of view, matters
did not turn out quite so well as we anticipated. . . . The
clods of earth, which we so constantly belabored and turned
over, were never etherealized into thought. Our thoughts, on
the contrary, were fast becoming cloddish. Our labor symbol-
ized nothing, and left us mentally sluggish in the dusk of the

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

203

evening. Intellectual activity is incompatible with any large
amount of bodily exercise."

Hawthorne remained at Brook Farm not quite a year. He
returned to Boston, where he married Miss Sophia Peabody in
1842. The union was a peculiarly happy one. Mrs. Haw-
thorne was a gifted and amiable woman, who appreciated her
husband's genius ; and throughout their wedded career, which
seems to have been unmarred by a single misunderstanding,
she stood at his side as a wise counsellor, sympathetic friend,
and helpful compa-nion. Their correspondence, not only during
the days of courtship, but also during the whole course of their
wedded life, constantly breathes a spirit of delicate, tender,
reverent love.

The newly wedded pair at once took up their residence in
the Old Manse at Concord, where they numbered among their
friends Emerson, Ellery Charming, and Thoreau. Hawthorne
had not waited for wealth before marrying. It sometimes be-
came a serious problem to satisfy the grocer and the butcher.
But in spite of the cares growing out of their humble circum-
stances, the happy pair maintained a cheerful courage. " The
other day," wrote Mrs. Hawthorne, " when my husband saw
me contemplating an appalling vacuum in his dressing-gown,
he said he was ' a man of the largest rents in the country, and
it was strange he had not more ready money.' Our rents are
certainly not to be computed ; for everything seems now to be
wearing out all at once. . . . But, somehow or other, I do
not care much, because we are so happy. We

Sail away

' Sail away
Into the regions of exceeding day,*

and the shell of life is not of much consequence."

In the introductory chapter to the " Mosses from an Old
Manse," a delightful book made up of stories written for the
most part at this period, Hawthorne gives us a minute descrip-
tion of his new home. The Old Manse had never been " pro-
faned by a lay occupant," he says, "until that memorable

204 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

summer afternoon when I entered it as my home. A priest
had built it, a priest had succeeded to it ; other priestly men
from time to time had dwelt in it, and children born in its
chambers had grown up to assume the priestly character. It
was awful to reflect how many sermons must have been written
there. . . . There was in the rear of the house the most de-
lightful little nook of a study that ever offered its snug seclu-
sion to a scholar. It was here that Emerson wrote * Nature ; '
for he was then an inhabitant of the Manse, and used to watch
the Assyrian dawn and the Paphian sunset and moonrise from
the summit of our eastern hill. When I first saw the room, its
walls were blackened with the smoke of unnumbered years,
and made still blacker by the grim prints of Puritan ministers
that hung around. These worthies looked strangely like bad
angels or, at least, like men who had wrestled so continually
and so sternly with the devil that somewhat of his sooty fierce-
ness had been imparted to their own visages."

Hawthorne lived at Concord four years, a period of ripened
manhood and deepened character. He was then appointed
surveyor in the Custom-house at Salem, where he went to live
in 1846. He was not very partial to his native town ; and in
one of his letters of an earlier date he gives humorous expres-
sion to his dislike : " Methinks, all enormous sinners should
be sent on pilgrimage to Salem, and compelled to spend a
length of time there, proportioned to the enormity of their
offences. Such punishment would be suited to crimes that do
not quite deserve hanging, yet are too aggravated for the
State's prison." He discharged the duties of his office with
exemplary fidelity. He did but little literary work ; but he
was not so entirely absorbed in his prosaic duties as not to
make his customary but silent and unsuspected observations
upon the characters of those about him.

In the introduction to " The Scarlet Letter," which was
published in 1850, he gives an account of his custom-house
experiences, and furnishes us a delightful series of portraits of
his subordinates. Take, for example, a single trait in the char-

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 2O$

acter of the patriarch of the custom-house : " His gormandism
was a highly agreeable trait ; and to hear him talk of roast
meat was as appetizing as a pickle or an oyster. As he pos-
sessed no higher attribute, and' neither sacrificed nor vitiated
any spiritual endowment by devoting all his energies and in-
genuities to subserve the delight and profit of his maw, it
always pleased and satisfied me to hear him expatiate on fish,
poultry, and butcher's meat, and the most eligible methods of
preparing them for the table. His reminiscences of good
cheer, however ancient the date of the actual banquet, seemed
to bring the savor of pig or turkey under one's very nostrils.
There were flavors on his palate that had lingered there not
less than sixty or seventy years, and were still apparently as
fresh as the mutton-chop which he had just devoured for his
breakfast. I have heard him smack his lips over dinners,
every guest at which, except himself, had long been food for
worms. . . . The chief tragic event of the old man's life, so
far as I could judge, was his mishap with a certain goose
which lived and died some twenty or forty years ago ; a goose
of most promising figure, but which at table proved so invete-
rately tough that the carving-knife would make no impression
on its carcass, and it could only be divided with an axe and
handsaw."

After three years a change of administration again led to
Hawthorne's retirement. " Now you will have leisure to write
your book," cheerfully exclaimed his wife, when he told her of
his removal. When he asked what they would live on mean-
while, she led him to a desk, and proudly pointed to a heap
of gold that she had saved out of her weekly allowance for
household expenses. He set to work at once upon " The
Scarlet Letter," perhaps the best known of his writings, and
the most subtile and powerful piece of fiction produced in this
country. It is a tragedy of sin and remorse, in which thoughts
are acts. Its extraordinary merits were at once recognized,
and at a single bound Hawthorne attained the literary emi-
nence that his genius deserved. His day of obscurity was

206 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

past ; the praises of " The Scarlet Letter " in America were
re-echoed in England. This enthusiastic reception of his work,
which his frequent disappointments had not prepared him for,
brought him satisfaction and encouragement. It seems to have
acted upon him as a stimulus to renewed effort ; and the years
immediately following were the most productive of his life.
Even the greatest genius needs the encouragement of appre-
ciation.

In 1850, the year in which " The Scarlet Letter" appeared,
Hawthorne moved to Lenox in western Massachusetts. He
occupied a small red cottage, which, but for its commanding
view of mountain, lake, and valley, could not have been con-
sidered in keeping with his gifts and fame. His limited means
still enforced simplicity of living. Here he wrote " The House
of the Seven Gables," one of his four great romances, which
was published in 1851. It was written, as were most of his
works, to set forth a spiritual truth. The story was never with
Hawthorne the principal thing. It was simply the skeleton,
which he clothed with the flesh of thought and vitalized with
the breath of truth. " The House of the Seven Gables " illus-
trates the great truth " that the wrong-doing of one generation
lives into the succeeding ones, and, divesting itself of every
temporary advantage, becomes a pure and uncontrollable mis-
chief."

While at Lenox, Hawthorne wrote also his "Wonder-Book"
for boys and girls, a beautifully modernized version of ancient
classic myths. Though intended for children, it is not with-
out interest for older people. With his growing popularity his
financial condition improved ; and in 1852 he purchased a
house at Concord, formerly owned by Alcott, to which he gave
the name of the Wayside. Here he took up his abode, and
completed his "Tanglewood Tales," another admirable volume
intended for young people. Upon the nomination of his friend
Franklin Pierce for the presidency, he consented, not without
urgent solicitation, to prepare a campaign biography. It is
characterized by good taste and sobriety of judgment. After

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

the election of Pierce, he received the appointment of consul
to Liverpool, and sailed for Europe in 1853.

This opportunity to spend some time abroad came to the
Hawthornes as the realization of a long-cherished dream. Few
Americans have been better fitted in culture to appreciate and
enjoy the society, historic associations, and art treasures of the
Old World. Though Hawthorne discharged the duties of his
position with conscientious fidelity, its emoluments, which were
considerable, constituted its principal charm. "I disliked my
office from the first," he says, " and never came into any good
accordance with it. Its dignity, so far as it had any, was an
encumbrance ; the attentions it drew upon me (such as invita-
tions to mayors' banquets and public celebrations of all kinds,
where, to my horror, I found myself expected to stand up and
speak) were as I may say without incivility or ingratitude,
because there is nothing personal in that sort of hospitality
a bore. The official business was irksome, and often painful.
There was nothing pleasant about the whole affair, except the
emoluments."

As at Salem, Hawthorne kept his eyes open to his sur-
roundings, and filled his note-books with many charming inci-
dents and descriptions. At intervals he made brief excursions
to the most noted parts of England. His literary fame caused
him to be much sought after, and he saw the most distinguished
men of the time. Like Irving, he entertained a friendly feel-
ing toward the mother-country, which he fondly calls, in a work
recording his experience and impressions, "Our Old Home."
But he had no disposition, as he said, to besmear our self-
conscious English cousins with butter and honey. " These
people," he says, " think so loftily of themselves, and so con-
temptuously of everybody else, that it requires more generosity
than I possess to keep always in perfectly good humor with
them."

After five years Hawthorne resigned the consulate at Liver-
pool, and then devoted two years to travel, chiefly in France
and Italy. It was a period of rest, observation, and reflection.

208 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The art treasures of Rome, as well as its historic associations,
were a source of exquisite pleasure. His Italian impressions
he embodied in the last of his great romances, " The Marble
Faun." It was sketched out in Italy, rewritten in England,
and published in 1860. It abounds in art criticism and de-
scriptions of Italian scenery. But through it all there runs a
deathless story, with the profound moral that a perfect culture
is unattainable in a state of innocence, and that the noblest
character can be developed only through spiritual conflict

Hawthorne had a deep sense of human sin and guilt. It
enters into many of his writings, and tinges them with a sombre
hue. His works appeal most to those who have been chastened
in toil and suffering. He everywhere breathes a spirit of ten-
der sympathy, from which no one, however erring and fallen,
is excluded. " Man," he says, " must not disclaim his brother-
hood even with the guiltiest, since, though his hand be clean,
his heart has surely been polluted by the flitting phantoms of
iniquity." In the conflicts and sufferings of humanity he rec-
ognized the struggle of the race after a better and purer life
than has yet been realized on earth.

The year " The Marble Faun " appeared, Hawthorne re-
turned to his native country, and made his home once more
at the Wayside. But the fire of genius was burning low. He
no longer enjoyed robust health; and, while the country was
engaged in the throes of civil war, he found it impossible to
give himself to the calm, secluded task of inventing stories,
No other great work came from his magic pen. He indeed
essayed other achievements ; but " Septimius Felton " was never
finished, and " The Dolliver Romance " remained a fragment.
His health gradually declined. At last, in the faint hope of
improvement, he started with his lifelong friend Pierce on a
journey through northern New England. But the sudden death
that he had desired came to him at Plymouth, N.H., May 19,
1864. A few days later he was laid to rest with Thoreau in
the cemetery at Concord.

This survey of Hawthorne's life and work enables us to

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

distinguish some of the elements that entered into his unique
character. His piercing vision gave him a deep sense of spirit-
ual reality. Like every finely organized nature, he was pro-
foundly reverent. In the seclusion of his chamber and on his
lonely rambles he felt what he calls " the spirit's natural in-
stinct of adoration towards a beneficent Father." This was the
secret of his independence and of his loyalty to truth. His
ideals were lofty, and any departure from the strictest integrity
of thought or act appeared to him in the light of treason.
With his eye constantly fixed on the realities of life, he de-
manded everywhere the most perfect sincerity. Few men have
ever had a more cordial contempt for every form of pretence
and hypocrisy. He was a keen reader of character, and only
true and honest natures were admitted to the sacred intimacy
of his friendship. His tastes were almost feminine in their
delicacy. He had an exquisite appreciation of the beauties
of nature and art. He caught their secret meaning. Retiring
and modest in disposition, he loathed the vulgarity of every
form of obtrusiveness. He was peculiarly gentle in manner
and in spirit ; but it was that noble gentleness born, not of
weakness, but of conscious power. His reflective temperament
had a predilection for the darker and more mysterious side of
life. He fathomed the lowest depths of the soul. As we read
his romances and tales, we have a new sense of the meaning
and mystery of existence.

2IO AMERICAN LITERATURE.

HENR Y WADS WOR TH L ONGFELL O W.

LONGFELLOW has gained an enviable place in the affections
of the American people ; and in England his works, it is said,
have a wider circulation than those of Tennyson. This popu-
larity has not been attained by brilliancy of genius. There
have been more exquisitely gifted poets, who by no means
have held so large a place in public esteem. The highest ge-
nius is perhaps excluded from popularity by its very originality.
Longfellow, while possessing poetic gifts of a high order, has
treated themes of general interest. He has wrought within the
range of ordinary thought and sentiment.

His life was beautiful in its calm, gradual, healthful devel-
opment. It was not unlike the river Charles, of which he
sang :

" Oft in sadness and in illness,

I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me like a tide.

And in bitter hours and brighter,

When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,

And leap onward with thy stream."

His life was itself a poem a type of all that he has writ-
ten. It was full of gentleness, courtesy, sincerity, and manly
beauty. It was free from eccentricity; it breathed a large sym-
pathy; it grounded itself on invisible end eternal realities.
The message he brought was sane and helpful. He did not
aim at the solution of great problems ; he was not ambitious
to fathom the lowest depths. But for half a century he contin-

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

HENR Y W 'ADS IVOR TH L ONGFELL OW. 211

ued to send forth, in simple, harmonious verse, messages of
beauty, sympathy, and hope.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Me.,
Feb. 27, 1807. He sprang from a sturdy, honorable New
England family, the founder of which came to Massachusetts
toward the close of the seventeenth century. His father was
a graduate of Harvard, a prominent lawyer in Portland, and
at one time a member of Congress. The poet inherited the
disposition and manners of his father, who has been described
as a man "free from everything offensive to good taste or good
feeling." On his mother's side the poet counted in his ances-
tral line John Alden and Priscilla Mullen, whom he has immor-
talized in "The Courtship of Miles Standish." While his
ancestors on both sides were characterized by strong sense
and sterling integrity, there was no indication of latent poetic
genius. Its sudden appearance in the subject of our sketch
is one of those miracles of nature that cannot be fully ex-
plained by any law of heredity.

During the early years of his life, Portland possessed the
charm of beautiful scenery and stirring incident. The city
rises by gentle ascent from Casco Bay. Its' principal streets
are lined with trees, so that it has been not inaptly called "The
Forest City." Back of the town are the stately trees of Deer-
ing's Woods. It was a place of considerable commercial im-
portance, and foreign vessels and strange-tongued sailors were
seen at its wharves. In the War of 1812 defensive works were
erected on the shore. In a naval combat off the coast between
the British brig Boxer and the United States brig Enterprise,
the captains of both vessels lost their lives. The deep impres-
sion made by these scenes and associations is reflected in the
beautiful poem, " My Lost Youth."

Longfellow entered Bowdoin College at the age of fifteen.
He was courteous in his bearing, refined in his tastes, and stu-
dious in his habits. A classmate, writing of him a half-century
later, says, " He was an agreeable companion, kindly and
social in his manner, rendering himself dear to his associates

212 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

by his disposition and deportment." He held a very high
rank in a large and able class. His strong literary bent mani-
fested itself early. During his college course he composed a
number of poems of marked excellence, a few of which have
been given a place in his " Complete Poetical Works." All
young writers are apt to be more or less imitative ; and in the
poems of this period, especially in those treating of nature, the
influence of Bryant is clearly perceptible.

He early showed a strong predilection for a literary career.
In his eighteenth year he wrote to his father : " The fact is,
I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in literature ; my
whole soul burns most ardently for it. There may be some-
thing visionary in this, but I flatter myself that I have pru-
dence enough to keep my enthusiasm from defeating its own
object by too great haste. . . . Whether nature has given me
any capacity for knowledge or not, she has, at any rate, given
me a very strong predilection for literary pursuits ; and I am
almost confident in believing that, if I can ever rise in the
world, it must be by the exercise of my talent in the wide field
of literature."

After his graduation in 1825, Longfellow began the study
of law in his father's office ; but, like several other American
authors, he found his legal books exceedingly tedious. Soon
the way was opened for him to enter upon the literary career
for which he was eminently fitted by taste and talents. While
at college his linguistic ability had attracted attention. Ac-
cordingly, when the department of modern languages was
established at Bowdoin, he was elected professor, and granted
leave of absence for travel and study abroad. He sailed for
Europe in 1826, and spent the next three years in France, Ger-
many, Italy, Spain, Holland, and England. He studiously
familiarized himself with the scenery, customs, language, and
literature of those countries. Like Paul Flemming in " Hy-
perion," "He worked his way diligently through the ancient
poetic lore of Germany, from Frankish legends of St. George
and Saxon Rhyme-Chronicles, . . . into the bright, sunny land

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 213

of harvests, where, amid the golden grain and the blue corn-
flowers, walk the modern bards, and sing." After his return,
he taught five years in his Alma Mater with eminent success.

One of the fruits of his stay abroad was a little work in
prose entitled " Outre Mer," in which he gave some of the
" scenes and musings " of his pilgrimage. It is made up of a
series of pleasant sketches in the manner of Irving's " Sketch
Book." It was written, as he tells us, when the duties of the
day were over, and the world around him was hushed in sleep.
"And as I write," he concludes, "the melancholy thought
intrudes upon me, To what end is all this toil ? Of what
avail these midnight vigils ? Dost thou covet fame ? Vain
dreamer ! A few brief days, and what will the busy world
know of thee ? Alas ! this little book is but a bubble on the
stream ; and, although it may catch the sunshine for a moment,
yet it will soon float down the swift-rushing current, and be
seen no more ! "

In 1831 he married Miss Mary Storer Potter of Portland,
a lady of great personal attractions and of exceptional culture.
Their married life was brief. She accompanied him on his
second visit to Europe, where she died in Rotterdam in No-
vember, 1835. She is the " being beauteous " commemorated
in the " Footsteps of Angels : " -

" With a slow and noiseless footstep

Comes the messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me

With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,

Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,

Breathing from her lips of air."

214 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Longfellow's reputation as a teacher and writer was no:
confined to Brunswick. He was generally recognized as a
rising man; and hence, when the chair of modern languages
and literature became vacant at Harvard by the resignation of
Professor George Ticknor, he was called to Cambridge. But
before entering upon his duties there, he again went abroad,
and spent two years in study. In " Hyperion," his second
prose work, he gave a poetic diary of his wanderings abroad.
Its style is somewhat dainty and artificial, but in excellent
keeping with its quaint scholarship. It repeats old legends,
translates delightful lyrics, indulges in easy criticism, abounds
in graphic descriptions, and admirably reproduces the spirit of
German life. Now and then a serious reflection affords us a
glimpse into the depths of thought and feeling beneath the
facile narrative. The book is still eagerly bought, we are told,
at the principal points it commemorates.

In' 1836 Longfellow returned to this country, and took up
his residence in the Craigie house in Cambridge. Though it
already possessed historic interest as at one time Washington's
headquarters, it was destined to become still more illustrious
as the home of the poet. The beauty of its surroundings ren-
dered it no unfit abode for the Muses. With reference to it;
former majestic occupant, the poet says:

"Once, ah, once within these walls,
One whom memory oft recalls,
The Father of his Country, dwelt.
And yonder meadows broad and damp
The fires of the besieging camp
Encircled with a burning belt."

For seventeen years he faithfully discharged his duties as
head of the department of modern languages at Harvard. His
position was not a sinecure. Though his lectures were pre-
pared with great care, they were seldom written out in full.
He cared but little for the soulless, mechanical learning that
consists in a knowledge of insignificant details. He wrought

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 21$

with profounder spirit. He introduced his students into the
beauty of foreign literature, and awakened a desire for literary
study and culture.

He became a prominent figure in the remarkable group of
Cambridge scholars and writers. His friendships were select
and warm. His relations with Felton, Hawthorne, and Sum-
ner were particularly close, as may be seen in the series of son-
nets entitled "Three Friends of Mine." There is deep pathos
in the concluding lines :

" But they will come no more,
Those friends of mine, whose presence satisfied
The thirst and hunger of my heart. Ah me !
They have forgotten the pathway to my door !
Something is gone from nature since they died,
And summer is not summer, nor can be."

Among his other intimate friends may be mentioned Lowell
and Agassiz, both of whom find affectionate remembrance in
his poems.

In 1839, the year in which "Hyperion" appeared, Long-
fellow published a slender volume of poetry entitled "Voices
of the Night." For the first time the public was able to form
a fair idea of the qualities of the new singer. The key-note of
the poems is given in the " Prelude : "

" Look, then, into thine heart, and write !

Yes, into Life's deep stream !
All forms of sorrow and delight,
All solemn Voices of the Night,
That can soothe thee, or affright,
Be these henceforth thy theme."

The poet struck a sympathetic chord, and several of the
poems have since remained popular favorites. Every poem in
the collection has a personal interest. "A Psalm of Life,"
so familiar for two generations, is the voice of courage that
came into the poet's heart as he was rallying from the depres-
sion of bereavement. "The Reaper and the Flowers," which

2l6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

was the unlabored expression of a long-cherished idea, he wrote,
as he tells us, " with peace in his heart, and not without tears
in his eyes." The pathetic interest of " Footsteps of Angels "
has already been mentioned.

Two years later appeared another small volume with the
title, " Ballads and Other Poems." It reveals an expansion of
the poet's powers. " The Skeleton in Armor " rests upon an
interesting historical basis. " The Wreck of the Hesperus "
is written in the old ballad style, the spirit of which it success-
fully reproduces. After the wreck, for example,

"At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,

A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes ;
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,

On the billows fall and rise."

In "The Village Blacksmith," we catch the beauty and
excellence of a life of humble, faithful labor

" Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,

Onward through life he goes ;
Each morning sees some task begin,

Each evening sees it close ;
Something attempted, -something done,

Has earned a night's repose."

The little poem, " Excelsior," has a deeper meaning than
appears on the surface. The poet's intention, as explained by
himself, was " to display, in a series of pictures, the life of a
man of genius, resisting all temptations, laying aside all fears,
heedless of all warnings, and pressing right on to accomplish
his purpose."

In these two initial volumes we have the fundamental char-
acteristics of Longfellow's verse. His poetry afterwards swept
a wide range ; he undertook more ambitious themes, and gained
in amplitude of genius. But in its essential features, his po-

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 21 J

etry always retained the same qualities. His verse is simple,
smooth, melodious, serious. He had learned from German
lyrists Heine, Miiller, Uhland the effectiveness of simple
measures ; and no other poetic forms would have been suited
to his range of thought and emotion. His poetry was but the
reflex of the man himself. To use the words of Curtis, " What
he was to the stranger reading in distant lands, by

' The long wash of Australasian seas,'

that he was to the most intimate of his friends. His life and
character were perfectly reflected in his books. There is no
purity, or grace, or feeling, or spotless charm in his verse which
did not belong to the man."

In Europe he steeped himself in mediaeval literature. He
familiarized himself with its wonderful legends. He breathed
the romantic spirit that had recently brought new life into the
literature of Germany, France, and England. Discarding con-
ventionality, he strove to be true to nature. With true poetic
discernment, he pointed out the beauty and pathos of human
life. His poetry does not display erratic brilliancy ; it does
not suddenly blaze out in meteoric splendor, and then sink into
darkness. It breathes an atmosphere of faith, hope, and cour-
age. Longfellow does not indeed rise to the rank of the great-
est masters of song. But whatever he has lost in admiration,
he has more than gained in the higher tribute of love.

The year 1843 * s notable in the poet's life for three things.
The first was the publication of "The Spanish Student," a
pleasant drama intended for reading rather than acting. Its
characters are drawn with sufficient clearness ; and Preciosa,
the gypsy dancing-girl, is a charming creation. The play ex-
hibits the poet's intimate knowledge of Spanish character and
customs, and is full of interesting incident and passionate
poetry. The second event was the appearance of his small
collection of "Poems on Slavery." He was not an agitator;
his modest, retiring nature unfitted him for the tasks of a bold,

2l8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

popular leader. But, during the agitation of the great slavery
question, he was not an entirely passive spectator. Through
his anti-slavery poems, which set forth strongly the darker side
of slavery, he lent the weight of his influence to the friends
of emancipation. In the light of subsequent events, the last
stanza of "The Warning" seems almost like prophecy:

" There is a poor, blind Samson in this land,

Shorn of his strength and bound in bonds of steel,
Who may, in some grim revel, raise his hand,
And shake the pillars of this Commonweal,
Till the vast Temple of our liberties
A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies."

The third event of the year was the poet's marriage to Miss
Frances Elizabeth Appleton of Boston, the original of Mary
Ashburton in " Hyperion." She was fitted in mind and person
to walk at the poet's side; and years afterwards, when sur-
rounded by her five children, she was described as a Cornelia
in matronly beauty and dignity.

In 1845 appeared " Poets and Poetry of Europe," a large
volume containing nearly four hundred translations from ten
different languages. In its preparation, which occupied him
nearly two years, he had the assistance of his friend Professor
Felton. In December of the same year he published " The
Belfry of Bruges, and Other Poems," in which appears some
of his best work. The initial poem and " Nuremberg" are ad-
mirable "poems of places." "The Day is Done" has long
been a general favorite ; and, excepting the unfortunate simile
in the first stanza, it is almost faultless in its simplicity and
beauty. " The Arsenal at Springfield " deservedly ranks among
the best of his shorter poems. It is quite "warlike against
war," and expresses faith in its ultimate banishment from the
earth :

" Down the dark future, through long generations,

The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease;
And like a bell, w T ith solemn, sweet vibrations,

I hear once more the voice of Christ say ' Peace.' '

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 2IQ

Among the other poems of this collection deserving es-
pecial notice is " The Old Clock on the Stairs." The old-
fashioned country-seat commemorated in the poem was the
homestead of Mrs. Longfellow's maternal grandfather, whither
the poet went for a short time after his marriage in 1843.

Two years later appeared " Evangeline," which Holmes re-
gards as our author's masterpiece, a judgment sustained by
general opinion. The story Longfellow owed to Hawthorne,
to whom he gracefully wrote after the publication and success
of the poem : " I thank you for resigning to me that legend of
Acady. This success I owe entirely to you, for being willing
to forego the pleasure of writing a prose tale which many peo-
ple would have taken for poetry, that I might write a poem
which many people take for prose." The metre is dactylic
hexameter, which has had great difficulty in naturalizing itself
in English poetry. Longfellow, who had made previous ex-
periments in this measure, did not share the common preju-
dice against it. " The English world," he wrote, " is not yet
awake to the beauty of that metre." He was, perhaps, encour-
aged by the success of Goethe in " Hermann and Dorothea."
The result has amply sustained the poet's judgment. The
story could hardly have been so delightful in any other meas-
ure. He has himself made the test in a single passage. In
the second canto of Part Second, the singing of the mocking-
bird is described as follows :

' Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water,
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.
Plaintive at first were the tones, and sad ; then soaring to madness
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes.
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ;
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision,
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches."

In comparison with this, how tame the following rendering
in the common English rhymed pentameter :

22O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" Upon a spray that overhung the stream,
The mocking-bird, awaking from his dream,
Poured such delirious music from his throat
That all the air seemed listening to his note.
Plaintive at first the song began, and slow;
It breathed of sadness, and of pain and woe;
Then, gathering all his notes, abroad he flung
The multitudinous music from his tongue,
As, after showers, a sudden gust again
Upon the leaves shakes down the rattling rain."

It is not to be supposed that Longfellow escaped criticism.
His success and popularity excited envy, and Poe especially
was relentless in his attacks. He labored hard but ineffectu-
ally to establish his favorite charge of plagiarism. The trans-
cendentalists were scant in their praise. Though Longfellow
counted some of their leading representatives among his friends,
his poetry shows scarcely a trace of transcendentalism. His
simple themes and familiar truths seemed elementary and
trivial to the transcendentalists. The editor of the Dial irrev-
erently described him as " a dandy Pindar." But the poet en-
dured harsh criticism with rare equanimity. He never replied
to any criticicism, no matter how unjust or severe. When
critiques were sent to him, he read only those which were
written in a pleasant spirit. The rest he dropped into the
fire; and "in that way," he remarked, "one escapes much
annoyance."

After the publication of " Evangeline," the poet's muse was
less productive for a time ; and he himself lamented that the
golden days of October, usually so fruitful in verse, failed to
stir him to song. Still, it was not a period of complete inac-
tivity. He amused himself in writing the prose tale of " Kav-
anagh," which, in spite of Hawthorne's generous praise, has
remained the least popular of his works. By 1849 ne accumu-
lated sufficient verse for a slender volume, which was published
under the title of "The Seaside and the Fireside." Among the
sea-pieces, which show the poet's fondness for the ocean, "The
Building of the Ship " is most worthy of notice. It is mod-

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 221

elled after Schiller's " Song of the Bell ; " and in its details, as
in its general plan, it is admirably conceived and wrought out.

" His heart was in his work, and the heart
Giveth grace unto every art."

Among the fireside pieces, " Resignation " has been read
with tears in many a mourning household. It was written after
the death of the poet's little daughter Fanny, of whom he
noted in his diary: "An inappeasable longing to see her comes
over me at times, which I can hardly control." He found con-
solation only in the great truth of immortality.

" There is no death ! What seems so is transition ;

This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead, the child of our affection,

But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,

And Christ himself doth rule."

His numerous works now brought the poet a comfortable
income. With increasing devotion to literary work, he found
the exacting duties of the class-room irksome. Accordingly,
in 1854, he resigned his chair in Harvard College. He was
in his intellectual prime, and several of his greatest works were
yet to be written. About the time of his resignation the idea
of " Hiawatha " occurred to him ; and he wrote in his diary :
" I have at length hit upon a plan for a poem on the American
Indians, which seems to me the right one and the only. It is
to weave together their beautiful traditions into a whole. I
have hit upon a measure too, which I think the right and only
one for such a theme." The peculiar trochaic metre, with its
repetitions and parallelisms, was suggested by the Finnish epic
" Kalevala," to which also, in some slight degree, he seems
otherwise indebted. The legends of the poem were taken from
Schoolcraft. Longfellow worked at the poem with great inter-

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

est and industry, and finished it in nine months. But, as it
approached completion, he was troubled with grave doubts as
to the success of his novel venture. Its publication in 1855
created something of a literary sensation. Never before, per-
haps, was a poem so criticised, parodied, and ridiculed. When
most fiercely assailed, the poet preserved his usual equanimity
and silence. "My dear Mr. Longfellow," exclaimed his excited
publisher, rushing into the poet's study, " these atrocious libels
must be stopped." Longfellow silently glanced over the attacks
in question. As he handed the papers back, he inquired, " By
the way, Fields, how is ' Hiawatha ' selling ? " " Wonderfully,"
was the reply; "none of your books has ever had such a sale."
" Then," said the poet calmly, " I think we had better let these
people go on advertising it." The poem finally established
itself as a general favorite a position which it deserves. To
remove any doubts, it will be sufficient to read " Hiawatha's
Wooing," with its familiar opening lines:

" As unto the bow the cord is,
So unto the man is woman ;
Though she bends him, she obeys him ;
Though she draws him, yet she follows ;
Useless each without the other."

At this period the poet was abundant in labors. Scarcely
was one work off the anvil till another was taken up. After
the publication of " Hiawatha," the success of which was en-
couraging, he turned his attention to a New England colonial
theme. " The Courtship of Miles Standish " rests upon a
trustworthy tradition. The Pilgrims of Plymouth were less
austere than the Puritans of Boston. Their sojourn in Holland
had softened somewhat their temper and manners. The poem
reproduces the manners of the early colonial times with suffi-
cient accuracy. It is less ideal than " Evangeline ; " and its
realism renders its hexameters more rugged. The reply of
the Puritan maiden Priscilla, as John Alden was pleading the
cause of his rival, was not a poetic fiction :

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 223

" But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language,
Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival,
Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter,
Said, in a tremulous voice, ' Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? ' "

" The Courtship of Miles Standish " was published in 1858,
along with a number of miscellaneous poems, several of which
deserve especial mention. " The Ladder of St. Augustine "
contains the well-known stanza :

"The heights by great men reached and kept

Were not attained by sudden flight ;
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night."

"The Two Angels," a poem of tender pathos, was written,
as the poet tells us, " on the birth of my younger daughter, and
the death of the young and beautiful wife of my neighbor and
friend, the poet Lowell." For the dark problem of life he finds
but the one solution of absolute trust in Providence :

" Angels of life and death alike are his ;

Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,
Against his messengers to shut the door ? "

The poem, " Children," like the later one, " The Children's
Hour," reveals to us the poet's tender, sympathetic nature :

" For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?

Ye are better than all the ballads

That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,

And all the rest are dead."

In 1 86 1 an awful calamity befell the poet. His wife was
so severely burned, in spite of his efforts to extinguish the

224 AMERICAN- LITERATURE.

flames, that she died in a few hours. He was for a time pros
trated by the blow. When he began to recover, he sought,
like Bryant, relief from his sorrow in the work of translation.
Throughout life he found pleasure in turning the thoughts of
foreign poets into his native tongue. His various lyrical ver-
sions are sufficient to fill a good-sized volume. But he now
gave himself to the serious task of turning Dante's " Divina
Commedia," of which he had long been a devout student, into
English verse. The translation closely follows the original,
and is, perhaps, the most satisfactory version of the great Ital-
ian in Dur language.

The first series of "Tales of a Wayside Inn" was published
in 1863, the two succeeding parts appearing in 1872 and 1873.
The plan is obviously borrowed from Boccaccio and Chaucer.
The Wayside Inn was an old tavern at Sudbury, and the char-
acters supposed to be gathered there were all real. The
youth

" Of quiet ways,
A student of old books and days,"

was Henry Ware Wales, a liberal benefactor of Harvard Col-
lege. The young Sicilian was Professor Luigi Monti, an inti-
mate friend, who for many years was in the habit of dining
with the poet on Sunday. The Spanish Jew was Israel Edrehi,
who is described as the poet knew him. The theologian was
Professor Daniel Treadwell. The poet was T. W. Parsons, a
man of real genius, but of very retiring nature. The musician
was Ole Bull. The tales are borrowed from various sources,
modern, mediaeval, Talmudic, and many of them possess
great merit. " Paul Revere's Ride " is written with rare vigor.
Among the other more notable tales are " The Falcon of Ser
Federigo," "King Robert of Sicily," " Torquemada," "The
Birds of Killingworth," "The Bell of Atri," "The Legend
Beautiful," and " Emma and Eginhard."

Longfellow early conceived the purpose "to build some
tower of song with lofty parapet." In 1841 he noted in his

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 22$

diary : " This evening it has come into my mind to undertake
a long and elaborate poem by the holy name of Christ; the
theme of which could be the various aspects of Christendom
in the Apostolic, Middle, and Modern Ages.' 7 Though the
task was long delayed, this lofty purpose was never relin-
quished, and through years of thought it slowly assumed
definite shape. After nine years he set to work in earnest to
compose " The Golden Legend," which was intended to illus-
trate Christianity in the Middle Ages. It gives a vivid picture
of the manners of the thirteenth century. The story running
through " The Golden Legend " is taken from the minnesinger
Hartmann von der Aue. The poem was published in 1851,
without any intimation of the larger work of which it forms
the central part.

Nearly a score of years passed before another part of the
trilogy of "Christus" appeared. It was properly entitled "The
New England Tragedies," and is a sickening record of delu-
sion, intolerance, and cruelty. Unfortunately the imagination
had but a small share in the work, which is little more than a
skilful metrical version of official records. It was published
in r868 as an independent work, and was received rather
coldly. Considered in its relation to the larger work, it must
be judged unfortunate. It is depressing in itself ; it does not
represent the spirit of modern Christianity ; and it leaves the
trilogy of " Christus " incomplete.

" The Divine Tragedy," which was published three years
later, in 1871, is a close metrical version of the Gospel history.
It presents the successive scenes in the life of Christ in a
graphic and interesting way. The effort to adhere as closely
as possible to the language of the Gospels has prevented a
very high degree of metrical excellence. With the publication
of " The Divine Tragedy," the plan of the poet was revealed
Though " Christus " will always be read with gentle interest,
especially "The Golden Legend," it can hardly rank among
his greatest works.

Of his other poems, only a few can be mentioned. " The

226 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Hanging of the Crane " is a pathetic picture of the common
course of domestic life. " Morituri Salutamus " is an admi-
rable poem, written for the fiftieth anniversary of the class of
1825 in Bowdoin College. " Keramos " is a second successful
effort in the manner of Schiller's " Song of the Bell." " A
Book of Sonnets " shows Longfellow to have been a master
in that difficult form of verse. The several small volumes of
lyrics published in the later years of his life, while adding
little to his fame, showed that the poetic fires within his breast
were still burning brightly.

Longfellow had now lived beyond the allotted age of man.
He had filled out a beautiful, well-rounded life. Both as a
man and as a poet he had gained the respect and love of two
generations. But at last, with little warning, the end came.
On March 15, 1882, he completed his last poem, "The Bells
of San Bias," with the words,

" Out of the shadows of night
The world rolls into light ;
It is daybreak everywhere."

A little more than a week later, March 24, he passed away.
The funeral service, in keeping with his unassuming character,
was simple. Only his family and a few intimate friends
among them Curtis, Emerson, and Holmes were present ;
but two continents were mourning his death.

" His gracious presence upon earth
Was as a fire upon a hearth ;
As pleasant songs, at morning sung,
The words that dropped from his sweet tongue
Strengthened our hearts, or, heard at night,
Made all our slumbers soft and light."

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 22?

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

LOWELL was more than a writer. His writings, numerous
and excellent as they are, do not fully represent him. He
tried to follow his own precept :

" The epic of a man rehearse ;
Be something better than thy verse."

None of our literary men were great in so many ways. He
ranks high as a poet. His critical papers are among the most
elaborate and excellent produced in this country. He was
a speaker of no mean ability, and a scholar of wide attain-
ments. But overshadowing all these literary accomplishments
stands his personality, a man of strong intellect, wide sym-
pathies, and sterling integrity.

He appeared among the earlier singers of the century.
Though influenced for a time, as all young writers are apt to
be, by favorite authors, Lowell is strikingly original. In his
earlier verse we detect an occasional note from Tennyson or
Wordsworth ; but his strong intellect soon hewed out a course
of its own. His mind was tumultuous with the interests of
his day. He rushed to the combat for truth and freedom with
abounding zeal. He proclaimed his message in verse distin-
guished, not for harmony and grace, but for vehemence and
force. He was armed .vith heroic courage :

" They are slaves who dare not be
In the right with two or three."

He believed in bravely doing his part to right existing
wrongs ; for

228 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" God hates your sneakin' creturs that believe
He'll settle things they run away and leave."

Lowell was a New Englander, not only by birth, but by
spirit and affection. He was proud of his Puritan ancestry.
He loved the landscape of New England and the character of
its people. This affection gave him a keen insight into the
strength and weakness of New England character, and made
him delight in its peculiar dialect :

" For puttin' in a downright lick

'Twixt Humbug's eyes, there's few can metch it,
And then it helves my thoughts ez slick
Ez stret-grained hickory doos a hetchet."

Though a broad-minded patriot, he remained throughout
life a doughty champion of New England.

The Lowell name has an honored place in the history of
Massachusetts. Each generation, since the first settlement
of the family at Newbury in 1639, has had its distinguished
representative. The city of Lowell is named after Francis
Cabot Lowell, who was among the first to perceive that the
prosperity of New England was to come from its manufactures.
John Lowell was an eminent judge, and introduced into the
Constitution the section by which slavery was abolished in
Massachusetts. John Lowell, Jr., by a bequest of $250,000,
founded Lowell Institute in Boston. As a family, the Lowells
have been distinguished for practical sense, liberal thought,
and earnest character.

James Russell Lowell was born in Cambridge, Feb. 22,
1819. His father, as well as his grandfather, was an able and
popular minister. The poetic strain in Lowell's character seems
to have been inherited from his mother. She was of Scotch
descent, had a talent for languages, and was passionately fond
of old ballads. Thus Lowell's opening mind was nourished
on minstrelsy and romance. He early learned to appreciate
what is beautiful in nature and in life.

He entered Harvard College in 1835 ; but no part of his

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 22Q

lame rests on his record as a student. He had an invincible
repugnance to mathematics ; and he read everything else, it
has been said, but his text-books. For irregularity in attend-
ing morning prayers, he was suspended for a time ; but prayers
were then held at sunrise ! His genial nature and recognized
ability made him a favorite among his fellow-students. When
he graduated, in 1838, he was chosen poet of his class. Then
followed the study of law. He opened an office in Boston,
but his heart was not in his profession. Various poets By-
ron, Shelley, Keats, Coleridge, Tennyson were more to him
than his law-books. In his abundant leisure he wrote a story
entitled " My First Client," but it is doubtful if he ever got
that far in a successful legal career.

While waiting for the clients that never came, he found
solace in poetry. Love touched his heart, and caused a co-
pious fountain of verse to gush forth. In 1841 he published
a little volume with the title " A Year's Life." Its motto, bor-
rowed from Schiller, gave the key-note to the poetry : " Ich habe
gelebt und geliebet" The verse was inspired by Miss Maria
White, a refined, beautiful, and sympathetic woman, whom the
poet married three years later, and with whom for nearly a
decade he lived in almost ideal union. This volume revealed
the presence of poetic gifts of a high order.

The next step in Lowell's career was to become an editor,
a calling in which he subsequently achieved enviable dis-
tinction. In company with Robert Carter, he established the
Pioneer in 1843. It: was a literary journal of high excellence.
Among its contributors were Hawthorne, Poe, Whittier, Story,
and Parsons, a galaxy sufficient, one would think, to insure
success. But only three numbers appeared. The public of
that time was not distinguished for literary culture. The Pio-
neer was in advance of its day ; and, after a brief career, it
may be said to have died a glorious death.

In 1844 appeared a second volume of poems, in which the
hand of a master is apparent. He aims to rise above the
empty rhymer,

230 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" Who lies with idle elbow on the grass,
And fits his singing, like a cunning timer,

To all men's prides and fancies as they pass."

He sings of love, truth, patriotism, humanity, religion, cour-
age, hope great themes which his large soul expands to meet.
His verse may be at times exuberant and rhetorical, but it em-
bodies virile power of thought and emotion. The fundamental
principles, not only of all his poetry, but of his character, are
found in this volume. In " An Incident in a Railroad Car "
we see his sense of human worth, regardless of the accidents
of fortune :

"All that hath been majestical

In life or death, since time began,
Is native in the simple heart of all,
The angel heart of man.

And thus, among the untaught poor,
Great deeds and feelings find a home,
That cast in shadow all the golden lore
Of classic Greece and Rome."

He had unwavering confidence in the indestructible power
of truth. In "A Glance Behind the Curtain," he says:

" Get but the truth once uttered, and 'tis like
A star new-born, that drops into its place,
And which, once circling in its placid round,
Not all the tumult of the earth can shake."

A well-known passage in " The Present Crisis " reveals his
faith in the watchful care of God :

" Careless seems the great Avenger ; history's pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own."

His love of human freedom is revealed in the poem " On
the Capture of Fugitive Slaves near Washington " :

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 231

u He's true to God who's true to man; wherever wrong is done,
To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun,
That wrong is also done to us ; and they are slaves most base,
Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race."

These are all characteristic themes ; and because they came
from the poet's heart, we find in subsequent poems the same
truths presented again and again in richly varied language.

With his strong, positive nature, it was natural for Lowell
to take part in the slavery agitation of the time. When it cost
him unpopularity, he had the courage of his convictions. He
acted as he wrote :

" Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just."

The first series of " The Biglow Papers " belongs to the
period of the Mexican W T ar ; the second series, to the period
of the Civil War. In these poems, written in what he calls
the Yankee dialect, Lowell gives free rein to all his resources
of argument, satire, and wit. He hits hard blows. A forcible
truth is sometimes clothed in homely language :

" Laborin' man an' laborin' woman
Hev one glory an' one shame.
Ev'y thin' that's done inhuman
Injers all on 'em the same."

The "pious editor," who reverences Uncle Sam, "partic'-
larly his pockets," confesses his creed :

" I du believe in prayer an' praise

To him that hez the grantin'
O' jobs, in every thin' thet pays,

But most of all in CANTIN' ;
This doth my cup with marcies fill,

This lays all thought o' sin to rest,
I don't believe in princerple,

But O, I du in interest."

232 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The little poem " What Mr. Robinson Thinks " was a pal
pable hit, with its refrain :

"But John P.
Robinson he
Sez he wunt vote for Guvener B."

These lines took hold of the public fancy, and were re-
peated in season and out of season. It is said that Mr. Rob-
inson, who was a worthy man, went abroad to get away from
the sound of his own name. But on going to his hotel in
Liverpool, the first thing he heard was a childish voice re-
peating :

"But John P.
Robinson he."

" The Biglow Papers " deservedly ranks as our best politi-
cal satire.

In 1848 appeared "The Vision of Sir Launfal," which must
always remain his most popular work. It is a treatment of
the old legend of the Holy Grail ; and, excepting Tennyson's
idyl, nothing more worthy of the theme has ever been written.
The poem was written at white-heat. It was composed sub-
stantially in its present form in forty-eight hours, during which
the poet scarcely ate or slept. We find in it a full expression
of his poetic powers, his energetic thought, his deep emotion,
his vigorous imagination. In the preludes the poet's love of
nature is apparent, as well as the strong moral feeling that
formed the substratum of his character. What lines are oftener
quoted than these :

"And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if .ever, come perfect days."

And the following verses contain a vigorous bit of moral-
izing :

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 233

" For a cap and bells our lives we pay,
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking

'Tis heaven alone that is given away,
'Tis only God may be had for the asking."

The same year appeared " A Fable for Critics," a literary
satire without the savagery of Byron's " English Bards and
Scotch Reviewers," or the malignancy of Pope's " Dunciad."
It is a humorous review of the leading American authors of
the day; but beneath the fun there is a sober judgment that
rarely erred in its estimates. Along with atrocious rhymes
and barbarous puns, there are many felicitous characteriza-
tions. He calls Bryant, to whom he was scarcely just, an
iceberg :

" If he stir you at all, it is just, on my soul,
Like being stirred up with the very North Pole."

He hits off Poe as follows :

" There comes Poe, with his raven, like Barnaby Rudge,
Three-fifths of him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge."

He was quite as severe to himself as to any of his contem-
poraries; and, as will be seen from the following lines, he was
not blind to his own peculiarities :

" There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb
With a whole bale of isms tied together with rime ;
He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders,
But he can't with that bundle he has on his 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 make a drum of the shell,
And rattle away till he's old as Methusalem,
At the head of a march to the last New Jerusalem."

The poem is loose in construction and unsymmetrical in
form, and it is to be regretted that the poet never thought it
worth while to bring it into artistic shape. It was first pub-

234 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

lished anonymously, but its authorship was soon fixed. Lowell
was the only man in America who could have written it.

A larger career was now opening before him. Up to the
time of her death, in 1853, his wife, in their beautiful home at
Elmwood, had stimulated him to high endeavor. Always fond
of reading, and blessed with a capacious memory, he had ac-
quired a wide range of knowledge. In the winter of 1854-55,
he delivered before the Lowell Institute a course of twelve
lectures on the British poets. Disdaining the arts of the popu-
lar orator, he placed his reliance for success, where alone it
can permanently rest, on genuine merit. He read his lectures
in an earnest, manly way ; and their learning, thought, critical
insight, and poetic feeling gave to every discourse an inde-
scribable charm.

In 1855, on the resignation of Longfellow, he was appointed
professor of modern languages at Harvard, with a leave of ab-
sence for two years, to study abroad. He resided chiefly at
Dresden, and gave himself to a methodical course of reading
in European literature. Like all men of large mould, he had
an immense capacity for assimilation. When he returned to
America in 1857, and entered upon his duties, he was not un-
worthy to occupy the chair of his illustrious predecessor. He
was an admirable lecturer; and while his ability commanded the
respect, his ready kindness won the affection, of the students,
Harvard has never had, perhaps, a more popular professor.

The year 1857 witnessed two important events in the life
of Lowell. The first was his marriage to Miss Frances Dunlop
of Portland, Me., who h d superintended the education of his
daughter during his absence abroad. The second was the estab-
lishment of the Atlantic, of which he became editor-in-chief.
His contributions were in both prose and poetry, and were, it is
needless to say, of a high order. He continued as editor till
1862, when he was succeeded by Mr. Fields. But his editorial
career was not yet ended. In 1864 he took charge of the North
American Review, of which he remained editor till 1873. He
was particularly kind to young writers, and lost no opportunity
to speak a word of encouragement.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

In 1864 he published a volume in prose, entitled "Fireside
Travels," containing "Cambridge Thirty Years Ago," "A
Moosehead Journal/' and "Leaves from My. Journal in Italy
and Elsewhere." It is a delightful book, full of wit, wisdom,
and exuberant fancy. The tide of a full, strong life is reflected
in its pages. Here is a characteristic bit of description: "The
chief feature of the place was its inns, of which there were five,
with vast barns and courtyards, which the railroad was to make
as silent and deserted as the palaces of Nimroud. Great white-
topped wagons, each drawn by double files of six or eight
horses, with its dusty bucket swinging from the hinder axle,
and its grim bull-dog trotting silent underneath, or in midsum-
mer panting on the lofty perch beside the driver (how elevated
thither baffied conjecture), brought all the wares and products of
the country to their mart and seaport in Boston. These filled
the inn-yards, or were ranged side by side under broad-roofed
sheds; and far into the night the mirth of their lusty drivers
clamored from the red-curtained bar-room, while the single
lantern, swaying to and fro in the black cavern of the stables,
made a Rembrandt of the group of ostlers and horses below."

"Under the Willows," a volume of poems published in
1869, exhibits Lowell's poetic genius at the zenith of its power.
It is less luxuriant in manner, and its chaster form adds force
to its wisdom and pathos. There is scarcely a poem that is not
remarkable for some beauty. Sometimes it is a tender recol-
lection of the past; again it is some weighty truth or telling
apologue; or it is a bit of irresistible pathos or prophetic asser-
tion of divine truth. The poems were composed at intervals
through many years, according to his usual method :

" Now, I've a notion, if a poet
Beat up for themes, his verse will show it ;
I wait for subjects that hunt me,
By day or night won't let me be,
And hang about me like a curse,
Till they have made me into verse."

In "The First Snow- Fall" there is a fine touch of pathos:

236 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

" Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her

And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow."

The following triplet, from " For an Autograph," is a noble
summons to lofty purpose :

" Greatly begin ! though thou have time
But for a line, be that sublime,
Not failure, but low aim, is crime."

"Mahmood the Image-Breaker" teaches the incomparable
worth of human integrity:

" Little were a change of station, loss of life or crown,
But the wreck were past retrieving, if the Man fell down."

The Commemoration Odes of Lowell are the best of their
kind written in this country. Perhaps they have never been
surpassed. He seized upon special occasions to pour forth a
rich strain of patriotic reflection, eloquent thought, and poetic
feeling and imagery. The "Ode Recited at the Harvard Com-
memoration," in memory of the ninety-three graduates who had
died in the Civil War, appealed most strongly to the poet's
heart. Among those who had lost their lives were eight rela-
tives of the poet. As he recited the poem, it is said that his
face, always expressive, was almost transfigured with the glow
of an inward light. Its exalted key is struck in the opening

lines :

" Weak-winged is song,
Nor aims at that clear-ethered height
Whither the brave deed climbs for light :

We seem to do them wrong,
Bringing our robin's leaf to deck their hearse
Who in warm life-blood wrote their nobler verse.'

The " Ode " read at the one hundredth anniversary of the
fight at Concord bridge is an eloquent paean of freedom. It
pays a glowing tribute to " the embattled farmers : "

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 237

" They were men

Schooled the soul's inward gospel to obey,
Though leading to the lion's den."

"Under the Old Elm," read at Cambridge on the hundredth
anniversary of Washington's taking command of the American
army, eloquently commemorates the character and achieve-
ments of the " Father of his Country : "

" Out of that scabbard sprang, as from its womb,
Nebulous at first but hardening to a star,
Through mutual share of sunburst and of gloom,
The common faith that made us what we are."

" The Cathedral " is Lowell's longest poem. Somewhat
uneven in its merits, it contains many noble passages. It
might be made to illustrate nearly every prominent point in
the poet's character. As compared with his earlier writings,
it reveals the presence of a slightly conservative tendency.
The leading incidents of the poem are connected with a visit
to the cathedral of Chartres. He was filled with admiration
at the consecrated spirit of a former age that sought expres-
sion in such a miracle of stone :

" I gazed abashed,

Child of an age that lectures, not creates,
Plastering our swallow-nests on the awful Past,
And twittering round the work of larger men,
As we had builded what we but deface."

His 'deep religious nature is evident throughout the poem,
though his creed is larger than that of his Puritan ancestors.
Softened by the touch of an all-embracing sympathy and char-
ity, he finds that

" God is in all that liberates and lifts,
In all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles."

In " The Cathedral " we have a striking instance of the
wilful caprice with which his muse sometimes startles us. At

238 AMERICAN- LITERATURE.

the hotel in Chartres he met two Englishmen who mistook
him for a Frenchman.

" My beard translated me to hostile French ;
So they, desiring guidance in the town,
Half condescended to my baser sphere,
And, clubbing in one mess their lack of phrase,
Set their best man to grapple with the Gaul.
' Esker vous ate a nabitang ? ' he asked :
'I never ate one; are they good?' asked I;
Whereat they stared, then laughed, and we were friends."

Considered in the most favorable light, the poet's wit on
this occasion can hardly be said to display particular bril-
liancy ; and to introduce the incident into a grave and ele-
vated poem is a bit of freakishness that makes " the judicious
grieve."

Of Lowell's prose writings, there is not space to speak in
detail. The three volumes entitled " My Study Windows "
and " Among My Books " (two volumes) are made up of es-
says. " My Study Windows " is of greatest general interest.
It opens with three delightful papers entitled " My Garden
Acquaintance," " A Good Word for Winter," and " On a Cer-
tain Condescension in Foreigners." In these the keen wit,
kindly humor, and shrewd observation of Lowell appear at
their best. Of his various garden acquaintance, to give a
single quotation, he says : " If they will not come near enough
to me (as most of them will), I bring them close with an opera-
glass, a much better weapon than a gun. I would not, if I
could, convert them from their pretty pagan ways. The only
one I sometimes have savage doubts about is the red squirrel.
I think he oologizes. I know he eats cherries (we counted five
of them at one time in a single tree, the stones pattering down
like the sparse hail that preludes a storm), and that he gnaws
off the small ends of pears to get at the seeds. He steals the
corn from under the noses of my poultry. But what would
you have ? He will come down upon the limb of the tree I

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 239

am lying under till he is within a yard of me. He and his
mate will scurry up and down the great black walnut for my
diversion, chattering like monkeys. Can I sign his death-
warrant who has tolerated me about his grounds so long? Not
I. Let them steal, and welcome. I am sure I should, had I
had the same bringing up and the same temptation. As for
the birds, I do not believe there is one of them but does more
good than harm ; and of how many featherless bipeds can this
be said ? "

Lowell occupies a foremost place among American critics.
For the critic's office he was eminently qualified, both by natural
gifts and broad scholarship. The two volumes of " Among My
Books " are devoted chiefly to elaborate studies of " Dryden,"
"Shakespeare Once More," "Dante," "Spenser," "Words-
worth," " Milton," and " Keats." In each case a wide range
of reading is made to contribute its treasures. The essays,
supplied with numerous foot-notes, are learned to a degree
that is almost oppressive. Lowell displays a deep insight and
great soundness of judgment. His style is rich in allusion.
At times it is epigrammatic ; and again it is not unlike his own
description of Milton's style. " Milton's manner," he says, " is
very grand. It is slow, it is stately, moving as in triumphal
procession, with music, with historic banners, with spoils from
every time and region ; and captive epithets, like huge Si-
cambrians, thrust their broad shoulders between us and the
pomp they decorate." Now and then his humor lights up a
sentence or paragraph in the most unexpected way.

As a few other of our literary men, Lowell was appointed
to represent this country abroad. His diplomatic career de-
tracts nothing from his reputation. He was appointed minister
to Spain in 1877, ar| d three years later minister to England.
Without any occasion to display great diplomatic gifts, he filled
his post faithfully, and fostered international good feeling. In
the social and literary circles of England his culture and genius
gained for him a proud distinction.

Lowell was frequently called on for addresses. Among his

240 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

works is a volume entitled " Democracy and Other Addresses.
He was not an orator so much as a refined and scholarly
speaker. He spoke in an earnest, conversational tone, depend-
ing upon the weight of his utterance to secure the attention
and interest of his hearers. He made no use of gesture. He
did not soar to the heights of impassioned utterance, of which
we must believe him to have been capable. He did not move
a great popular assembly, but to the scholarly and cultivated
he was a delightful speaker.

Lowell lived beyond the allotted age of three score and ten.
His latter years were sweetened by the tribute of honor and
love which a great people united in paying him. He died
Aug. 12, 1891, recognized at home and abroad as a man of
high gifts and noble character. He is, perhaps, our best repre-
sentative man of letters. An English critic has fairly expressed
the feeling abroad: "No poetic note higher or deeper than
his, no aspirations more firmly touched towards lofty issues,
no voice more powerful for truth and freedom, have hitherto
come to us from across the Atlantic."

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

JOHN GREENLEAF WH1TTIER. 241

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

WHITTIER has been called the Burns of New P^ngland ; and
that title is not without justification. He owed the first awa-
kening of his poetic talent to the Scottish bard ; and, like him,
he has cast a glory over the homely scenes of his native
region. In the choice of his themes he is less a national
than a sectional poet. Less cosmopolitan than Longfellow and
Lowell, he is pre-eminently the poet of New England. It is
the spirit, the legend, and the landscape of New England that
are reflected in his verse.

John Greenleaf Whittier sprang from Quaker ancestry, and
the memory of the wrongs inflicted upon his sect at an earlier
day never left him. He was born near the town of Haverhill,
Mass., Dec. 17, 1807. The house was an old one, surrounded
by fields and woods ; and in front of it, to use the poet's
words, a brook "foamed, rippled, and laughed." The Merri-
mac River was not far away. He helped to till an unfriendly
soil, and in his leisure hours he wandered over the hills or
loitered along the streams.

Like Franklin, Whittier was a self-made man. His early
education was limited to brief terms in the district school. He
was fond of reading, but his father's library contained only a
score of tedious volumes. For a number of years the Bible
was his principal resource for history, poetry, and eloquence ;
and encouraged and aided by his mother, he made its literary
and religious treasures a permanent possession.

In spite of the meagre advantages of his frugal home, as
compared with our present opulence of books and papers, he
had the wealth of exuberant Itfe and observant eyes. Nature
became his inspiring teacher. In "The Barefoot Boy," with
its childhood memories, he says:

242 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees ;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade ;
For my 'taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone ;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night."

The monotony of the hospitable farmhouse was relieved
now and then by the visits of peddlers. Strolling people were
looked on more indulgently then than now. When Whittier
was fourteen years old his first schoolmaster brought to the
Quaker home a volume of Burns, from which he read, to the
boy's great delight. It kindled the poetic fire within. " I
begged him to leave the book with me," the poet said years
afterwards, "and set myself at once to the task of mastering
the glossary of the Scottish dialect at its close. This was
about the first poetry I had ever read (with the exception of
that of the Bible, of which I had been a close student), and
it had a lasting influence upon me. I began to make rhymes
myself, and to imagine stories and adventures/'

In 1826 Whittier made the acquaintance of William Lloyd
Garrison, who exerted no small influence upon his subsequent
career. Garrison had established the Free Press at Newbury-
port. A poem contributed by young Whittier so impressed
him with its indications of genius that he visited the Quaker
lad in his home, and warmly urged a cultivation of his talents.
The visit was not fruitless. The gifted youth resolved to ob-
tain a better education; and to acquire the necessary means,
which his father was not able to supply, he learned the art of
shoemaking. In 1827 he entered the Academy in Haverhill,
and by his genial nature and his literary ability quickly attained
a position of distinction.

After two terms at the Academy and a brief interval of
teaching, he served an apprenticeship to the literary craft by
editing or contributing to several newspapers. His writings,

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, 243

both in prose and in poetry, attracted attention. Without the
breadth of culture enjoyed by some contemporary writers who
afterward became famous, he came to be regarded as a young
man of great promise. " The culmination of that man's fame,"
the New England Review declared in 1829, "will be a proud
period in the history of our literature."

A wider field soon opened before him. In 1830 George D.
Prentice gave up the editorial management of the New Eng-
land Weekly Review of Hartford, and Whittier was called to
succeed him. For a year and a half he edited the paper with
ability and success. He avoided the coarse personalities which
at that time disgraced American journalism. He was a strong
advocate of temperance, freedom, and religion. A resolute
heart beat under his quiet manner and sober Quaker dress.
He published in the Review no fewer than forty-two poems,
most of which he afterwards suppressed. But among those
retained in his collected works are "The Frost Spirit," "The
Cities of the Plain," and "The Vaudois Teacher." In 1832,
on account of ill-health, Whittier severed his connection with
the Review.

He took an earnest and active part in the anti-slavery
movement. He surrendered his literary ambition to what he
believed the call of duty. He displayed the self-sacrificing
heroism of a sincere reformer. In his own words:

" From youthful hopes, from each green spot
Of young Romance and gentle Thought,
Where storm and tumult enter not,

From each fair altar, where belong
The offerings Love requires of Song
In homage to her bright-eyed throng,

With soul and strength, with heart and hand,
I turned to Freedom's struggling band,
To the sad Helots of our land."

In 1833 he published a strong pamphlet against slavery,
entitled "Justice and Expediency; or, Slavery considered with

244 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

a view to its Rightful and Effectual Remedy, Abolition." It
was printed and circulated at his own expense, costing him a
considerable part of his year's earnings.

In his anti-slavery agitation he more than once encountered
mob violence in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. In 1837
he went to Philadelphia to write for the Pennsylvania Freeman,
of which he became editor a few months later. It was issued
from Pennsylvania Hall, a large building erected by the anti-
slavery people of the city. The building was subsequently
sacked and burned by a mob. But in spite of his loss, Whit-
tier continued to issue his paper regularly, until he was forced
to give up the enterprise by failing health. It was out of his
own experience that he wrote in " The Preacher " :

" Never in custom's oiled grooves
The world to a higher level moves,
But grates and grinds with friction hard
On granite boulder and flinty shard."

Unlike his friend Garrison, Whittier favored political action.
He wished to re-enforce moral suasion with the ballot He
stoutly supported the several political organizations known suc-
cessively as the Liberty party, Free-Soil party, and Republican
party, which were opposed to slavery. During all these years
of agitation, he took advantage of every occasion to send
forth impassioned anti-slavery verse. In 1849 these poems
were collected into a volume entitled "Voices of Freedom."
Their vehemence, as in "Stanzas," "Clerical Oppressors,"
"The Pastoral Letter," and "The Branded Hand," almost
reaches fierceness. Though Longfellow and Lowell wrote no-
table anti-slavery poems, Whittier may justly be considered
the laureate of the abolition movement.

While engaged in the anti-slavery movement, Whittier did
not wholly give up his purely literary work. The family resi-
dence had been changed to Amesbury, and he depended on
his pen for support. He was a valued contributor to several
periodicals, among which were the New England Magazine and

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 24$

the Democratic Review. In these some of his best work ap-
peared. " Mogg Megone " and "The Bridal of Pennacook"
are Indian tales, chiefly noteworthy for their vivid description
of New England scenery. Of the former Whittier did not
have a high opinion, and sarcastically described it as " a big
Injun strutting about in Walter Scott's plaid," which is not far
from the truth. " Cassandra Southwick " is a justly admired
ballad founded on the persecution of the Quakers in Massa-
chusetts.

Whittier was intensely democratic in his feelings. He did
not believe in the divine right of any class to lord it over their
fellow-men. Through all the disguises of toil, poverty, and sin,
he recognized the innate worth and natural rights of man. In
the poem " Democracy " he says :

" By misery unrepelled, unawed

By pomp or power, thou seest a MAN
In prince or peasant, slave or lord,
Pale priest, or swarthy artisan.

Through all disguise, form, place, or name,
Beneath the flaunting robes of sin,

Through poverty and squalid shame,
Thou lookest on the man within.

On man, as man, retaining yet,

Howe'er debased, and soiled, and dim,

The crown upon his forehead set,
The immortal gift of God .to him."

In harmony with this broad human sympathy, he wrote a
series of poems, unsurpassed of their kind, to which he gave
the name of " Songs of Labor." They are intended to show,

" The unsung beauty hid life's common things below."

In these songs the labors of "The Shipbuilders," "The
Shoemakers," "The Drovers," "The Fishermen," "The Husk-
ers," and " The Lumbermen," pass before us in idealized form.

Whittier was never married. But little of his poetry is in

246 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

spired by love, the master motive of song. Yet there are indi-
cations, unmistakable and tender, that his life was not without
its romance. The little poem " In School Days " is too nat-
ural and too charming to have been fiction :

" He saw her lift her eyes ; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing:

' I'm sorry that I spelt the word ;

I hate to go above you,
Because " the brown eyes lower fell,
' Because, you see, I love you.' "

And in " Memories " we have a fond picture of a later

day :

" I hear again thy low replies,

I feel thine arm within my own,
And timidly again uprise
The fringed lids of hazel eyes,
With soft brown tresses overflown.
Ah, memories of sweet summer eves,

Of moonlit wave and willowy way,
Of stars and flowers, and dew T y leaves,

And smiles and tones more dear than they."

Whittier does not belong to the bards of doubt. Like
most of the strong singers of the present century, he recog-
nized the divine presence as existent and operative in all
things. His verse is filled with the cheer of hope and cour-
age. In " The Reformer " he says :

" But life shall on and upward go ;

Th' eternal step of Progress beats
To that great anthem, calm and slow,
Which God repeats.

Take heart! the Waster builds again,
A charmed life old Goodness hath ;

The tares may perish, but the grain
Is not for death.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITT1ER. 347

God works in all things ; all obey
His first propulsion from the night :

Wake thou and watch ! the world is gray
With- morning light."

It was this faith that sustained him in the midst of detrac-
tion, violence, and loss. In " Barclay of Ury," he exclaims :

" Happy he whose inward ear
Angel comfortings can hear

O'er the rabble's laughter;
And while Hatred's fagots burn,
Glimpses through the smoke discern

Of the good hereafter."

For a dozen years Whittier was a regular contributor to the
National Era, an organ of the anti-slavery party established
in 1847. I n tn i s paper appeared some of his most character-
istic work, both in poetry and prose. His muse had gained in
breadth of thought and sentiment. It was at this time he

wrote :

" I love the old melodious lays
Which softly melt the ages through,

The songs of Spenser's golden days,
Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase,
Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew."

Among the eighty poems contributed to the National Era,
some of those needing special mention are " Tauler," " Burns,"
" Kathleen," " Stanzas for the Times," " Trust," " A Sabbath
Scene," " Calef in Boston," "The Last Walk in Autumn,"
" Ichabod," and " Maud Muller." They reach the higher levels
of song, and give gemlike expression to some noble thought
or sentiment. "Ichabod," meaning, as Bible readers will re-
member, " the glory hath departed," is a dirge over Webster
for the compromising spirit shown by him in a speech in 1850.
It is full of suppressed power.

" The Last Walk in Autumn " is a beautiful study of New
England landscape. It abounds in noble thought, and contains

248 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

life-like portraits of Emerson, Bayard Taylor, and Sumner. At
times, as the poet tells us, he longs for gentler skies and softer
air ; but after all he prefers the vigor of a colder clime :

" Better to stem with heart and hand
The roaring tide of life, than lie,
Unmindful, on its flowery strand,
Of God's occasions drifting by 1
Better with naked nerve to bear
The needles of this goading air,
Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego
The godlike power to do, the godlike aim to know."

Among the prose contributions to the National Era was a
series of biographical studies, " Bunyan," " Andrew Marvell,"
" Richard Baxter," and others, entitled " Old Portraits," and
" Margaret Smith's Journal in the Province of Massachusetts
Bay, 1678-9." The latter is a kind of historical novel, written
in the antique style belonging to the period it describes. It
introduces the leading characters and incidents of the time,
and reproduces the old colonial life in a very realistic way.
In 1860 appeared a volume of " Home Ballads, Poems, and
Lyrics," which contains a number of notable pieces. " Skipper
Ireson's Ride," with its refrain and pathetic conclusion, is well
known :

" So with soft relentings and rude excuse,
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,
And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
And left him alone with his shame and sin.
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead."

In " The Shadow and the Light " the poet seeks an answer
to the immemorial problem of evil :

" O, why and whither ? God knows all ;

I only know that he is good,
And that whatever may befall
Or here or there, must be the best that could.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 249

For he is merciful as just ;

And so, by faith correcting sight,
I bow before his will, and trust
Howe'er they seem he doeth all things right."

In " Times/' written for an agricultural and horticultural
exhibition, the beauty and blessedness of labor are finely
presented :

" Give fools their gold, and knaves their power ;

Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall ;

Who sows a field, or trains a flower,

Or plants a tree, is more than all.

For he who blesses most is blest ;

And God and man shall own his worth
Who toils to leave as his bequest

An added beauty to the earth."

The Civil War was repugnant to Whittier's Quaker prin-
ciples. He looked on war as murder ; and his preference was
to let the South secede, and work -out her destiny as a slave-
holding country. But he was not an indifferent spectator when
once the issue was joined. The collection of songs, " In War
Time," is pervaded by a sad yet trustful spirit :

" The future's gain

Is certain as God's truth ; but, meanwhile, pain
Is bitter, and tears are salt ; our voices take
A sober tone ; our very household songs
Are heavy with a nation's griefs and wrongs ;
And innocent mirth is chastened for the sake
Of the brave hearts that nevermore shall beat,
The eyes that smile no more, the unreturning feet.'

He rejoiced at the freedom that at last came to the
negro :

" Not as we hoped ; but what are we ?
Above our broken dreams and plans
God lays, with wiser hand than man's,
The corner-stones of liberty."

250 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The best known of his war poems is " Barbara Frietchie,"
which vividly describes an incident that never happened.
After the termination of the war, Whittier favored a magnani-
mous policy toward the South, and desired that there might
be " no unnecessary hangings to gratify an evil desire of
revenge."

" Snow-Bound," a winter idyl, is an exquisite description
of country life in New England two generations ago. It por-
trays the early home of the poet, showing us its modest inte-
rior, and giving us portraits of its various inmates. After the
boding storm had buried every object beneath the snow :

" A prompt, decisive man, no breath
Our father wasted ; ' Boys, a path 1 ' "

At night the spacious fireplace was heaped with wood ;

" Then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom."

Whittier's mother was a woman of good sense, native re-
finement, and benign face. Here is her portrait :

" Our mother, while she turned her wheel,
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel,
Told how the Indian hordes came down
At midnight on Cocheco town,
And how her own great-uncle bore
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore.
Recalling, in her fitting phrase,

So rich and picturesque and free

(The common unrhymed poetry
Of simple life and country ways),
The story of her early days,
She made us welcome to her home."

Another inmate is thus sketched :

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 251

" Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks.

In moons and tides and weather wise,
He read the clouds as prophecies,
And foul or fair could well divine,
By many an occult hint and sign,
Holding the cunning-warded keys
To all the woodcraft mysteries."

The maiden aunt is tenderly drawn :

" The sweetest woman ever Fate
Perverse denied a household mate,
Who, lonely, homeless, not the less
Found peace in love's unselfishness."

Of his sister Mary the poet says :

" There, too, our elder sister plied
Her evening task the stand beside;
A full, rich nature, free to trust,
Truthful and almost sternly just,
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act,
And make her generous thought a fact,
Keeping with many a light disguise
The secret of self-sacrifice."

Of his sister Elizabeth, a noble woman of poetic gifts, he
thus speaks :

" As one who held herself a part
Of all she saw, and let her heart

Against the household bosom lean,
Upon the motley-braided mat
Our youngest and our dearest sat,
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes."

Of other portraits and scenes in this admirable poem,
which deserves to rank with " The Deserted Village " and
" The Cotter's Saturday Night," there is not space to speak,

252 AMERICAN LITERATURE

" The Tent on the Beach," published in 1867, somewhat re-
sembles Longfellow's "Tales of a Wayside Inn," or Chaucer's
" Canterbury Tales," in its structure. The poet and his two
friends, Bayard Taylor and James T. Fields, encamping on the
seashore, enliven their sojourn with tales of the olden time.
The portraits of the party are skilfully drawn ; but most inter-
esting of all is the poet's sketch of himself :

" 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 wrong,
Yoking his fancy to the breaking-plough
That beam-deep turned the soil for truth to spring and grow."

Of the nine stories related in "The Tent on the Beach,"
all but two refer to New England themes.

Though troubled with increasing infirmity, especially with
deafness, Whittier wore old age gracefully. He continued to
write to the last. Many of his later poems are pervaded by a
deep religious spirit. Several of them possess an autobio-
graphic interest, as expressly setting forth the poet's views of
God and immortality. A profound faith took away his dread
of death ; and in "The Eternal Goodness " he says :

" And so beside the Silent Sea

I wait the muffled oar ;
No harm from Him can come to me
On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift

Their fronded palms in air ;
I only know I cannot drift

Beyond His love and care."

A similar trust finds expression in " My Birthday." It is
repeated in the pathetic lines "What the Traveler Said at
Sunset " ;

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 2$$

" The shadows grow and deepen round me,

I feel the dew-fall in the air ;
The muezzin of the darkening thicket
I hear the night-thrush call to prayer.

I go to find my lost and mourned for
Safe in Thy sheltering goodness still,

And all that hope and faith foreshadow
Made perfect in Thy holy will."

The leading characteristics of Whittier's poetry may be
recognized in what has already been presented. We miss, for
the most part, a classic finish of style. His verse is vital
rather than statuesque. Sometimes we meet with false accents
and faulty rhymes. He does not treat of the great questions
started by modern research, nor undertake to solve existing
social problems. From the start he takes his stand in the re-
gion of faith, which finds a solution of all problems in the
love of God. He loved nature ; and while his observation
was confined chiefly to a part of New England, he has given
us landscape pictures of almost matchless beauty.

One of the charms of his verse comes from its sincerity.
He was no mere artist in verse, seeking themes with prosaic
calculation, and then polishing them into a cold, artificial lustre.
With him poetry was not so much an end as a means. He
used it as his principal weapon in his battle against wrong.
He made it the medium of passionate truth. His verse has
a vitality that brings it home to the hearts of men, inspiring
them with new strength, courage, and hope.

Modest to a marked degree, Whittier did not fully appre-
ciate the grandeur of his life nor the worth of his verse. He
had the true dignity of a noble nature. While scorning noto-
riety, he valued genuine sympathy. The loving spirit of his
verse was exemplified in his daily life. He was sympathetic
and helpful. His friendships were constant and beautiful. In
social life he had a kindly humor that rarely found a place
in his earnest verse. His genius was not eccentric. He was

2 $4 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

a man of conviction, of purpose, of courage. He preferred a
life of earnest struggle to a life of ignoble ease, a sentiment
to which he gave expression in the beautiful autobiographic
poem " My Birthday " :

" Better than self-indulgent years
The outflung heart of youth,
Than pleasant songs in idle years
The tumult of the truth."

His last years, as was fitting, were serene. After many
stormy years, he had at last won an honored place in the
literature of our country, and, what is better, in the hearts of
our people. The wisest and best delighted to do him honor.
His home at Danvers, Mass., became a place of pilgrimage.
After reaching a ripe old age, he passed away Sept. 7, 1892.
In the slightly altered words of Longfellow, addressed to the
" Hermit of Amesbury " on his seventieth birthday :

" Thou too hast heard

Voices and melodies from beyond the gates,
And spoken only when thy soul was stirred."

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 255

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

HOLMES was the latest survivor of the remarkable group
of writers who may be said to have created American litera-
ture. He was not the greatest of the group ; but there is
scarcely any other whose works are more widely read. Under
the present stress of life in America, there are very many per-
sons who would rather be amused than instructed. When an
author succeeds in both amusing and instructing, he has a
double claim upon the grateful affection of the public. This
twofold end Holmes achieved more fully than any of his con-
temporaries.

He stood aloof, in a remarkable degree, from the great
movements in which the other New England writers of his
day were more or less engaged. He had but little sympathy
with transcendentalism. Instead of depending upon an " inner
light," he placed his reliance, with true Baconian spirit, in
observation, evidence, investigation. When, as rarely hap-
pened, he attempted to be profound in his speculations, he
was not notably successful. Conservative in temperament,
he did not aspire to the rbk of a social reformer. His in-
difference to the abolition movement brought upon him the
censure of some of its leaders. Unswayed by external influ-
ences, he steadfastly adhered to the path he had marked out
cor himself.

He was one of the most brilliant and versatile of men.
Though far more earnest than is commonly supposed, he was
not dominated, as was Emerson, by a profound philosophy.
His poetry has not the power that springs from a great moral
purpose. He did not concentrate all his energies upon a sin-
gle department of literature or science. He was a physician,

256 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

lecturer, poet, essayist, novelist ; and such were his brilliant
gifts that he attained eminence in them all.

Right or wrong, most persons distrust the judgment and
earnestness of a man of wit. Accustomed to laugh at his play
of fancy, they feel more or less injured when he talks in a
serious strain. They seek his society for entertainment rather
than for counsel. Holmes well understood this popular pre-
judice; but he was far too faithful to his genius to affect a
solemnity he did not feel. In his delightful poem " Nux Post-
ccenatica," he excuses himself from a public dinner :

"Besides my prospects don't you know that people won't employ
A man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a boy ?
And suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot,
As if wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its root ? "

Holmes was a firm believer in heredity. No small part of
his writings is devoted to a discussion or illustration of inher-
ited tendencies. Yet he did not take a special interest in his
own ancestry, though they were of the best New England stock.
He had, to use his own words, "a right to be grateful for a
probable inheritance of good instincts, a good name, and a
bringing up in a library where he bumped about among books
from the time when he was hardly taller than one of his father's
or grandfather's folios." He was born in Cambridge, Aug. 29,
1809 ; another annus mirabilis, it has been called, as the birth-
year also of Lincoln, Darwin, Tennyson, and Gladstone. His
father, the Rev. Abiel Holmes, was a Congregational minister
of scholarly tastes and attainments. His "Annals of Amer-
ica" is a careful and useful history. Holmes's mother is de-
scribed as a bright, vivacious woman, of small figure, social
tastes, and sprightly manners characteristics that reappeared
in the son.

In his "Autobiographical Notes," only too brief and frag-
mentary, Holmes has given us glimpses of his childhood. He
was a precocious child, thoughtful beyond his years. He made
a good record at school, and was fond of reading. Among his

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

257

favorite books was Pope's " Homer," which never lost its charm
for him. His reading was fragmentary. " I have always read
in books," he says, " rather than through them, and always with
more profit from the books I read in than the books I read
through; for when I set out to read through a book I always
felt that I had a task before me ; but when I read /// a book it
was the page or the paragraph that I wanted, and which left its
impression, and became a part of my intellectual furniture."

After a preparatory course at Andover, Holmes entered Har-
vard College in 1825, graduating four years later in what be-
came "the famous class of '29." There are scant records of his
college days. Whatever may have been his devotion to study,
it is certain that he was not indifferent to convivial pleasures.
His talent for rhyming led to his appointment as class poet.
The class feeling was stronger in those days than it is now;
and, after a time, the "class of '29" held annual dinners in
Boston. No one entered into these reunions with greater zest
than Holmes. Beginning with the year 1851, he furnished for
twenty-six consecutive years one or more poems for each reu-
nion. The best known of these class poems is " Bill and Joe,"
which contains, in the poet's happiest manner, mingled humor
and pathos :

" Come, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by,
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago,
When you were Bill and I was Joe."

After graduation, Holmes began the study of law, and at-
tended lectures for a year. But he found that he was on
the wrong track, and gave it up for medicine. He attended
two courses of lectures in Boston, and then went abroad to
complete his course. He took time to do some sight-seeing,
and visited England, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy.
But he spent most of his two years abroad in Paris, where he
gave himself diligently to professional study. He had exalted

2 5 8

AMERICAN LITER A TURE.

ideas of his profession a little better than he carried out
" Medicine," he said, " is the most difficult of sciences and the
most laborious of arts. It will task all your powers of body
and mind, if you are faithful to it. Do not dabble in the
muddy sewers of politics, nor linger by the enchanted streams
of literature, nor dig in far-off fields for the hidden waters of
alien sciences. The great practitioners are generally those
who concentrate all their powers on their business."

There is an incident in his life while yet a law-student that
must not be passed over. He had been writing for The Col-
legian a good many verses that were well received. Indeed, to
borrow his phrase, he had become infected with the " lead-
poisoning of type-metal." One day he read that the Navy
Department had issued orders for the breaking up of the old
frigate Constitution, then lying at Charlestown. His soul was
deeply stirred ; and, seizing a scrap of paper, he dashed off the
passionate lines of " Old Ironsides : "

" Ay, tear her tattered ensign down I

Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see

That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rang the battle shout,

And burst the cannon's roar ;
The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more 1 "

The stirring words of the poem, copied in the press through-
out the country, found a response in the heart of the people.
Under the sudden blaze of indignation, the astonished Secre-
tary revoked his order, and the gallant vessel was spared for
half a century. This result was a remarkable achievement for
a young man who had just attained his majority.

In 1836 Holmes opened an office in Boston as a practising
physician. He was sympathetic, painstaking, and conscien-
tious ; and in a reasonable time he gained a fair practice. In
spite of his fondness for literature, he continued his profes-
sional studies with unusual diligence and success. He won

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 259

several prizes by medical essays. But his scholarly tastes fitted
him better for a medical lecturer than for a practitioner ; and
in 1838 he was much gratified to be elected Professor of Anat-
omy at Dartmouth College, a position that required his pres-
ence there only three months of the session.

The year he opened his office in Boston, he published his
first volume of verse. From a professional standpoint it was,
perhaps, an unwise thing to do. People are instinctively averse
to going to poets for prescriptions. But he was far from indif-
ferent to his reputation as a poet. As between the two, he
would probably have chosen to go down to posterity famed for
his gifts in poetry rather than for his skill in medicine. The
slender volume contained several pieces that have since re-
mained general favorites. His poetic powers matured early ;
and, among all the productions of his subsequent years, there
is nothing better than "The Last Leaf" that inimitable com-
bination of humor and pathos. One of its stanzas is a perfect
gem:

" 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."

His jolly humor nowhere else finds better expression than
in " My Aunt," " The September Gale," and " The Height of
the Ridiculous."

In 1840, the year his connection with Dartmouth College
ceased, Holmes thought himself well enough established to
end his bachelorhood. His tastes were strongly domestic.
Accordingly, he married Miss Amelia Lee Jackson, a gentle,
affectionate, considerate woman, who appreciated her hus-
band's talents, and, with a noble devotion, helped him to
make the most of them. For nearly fifty years her delicate
tact shielded him from annoyances, and her skilful manage-
ment relieved him of domestic cares.

260 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

In 1847 Holmes was elected Professor of Anatomy and
Physiology in Harvard University. The chair was afterwards
divided, and he had charge of anatomy. He held this position
for the long period of thirty-five years. He recognized the
danger of falling into an unprogressive routine. "I have no-
ticed/' he wrote to a friend, "that the wood of which academic
fauteuils are made has a narcotic quality, which occasionally
renders their occupants somnolent, lethargic, or even coma-
tose." But he escaped this danger ; and, taking a deep inter-
est in his department, he remained a wide-awake, progressive
teacher to the end. His lectures were illumined with a corus-
cating humor that made them peculiarly interesting.

About the middle of the century the popular lecture was
in great vogue in New England. Men of distinguished abil-
ity did not disdain this means of disseminating wisdom and
replenishing their pockets. Like Emerson, Holmes made lec-
turing tours. Though not imposing in person nor gifted in
voice, he was much sought after for his unfailing vivacity and
wit. In the "Autocrat" he makes a humorous reference to
his experience as a lecturer. "Family men," he says, "get
dreadfully homesick. In the remote and bleak village the
heart returns to the red blaze of the logs in one's fireplace
at home.

'There are his young barbarians all at play.'

No, the world has a million roosts for a man, but only one
nest."

The founding of The Atlantic Monthly, the name of which
he suggested, was an important event in the life of Holmes.
He was engaged to write for it; and the result was "The Auto-
crat of the Breakfast Table," perhaps the best of all his works.
He here revealed himself as a charming writer of prose. The
"Autocrat" talks delightfully on a hundred different subjects,
presenting with a careless grace and irrepressible humor the
accumulated wisdom of years of observation and study. Noth
ing is too small or too great for his reflections. "There are

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 261

few books," as George William Curtis well said, "that leave
more distinctly the impression of a mind teeming with riches
of many kinds. It is, in the Yankee phrase, thoroughly wide
awake. There is no languor, and it permits none in the reader,
who must move along the page warily, lest in the gay profusion
of the grove, unwittingly defrauding himself of delight, he miss
some flower half-hidden, some gem chance-dropped, some dart-
ing bird."

Interspersed through the brilliant talk of the "Autocrat"
are nearly a score of poems, partly humorous and partly seri-
ous. Several of these rank among the poet's choicest produc-
tions. A special charm is given to each poem by its setting.
"The Chambered Nautilus" was Holmes's favorite among all
his poems. " Booked for immortality " was Whittier's criticism
the moment he read it. The last stanza gives beautiful expres-
sion to the aspiration of a noble spirit :

" Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll !

Leave thy low-vaulted past !
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea."

The humorous poem " Contentment " embodied, as he tells
us, "the subdued and limited desires of his maturity:"

"Little I ask; my wants are few;

I only wish a hut of stone,
(A very plain brown stone will do,)

That I may call my own;
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun."

Other poems from the " Autocrat " deserving special men-
tion are "Musa," "What We All Think," "Latter-Day Warn-
ings," "Estivation," and, above all these, "The Deacon's
Masterpiece."

262 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

About the time the Atlantic was founded, the Saturday Club
came into existence, and numbered among its members Emer-
son, Hawthorne, Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, Motley, Agassiz,
and other distinguished literary men of Boston and Cambridge.
They dined together the last Saturday of every month. A
more brilliant club had not existed since the days of John-
son and Goldsmith. Holmes took great pride in it, and added
greatly to its festive meetings. He was a prince of talkers.
His wise, witty, genial, vivacious talk is said to have been even
better than his books. He called talking "one of the fine
arts." He probably had the Saturday Club in mind when, in
the "Autocrat," he defined an intellectual banquet as "that
carnival-shower of questions and replies and comments, large
axioms bowled over the mahogany like bombshells from pro-
fessional mortars, and explosive wit dropping its trains of
many-colored fire, and the mischief-making rain of bon-bons
pelting everybody that shows himself."

Holmes was strongly attached to Boston, and was really
its poet laureate. He playfully said that the "Boston State
House is the hub of the solar system," and in his heart half
believed it. He received a proud and affectionate recognition
from the city. He was expected to grace every great festive
occasion with his presence, and to contribute a poem to its
enjoyment. The number of these occasional pieces is surpris-
ing ; they form no inconsiderable part of his poetical works.
Of their kind they are unsurpassed. Year after year Holmes
met the demand upon him with unfailing freshness and vigor.
But it goes without saying that vers de sotitie does not belong
to the highest order of poetry. It does not sound the deeper
notes of song, nor entitle the poet, no matter how brilliant may
be his verse, to rank with those "to whom poetry, for its own
sake, has been a passion and belief."

Holmes was strongly drawn to theological subjects. It
maybe true, as has been suggested, that he inherited "eccle-
siastical pugnacity ; " but it was not exercised in defending the
ecclesiastical beliefs and institutions of his ancestors. A theo-

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES,

logical thread runs through nearly all his prose writings ; and
his uniform antipathy to what he believed to be erroneous
creeds does more than anything else to give them unity. Yet
at heart he was a religious man. His anchor was "trust in
God." He held to the doctrine of immortality. He looked
upon this world as a training-school. In his " Autobiographi-
cal Notes," written in his old age, he says, " This colony of the
universe is a'n educational institution so far as the human race
is concerned. On this theory I base my hopes for myself and
my fellow-creatures. If, in the face of all the so-called evil to
which I cannot close my eyes, I have managed to retain a
cheerful optimism, it is because this educational theory is at
the basis of my working creed."

"The Professor at the Breakfast Table," published in 1859,
is devoted chiefly to a discussion of theological subjects.
Whatever may be thought of the " Professor's " views, there
can be no question about the confidence and the skill with
which they are presented. The dramatis persona, if one may
use the phrase, are interesting ; and the death-scene of the Lit-
tle Gentleman is the most pathetic incident in all Holmes's
writings. Judged from an artistic standpoint, the " Professor "
is somewhat below the "Autocrat." It is less spontaneous,
being written largely, one might think, to relieve the author's
mind of a theological burden. Or, to borrow his own words,
" The first juice that runs of itself from the grapes comes from
the heart of the fruit, and tastes of the pulp only ; when the
grapes are squeezed in the press, the flow betrays the flavor of
the skin."

The third and last of the Breakfast Table series was " The
Poet at the Breakfast Table," which appeared in 1873. It is
hazardous to attempt to repeat successes ; but the result justi-
fied what Holmes called his audacity. The " Poet " is a little
more serious than his predecessors ; but while he is perceptibly
inferior to them in novelty and vivacity, he is still delightful.
The volume contains in successive cantos " Wind-Clouds and
Star-Drifts," Holmes's longest and most ambitious poem.

264 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

* This poem," he says, " holds a good deal of self-communing,
and gave me the opportunity of expressing some thoughts and
feelings not to be found elsewhere in my writings." Shall we
accept the creeds of " sad-eyed hermits " and " angry con-
claves " ?

" Ah, not from these the listening soul can hear
The Father's voice that speaks itself divine !
Love must be still our Master ; till we learn
What he can teach us of a woman's heart,
We know not His, whose love embraces all."

Holmes's two principal novels, " Elsie Venner " which ap-
peared in 1861, and "The Guardian Angel" which appeared in
1867, belong to the class of fiction with a purpose. The first
was designed to illustrate the effects of a powerful pre-natal
influence ; the other, the law of heredity. They have been
spoken of, much to the author's chagrin, as "medicated novels."
The scenes are laid in New England, the manners of which are
portrayed with graphic realism. These novels have been criti-
cised as crude in form ; but, in spite of defects of plot, they
have been widely read. They will, no doubt, be less read as
Interest in their main theme declines ; but " The Guardian
Angel," the better of the two books, will long be deservedly
popular for its humor and wisdom.

Holmes did not have much confidence in the biographer's
art. "I should like to see," he says in "The Poet at the Break-
fast Table," " any man's biography with corrections and emen-
dations by his ghost." But, in spite of this distrust, he wrote
two popular biographies, one of Motley, the other of Emerson.
Motley was one of his most intimate friends ; and it was not
unnatural, therefore, that the biography, which was published
in 1878, should bear somewhat the character of a tribute. His
temperament hardly qualified him for writing the life of Emer-
son. He was not inclined toward transcendentalism ; and, as
he acknowledged, he was "a late comer as an admirer of the
Concord poet and philosopher." But, as in all his writings, he
gave himself conscientiously to the task. A keen analytical

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 26$

spirit took the place of a profound sympathy. The biography,
which appeared in 1884, is more satisfactory to the general
public than to the students of Emerson. It is interesting, and
at times brilliant ; but somehow one feels the absence of a
perfectly sympathetic treatment.

In 1882, after an incumbency of thirty-five years, he re-
signed his professorship. Four years later he made a visit
abroad, spending nearly all his time in England. He was
warmly received in London society. " He is enjoying himself
immensely," wrote Lowell, " and takes as keen an interest in
everything as he would have done at twenty. I almost envy
him this freshness of genius. Everybody is charmed with him,
as it is natural they should be." He was honored by the uni-
versities of Edinburgh, Cambridge, and Oxford with degrees.
The observations of his brief stay abroad he embodied in "Our
Hundred Days in Europe."

Though now considerably beyond the allotted limit of hu-
man life, Holmes did not give up his literary work. In addition
to the biography of Emerson, he wrote a third novel, "A Mortal
Antipathy," which fell considerably below his previous efforts
in that line. " Over the Teacups," a work after the manner of
the Breakfast Table series, was written when he had passed his
eightieth year. It possesses a pathetic interest. The exube-
rant wit and brilliancy of his earlier works are largely replaced
by the reminiscent soberness of age. " Tea-cups, " he said,
" are not coffee-cups. They do not hold so much. Their pal-
lid infusion is but a feeble stimulant compared with the black
decoction served at the morning board." Yet it was a pleasure
for him to write ; it gave him occupation in the loneliness of
age, and kept him in relation with his fellow-beings. The suc-
cessive papers were kindly received, a fact that gave him great
satisfaction. " Over the Teacups " contains "The Broomstick
Train," a poem in which the old-time fancy and lightness are
again apparent. It is not unworthy to be placed by the side of
" How the Old Horse won the Bet," " Grandmother's Story of
Bunker Hill Battle," and other of his best pieces.

266 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

But the end was now near, not unheralded by gently failing
faculties. His last days were made as happy as possible by the
affectionate remembrance and tender consideration of a large
circle of friends. He was spared the trial of protracted illness.
He was able to take his usual walks up to a few days before his
death. He passed away painlessly in his chair, Oct. 7, 1894.
Numberless loving tributes were paid to his memory on both
sides of the Atlantic.

Holmes was an interesting and -lovable man, genial, bril-
liant, witty, and yet deeply earnest withal. His personality is
reflected in his books in a rare degree. Whatever the presid-
ing genius at the Breakfast Table may be called, Autocrat,
Professor, Poet, we know that it is Holmes himself that is
speaking.

" For though he changes dress and name,
The man beneath is still the same,
Laughing or sad, by fits and starts,
One actor in a dozen parts,
And whatsoe'er the mask may be,
The voice assures us, This is he"

He might be called the most human of our men of letters.
He delighted in touching life at many points. He had the gift
of mechanical ingenuity, and always liked to have something to
tinker at. He invented the stereoscope, out of which, had he
sought to do so, he might have made a fortune. He was fond
of boating ; and the description he gives of his fleet in the
" Autocrat " was not all fiction. He was fond of a good horse ;
as he said,

" An easy gait two, forty-five

Suits me ; I do not care ;
Perhaps for just a single spurt,
Some seconds less would do no hurt."

He felt a broad sympathy with his fellow-men ; and, as
he felt kindly towards them, he took it for granted that they
would be interested in what he wrote. "I do not know," he
said, " what special gifts have been granted or denied me ; but

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 267

this I know, that I am like so many others of my fellow-crea-
tures, that when I smile, I feel as if they must ; when I cry, I
think their eyes fill ; and it always seems to me that when
I am most truly myself, I come nearest to them, and am
surest being listened to by the brothers and sisters of the
larger family into which I was born so long ago." This broad
and tender sympathy will long give him an uncommon hold on
the hearts of men.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD.

PROMINENT WRITERS.

NEW ENGLAND.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. Born in New Hampshire in 1836. A writer of
interesting stories and polished lyric verse. Editor of various periodicals,
including 7'/ie Atlantic Monthly. Author of " The Ballad of Babie Bell
and Other Poems," "Poems," "The Story of a Bad Boy," "Marjorie
Daw, and Other People," " Prudence Palfrey," "The Stillwater Tragedy,"
etc. (See text.)

JOHN T. TROWBRIDGE. Born in New York in 1827. A popular writer of both
prose and verse. His juvenile writings are interesting and wholesome.
Among his numerous works are "Neighbor Jackwood," "Neighbors'
Wives," "The Vagabonds, and Other Poems," "Laurence's Adventures,"
"The Young Surveyor," "A Home Idyl, and Other Poems," "Farnell's
Folly," "The Lottery Ticket," etc.

CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER (1829-1900). An editor, novelist, and essayist
of Hartford. To critical acumen he joined a delightful humor. Author
of " My Summer in a Garden," " Backlog Studies," " In the Wilderness,"
"Life of Washington Irving," " In the Levant," etc. (See text.)

E. P. WHIPPLE (1819-1886). An essayist and critic of Boston, who supported
his sound judgment with a vigorous style. Among his writings are "Char-
acter and Characteristic Men," " Literature and Life," " Success and its
Conditions," " Literature of the Age of Elizabeth," etc.

JOHN FISKE (1842-1901). A distinguished philosopher and historian of Cam-
bridge. As a thinker he belonged to the school of Darwin and Spencer.
He wrote " Myths and Myth-Makers," "Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy,"
"The Destiny of Man," "The American Revolution," "Virginia and Her
Neighbors," etc.

JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE (1810-1888). An able Unitarian clergyman of Bos-
ton. Among his numerous works are " Orthodoxy : its Truths and Errors,"
"Ten Great Religions," "Self-Culture," and " Every- Day Religion," the
last two being especially helpful.

268

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 269

EDWARD EVERETT HALE. Born in Massachusetts in 1822. Unitarian clergy-
man, editor, historian, poet, and novelist; but as active in philanthropy
as in literature. Among his many writings are to be noted "The Man
without a Country," " In His Name," " Ten Times One is Ten," " Philip
Nolan's Friends," " P\>r Fifty Years," a collection of poems, etc. (See
text.)

ROSE TERRY COOKE (1827-1892). Born in Connecticut. A writer both of
prose and verse, her short stories being particularly excellent. Author of
"Happy Dodd," "Somebody's Neighbors," "The Sphinx's Children and
Other People's," " Poems," etc.

MARGARET WADE DELANO. Born in Pennsylvania in 1857, but has lived in
Boston since 1880. A writer of novels and poems. Her novel, "John
Ward, Preacher," had a wide circulation. Author also of " The Old Gar-
den and Other Verses," " Philip and His Wife," "The Wisdom of Fools,"
etc.

SARAH ORNE JEWETT. Born in Maine in 1849. Her careful studies of rural
New England life and character have justly made her popular. Author
of "Old Friends and New," "A Country Doctor," "The King of Folly
Island and Other People," "The Country of the Pointed Firs," etc.

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD. Born in Massachusetts in 1844. A writer
of admirable gifts both in prose and poetry. Her " Gates Ajar," which
appeared in 1869, made her famous. The following are noteworthy in
the long list of her writings: "Men, Women, and Ghosts," "Dr. Zay,"
" The Story of Avis," " A Singular Life," and " Songs of the Silent World."

CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE, "Artemus Ward" (1834-1867). A humorist and
lecturer, whose humor was grotesque and whose satire was good-natured.
Author of "Artemus Ward: His Book," "Artemus Ward among the
Mormons," "Artemus Ward in London," etc.

HORACE E. SCUDDER (1838-1903). Born in Boston. A litterateur of his native
city; for some years editor of The Atlantic Monthly. Author of "Seven
Little People and Their Friends," "Stories from My Attic," "Life of
Noah Webster," "A History of the United States," "Life of Bayard
Taylor," etc.

ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY. Born in Boston in 1824. A popular writer for
girls. Author of "Faith Gartney's Girlhood," "Leslie Goldthwaite,"
"The Other Girls," and in verse, of "Pansies," "Holy Tides," etc.

LOUISA MAY ALCOTT (1832-1888). One of our best writers for young people.
Author of "Little Women," "Little Men," "An Old-Fashioned Girl,"
"Eight Cousins," "Under the Lilies," etc.

2/O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. Born in Connecticut in 1835. A poet and
prose writer of Boston. She was the literary executor of the English poet,
Philip Bourke Marston, whose poems she edited. Her works include
"This, That, and the Other," made up of stories, essays, and poems,
"Juno Clifford," "Poems," "Random Rambles," "In the Garden of
Dreams, Lyrics, and Sonnets," etc.

MARY A. DODGE ("Gail Hamilton") (1838-1896). A native of Massachusetts,
whose pungent style made her writings popular. Author of "A New
Atmosphere," " Woman's Wrongs," " Sermons to the Clergy," " Woman's
Worth and Worthlessness," " Biography of James G. Blaine," etc.

LUCY LARCOM (1824-1893). A native of Massachusetts, who in early life
worked in the Lowell mills. She afterwards became popular as a writer
both of prose and verse. Among her works are " Childhood Songs,"
" An Idyl of Work," " Poetical Works," " Ships in the Mist, and Other
Stories," "The Unseen Friend," "A New England Girlhood," which is
autobiographic, etc.

CELIA THAXTER (1835-1894). A native of New Hampshire, her father was
keeper of the lighthouse on the Isle of Shoals, where much of her life
was spent. " Among the Isles of Shoals " were papers published in The
Atlantic Monthly. Among her volumes of verse are " Drift- Weed," " The
Cruise of the Mystery, and Other Poems," " Poems for Children," etc.

WILLIAM T. HARRIS. Born in Connecticut in 1835. For thirteen years
superintendent of the St. Louis public schools; afterwards lecturer at
the Concord School of Philosophy; at present United States Commis-
sioner of Education. Eminent as an educator and philosopher. Author
of " Introduction to the Study of Philosophy," " The Spiritual Sense of
Dante's Divina Commedia," " Psychologic Foundations of Education," etc.

THE MIDDLE STATES.

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. Born in Ohio in 1837. He began his literary
career as a writer of verse. Consul to Venice, and later editor of The
Atlantic Monthly. Among his many volumes of realistic fiction may be
mentioned "The Undiscovered Country," "A Modern Instance," "The
Rise of Silas Lapham," "A Traveller from Altruria," to which may be
added a series of delightful farces, " The Mouse Trap," " The Parlor
Car," etc. (See text.)

HENRY JAMES. Born in New York in 1843 ; has resided in London since
1869. His numerous novels are written in a style of overdone refine-
ment. Worthy of mention are " The Portrait of a Lady," " Daisy Miller,"
" The Bostonians," " A London Wife," "The Sacred Fount," etc.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 2J 1

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. Born in Connecticut in 1833. A poet and
literary critic of New York, possessing rare refinement of taste. Author
of " Poems," " Victorian Poets," " Poets of America," " The Nature and
Elements of Poetry," " A Victorian Anthology," " An American Anthol-
ogy," etc. (See text.)

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD (1825-1903). A native of Massachusetts, who
spent the most of his life in New York as poet, editor, and critic. A
writer of more than usual force. Author of " Adventures in Fairy Land,"
" Songs of Summer," " Life of Washington Irving," " Under the Evening
Lamp," etc. (See text.)

RICHARD WATSON GILDER. Born in New Jersey in 1844. Poet, editor, arid
social reformer. Editor of The Century Afagazine. Author of " The
New Day," "The Celestial Passion," "Lyrics," "Five Books of Song,"
"In Palestine," etc.

RICHARD GRANT WHITE (1822-1885). A critic, novelist, and Shakespeare
scholar of New York. Author of " Words and Their Uses," " Every-Day
English," "The Fate of Mansfield Humphreys," and a critical edition of
Shakespeare in twelve volumes.

FRANCIS RICHARD STOCKTON (1834-1903). A native of Philadelphia ; a
writer of rare humor and originality. Among his numerous delightful
stories are "The Lady or the Tiger ?" " Rudder Grange," "The Casting
Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine," " The House of Martha," " The
Watchmaker's Wife," etc. (See text.)

HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN (1848-1895). A native of Norway, but for many
years a professor in Columbia College. A scholar, novelist, poet, and his-
torian. Author of " Gunnar," "A Norseman's Pilgrimage," " Falcon -
berg," " Goethe and Schiller," " The Story of Norway," " Idylls of Norway,
and Other Poems," etc.

EDWARD PAYSON ROE (1838-1888). A Presbyterian clergyman of New York
State, who wrote many novels, once quite popular, of a strong moral char-
acter. Among them were " Barriers Burned Away," " Opening of a
Chestnut Burr," "A Knight of the Nineteenth Century," "The Earth
Trembled," etc.

WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892). Teacher, printer, editor, carpenter a unique
figure in American literature. Author of " Leaves of Grass," in which
the usual poetic forms are discarded. By some esteemed highly as a
poet, by others denied that title entirely. (See text.)

JOHN BURROUGHS. Born in New York in 1837. An essayist, whose sympa-
thetic studies of nature have made him popular. Author of " Wake

2/2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Robin," "Birds and Poets," "Winter Sunshine," "Indoor Studies,"
" Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers," etc.

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND (1824-1903). A native of Philadelphia; a poet
and educator, and authority in Gypsy lore. Author of " Hans Breitmann's
Ballads," " English Gypsies," " Practical Education," " Legends of Flor-
ence," " Algonquin Legends," " Anglo-Romany Songs," etc.

ALICE GARY (1820-1871) and PHCEBE GARY (1824-1871) were both born in
Ohio, but spent the latter part of their lives in New York. The former
was poet and novelist; she wrote "Lyra, and Other Poems," "Ballads,
Lyrics, and Hymns," " Pictures of Country Life," " Hagar," " Married,
not Mated," etc. The latter wrote " Poems and Parodies " and " Poems
of Faith, Hope, and Love."

EMMA LAZARUS (1849-1887). A native of New York; a gifted writer of
Jewish descent. Among her writings are "Alide, an Episode of Goethe's
Life," " Admetus, and Other Poems," " Songs of a Semite," " Poems and
Ballads translated from Heine."

SILAS WEIR MITCHELL. Born in Pennsylvania in 1829. A distinguished
physician of Philadelphia, poet, and novelist. Author of "Poems" (5
vols.), and of " Hephzibah Guinnes," "Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker,"
which became very popular, " The Autobiography of a Quack," " Dr.
North and His Friends," etc.

BRANDER MATTHEWS. Bom in Louisiana in 1852. A professor in Columbia
University, critic, dramatist, and novelist. Among his many writings are
"The Theatres of Paris," "Margery's Lovers" (a comedy), "The Last
Meeting," " In the Vestibule Limited," " The Decision of the Court " (a
comedy), "His Father's Son," and an "Introduction to the Study of
American Literature," which is not quite worthy of his excellent scholar-
ship and ability.

PAUL LEICESTER FORD (1865-1902). A historian and novelist of New York
City. He edited the " Writings of Thomas Jefferson " in ten volumes.
Author of " The Honorable Peter Stirling," " The Story of an Untold
Love," "The True George Washington," "Janice Meredith," which was
widely read, etc.

HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE. Born in New York in 1846. An essayist and
journalist, associate editor of The Outlook. Author of "Norse Stories
Retold from the Eddas," "My Study Fire," "Short Studies in Literature,"
"Nature and Culture," "Books and Culture," "Work and Culture," "The
Life of the Spirit," " Shakespeare : Poet, Dramatist, and Man," etc.

LYMAN ABBOTT. Born in Massachusetts in 1835. A clergyman, editor, and
author of large influence. Editor of The Outlook, and author of various

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 2/3

religious books of liberal spirit, among which are " Jesus of Nazareth,"
"A Study in Human Nature," "In Aid of Faith," "Evolution of Chris-
tianity," " Christianity and Social Problems," " The Life and Literature
of the Ancient Hebrews," etc.

HENRY VAN DYKE. .Born in Pennsylvania in 1852. Presbyterian clergy-
man, professor of ''English literature at Princeton, poet, and essayist.
Author of "The Reality of Religion," "The Poetry of Tennyson," "The
Other Wise Man," " The Gospel for an Age of Doubt," " The Toiling
of Felix, and Other Poems," "The Blue Flower," etc.

WILLIAM WINTER. Born in Massachusetts in 1836. Author and dramatic
critic of New York. He has written, among other things, " Shakespeare's
England," " Gray Days and Gold," " Shadows of the Stage," " Life and
Art of Edwin Booth," "Wanderers" (poems), "Life of Ada Rehan,"
" Henry Irving: Studies of His Acting," etc.

AGNES REPPLIER. Born in Pennsylvania in 1859. A popular essayist; Ro-
man Catholic in religion. Author of " Books and Men," " Points of
View," " Essays in Miniature," " Essays in Idleness," " Philadelphia : the
Place and the People," etc.

LAURENCE HUTTON. Born in New York in 1843. Author, essayist, journal-
ist, and lecturer. Literary editor of Harper's Magazine from 1886 to
1898. Author of " Other Times and Other Seasons," " Plays and Players,"
" Literary Landmarks of London," " Literary Landmarks of Rome," and
many other volumes.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT. Born in New York in 1858. Governor of New
York ; President of the United States ; vigorous in mind as in body
a fine type of " The Strenuous Life " he advocates. Author of " Winning
of the West," "Life of Thomas Hart Benton," "Naval War of 1812,"
" American Ideals and Other Essays," " Ranch Life and the Hunting
Trail," " Life of Cromwell," etc.

RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. Born in Philadelphia in 1864. A novelist and
journalist ; prominent as a newspaper correspondent in the recent war
with Spain. Author of "Soldiers of Fortune," " Gallegher, and Other
Stories," "The Princess Aline," "Van Bibber and Others," "The King's
Jackal," " Episodes in Van Bibber's Life," " With Both Armies in South
Africa," etc.

BLISS CARMAN. Born in New Brunswick in 1861. A poet and journalist of
New York. Author of " Low Tide on Grand Pre," "A Sea-mark," " Be-
hind the Arras," " Ballads of Lost Haven," " Songs from Vagabondia,"
" The Vengeance of Noel Brassard," etc.

2/4 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN. Born in New York in 1860. Professor of
architecture in Columbia University; a lyrical poet. Author of "Madri-
gals and Catches," " Lyrics for a Lute," " Little-Folk Lyrics," etc.

FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD. Born in Italy in 1854, the son of an American
sculptor. Studied at Harvard, and at universities abroad. He resides
in Italy. A prolific and popular novelist; author of "Mr. Isaacs," "A
Roman Singer," and the Saracinesca trio (including " Saracinesca,"
" Sant' Ilario," and " Don Orsino "), " Via Crucis," etc.

GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY. Born in Massachusetts in 1855. Professor
in Columbia University, biographer, poet, and literary critic. Author of
" Life of Edgar Allan Poe," "The North Shore Watch, and Other Poems,"
" Heart of Man," " Makers of Literature," etc.

JULIAN HAWTHORNE. Born in Boston in 1846. Son of Nathaniel Haw-
thorne ; a journalist and novelist who inherited much of his father's
originality. Author of " Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife," " Bres-
sant," " Garth," "Beatrix Randolph," "Fortune's Fool," "David Poin-
dexter's Disappearance," " Archibald Malmaison," " One of Those
Coincidences, and Other Stories," etc.

THE SOUTH.

GEORGE W. CABLE. Born in Louisiana in 1844. A distinguished novelist
of Creole life. Author of " Old Creole Days," " The Grandissimes,"
"Madame Delphine," "Dr. Sevier," "John March, Southerner," etc.
(See text.)

THOMAS NELSON PAGE. Born in Virginia in 1853. A novelist of Southern
life. Author of "In Old Virginia," "Two Little Confederates," "Among
the Camps," " Meh Lady," " Marse Chan," " Santa Claus' Partner,"
" Red Rock," " Gordon Keith," etc.

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. Born in Georgia in 1848. An editor of 7/4<? At-
lanta Constitution, distinguished especially for his studies in negro folk-
lore. Author of " Uncle Remus ; His Songs and His Sayings," " Nights
with Uncle Remus," " Uncle Remus and His Friends," " Little Mr. .
Thimble finger," "Balaam and His Master," "Stories of Georgia,"
" Chronicles of Aunt Minerva," etc.

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. Born in Manchester, England, in 1849. Has
resided for many years in Washington. A magazine writer and novelist
of excellent gifts. Author of " That Lass o' Lowrie's," " Haworth's,"
"Through One Administration," "Little Lord Fauntleroy," "Sara Crewe,"
" In Connection with the Willoughby Claim," etc.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD.

MARY NOAILLES MURFREE (" Charles Egbert Craddock ") . Born in Tennessee
in 1850. A novelist, whose stories of the Tennessee mountains have made
her famous. Author of "In the Tennessee Mountains," "The Prophet
of the Great Smoky Mountain," " In the Clouds," " The Mystery of Witch-
face Mountain," "The Bushwhackers, and Other Stories," etc. (See
text.)

MARY VIRGINIA TERHUNE ("Marion Harland"). Born in Virginia in 1831.
A novelist, journalist, and writer on domestic economy. Author of
"Alone," "Moss-side," "The Hidden Path," "Common Sense in the
Household," "True as Steel," "Eve's Daughters," "Where Ghosts
Walk," etc.

AUGUSTA JANE EVANS WILSON. Born in Georgia in 1835. A once popular
novelist. Author of " Inez," " Beulah," " St. Elmo," " Vashti," " At the
Mercy of Tiberius," etc.

ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN ("Father Ryan") (1839-1888). A native of Virginia,
and priest of the Roman Catholic Church. His poetry, without reaching
the highest excellence, has been widely read in the South. Among the
most popular of his poems are "The Sword of Robert Lee," "The Con-
quered Banner," and "Their Story Runneth Thus." (See text.)

SIDNEY LANIER (1842-1881). A native of Georgia. A poet, musician, and
novelist. A poet of original genius, who did not live to realize all his
possibilities. Author of "Poems," "Tiger Lilies" (a novel), "The Sci-
ence of English Verse," " The English Novel and its Development," etc.
(See text.)

MARGARET J. PRESTON (1820-1897). A poetess and prose-writer of Lexing-
ton, Va. Author of " Old Songs and New," " Beechenbrook, a Rhyme
of the War," " Cartoons," "For Love's Sake," " Silverwood" (a novel),
etc.

JAMES LANE ALLEN. Born in Kentucky in 1849. At one time professor in
Bethany College, but since 1886 has given himself to literature. Among
his works, two or three of which have been quite popular, are " Flute and
Violin," "A Kentucky Cardinal," "A Summer in Arcady," "The Choir
Invisible," "The Reign of Law," "The Mettle of the Pasture," etc.

MARY JOHNSTON. Born in Virginia in 1870. Author of " Prisoners of Hope,"
" To Have and to Hold," and " Audrey," all which have been widely
read.

ELLEN A. GLASGOW. Born in Virginia in 1874. A novelist and poet. Au-
thor of " The Descendant," " Phases of an Inferior Planet," " The Voice
of the People," etc.

2/6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

WILLIAM P. TRENT. Born in Virginia in 1862. Teacher and author. He
has written, among other things, " English Culture in Virginia," " Life of
William Gilmore Simms," " Southern Statesmen of the Old Regime,"
" Authority of Criticism," etc.

AMELIE RIVES ("Princess Troubetzkoy). Born in Virginia in 1863. A
writer of prose and poetry of unusual gifts. Author of "The Quick and
the Dead," a freakish, perverse production that had considerable
vogue, "Virginia of Virginia," "Herod and Mariamne" (a drama),
" Barbara Bering," " Tanis," etc.

WINSTON CHURCHILL. Born in Missouri in 1871. Author of " Richard Car-
vel " and "The Crisis," two historical novels that have been very popular.

RUTH McENERY STUART. Born in Louisiana. A popular writer of short
stories. Author of "A Golden Wedding, and Other Tales," "Carlotta's
Intended," " The Story of Babette," " Sonny," " Holly and Pizen," etc.

JOHN Fox, JR. Born in Kentucky. Author of " A Cumberland Vendetta,"
"The Kentuckians," " Bluegrass and Rhododendron," and "The Little
Shepherd of Kingdom Come," some of which have been widely read.

JOHN B. TABB. Born in Virginia in 1845. A Roman Catholic priest, and
teacher in St. Charles College. A lyric poet of refined feeling. Author
of " Poems," " Lyrics," " Poems Grave and Gay," etc.

MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN. Born in Kentucky in 1865. One of the best of
living American lyrists. Author of " Bloom of the Berry," " Lyrics and
Idyls," " Poems of Nature and Love," " The Garden of Dreams," " Shapes
and Shadows," etc.

WILLIAM HAMILTON HAYNE. Born in South Carolina in 1856, the son of
Paul Hamilton Hayne. A lyrical poet of refined taste. Author of " Syl-
van Lyrics, and Other Verses."

THE WEST.

FRANCIS BRET HARTE (1839-1903). A native of New York, but spent a con-
siderable part of his life in California. An editor, poet, and novelist.
Author of some forty different works, among which are " Luck of Roar-
ing Camp," "Poems," "Tales of the Argonauts," "Gabriel Conroy,"
"Tales of Trail and Town," "Under the Redwoods," etc. (See text.)

LEWIS WALLACE (" Lew Wallace ") (1827-1903). Born in Indiana. A lawyer,
soldier, diplomat, and author. Minister to Turkey, 1881-1885. Author
of "Ben Hur, a Tale of the Christ," "The Fair God," "The Prince
of India," etc.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 2/7

EDWARD EGGLESTON (1837-1903). A native of Indiana. A Methodist min-
ister and author. Author of "The Hoosier Schoolmaster," "The End of
the World," "The Mystery of Metropolisville," "The Circuit Rider,"
"Roxy," "The Graysons," works on American history, etc. (See text.)

SAMUEL L. CLEMENS ("Mark Twain"). Born in Missouri in 1835. Miner
and journalist in Nevada until his popularity as a humorist turned him to
lecturing and authorship. The most popular, though not the most deli-
cate, of our humorists. Author of "The Innocents Abroad," "Roughing
It," "Adventures of Tom Sawyer," "A Tramp Abroad," "The Adven-
tures of Huckleberry Finn," "A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur,"
"Joan of Arc," etc.

EUGENE FIELD (1850-1895). A native of Missouri. A journalist and author
of Chicago, whose writings, especially his poems for and about children,
have attracted much attention. Author of "A Little Book of Profitable
Tales," "A Little Book of Western Verse," "Love Songs of Childhood,"
" With Trumpet and Drum," " Songs and Other Verse," etc.

CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER ("Joaquin Miller") (1841-1903). Born in
Indiana, but spent the most of his life in the far West as lawyer, judge,
editor, and author. Among his principal works are "Songs of the
Sierras," "Songs of the Sunland," "The Danites in the Sierras," "Shad-
ows of Shasta," " Songs of Far-Away Lands," etc. (See text.)

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. Born in Indiana in 1853. He has long been
known as "The Hoosier Poet." Much of his verse, which is quite popu-
lar, is in the Western dialect. Author of "The Old Swimmin' Hole and
'Leven More Poems," "Rhymes of Childhood," "Green Fields and Run-
ning Brooks," "Neighborly Poems," "Poems Here at Home," etc.

WILL CARLETON. Born in Michigan in 1845. Author, lecturer, and editor.
A writer of homely verse, in which the story often takes the place of
poetic inspiration. Author of "Farm Ballads," "Farm Legends," "P'arm
Festivals," "City Ballads," "Rhymes of Our Planet," etc.

MAURICE THOMPSON (1844-1901). Born in Indiana. A Confederate soldier,
State Geologist of Indiana, journalist, novelist, and poet. Author of
"A Tallahassee Girl," "His Second Campaign," "A Fortnight of Folly,"
"Alice of Old Vincennes," "Songs of Fair Weather," "Poems," etc.

EDITH M. THOMAS. Born in Ohio in 1854, living since 1888 in New York
and its vicinity. A poet and prose-writer characterized by refinement
of thought and expression. Author of "The Round Year," "Lyrics
and Sonnets," "The Inverted Torch," "A Winter Swallow, and Other
Verse," etc.

JOHN HAY. Born in Indiana in 1838. Private secretary of President Lin-
coln, ambassador to England, and Secretary of State. Author of "Cas-

2/8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

tilian Days," "Pike County Ballads," "Abraham Lincoln," " Poems,"
etc.

CHARLES KING. Born in New York in 1844. A brigadier-general in the
war against Spain. A resident for many years of Wisconsin. Author of
more than thirty volumes, principally military novels, which have been
extensively read. Among his publications are " Famous and Decisive
Battles," "Between the Lines," "Under Fire," "The General's Double,"
"A War Time Wooing," "Kitty's Conquest," etc.

NEWTON BOOTH TARKINGTON. Born in Indiana in 1869. A graduate of
Princeton. Author of "The Gentleman from Indiana," which made him
famous, " Monsieur Beaucaire," and " The Two Vanrevels."

JOHN JAMES PIATT. Born in Indiana in 1835. Consul at Cork, and later at
Dublin, Ireland. A journalist and poet. Author of "Poems in Sunshine
and Firelight," "Poems of House and Home," "Idyls and Lyrics of the
Ohio Valley," "The Ghost's Entry, and Other Poems," etc.

SARAH MORGAN BRYAN PIATT. Born in Kentucky in 1836. Wife of John
James Piatt. Author of "A Woman's Poems," "A Voyage to the For-
tunate Isles, and Other Poems," "That New World, and Other Poems,"
" Poems in Company with Children," etc. Her " Complete Poems,"
2 vols., appeared in 1894.

EDWIN MARKHAM. Born in Oregon in 1852. A teacher, prose-writer, and
poet. His poem, "The Man with the Hoe,'.' attracted widespread atten-
tion. Author of " The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems," " Lin-
coln, and Other Poems," etc.

HELEN FISKE JACKSON ("Helen Hunt") (1831-1885). Born in Massachu-
setts; resided the latter part of her life in Colorado. A prose-writer and
poet of unusual gifts. Author of "A Century of Dishonor," "Sonnets
and Lyrics," " Ramona," one of our best-known novels, and of many
other works.

ALICE FRENCH ("Octave Thanet"). Born in Massachusetts in 1850; has
resided chiefly in the West. A story-writer and novelist. Author of
"Knitters in the Sun," "Otto, the Knight," "Stories of a Western
Town," "A Book of True Lovers," "The Heart of Toil," "A Slave to
Duty," etc.

ALBION WINEGAR TOURGEE. Born in Ohio in 1838. Officer in the Union
army, resident of North Carolina, 1865-1881, consul at Bordeaux. A
lawyer and novelist. His novel, "A Fool's Errand," created a sensation.
Author of " Bricks without Straw," " Hot Plowshares,"
"A Son of Old Harry," "The Man Who Outlived Himself," etc,

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD.
(1861-1904.)

THE Second National Period begins with the Civil War,
and will probably be terminated by important social or
political changes in the first half of the present century.
The present time is regarded by many thoughtful persons
as a period of transition. It is felt that the old order is
changing. What is to follow as the result of influences
now at work cannot be clearly discerned. But of one
thing we may be sure, whatever changes may come will
be in the line of human progress. Humanity is slowly
but surely working its way up to greater freedom, intelli-
gence, and goodness.

As compared with previous periods, literature now ex-
hibits a many-sided activity. Its themes are as varied as
the interests of our race. Philosophy, history, science,
fiction, poetry, are more generally cultivated than ever
before. The literature of the present time is character-
ized by greater artistic excellence. The prevailing scientific
spirit, rejecting the dicta of mere authority, makes truth
its only criterion. The beliefs and opinions of tradition
are once more put into the crucible. While there are many
conflicting theories and creeds, a liberal-minded urbanity
has replaced the old-time harshness and intolerance. Our
literature at the present time is diffusive and critical,

279

280 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

rather than creative ; and thus it happens that, while we
have many accomplished writers, there is no great original
or dominating personality in American letters.

Most of the writers considered in the previous period,
though they survived far beyond it, were formed under the
influences prevailing before the Civil War. In every case
they struck the key-note to their literary career before 1861.
But most of the writers belonging to the present period were
born since that time, or were children while the great strug-
gle was going on. They have developed their literary taste
and activity under the influences then and since existing.

The Civil War itself, the dividing line between the First
and Second National Periods, has exerted no little influence
upon our literature. In spite of the effort of self-seeking
and narrow-minded politicians to perpetuate sectional preju-
dice, a strong national feeling, especially since the war with
Spain, in which Northern and Southern heroes fought side
by side, now binds all parts of our country together in an
indissoluble union. With the abolition of slavery and the
settlement of State rights, our civilization has become more
homogeneous. Our vast railway systems carry the life-
blood of trade and commerce to all parts of our country.
Through education and periodical literature, the people
of all parts of our land share a common intellectual life.
Our people are united as never before in community of
interest, and in patriotic devotion to the general welfare.
These new conditions are favorable to an expansion of
literature, and tend to give it greater breadth of sympathy.

But apart from its result in laying a solid foundation
for national greatness, the Civil War directly occasioned no
insignificant body of literature. Poetry brought its sweet
ministrations of comfort or cheer. In our previous studies

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 28 1

we learned something of the war poetry of Longfellow,
Lowell, and Whittier. Father Ryan may justly, perhaps,
be regarded as the martial laureate of the South. " The
Blue and the Gray," by Francis M. Finch, " All Quiet
along the Potomac," by Ethel Beers, " Dixie," by Albert
Pike, and "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," by Julia
Ward Howe, are lyrics that still have power to move the
heart. The hardships, dangers, and sufferings of the war
have been frequently portrayed in novels. The period of
reconstruction gave rise, as in Judge Tourgee's " A Fool's
Errand," Page's " Red Rock," and Dixon's " The Leopard's
Spots," to interesting and thrilling stories. The war called
forth, also, numerous historical works. Apart from the his-
tories of the war itself by John W. Draper, Horace Greeley,
John S. C. Abbott, Alexander H. Stephens, Jefferson Davis,
and others, we have had many biographical volumes, among
which the " Memoirs" of W. T. Sherman, " Personal Me-
moirs " of U. S. Grant, and " Narrative of Military Opera-
tions," by Joseph E. Johnston, deserve especial mention.

During the present period the conditions have been
generally favorable to x literature. Our country has con-
tinued its marvellous development. Its population has
more than doubled, and great States have been organized
in the far West. Agriculture and manufacture have been
developed to an extraordinary degree. New cities have
been founded, and many of the older ones have increased
enormously in wealth and population. All this has meant
an increase of prosperity, of leisure, and of culture, the
conditions antecedent to a flourishing literature.

Two great educative agencies, the press and the school,
have kept pace with the material progress of our country.
Every important interest and every considerable commu-

282 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

nity has its periodicals. Our great dailies spread before
us every morning the news of the world. The influence
of the newspaper upon the taste, intelligence, and charac-
ter of our people is incalculable. Many of our prominent
writers to-day have developed their literary gifts in con-
nection with journalism. Our monthly magazines and re-
views, unsurpassed in tasteful form and literary excellence,
have been greatly multiplied. They powerfully stimulate
literary activity. They are the vehicles, not only for what
is most interesting in fiction, poetry, and criticism, but also
for what is best in history, science, and philosophy. No-
where else, perhaps, is there a nation so well informed as
the people of the United States.

For some decades the interest in education has been
extraordinary. The free-school system has been extended
to every part of our country. Graded and high schools
are found in every town. The number of colleges, most
of them open to both sexes, has largely increased. The
courses of study have been expanded, and brought into
closer relations with practical life. Some of the older
institutions, as well as a few new ones with large en-
dowment, have become in fact, as in name, universities.
Educational journals have been established ; admirable
text-books have been prepared ; and, through the study
of the history and science of education, the methods of
instruction have been greatly improved.

There is a Providence that watches over the destiny of
nations as over that of individuals. The war with Spain,
provoked by the tyranny of that country in Cuba, was
undertaken in the name of freedom. It sprang from the
sentiment of humanity resident in the hearts of the Ameri-
can people. The results of the war were wholly unfore-

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 283

seen. The battle of Manila placed the Philippine Islands
in our hands, and brought our country forward as one of
the great world powers. No longer isolated between the
oceans, the United States are henceforth to play an impor-
tant part in the development of the history of our globe.
As a people, we stand for civil and religious freedom. It
has been truly said that the Louisiana purchase of 1803
made America a steamboat nation ; the acquisition of Cali-
fornia, a railroad and telegraph nation ; and, in like man-
ner, the acquisition of Hawaii, Porto Rico, and, above all,
the Philippines in 1898, must make our country a naval
nation. These new relations will not only affect the com-
mercial interests of our country, but will also exert an
influence on literature.

The present is an age of close international relations.
Submarine cables and fleet steamers bring the various
nations of the earth close together. With a clearer
knowledge of one another, and with the common interests
fostered by commerce, kindlier feelings are developed.
From time to time the civilized nations of the earth unite
in great expositions of -their choicest products. Minor
international differences are usually settled by diplomacy
or arbitration. Thousands of our people go abroad every
year for pleasure or for study. A few of our writers, as
Henry James and F. Marion Crawford, make their home
in England or on the Continent. The modern languages
of Europe are widely studied. Foreign books, either in
the original or in translations, are extensively read. In
these ways our literature is influenced by movements
abroad, and our culture assumes a cosmopolitan character.

The present period is an era of social progress. The
facilities of production have greatly cheapened the neces-

284 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

saries of life. Wages have greatly increased ; and the
poor, as well as the rich, live better than ever before.
But, at the same time, there is social unrest. Many be-
lieve that the existing economic conditions are not final.
Wasteful wealth sometimes exists by the side of starving
poverty. Our gigantic combinations of capital, which
often abuse their power to wrong the people, are com-
monly recognized as a serious evil. Great attention is
given to the study of economic and sociological questions.
Along with numerous scientific treatises, we sometimes
have presented, as in Bellamy's " Looking Backward," a
new Utopia for our contemplation.

Religion always exerts a strong influence upon litera-
ture. It deals with the highest interests of human life.
There are many who regard religion as the dominant fac-
tor in social progress. In the past, as we have seen, it
has been like an atmosphere to our literature. In spite
of the scepticism reflected in much of our literature,
the religious life of our people was never deeper than it
is to-day. But Christianity has become practical rather
than dogmatic. A spirit of reverence, righteousness, and
charity counts for more than mere adherence to elaborate
creeds. A sense of stewardship is leading to a larger
practical benevolence. The church is in sympathy with
every movement to relieve the unfortunate and reclaim
the lost. It proclaims the unselfish love of the gospel as
a solution of our great social problems. No inconsider-
able part of our literature to-day, both in periodicals and
in books, is occupied in some way with the discussion of
religious themes.

In its relation to literature, philosophy is scarcely less
influential than religion. Sometimes, as with Emerson, it

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 285

is difficult to draw the line between them. Philosophy
seeks the fullest explanation of nature and of life. It is
our way of looking upon the world. We cannot fully
understand an author until we know what he thinks of
God, nature, and man. His fundamental beliefs in these
three great departments of human knowledge will con-
sciously or unconsciously color his thoughts and feelings.
In America the prevailing philosophy is theistic; and it
gives a pure, sane, and cheerful tone to our literature,
which forms, in this particular, a favorable contrast with
much of the current literature of Europe. Among the
far-reaching influences recently introduced into science
and philosophy is the theory of evolution.

In fiction there has been a notable reaction against the
romanticism of the earlier part of the nineteenth century.
It is not easy to give a complete and satisfactory definition
of romanticism. Victor Hugo says that it is freedom in lit-
erature. It presents what is imaginative or fantastic, rather
than what is real. It gives prominence to the poetic side
of life. It aims at the picturesque in situation, thought,
and expression. Its themes are generally such as lend
themselves readily to idealistic treatment. It deals largely
with the legendary tales and chivalrous deeds of the past.
The Waverley novels are written in the romantic spirit,
and invest the Middle Ages with an imaginative beauty.
In its extreme manifestation, romanticism presents what
is unreal, fantastic, melodramatic.

Realism, as the term indicates, adheres to reality. It
is a movement in keeping with the practical, scientific
spirit of our age. It begins with discarding what is ideal-
istic or unreal in characters and situations. It aims at being
true to life. " For our own part," says W. D. Howells, the

286 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

leader of the realistic school of novelists in America, " we
confess that we do not care to judge any work of the im-
agination without first of all applying this test to it. We
must ask ourselves, before we ask anything else, Is it true,
true to the motives, the impulses, the principles, that
shape the life of actual men and women ? " For several
decades the best fiction of Christendom has been dominated
by the realistic spirit. It has given us faithful studies of
human society, not as it ought to be, but as it really is.

The three great leaders of realism are Tolstoi', Zola,
and Ibsen. They are men of extraordinary genius and
power, princes in the realm of fiction. Their works are
widely read. Some of our leading novelists Howells,
James, Crawford have been deeply influenced by them.
After acknowledging his obligations to Zola and Ibsen,
Howells says of Tolstoi' : " As much as one merely human
being can help another, I believe that he has helped me ;
he has not influenced me in aesthetics only, but in ethics
too, so that I can never again see life in the way I saw it
before I knew him."

As an effort truly to represent life we must acknowl-
edge the worth of realism. In its proper application, it
places the novel on an immovable basis. It holds the
mirror up to nature. Unfortunately, the realists have not,
in many cases, been true to their fundamental principles.
The great leaders of realism abroad have been tainted
with a fatal pessimism. They have seen only one side
of life the darker side of sin, and wretchedness, and
despair. They often descend to what is coarse, impure,
obscene. No doubt their pictures are true, as far as they
go. But the fatal defect of their work is that it does not
reflect life as a whole. It does not portray the pure and

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 287

noble and happy side of life, which is just as real as the
other. In this way, though our American novelists have
largely avoided the mistake, it is possible for realism to
become as false to human life as the wildest romanticism.

Except in the hands of genius, realism is apt to be
dull. It gives us tedious photographs. There are times
when we do not care so much for instruction as for amuse-
ment and recreation. This fact opens a legitimate field
for the imaginative story-teller. There is to-day a reac-
tion against realism in the form of what has been called
the new romanticism. It does not present to us elaborate
studies of life, but entertains us with an interesting or
exciting story. The leaders of this movement are the
English writers, Doyle, Stevenson, Weyman, and Hope,
whose works are extensively read in this country.

A very notable movement in recent fiction is the his-
torical novel. It comes, perhaps, as something of a reaction
against romanticism and realism ; at the same time it sat-
isfies, in a measure, the American thirst for knowledge.
The historical novel may be regarded as history served up
with epicurean accessories. Some of our recent historical
fiction, apart from the stories of Reconstruction days
already mentioned, has attained a phenomenal circulation.
It is necessary to mention only Lew Wallace's " Ben Hur,
a Tale of the Christ " ; Mary Johnston's " To Have and To
Hold," a story of Colonial days in Virginia ; Churchill's
" Richard Carvel," a story of Maryland before the Revo-
lution ; Maurice Thompson's "Alice of Old Vincennes,"
belonging to the period of the French and Indian War ;
and Mitchell's "Hugh Wynne" and Ford's "Janice Mere-
dith," tales of the American Revolution.

During the first third of the nineteenth century the

288 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

literary centre of our country was in New York. Cooper,
Irving, Bryant, to say nothing of Drake, Halleck, and
Paulding, resided there. Subsequently the centre was
changed to Boston, where, or in its vicinity, lived Emer-
son, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, Holmes, and others,
who have been the chief glory of American letters.
These two groups were successively dominant in our lit-
erature. At present the literary talent of our country
is widely disseminated. The West and the South have
entered the field as never before; and in recent years
writers like Bret Harte, Joaquin Miller, George W. Cable,
Sidney Lanier, Joel Chandler Harris, Thomas Nelson
Page, Miss Murfree, and many others, have won a fair
proportion of literary laurels.

Our literature has attained its critical independence.
In forming our estimate of a work of art, we no longer
anxiously wait for the European verdict. The multiplica-
tion of literary journals, as well as the wide prevalence
of literary culture, has fostered a critical spirit. Stoddard,
Stedman, Whipple, Howells, not to mention many others,
all deserve to rank high, not only for their achievements
in other departments of literature, but also for their work
in criticism. In some cases, as perhaps with Poe, Joaquin
Miller, and Walt Whitman, it has been necessary to set
ourselves against the judgment of foreign critics, who are
too apt to accept what is eccentric or melodramatic as
something distinctively American.

A noteworthy feature of the present period is the
large number of female writers. In both prose and poetry
they have attained a high degree of excellence. The old
theory of the intellectual inferiority of woman has been
exploded. Admitted to the same educational advantages as

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 289

men, whether in separate or co-educational institutions, our
young- women have proved themselves equally successful
in study. They have found an open field in literature, and
have occupied it with eminent ability. Among those who
have achieved eminence are Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward,
Helen Hunt Jackson, Mary Noailles Murfree, Frances
Hodgson Burnett, Mary E. Wilkins, and many others.

This has been called the children's age. Never before
was the responsibility of training children more strongly
felt. The rigorous discipline of former times has given
way to a kindly and sympathetic training. Our schools
are made as attractive as possible. The methods of in-
struction are studiously adjusted to child nature. The
text-books are interesting in matter and attractive in form.
Children's periodicals are multiplied, and in many cases
are edited with eminent taste and ability. There never
before was such a wealth of literature for young people.
Our ablest writers have not disdained to employ their
talents for the entertainment and instruction of youth.
Among the long list of those who have contributed to
our juvenile literature are J. T. Trowbridge, Mrs. A. D. T.
Whitney, Louisa M. Alcott, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Mrs.
Burnett, Frank R. Stockton, and Thomas Nelson Page.

Americans have a strong sense of humor. Nowhere
else is a joke more keenly relished. Nearly every periodi-
cal, not excluding the religious weekly, has its column for
wit and humor ; and not a few of our papers are devoted
exclusively to the risible side of our nature. Among our
writers have been a number of humorists. If they have
not generally reached a high refinement of wit, they have
nevertheless brought the relief of laughter to many a weary
moment. Charles Farrar Browne (" Artemus Ward ") and

2QO AMERICAN LITERATURE.

H. W. Shaw ("Josh Billings ") may be regarded as pro-
fessional humorists. Among those who have occupied
a higher plane is Charles Dudley Warner, whose humor
is delicate in quality, and Samuel L. Clemens (" Mark
Twain "), who deservedly ranks as our greatest humorist.

Poetry is less prominent in our literature than during
the reign of Longfellow, Whittier, and Lowell. Since the
death of the great singers of the earlier part of the nine-
teenth century at home and abroad, no one has risen to take
their place. There is no dearth of poets, but they belong
to the lower ranges of song. The poetry of the present
time is artistic rather than creative, refined rather than
powerful. The present may be regarded as an age of
prose. Fiction largely predominates. But the sphere
of poetry is the highest in literature. It is the language
of seers ; and when the fulness of time again comes, there
will no doubt arise great singers, to give expression to the
highest thought and noblest aspirations of our race.

The writers of the present or Second National Period
may be divided, in a general way, into four geographical
groups, namely, New England, the Middle Atlantic States,
the South, and the West. As would be naturally expected
from the large increase of our population and from the
growing intelligence of our people, there is a larger number
of writers than ever before. A reference to the list prefixed
to this period will show the increasing prominence of
Southern and Western writers. It will be noted, also,
that theology is relatively less prominent, as is history
also ; on the other, hand, there is an increase in poetry
of the second 'order, and an astonishing development of
fiction. It is in these two fields that the literary talent of
our country is at present chiefly engaged.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 29 1

i. NEW ENGLAND.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich is a New Englander by birth
and has spent a large part of his life in that part of our
country. He is both a poet and prose-writer, and in each
field exhibits fine artistic qualities. No other writer of the
New England group deserves, perhaps, a higher rank. As
often happens, the poetic impulse manifested itself early;
and his first volume of verse, " The Bells," appeared in
1854, when he was only eighteen. His " Ballad of Babie
Bell, and Other Poems " was issued two years later, and
established his reputation as a poet.

He received his education in Portsmouth, New Hamp-
shire. He has preserved the incidents of those days in
"The Story of a Bad Boy," which was published in 1869.
It is largely autobiographical, but the facts hardly justify
the title. His earlier manhood was spent in New York,
first in the counting-room of an uncle, and afterwards as
reader for a publishing house, and editor of various papers.
During this New York period he established warm friend-
ships with other writers, among whom Stedman, Stoddard,
and Bayard Taylor deserve to be mentioned.

In 1866 he moved to Boston, where he became editor of
Every Saturday, an ambitious literary paper. Though de-
serving success, it failed in 1874. A few years later, in
1881, he became editor of The Atlantic Monthly, to which
he had long been a welcome contributor. He displayed
admirable editorial ability ; and it is to his credit that he
recognized the ability of several young writers, Charles
Egbert Craddock, Sarah Orne Jewett, Louise Imogen
Guiney, who have since become well known in our
literary annals.

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Mr. Aldrich's literary activity has been pretty well divided
between poetry and prose. Among his prose works of
fiction are " Marjorie Daw, and Other Stories" (1873),
"Prudence Palfrey" (1874), "The Queen of Sheba "
(1877), and "The Stillwater Tragedy" (1880). Along
with artistic delicacy there is the expression of a humorous
and genial nature ; " a deftness of touch," to use the words
of Scudder, " a sureness of aim, a piquancy of flavor, a
playfulness of wit, a delicacy of humor," that make his
stories perfectly delightful reading. But Aldrich's fame
is ultimately to rest, perhaps, on his poetry, of which there
is now a collective edition. His poems are as delicate in
craftsmanship as they are refined in thought and sentiment.
His poetic creed is to be found in one of his sonnets:

"Let art be all in all;

Build as them wilt, unspoiled by praise or blame,
Build as thou wilt, and as thy light is given :
Then if at last the airy structure fall,
Dissolve, and vanish take thyself no shame.
They fail, and they alone, who have not striven."

Charles Dudley Warner was a writer of much versatility.
He was editor, essayist, and novelist. He was one of the
most refined of our humorists ; but his reputation as a
humorist, as in the case of some other writers, has rendered
his serious work more difficult of acceptance. The public
is apt to persist in its refusal to take the humorist seriously.
It is a tribute to the ability and worth of Mr. Warner that
he was heedfully listened to when he treated seriously of
practical life.

After graduation in law at the University of Pennsyl-
vania, he practised his profession for a time in Chicago.
In 1860 he was called to Hartford as assistant editor of

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 2Q3

The Press ; and after the consolidation of that paper with
The Courant in 1867, he became co-editor with Joseph R.
Hawley, and retained his connection with the paper till
the time of his death. His literary work, which is con-
siderable in amount, was done in spare moments snatched
from his editorial duties. " My Summer in a Garden,"
published in 1870, established his reputation as a refined
humorist. " The principal value of a private garden," he
says, " is not understood. It is not to give the possessor
vegetables and fruit (that can be better and cheaper done
by the market-gardeners), but to teach him patience and
philosophy, and the higher virtues, hope deferred, and ex-
pectations blighted, leading directly to resignation, and
sometimes to alienation." In a similar vein are " Backlog
Studies" (1872), "Baddeck and That Sort of Thing" (1874),
and " In the Wilderness" (1878).

Warner travelled extensively in Europe and in the Orient,
and naturally recorded his impressions in editorial letters
to The Courant. In 1872 a collection of these letters was
published under the title " Saunterings." Other books of
travel are "My Winter on the Nile" (1876) and "In the
Levant" (1877). These books of travel are unusually in-
teresting. The author's keen observation is re-enforced
from time to time by delightful touches of humor and
satire. He has an exceedingly neat way of puncturing
pretension and humbug.

For the " American Men of Letters Series," of which he
was the general editor, he wrote "Washington Irving," a
sympathetic biographical study published in 1881. It is
one of the most delightful volumes in the series to which
it belongs. He became one of the editors of Harper's
Magazine in 1884, and was not an unworthy successor of

294 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

George William Curtis in the department of the Easy
Chair. " On Horseback through the South " is an impar-
tial record of observations and impressions. This work,
which appeared in 1888, excited a noteworthy influence
in removing misapprehensions fostered at the North by
uninformed or self-seeking politicians. In his later years
Warner tried his hand at fiction, and wrote " Their Pil-
grimage," " A. Little Journey in the World," and " The
Golden House." But, with all his versatility, he was not
destined to high achievement in this department of litera-
ture ; and his novels, while displaying to a greater or less
degree the literary charm of his other writings, somehow
lack vitality .and power.

Edward Everett Hale belongs to an old New England
family of decided literary tastes. His father and elder
brother were journalists, and his sister Lucretia was a
magazine writer and author. He graduated at Harvard
in 1839, an d at once became a teacher in the Latin School
of Boston. In 1842 he was licensed as a Unitarian minis-
ter, and a few years later became pastor of the South
Congregational Church, Boston, where he has since re-
mained. Though less brilliant as a speaker than many of
his contemporaries, there are none, perhaps, who have
been more active and more successful in philanthropic
work.

He has done much editorial work in connection with
the Christian Examiner, the Sunday School Gazette, and
the Old and New, which was subsequently merged into
Scribners Monthly. He is not only an able writer himself,
but an excellent judge of the productions of others and of
the demands of public .taste. It was in Old and New that
his "Ten Times One is Ten" was first published, a work

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD.

that led to the organization of charitable clubs numbering
in the aggregate full fifty thousand. " In His Name," a
story of the Waldenses, issued in 1874, has exerted a moral
and religious influence scarcely less extended.

Hale won recognition as a gifted writer by his story of
" My Double and How He Undid Me,", published in the
Atlantic Monthly in 1859. It is a story that well deserves
a place in the volume entitled " Modern Classics." One
of his most famous stories is " The Man without a Coun-
try," a piece of realistic writing not inferior to that of
Defoe. It served to intensify national feeling during the
Civil War. " The Skeleton in the Closet " is another
short story that has attained a wide popularity.

The literary activity of Hale has been many-sided. He
has written a dozen historical works, including a " Life of
Washington " (1887), " Franklin in France" (1887), and a
" United States History " for the Chautauqua circles, a
work with which he has long been identified. " For Fifty
Years " is a collection of poems. In all his writings he
exhibits a manly, helpful spirit, not unlike his hero, Henry
Wadsworth, whose motto was,

" Look up, and not down ;
Look forward, and not back;
Look out, and not in;
And lend a hand."

During this Second National Period, New England has
produced a remarkable group of literary women. In num-
ber and ability they fairly vie with the authors of the op-
posite sex. Their principal writings are fiction and poetry,
and a few of them, as Rose Terry Cooke, Elizabeth Stuart
Phelps Ward, Lucy Larcom, and others, have distinguished
themselves in both. Other members of this group are

296 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Margaret Wade Deland, Sarah Orne Jewett, Adeline D.
T. Whitney, Louisa M. Alcott, Louise Chandler Moulton,
Mary A. Dodge (" Gail Hamilton "), Celia Thaxter, Mary
E. Wilkins, and Louise Imogen Guiney. For biographical
data and a list of their works, the brief notices prefixed to
this period are to be consulted.

THE MIDDLE STATES.

The Middle Atlantic States have a prominent place in
American literature in the period under consideration. New
York may be regarded as at present the literary centre of
our country. This enviable position it holds by reason of
its large number of writers, its great periodicals, and its
prominent publishing houses.

William Dean Howells, though brought up in Ohio,
has spent his best years of literary activity in New York.
Like so many other men of letters, he possesses great
versatility of genius, and has filled many roles in the
literary world. He has been poet, editor, critic, dramatist,
and novelist, though it is in the last that he has won a
distinguishing eminence. He has never taken poetry very
seriously ; indeed, he says in one of his books, " I think
it should be a flavor, a spice, a sweet, a delicate relish in
the high banquet of literature."

Howells sprang from a family of literary taste. His
father was specially fond of poetry, and in his autobio-
graphic work, "A Boy's Town," our author mentions the
fact that his father was accustomed to read to the family
after the day's work was done. Young Howells' love
of reading was unusual; and, as he tells us in the very
enjoyable book " My Literary Passions," he early made
the acquaintance of Goldsmith, Irving, Scott, and the

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 297

other principal writers of England and America. With-
out a collegiate education, his literary culture was based
on a wide and thorough acquaintance with what is best
in English literature.

In 1860, while connected with Ihe editorial staff of the
Ohio State Journal, he wrote an excellent campaign life
of Abraham Lincoln. This resulted, a little later, in his
appointment as United States consul at Venice. With
the irresistible impulses of a born author, he turned the
experience of his three years' sojourn abroad to literary
account in his " Venetian Life " (1866), and " Italian Jour-
neys " (1867). These sketches contain a great deal of
shrewd observation and genial humor.

In 1866 Howells became assistant editor of The Atlantic
Monthly, and in 1871 succeeded James T. Fields as editor.
He filled this position for ten years with signal ability,
and then resigned in order to devote himself more fully
to original literary production. In 1886 he formed a
connection with the firm of Harper & Brothers, and con-
tributed many admirable papers to the Editor's Study of
that magazine. He there brought a severe indictment
against American criticism, affirming that critics "were
perilously beset by temptations to be personal, to be vul-
gar, to be arrogant, which they did not always overcome."

Howells entered upon his career as a novelist in 1871
with the publication of "Their Wedding Journey." Almost
every year since that time has seen the appearance of a
new work of fiction. Among the most important of the
long list may be mentioned " The Undiscovered Country "
(1880), "A Fearful Responsibility" (1882), "A Modern
Instance" (1883), "The Rise of Silas Lapham " (1885),
and " A Hazard of New Fortunes " (1889). Howells may

298 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

be regarded as the leader of realism in America, a disciple
of Tolstoi, for whom he expresses great admiration. He
attempts to describe life as it is ; and by his insight,
humor, and careful elaboration he succeeds in throwing
around commonplace people and incidents a peculiar
charm. It is greatly to his credit that, unlike most of
the French realists, he avoids portraying the criminal
and the obscene. But it must be added that life, as por-
trayed in his works, is petty and shallow.

Edmund Clarence Stedman came of New England stock.
Suspended from Yale College in his junior year for some
escapade or other, he entered journalism and worked on
the New York Tribune and afterwards on the New York
World. He was a diligent worker and acquired valuable
experience, but displayed no brilliant aptitude as a jour-
nalist. He later became a stock broker, and experienced
in a long connection with Wall Street many vicissitudes
of fortune. But the wealth that he probably longed for in
order to be able to give himself entirely to literary pursuits
never came to him.

Stedman was early drawn to literature, and at college
won a prize with a poem on "Westminster Abbey." His
newspaper work did not entirely win him away from the
poetic muse; and in 1860 he published a volume entitled
" Poems, Lyric and Idyllic." Though the volume con-
tained nothing very striking, yet it was favorably received.
It had a youthful tone, contained reminiscences of college
days, and betrayed the poet's study of Tennyson, particu-
larly in the " Flood-Tide." The only reference to current
political events was the poem "How Brown Took Harper's
Ferry," the last stanza of which, in the light of subsequent
events, appears prophetic.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 299

The following decade witnessed considerable poetic
activity. In 1864 appeared "Alice of Monmouth," an
idyl of the Civil War. It is a romantic story in various
metres, the very poetry of which will keep it from ever
being popular. The best-known passage is the " Cavalry
Song":

" Our good steeds snuff the evening air,

Our pulses with their purpose tingle;
The foeman's fires are twinkling there;
He leaps to hear our sabres jingle !

HALT !

Each carbine sends its whizzing ball :
Now, cling ! clang ! forward all,
Into the fight ! "

"The Blameless Prince " ( 1 869) is a delicately voluptuous
tale, the moral of which is that saintliness in human life is
only hypocrisy in disguise ; or, as the poet phrases it :

" He who brightest is, and best,
Still may fear the secret test

That shall try his heart aright."

In spite of its exquisite artistic quality, the poem is at
once a surprise and regret to the friends of the poet.

Among the author's miscellaneous poems deserving
mention, as found in the Household Edition, are " Laura,
My Darling," addressed to his wife, "The Doorstep," a
delicious reminiscence of youth, " Pan in Wall Street," an
exquisite combination of fancy and humor, and " The
Undiscovered Country," which vibrates with an earnest,
reflective note, struck by our poet only too seldom :

" Could we but know
The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel,

Where lie those happier hills and meadows low,
Ah, if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil,

Aught of that country could we surely know,
Who would not go?"

300 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Stedman's poetry is characterized by a delicate finish
and nimble play of fancy. But it is the work of a skilful
literary artist rather than of a seer. He has had no
message for his age, and as a rule his poetry plays only
about the surface of things. It is lacking in deep moral
earnestness.

But Stedman's work has extended beyond the bounds of
poetry ; he has been a critic and literary historian as well.
It is in these fields that he has won, perhaps, the strongest
claim upon our gratitude. His "Victorian Poets" ap-
peared in 1875, and a companion volume, "The Poets of
America," in 1886. Both volumes have been widely read
and represent American criticism at its best. Stedman
exhibits a large, catholic spirit; he is generous in the
recognition of merit ; and he rarely errs in his judgment.
Excessive refinement of style is, perhaps, the chief defect
in these volumes of criticism. "The Nature and Art of
Poetry" (1892), first delivered as a series of lectures at
Johns Hopkins University, is unsurpassed in lucidity and
thoroughness of treatment. He defines poetry as " rhyth-
mical, imaginative language, expressing the invention,
taste, thought, passion, and insight of the human soul."

Among his other works are "A Library of American
Literature" (1888-1891), prepared in collaboration with
Miss Ellen M. Hutchinson ; " A Victorian Anthology," to
illustrate his critical review of British poetry during the
reign of Victoria ; and "An American Anthology," to serve
as a companion volume to his "Review of American Poetry
in the Nineteenth Century." No other American was
better fitted for this editorial work, and these volumes of
selections will long stand as a monument to the author's
taste and judgment. By his varied labors Stedman has

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 301

won an honorable and lasting place in American letters.

The life of Richard Henry Stoddard is an inspiration ;
it shows the triumph of literary genius over untoward
circumstances. His early life was given to the trade of
iron-moulding ; he was deprived of education beyond that
afforded in the public schools ; yet, in spite of his unfavor-
able surroundings, he finally won a creditable place in
American letters.

Most of his life was spent in New York. Through the
toilsome years of his youth he cherished literary aspira-
tions, and enlarged his culture by diligent reading, especi-
ally among the poets. Later he enjoyed the friendship of
such men as Bayard Taylor, Stedman, and Aldrich. His
contributions to newspapers and magazines gained for him
the reputation of a young man of ability. His literary
career may be fairly dated from 1852, when he published
a volume of poems that bore the impress of genius. After-
wards, at intervals more or less extended, appeared succes-
sive volumes of poetry, most of which may be found in the
collective edition of 1880.

Stoddard's poetry covers a wide range, but does not
possess great depth. He did not undertake to solve any
of the great problems of life. He was a harper rather
than a seer. He is best in his brief lyrics, in which he
exhibits the same deft handling that characterizes Aldrich
and Stedman. He has a keen sense of the beautiful, and
at times touches a sad and pathetic note, as in "The Flight
of Youth":

"There are gains for all our losses,

There are balms for all our pain ;
But when youth, the dream, departs,
It takes something from our hearts,

And it never comes again."

3O2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Stoddard never enjoyed the leisure of opulence. The
cares of earning a livelihood constantly weighed upon
him. He held a position in the custom-house of New
York for seventeen years, served as private secretary to
General George B. McClellan for three years, and was city
librarian in 1874. During all these years his pen was not
idle, and he accomplished a large amount of literary work ;
but much of it, though conscientiously and ably done,
belonged to what is known as the " pot-boiling " kind.

It is painful to note that the burdensome years tinged
his later verse with a melancholy hue. The hard realities
of life took away his buoyant hopefulness. The change is
seen in " An Old Song Reversed " : -

" 'There are gains for all our losses,'

So I said when I was young.
If I sang that song again,
'Twould not be with that refrain,

Which but suits an idle tongue.

No, the words I sang were idle,

And will ever so remain ;
Death, and Age, and vanished Youth
All declare this bitter truth,

There's a loss for every gain."

Francis Richard Stockton, better known as Frank R.
Stockton, the name on his title-pages, is one of our most
original writers. His literary individuality is almost as
clearly marked as that of Hawthorne or Poe. There is a
quaintness or incongruity in his plots and situations that
places him among the most refined of American humorists.
He tells an impossible or absurd story, as in " A Tale of
Negative Gravity," with an imperturbable serenity. His
style is as simple and matter-of-fact as that of Defoe.

Stockton was born in Philadelphia in 1834, and graduated

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 303

at the Central High-School. He belonged to a literary
family, and as a schoolboy won a prize for a story. His
first important story, " Kate," after being rejected by various
editors, appeared in the Southern Literary Messenger in
1859. Though immature, it contains suggestions of the
peculiar vein developed in the work of his later years.

Though his father -wished him to study medicine, he
took up wood-engraving, by which, for the next few years,
he earned a livelihood. But his literary tastes were not
extinguished, and he became a frequent contributor to the
periodical press. At length he gave up his trade of wood-
engraving, and joined the staff of the Philadelphia Morning
Post. A story contributed to Scribner in 1872, " Stephen
Skarridge's Christmas," attracted the attention of the
editor, Dr. J. G. Holland, who induced the author to move
to New York. He became assistant editor of Scribner 's
Monthly ; and on the establishment of St. Nicholas in
1873, he was added to its editorial staff. The " Rudder
Grange" series, which appeared in Scribner in 1878, made
him famous.

He resigned his editorial work in 1882 in order to give
himself entirely to original composition. Till his death
in 1903 he remained a frequent contributor of delightful
sketches to our leading magazines, and almost every year
he published some noteworthy book. Among these may
be mentioned "The Late Mrs. Null "(1886), "The Casting
Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine" (1886), "The
Dusantes" (1888), "The Great War Syndicate" (1889),
"The House of Martha" (1891), "Pomona's Travels,"
(1895), "The Girl at Cobhurst " (1898), and many others.

Stockton is best in his short stories, the most noted of
which is " The Lady or the Tiger ? " But there are others

304 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

scarcely less interesting, as "The Remarkable Wreck of
the Thomas Hyde," " A Tale of Negative Gravity," " His
Wife's Deceased Sister," and " The Cloverfields' Carriage."
" With a gentle, ceaseless murmur of amusement," to quote
a friendly critic, " and a flickering twinkle of smiles, the
story moves steadily on in the calm triumph of its assured
and unassailable absurdity, its logical and indisputable
impossibility."

Walt Whitman is a puzzle to critics a unique figure in
American literature. He had neither predecessors nor
followers. He has a number of warm partisans at home
and abroad, but he has never been a popular poet. He
expressed himself as willing to wait for appreciation ; but
the probability is that posterity will be as unresponsive as
his contemporaries have been.

It is well to inquire into the merits which have gained
him a circle of warm friends, such as Burroughs and Emer-
son in America, and Professor Dowden in England. Per-
haps the most notable characteristic of Whitman is his
largeness of spirit and his vigorous type of manhood. He
did not write lyrics "to his mistress' eyebrows." His gaze
was as broad as the continent, and embraced every class
of people and every vocation of life. With something of
Shakespeare's breadth, he saw beneath the accidents of
fortune and the wrappings of conventionality the dignity
and worth of humanity. He loved mankind ; and his
broad spirit of democracy recognized no inferiority of sex.
Hence he exclaims:

" I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

" I chant the chant of dilation or pride,
We have had ducking and deprecation about enough,
I show that size is only development.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 305

" Have you outstript the rest ? are you the President ?
It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.
I am he that walks with the tender and growing night,
I call to the earth and sea, half-held by the night."

The circumstances of Whitman's life gave him a wide
acquaintance with men and manners. He was born on
Long Island in 1819; and after acquiring an elementary
education, he became in succession a teacher, printer, edi-
tor, and carpenter. He took up his residence for a time in
New York. Later he made a leisurely tour through the
Southern and Western States, stopping to work whenever
his means became exhausted. During the Civil War he
was a hospital nurse, and afterwards a clerk in the Treas-
ury Department. Finally, in 1873, he settled in Camden,
New Jersey, which remained his home till his death in
1892.

Like Sir Walter Scott and James Fenimore Cooper,
Whitman enjoyed outdoor life. Men were more to him
than books. He loved the freedom of the far-reaching
sky and the exhilaration of exercise in the open air. The
earth and sky were little short of intoxication to him. In
his " Song of the Open Road " he says : -

" Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

" Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticism,
Strong and content I travel the open road."

In spite of the ruggedness of his nature, Whitman had a
mystical element in his soul. He not only rejoiced in the
external splendors of nature, but he fancied that they had

306 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

a meaning and voice. In his poem " When Lilacs Last in
the Door-yard Bloomed " there is a fine passage in which
this mysticism is clearly revealed :

" O western orb sailing the heaven,

Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walked,
As I walked in silence the transparent shadowy night,
As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night,
As you drooped from the sky low down as if to my side (while the other

stars all looked on),
As we wandered together the solemn night."

Whitman, like Burns, had a fellow-feeling for the lower
orders of the animal kingdom. The bird, as it poured
forth its song from the midst of the swamp, was his " dear-
est brother." He sang also a healthy optimism. While
he recognized the toils and sorrows of men, he believed
that the end of all human struggle and suffering was
something higher and better. So he sings :

" Forever alive, forever forward,

Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go ! they go ! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know that they go toward the best toward something great."

These are characteristics of a great-souled poet. Where,
then, are the shortcomings that prevent a general and
generous recognition of Whitman's worth ? They are
found in his wilful disregard of literary traditions and in
his lack of a delicate artistic sense. Much of his work
falls below the level of respectable prose, and at his best
the poet is not without the offence of an obtrusive inno-
vation. He has whole paragraphs made up of a crude
enumeration of unpoetical objects. Take, for example,
the following:-

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 307

" You flagged walks of the cities ! you strong curbs at the edges !
You ferries ! you planks and posts of wharves ! you timber-lined sides !

you distant ships !

You rows of houses ! you window-pierced facades ! you roofs !
You porches and entrances ! you copings and iron guards ! " etc.

Such a passage is not poetry ; at the most it can be re-
garded only as the raw materials of poetry. It is compar-
able to a collection of stones, bricks, and lumber out of
which a beautiful mansion is to be reared. It too often
happens perhaps one might say it generally happens
that Whitman gets no farther than this preliminary collec-
tion of materials. Yet what he might have done had he
adopted the recognised forms of poetic art is shown in the
last stanza of "O Captain, My Captain," a noble threnody,
in which he unconsciously falls into metre and rhyme :

" My Captain does net answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has not pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done !
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won :
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells !
But I with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen, cold, and dead."

THE SOUTH.

A remarkable feature of this period is the literary prom-
inence of the South. Since the Civil War and the social
changes it brought about, a group of young and vigorous
writers has sprung up and conquered recognition in the
field of letters. They breathe the larger life that has come
to our country ; and with no fond clinging to a provincial
spirit, they exhibit the breadth of a cosmopolitan culture.
There is no weak imitation of foreign models, but a clear

308 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

and successful effort, in both poetry and fiction, to paint
nature and life as they are.

The writers of whom we are speaking have discovered
that Southern landscape and Southern life are rich in liter-
ary materials. Nearly every State in the South has fur-
nished incident, character, and scenery for novels and
poems. Cable has portrayed the Creole life of Louisi-
ana; Page has depicted life in Virginia and South Carolina ;
Joel Chandler Harris has rescued the negro folklore of
Georgia; Miss Murfree has brought before us the moun-
taineers of Tennessee ; Allen has described scenes and
incidents in Kentucky ; Lanier pictures the marshes and
corn-fields of Georgia; and Miss Johnston revives the
colonial life of the Old Dominion. In some of these works
we find a literary talent and a literary art unsurpassed in
any other part of our country.

George W. Cable was one of the first of the younger
race of Southern writers to win literary distinction. This
he did with a series of short stories, first published in
Scribner and afterwards issued in a volume entitled " Old
Creole Days." These stories had the merit of introducing
an entirely new element into American fiction ; and apart
from their novelty, they were told with literary grace and
dramatic power.

Cable was born and reared in New Orleans. His father
came from Virginia, and his mother from New England.
He was trained in the school of adversity, and as a youth
bore the burden of supporting the family. In 1863 he
entered the Confederate army, and served till the close of
the war. The scars he bears witness to his courage. He
was for a time attached to the staff of the Picayune, but
lost his position because, to use his own words, "as a

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 309

reporter I was a failure." He was employed as clerk in a
cotton-broker's office when his literary career began.

His first considerable work was "The Grandissimes "
( 1 880), which appeared serially in Scribner. It is a descrip-
tion of New Orleans life in the early part of the last century.
Creole life and character are graphically portrayed. This
work introduced the patois of the Creoles at a time when
dialect writing was not yet overdone. It was followed by
"Madame Delphine " in 1881, and "Dr. Sevier" in 1883.
The stories collected in " Bonaventure " (1877) do not add
notably to the author's reputation.

In 1885 Cable removed to Massachusetts. He has writ-
ten on the social and political questions of the day ; and
his pamphlet, " The Negro Question," in which he gave
vigorous expression to sentiments not generally entertained
in the South, excited a good deal of ill-feeling against him.
It is his distinction as a novelist to have portrayed a unique
and vanishing type of civilization with admirable skill.

Another prominent figure in the new school of Southern
fiction is Mary Noailles Murfree, better known by the
pseudonym of "Charles Egbert Craddock." She was
born in 1850 near Murfreesboro, Tenn., a town named
in honor of her great-grandfather, who served with distinc-
tion as a colonel in the Revolutionary War. Lamed for
life by an accident in childhood, she turned to books for a
pastime, and made herself familiar with the literary treas-
ures of our language. The summer home of the family in
its days of prosperity was at Beersheba in the Tennessee
mountains ; and it was there that Miss Murfree accumu-
lated the materials of scenery, incident, and character which
she was afterwards to turn to such excellent account. She
added a new realm to American literature.

310 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Miss Murfree's first notable contribution to literature
was " The Dancin' Party at Harrison's Cove," which ap-
peared in The Atlantic Monthly in 1878, under the name
of " Charles Egbert Craddock." Other stories, graphi-
cally portraying life in the same region, followed at brief
intervals. In 1884 they were collected in a volume en-
titled " In the Tennessee Mountains," and at once placed
the writer in the foremost rank of our story-tellers.

Encouraged by her success, Miss Murfree undertook
larger works, and at brief intervals appeared " Down the
Ravine" (1885), "The Prophet of the Great Smoky
Mountain" (1885), "In the Clouds" (1887), "The Story
of Keedon Bluffs" (1887), and other works. She is a
conscientious worker. She understands thoroughly the
scenes and characters she describes. The life of the
mountaineers of eastern Tennessee, together with the rude
dialect they speak, is accurately brought before us. She
is especially strong in descriptions of natural scenery ;
and some of her pictures of the mountains, clouds, and
sunlit splendors recall the glowing Alpine or Italian land-
scapes of Ruskin.

The life of Sidney Lanier, the South's strongest singer
since the Civil War, is unutterably sad. Gifted with gen-
ius of a high order, he was fettered by unfavorable cir-
cumstances. His life became a hard struggle ; and
though he fought heroically against disease and poverty,
he had to leave his work unfinished. As in the case of
Keats, we can only surmise what he might have accom-
plished for the world of letters if his life had been spared
for the larger achievement of which he dreamed.

He was born at Macon, Georgia, in 1842, of mingled
French and Scotch ancestry. The fundamental element

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD.

of his genius was music ; and while yet a boy he played
the flute, organ, piano, violin, guitar, and banjo. On the
flute he ultimately became one of the best players in
America. He was educated at Oglethorpe College, where
he was graduated in 1860 ; he then filled a tutorship there
till the beginning of the War. Like most men of unusual
endowment, he was conscious of his superior powers, and
wrote in his college note-book, " I have an extraordinary
musical talent, and feel it within me plainly that I could
rise as high as any composer."

On the breaking out of the Civil War he entered the
Confederate army and saw hard service, particularly in
the seven days' fighting around Richmond. He was after-
wards transferred to the signal service, and later he com-
manded a blockade runner. His vessel, however, was
captured on "its first trip, and he was imprisoned for five
months at Point Lookout. His war experience he em-
bodied in the hastily written novel, " Tiger Lilies," which
was published in 1867.

After the war he held a clerkship, taught school, and
practised law ; but at the same time he found it necessary
to begin his long battle with pulmonary consumption, of
which he died in 1881. In 1873 he became first flute in
the Peabody symphony concerts, an engagement that
brought him the musical and literary associations for
which his soul had longed. He believed that a poet had
need of large attainments on which as materials his genius
might work. The trouble with Poe, he thought, was in-
adequate knowledge. Accordingly he devoted himself to
English literature, including Anglo-Saxon, with scholarly
enthusiasm.

In 1874, when on a visit to Georgia, he wrote the poem

312 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" Corn," which appeared in Lippincotfs Magazine. It
attracted considerable attention from literary persons,
among whom was Bayard Taylor. At his suggestion,
Lanier was chosen to write the Cantata for the opening of
the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia. The Cantata
evoked not a little unfavorable criticism, in reference to
which the author exhibited a high and self-confident
artistic spirit. " The artist," he wrote, " shall put forth,
humbly and lovingly, and without bitterness against oppo-
sition, the very best and highest that is within him, utterly
regardless of contemporary criticism."

The closing years of his life, though burdened with ill-
ness, were surprisingly fruitful in verse. In 1877 he wrote
the " Song of the Chattahoochee," and a year later "The
Revenge of Hamish." Both are remarkable poems, the
former for its musical qualities, and the latter for its
strength as a ballad. In 1879 he was appointed lecturer
on English literature at Johns Hopkins University, and the
same year he wrote his "Science of English Verse."
This work traces the parallelism between music and poetry.
Though written rapidly, it was based on elaborate investi-
gation, and remains as an original and suggestive contri-
bution to the science of versification.

This work reveals to us the fundamental defect of
Lanier's poetry : he seems to be more concerned about
the music of his verse than about its thought. Allitera-
tion and tone-color apparently count for more than ideas.
Though criticising Poe, Lanier really belongs to the same
school ; and even his finest poems, like the " Hymns of
the Marshes," partake of the nature of ecstatic rhapsody.
Take, for example, the opening strophe of " The Marshes
of Glynn":

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 313

"Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven
With intricate shades of the vines that myriad cloven
Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs,
Emerald twilights,
Virginal shy lights,

Wrought of the leaves to allure to the whisper of vows
When lovers pace timidly down through the green colonnades
Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods,

Of the heavenly woods and glades,
That run to the radiant marginal sand-beach within
The wide sea-marshes of Glynn."

The musical effects sometimes attained by Lanier are
delightful. His "Song of the Chattahoochee," in its
onomatopoetic lilt, recalls Tennyson's " Brook ":

" Out of the hills of Habersham,

Down the valleys of Hall,
I hurry amain to reach the plain,
Run the rapid and leap the fall,
Split at the rock and together again,
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,
And flee from folly on every side
With a lover's pain to attain the plain

Far from the hills of Habersham,

Far from the valleys of Hall."

It is to the credit of Lanier's insight and character that
he was not lured aside from the moral significance of art.
He never made the mistake of divorcing art and truth ; to
his mind a thing had to be right before it could be beau-
tiful. In one of his lectures to the students of Johns Hop-
kins University he said : " He who has not yet perceived
how artistic beauty and moral beauty are convergent lines
which run back into a common ideal origin, and who
therefore is not afire with moral beauty just as with artistic
beauty that he, in short, who has not come to that stage
of quiet and eternal frenzy in which the beauty of holiness

314 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

and the holiness of beauty mean one thing, burn as one
fire, shine as one light within him, he is not yet the great
artist."

Perhaps no poet in the South has been more popular
than Abram J. Ryan, better known as Father Ryan. His
poems do not exhibit a polished art ; they are rather the
emotional outpourings of a heart that readily found expres-
sion in fluent melodies. The poet himself modestly wished
to call them only verses ; and, as he tells us, they " were
written at random, off and on, here, there, anywhere, -
just as the mood came, with little of study and less of art,
and always in a hurry." But these hurried, unpolished
songs have been dear to many a heart.

Abram J. Ryan was born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1839,
whither his parents, natives of Ireland, had immigrated
not long before. When he was seven or eight years old,
his parents removed to St. Louis. He showed a rare apti-
tude in acquiring knowledge, and his superior intellectual
gifts, associated with an unusual reverence for sacred
things, early indicated the priesthood as his future voca-
tion. He studied at the Roman Catholic seminary at
Niagara; and his deeply religious nature, as well as the
dogmatic beliefs of his Church, is reflected in many of his
poems.

A touching romance seems to have belonged to his
early life a romance that finds poetic expression in
"Their Story Runneth Thus."

" One night in mid of May their faces met
As pure as all the stars that gazed on them.
They met to part from themselves and the world,
Their hearts just touched to separate and bleed ;
Their eyes were linked in look, while saddened tears
Fell down, like rain, upon the cheeks of each :

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 315

They were to meet no more. Their hands were clasped
To tear the clasp in twain ; and all the stars
Looked proudly down on them, while shadows knelt
Or seemed to kneel, around them with the awe
Evoked from any heart by sacrifice."

On the outbreak of the Civil War, Father Ryan entered
the Confederate army as a chaplain, though he sometimes
served in the ranks. His martial songs, " The Sword of
Robert Lee," " The Conquered Banner," and " March of
the Deathless Dead " have been very popular in the South.
He reverenced Lee as a peerless leader.

" Forth from its scabbard ! How we prayed

That sword might victor be ;
And when our triumph was delayed,
And many a heart grew sore afraid,
We still hoped on while gleamed the blade
Of noble Robert Lee."

Father Ryan conceived of the poet's office as some-
thing seerlike or prophetic. With him, as with all great
poets, the message counted for more than do rhythm and
rhyme. He regarded genuine poets as the high priests of
nature. In " Poets " he says :

" They are all dreamers ; in the day and night

Ever across their souls

The wondrous mystery of the dark or bright
In mystic rhythm rolls."

It can hardly be said that Father Ryan ever reaches
far poetic heights. Neither in thought nor expression
does he often rise above cultured commonplace. Fine
artistic quality is supplanted by a sort of easy fluency,
Yet the form and tone of his poetry, nearly always in one
pensive key, make a distinct impression, unlike that of any
other American singer. Religious feeling is dominant.

3l6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Having once caught his distinctive note of weary melan-
choly, we can recognize it among a chorus of a thousand
singers. It is to his honor that he has achieved a distinc-
tive place in American poetry.

THE WEST.

The completion of the Pacific railroads and the great
mineral wealth and agricultural resources of the West
have attracted thither a ceaseless tide of immigration.
During the period under consideration, great States, far
surpassing the original thirteen in extent and population,
have been added to our country. Cities have sprung up
almost by magic. The rapid conquest of this vast region,
particularly in the mining districts, has resulted in new
phases of life, which possess a deep human interest and
stand as something unique in the field of literature. Men
of high gifts have not been lacking to utilize these materials
and to enrich the annals of American letters.

Francis Bret Harte, who was born in Albany, New
York, in 1839, was taken to California in his early youth,
and grew up there amid the hardships and excitements of
pioneer life. He was successively schoolteacher, miner,
and type-setter, occupations that served to enlarge his ex-
perience and to give him an intimate knowledge of human
life and character. While working on the Golden Era
of San Francisco, he published a series of sketches de-
scriptive of frontier and mining life which met with public
favor, and as a result he was promoted from the printer's
case to the editor's desk. In 1864 he became secretary of
the United States Mint in San Francisco, but diligently
devoted his leisure hours to literature. Among the pro-

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 317

ductions of this period are "John Burns of Gettysburg"
and the "Society upon the Stanislaus," which rank among
his best poetical productions.

In 1868 The Overland Monthly was established with
Harte as editor. For the second number he wrote, as
something distinctive in Calif ornia - life, "The Luck of
Roaring Camp." Though the story was coldly received
in California, it excited attention in the East and laid the
foundation of the writer's reputation. It was speedily fol-
lowed by other stories and poems in the same vein, among
which may be mentioned "The Outcasts of Poker Flat,"
" Miggles," and "Tennessee's Partner." In 1870 his
"Plain Language from Truthful James," descriptive of
the "heathen Chinee," struck the popular fancy and was
quoted all over the United States :

** Ah Sin was his name ;

And I shall not deny
In regard to the same

What that name might imply ;
But his smile it was pensive and childlike,

As I frequent remarked to Bill Xye."

In 1871 he went East, and for several years led a
Bohemian life in New York. He tried lecturing and
failed. His contributions to the Atlantic and other
periodicals afforded him a meagre support. In 1878 he
was appointed consul to Crefeld, Germany, and two years
later was transferred to Glasgow. After 1885 he lived in
London, where he is said to have been a favorite in Eng-
lish society. But whatever may have been his other em-
ployments, his pen was not idle, and stories and novels
followed one another at pretty regular intervals. Among
these may be mentioned " Gabriel Conroy " (1876), " Drift
from Two Shores" (1878), "The Twins of Table Moun

318 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

tain" (1879), "Flip and Found at Blazing Star" (1882),
"On the Frontier" (1884), " Maruja " (1885), "A Million-
aire of Rough and Ready" (1887), etc.

Bret Harte is best in his short stories. His first novel,
" Gabriel Conroy," while containing scenes of characteris-
tic vigor, is not regarded as a notable success. In the
main he has confined himself to the pioneer life of the
West. Though this fact narrows his range, it makes him
one of the most distinctly American of our writers. His
stories are original, owing nothing but their literary art to
other countries or other times. This freshness of subject
and novelty of character made him one of our most pop-
ular authors abroad. It may be questioned whether his
stories are entirely true to life. His adventurers, thieves,
and courtesans have, at the basis of their character, an un-
selfishness and fidelity that must at best be very exceptional.
It is not in these classes that we usually look for heroes and
heroines.

Cincinnatus Heine Miller, better known by the pen-
name of Joaquin Miller, was born in Indiana in 1841. In
youth he ran away to California, where as a miner and
adventurer he experienced many hardships. Returning
home, not wholly unlike the prodigal, he entered Columbia
College, where he was graduated in 1858 as the valedicto-
rian of his class. After studying law he went to the mining
region of Idaho ; but finding little encouragement in his
profession, he turned express messenger. Afterwards he
moved to Oregon, where he became editor of the Demo-
cratic Register, which was suppressed for alleged treason-
able utterances, and a little later he was appointed judge
of Grant County, a position which he held for four years.

Through all the varied and dangerous experiences of

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD.

319

these years the impulse to write was strong within him.
In the midst of his unfavorable environment he used
every means to improve his literary culture, and to this
end he read extensively in ancient and modern authors.
Like Milton he cherished the conviction that he was to
write something worthy of the attention of men, and in
secret he practised the art which was afterwards to make
him known. Finally he felt strong enough for a venture,
and brought together the " Songs of the Sierras," a poetic
collection full of the wild scenery and still wilder romance
of the far West. Failing to find a publisher in this coun-
try, he went to England, where the publication of this
first volume created a furore, and the poet suddenly found
himself the lion of British society. He was called -"the
American Byron," and was feted and flattered as the most
original of American poets.

This fame, exaggerated and ephemeral, naturally found
an echo in this country. It was given a more substantial
basis by the publication of " Songs of the Sunlands " in
1873, which represents the author's genius at its best, and
contains passages of exceptional beauty. The keynote of
the volume is found in these prefatory stanzas :

" Primeval forests ! virgin sod !

That Saxon hath not ravished yet !
Lo ! peak on peak in column set,
In stepping stairs that reach to God !

" Here we are free as sea or wind,
For here are set the snowy tents
In everlasting battlements
^Against the march of Saxon mind."

The principal poem of this volume is the " Isles of the
Amazons "

"A curious old tale of a curious old time."

320 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

It is the most artistic of the poet's longer pieces. " Into
it he has put," as Vedder says, " all his strength, and, as
he seems temporarily to have forgotten his affectations
and mannerisms, his lines glow with tropical passion and
thrill the reader with the vividness and originality of their
imagery and their spontaneous vigor of expression."

In " Olive Leaves," which treats of New Testament
themes, and " Fallen Leaves," both of which form divis-
ions of the volume under consideration, the poet now
and then touches a moral note unusual in his writings.
" Down into the Dust," for example, is a passionate plea
for human charity and helpfulness :

" Is it worth while that we jostle a brother,

Bearing his load on the rough road of life?
Is it worth while that we jeer at each other

In blackness of heart? that we war to the knife?
God pity us all in our pitiful strife ! "

After living for a time in Washington City, where he
wrote for various periodicals, he returned to California,
where he resided till his death in 1903. A series of works
in prose and verse, appearing at brief intervals, bears testi-
mony to his literary activity. Among these works may be
mentioned "Songs of the Desert" (1875), "The Baroness
of New York" (1877), a novel, "Songs of Italy" (1878),
"The Danites in the Sierras" (1881), a novel, "'49, or
the Gold Seekers of the Sierras" (1884), "Songs of the
Mexican Seas" (1887), etc. Joaquin Miller is a writer of
unmistakable originality and power, but Jie lacks the re-
finement, symmetry, and taste of a chastened culture. He
hardly deserves the almost utter neglect into which he has
fallen.

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. $21

Edward Eggleston did for the pioneer days of the
Middle West what Bret Harte and Joaquin Miller did for
the broad regions looking upon the Pacific. He described
the scenes and characters of Indiana and Illinois before
those States had become centres of wealth and refinement.
His three principal novels, " The Hoosier Schoolmaster "
(1871), "Roxy" (1878), and "The Graysons " (1888), are
true and graphic pictures of life as it existed there two or
three generations ago. Written in a realistic spirit and
based on the actual experiences of the author, these works,
apart from their unusual interest as fiction, possess also
the value of history. In the last-named book, Abraham
Lincoln figures as a young, uncouth lawyer of impressive
astuteness.

The career of Edward Eggleston illustrates the power
of an energetic nature to overcome difficulties. Delicate
health prevented him from acquiring a collegiate educa-
tion ; yet, by dint of private study and extensive reading,
he made himself acquainted with several foreign languages
and with English and French literature. A temporary
sojourn in Virginia, from which State his parents had
moved to Indiana, made him acquainted with the "old
Virginia gentleman," whose character he has touched
upon in some of his works.

He was born in Indiana in 1837. At the age of nine-
teen he became a Methodist circuit-rider in his native State,
and afterwards in Minnesota. His ministerial work was
repeatedly interrupted by broken health, and he was at
last obliged to turn to secular pursuits for a livelihood.
His literary instincts found expression in frequent contri-
butions to the press. In 1866 he removed to Evanston,
Illinois, where he became associate editor of a popular paper

322 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

for young people, The Little Corporal, which was after,
wards merged into St. Nicholas. Shortly afterwards he
assumed editorial control of the National Sunday-School
Teacher of Chicago, and increased its circulation from
5000 to 35,000 copies. In 1870 he was called to New
York to become literary editor of The Independent, and a
few months later, upon the retirement of Theodore Tilton,
he was made editor-in-chief. The following year he took
charge of the Hearth and Home, and through his able
management rendered it widely popular. It was in this
periodical that " The Hoosier Schoolmaster " first ap-
peared, and attracted much attention. It opened a new
vein in American literature.

He served as pastor of a church in Brooklyn from 1874
to 1879, when failing health forced him to resign. His
methods of church work were original and innovating, but
in a measure successful. He built a beautiful home on
Lake George, where he gave his latter years to historical
writing. His " Famous American Indians " extends
through five volumes. He wrote an interesting school
"History of the United States and its People" (1888).
But his principal work in this line was his " History of
Life in the United States," the first volume of which,
"The Beginners of a Nation," appeared in 1896. His
historical writing is characterized by breadth of view. He
is more concerned about principles and causes than about
details of fact ; yet there is enough of graphic incident to
illustrate his principles and to impart interest to his work.
His facts are based on a careful investigation of original
sources ; and though he is apt to deviate from traditional
conclusions, he exhibits a rare penetration and maintains a
judicial fairness in all his discussions,

SECOND NATIONAL PERIOD. 323

CONCLUSION.

Our survey of American literature exhibits a develop-
ment of which we may well be proud. From the meagre
productions of the first colonial period to the varied
and innumerable writings of the present is a long step.
Whether taken in its limited or its larger sense, literature
has kept pace with the unexampled material progress of
our country. From two small colonies on the Atlantic, it
has extended, in broad sweep, to the Pacific. Before long
we may expect it to make new conquests in our insular
possessions.

Our study has been restricted, in the main, to what is
known as polite or belles-lettres literature. Had we taken
literature in its more comprehensive sense, we should have
found many names worthy of mention. William James
and Josiah Royce, of Harvard, and George T. Ladd, of
Yale, have won distinction in philosophy. Horace Mann
and Henry Barnard were great educators, whose work has
left an impress upon our schools. Francis A. Walker and
Richard T. Ely are authors of marked ability in political
and social science. John W. Draper and Simon Newcomb
have gained an international reputation for their work in
science. History, dominated at present by the scientific
rather than by the literary spirit, has been widely culti-
vated by such men as Justin Winsor, Henry Howe Ban-
croft, Henry Adams, and Alfred T. Mahan. In no
department of human investigation is America entirely
without names worthy of mention.

Yet our literature, as a whole, bears the marks of imma-
turity. Much of it is written too hastily ; much of it has
sprung from a defective culture ; and as a natural result,

324 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

our literature lacks, in considerable measure, the finest
artistic qualities. In one sense we can hardly be said to
have a national literature. Our country is not yet thor-
oughly homogeneous ; and consequently we have New
England, Southern, and Western writers rather than Ameri-
can writers. But mighty agencies railroads, newspapers,
colleges, and public schools are at work to bring about
a greater homogeneity. In the course of time the dis-
tinctive features of the different parts of our country will
be less marked, and then local or sectional literature will
give place to national literature.

We may look hopefully to the future. The eager, strug-
gling, commercial spirit of the present day a spirit natu-
ral to the youth and circumstances of our country will
ultimately give way to the calmer and more reflective
mood of maturity. There will finally come a period of
greater leisure and comfort, in which the beauty of art and
the graces of culture will count for more than in the rest-
less and struggling present. Better work will then be
exacted of our authors; and. genius, responding to the
demand of the age, will produce a literature in keeping
with the larger material and intellectual greatness of our
country.

CAPTAIN SMITH CAPTURED BY THE INDIANS. 325

ILLUSTRATIVE SELECTIONS.

WITH NOTES.
I.

CAPTAIN SMITH CAPTURED BY THE INDIANS.

(From "A True Relation," 1608.)

FORTY miles I passed up ye river, 1 which for the most part is a
quarter of a mile broad, and three fatham and a half deep, exceeding
osey, 2 many great low marshes and many high lands, especially about
ye midst at a place called Moysonicke, 3 a Peninsule of four miles cir-
cuit, betwixt two rivers joyned to the main, by a neck of forty or fifty
yards, and forty or fifty yards from the high water marke. On both
sides in the very necke of the maine, are high hills and dales, yet
much inhabited, the He declining in a plaine fertile corne field, the
lower end a low marsh ; more plentie of swannes, cranes, geese,
duckes, and mallards, and divers sorts of fowles none would desire :
more plaine fertile planted ground, in such great proportions as there
I had not scene, of a light blacke sandy mould, the cliffs commonly
red, white and yellowe colored sand, and under red and white clay,
fish great plenty, and people abundance, the most of their inhabitants
in view of ye necke of Land, where a better seate for a town cannot be
desired. At the end of forty miles this river environeth many low
Hands, at each high water drowned for a mile, where it uniteth itselfe,
at a place called Apokant, the highest Towne inhabited. Ten miles
higher I discovered with the barge ; in the midway, a great trie hin-
dered my passage, which I cut in two : heere the river became nar-
rower, eight, nine, or ten foote at a high water, and six or seven at a
lowe : the streame exceeding swift and the bottom hard channell, the
ground most part a low plaine, sandy soyle ; this occasioned me to
suppose it might issue from some lake or some broad ford, so it could
not be far to the head, but rather then I would endanger the barge, yet
to have been able to resolve this doubt, and to discharge the imputa-
tion of malicious tungs, that halfe suspected I durst not for so long de-
laying, some of the company as desirous as myselfe, we resolved to
hire a Canowe and return with the barge to Apokant, there to leave
the barge secure, and put ourselves uppon the adventure : the country

326 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

onely a vast and wilde wilderness and but onely that Towne. Within
three or foure mile we hired a Canowe and two Indians to row us ye
next day a fowling : having made such provision for the barge as was
needful, I left her there to ride, with expresse charge not any to goe
ashore til my returne. Though some wise men may condemn this too
bould attempt of too much indiscretion, yet if they well consider the
friendship of the Indians, in conducting me, the desolateness of the
country, the probabilitie of some lacke, and the malicious judges of
my actions at home, as also to have some matters of worth to incour-
age our adventurers in England, might well have caused any honest
minde to have done the like, as well for his owne discharge as for the
publike good. Having two Indians for my guide and two of our own
company, I set forward, leaving seven in the barge ; having discovered
twenty miles further in this desart, the river still kept his depth and
bredth, but much more combred with trees : here we went ashore
(being some twelve miles higher than ye barge had bene) to refresh
our selves, during the boyling of our victuals. One of the Indians
I took with me to see the nature of the soile, and to crosse the
boughts 4 of the river, the other Indian I left with Mr. Robinson and
Thomas Emry, with their matches light 5 and order to discharge a
peece, for my retreat at the first sight of any Indian, but within a
quarter of an houre I heard a loud cry and a hollowing of Indians, but
no warning peece. Supposing them surprised, and that the Indians
had betraid us, presently I seazed him and bound his arme fast to my
hand in a garter, 6 with my pistoll ready bent 7 to be revenged on him :
he advised me to fly and seemed ignorant of what was done, but as we
went discoursing, I was struck with an arrow on the right thigh, but
without harme. Upon this occasion I espied two Indians drawing
their bowes, which I prevented in discharging a French pistoll : by
that I had charged againe, three or four more did the like, for the first
fell downe and fled: at my discharge they did the like, my hinde 8
I made my barricade, who offered not to strive. Twenty or thirty
arrowes were shot at me but short, three or four times I had dis-
charged my pistoll ere the King of Pamaunck called Opeckankenough,
with two hundred men, environed me, cache drawing their bowe,
which done they laid them upon the ground, yet without shot, my
hinde treated betwixt them and me of conditions of peace, he dis-
covered me to be the Captaine, my request was to retire to ye boate,
they demaunded my armes, the rest they saide were slaine, only me
they would reserve ; the Indian importuned me' not to shoot. In

CAPTAIN SMITH CAPTURED BY THE INDIANS.

retiring, being in the midst of a low quagmire, and minding them
more then my steps, I stept fast into the quagmire, and also the In-
dian in drawing me forth : thus surprised, I resolved to trie their mer-
cies, my armes I caste from me, til which none durst approach me.

Being ceazed on me, they drew me out and led me to the King ; 1
presented him with a compasse diall, describing by my best meanes
the use thereof, whereat he so amazedly admired, as he suffered me to
proceed in a discourse of the roundnes of the earth, the course of the
sunne, moone, starres, and plannets. 9 With kinde speeches and bread
he requited me, conducting me where the Canow lay and John Robbin-
son slaine, with twenty- or thirty arrowes in him. Emry I saw not,
I perceived by the aboundance of fires all over the woods, at each place
I expected when they would execute me, yet they used me with what
.kindnes they could : approaching their Towne, which was within six
miles where I was taken, onely made as arbors and covered with mats,
which they remove as occasion requires : all the women and children,
being advertised of this accident, came foorth to meet them, the King
well guarded with twenty bowmen, five flanck and rear, and each-flanck
before him a sword and a peece, after him the like, then a bowman,
then I, on each hande a bowman, the reste in file in the reare. . . .
On cache flanck a sargeant, the one running alwaies towards the front,
the other towards the reare, each a true pace and in exceeding good
order. This being a good time continued, they caste themselves in a
ring with a daunce, and so cache man departed to his lodging, the
Captain conducting me to his lodging. A quarter of Venison and
some ten pound of bread I had for supper ; what I left was reserved
for me, and sent with me to my lodging : each morning three women
presented me three greate platters of fine bread, more venison than
ten men could devour I had ; my gowne, points I0 and garters, my
compas and a tablet they gave me againe. Though eight ordinarily
guarded me, I wanted not what they could devise to content me : and
still our longer acquaintance increased our better affection. Much they
threatened to assalt our forte, as they were solicited by the King of
Paspahegh, who shewed at our forte great signes of sorrow for this
mischance. . . .

I desired he " would send a messenger to Paspahegh, 12 with a letter
I would write, by which they shold understand how kindly they used
me, and that I was wel, least they should revenge my death : this he
granted, and sent three men in such weather, as in reason were un-
possible, by any naked to be indured. Their cruell mindes towards

328 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

the fort I had deverted in describing the ordnances and the mines in
the fields, as also the revenge Captain Newport would take of them,
at his return ; their intent I incerted the fort, the people of Ocanahonum
and the back sea : I3 this report they after found divers Indians that
confirmed. The next day after my letter, came a salvage to my lodg-
ing, with his sword to have slaine me, but being by my guard inter-
cepted, with a bo we and arrow he offred to have effected his purpose :
the cause I knew not til the King understanding thereof came and told
me of a man dying, wounded with my pistoll : he told me also of an-
other I had slayne, yet the most concealed they had any hurte : this
was the father of him I had slayne, whose fury to prevent, the King
presently conducted me to another Kingdome, upon the top of the
next northerly river, called Youghtanan. . . .

Arriving at Weramocomoco, 14 their Emperour proudly lying uppon
a Bedstead a foote high upon tenne or twelve Mattes, richly hung with
many chaynes of great Pearls about his necke, and covered with a
great covering of Rahaughcums : IS at his heade sat a woman, at his
feete another, on each side sitting uppon a Matte uppon the ground
were raunged his chiefe men on each side the fire, tenne in a rank,
and behinde them as many young women, each a great chaine of white
beades over their shoulders : their heades painted in redde, and with
such a grave majesticall countenance, as drave me into admiration to
see such state in a naked salvage, hee kindly welcomed me with good
wordes, and great platters of sundrie victuals, assuring me his friend-
ship, and my libertie within foure dayes.

NOTES TO CAPTAIN SMITH. 329

NOTES TO CAPTAIN SMITH.

A FEW suggestions are here made to guide the student in the study of
the following selections in prose. Suggestions for the study of poetry will be
found under " Notes to Bryant."

1. Ascertain the circumstances under which the work in hand was written,
and the purpose it was intended to subserve. How was the material obtained?
Is it fact or fiction? An acquaintance with the author's life will be helpful in
answering these and other questions.

2. All discourse may be divided into four generic classes, namely : descrip-
tion, narration, exposition^ and argumentation. Though frequently united in the
same paragraph, they may generally be distinguished. In the following selec-
tions, point out what is descriptive, narrative, expository, and argumentative.

3. Sentences vary in diction, length, and form. Every author has his
prevailing or characteristic type of sentence. Determine the percentage of
Anglo-Saxon and Latin words, and also the average length of the sentences.
Ascertain also the proportion of loose, balanced, and periodic sentences. The
results will afford a basis of interesting comparison between the different
authors.

4. The personality of the author is reflected in his work. Determine his
mood or spirit in writing. Is he grave, pathetic, humorous? Is his style
formal and dignified, or easy and colloquial? Does imagination, feeling, or
reason predominate in his work? What idea of his character would you form
from his writing?

5. The foregoing points of investigation are not an end in themselves,
but merely preliminary to an intelligent perusal of an author. It is only when
the facts indicated are clearly ascertained that we can enter into full sympathy
with him, or form a correct judgment of his work.

This extract is taken from " A True Relation of such Occurrences and
Accidents of Noate as hath Hapned in Virginia, since the First Planting of
that Collony, which is now resident in the South Part thereof, till the last
Returne from thence." It is the earliest history of the settlement at James-
town, and the beginning of American literature. It covers the brief period
.between April 26, 1607, and June 2, 1608. It was printed in London in
small quarto form. There are eight copies of the original edition in America.
An inaccurate reprint appeared in the Soiithern Literary Messenger, February,
1845. Ari edition was edited by Mr. Deane in Boston in 1866.

The substance of the " True Relation " is reproduced in the " Generall
Historic of Virginia, New England, and the Summer Isles" (the third book),
which was written in 1624. The style of the "Generall Historic" is more
elevated and flowing ; and the lapse of sixteen years has served to give to the
narrative something of the enchantment that distance lends to the view.

330 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

While it is not necessary, perhaps, to believe in the fabrication of new mat-
ter, it is certainly true that the " Generall Historic " contains interesting state-
ments not found in the "True Relation." The romantic story of Pocahontas,
for example, is found only in the former; and its absence from the "True
Relation " has been regarded by some recent critics as pretty conclusive proof
that the incident was a happy afterthought.

Except the punctuation and the use of capital letters, which it was thought
better not to follow closely, the extract given for study is a reproduction of
the original, and will therefore serve as a specimen of English prose at the
beginning of the seventeenth century. As will be noticed, there is a consid-
erable lack of uniformity in the spelling. This is attributable less to Smith's
carelessness or ignorance than to the unfixed state of the English language.
When he wrote the " True Relation," no dictionary of the language had yet
appeared, the first being published in 1623.

1. Ye river. The letter y in ye is used for the Anglo-Saxon character
representing the sound ///, and in the Middle Ages, as well as at the beginning
of the seventeenth century, had the same sound. Smith uses both forms of
the definite article, ye and the. The river in question is the Chickahominy,
which, in the " True Relation," appears as Checka Hamania, and in the
" Generall Historic " as the Chickahamania.

2. Osey oozy. A. S. wos ; the word has lost its initial w.

3. All the places named in the narrative are given in Smith's well-known
map of Virginia. Considering the difficulties attending his explorations, the
accuracy of his map is remarkable.

4. Boughts = bends, turnings. Also spelled bout. In Milton we find :

" In notes, with many a winding bout

Of linked sweetness long drawn out." L? Allegro, 139.
But in Spenser, speaking of the Monster Error :
" Her huge long taile her den all overspred,
Yet was in knots and many boughtes upvvound." Faery Queene, I. xv.

5. Z*^/// lighted. "About the beginning of the reign of Henry VII.
the hand-gun was improved by the addition of a cock, which was brought
down by a trigger to a pan. at the side of the barrel; this cock held a match-
which ignited a priming in the pan, the priming communicating with the
charge by a small hole." This was the matchlock, and continued in use till
the middle of the seventeenth century, when it was replaced by the flintlock.

6. In a garter = " with his garters," as stated in the " Generall-Historie."

7. Bent = cocked.

8. Hinde = servant. The d is excrescent; from A. S. hina, a domestic.

9. In the " Generall Historic " we have the following version, which is
given to show the difference of style between the two works: "Then finding

NOTES TO CAPTAIN SMITH. 331

the Captaine, as is said, that used the salvage that was his guide as his sheld,
(three of them being slaine and divers other so gauld,) all the rest would
not come neere him. Thinking thus to have returned to his boat, regarding
them, as he marched, more then his way, slipped up to the middle in an oasie
creeke, and his salvage with him, yet durst they not come to him till being
neere dead with cold, he threw away his armes. Then according to their com-
position they drew him forth and led him to the fire, where his men were
slaine. Diligently they chafed his benummed limbs. He demanding for
their Captaine, they shewed him Opechankanough, King of Pamaunkee, to
whom he gave a round ivory double compass dyall. Much they marvailed at
the playing of the fly and needle, which they could see so plainely, and yet
not touch it, because of the glasse that covered them. But when he demon-
strated by that globe-like Jewell the roundnesse of the earth, and skies, the
spheare of the sunne, moone, and starres, and how the sunne did chase the
night round about the world continually ; the greatnesse of the land and see,
the diversitie of nations, varietie of complexions, and how we were to them
Antipodes, and many other such like matters, they all stood as amazed with
admiration. Notwithstanding, within an houre after they tyed him to a tree,
and as many as could stand about him prepared to shoot him, but the King
holding up the compass in his hand, they all laid downe their bowes and
arrowes, and in a triumphant manner led him to Orapaks, where he was after
their manner kin-lly feasted and well used."

At the time of this occurrence, Smith had been in Virginia about eight
months. Considering, then, his very slender attainments in the Indian language,
we may well doubt whether he succeeded, in an hour, in makijig his astronomy,
geography, and ethnography very intelligible to his savage auditors.

10. Points = " A tagged lace, used to tie together certain parts of the
dress." WEBSTER.

11. He = King Opechancanough.

12. " Yet according to his request they went to James Towne." Gen-
erall Historic.

13. This refers to information given by Opechancanough. "The Kinge
tooke greate delight in understanding the manner of our ships and sayling the
seas, and of our God; what he knew of the dominions he spared not to ac-
quaint me with, as of certaine men cloathed at a place called Ocanahonan,
cloathed like me, the course of our river, and that within four or five daies
journey of the falles was a great turning of salt water."

14. Situated on York river, about twelve miles from Jamestown.

15. In the " Generall Historic " spelled Rarowcun = raccoon'. The ety-
mology of raccoon in Webster and Skeat fails to give the Indian origin of
the word; it is found, however, in "The Century Dictionary" and "The

' Standard Dictionary."

33 2 AME2UCAN LITERATURE.

II.
MATHER'S MAGNALIA CHRISTI.

CHAPTER II.
PRIMORDIA ; x OR, THE VOYAGE TO NEW ENGLAND, WHICH PRODUCED

THE FIRST SETTLEMENT OF NEW PLYMOUTH ; WITH AN ACCOUNT

OF MANY REMARKABLE AND MEMORABLE PROVIDENCES RELAT-
ING TO THAT VOYAGE.

i . A NUMBER of devout and serious Christians in the English
nation, finding the Reformation of the Church 2 in that nation, accord-
ing to the WORD OF GOD, 3 and the design of many among the first
Reformers, to labour under a sort of hopeless retardation;* they did,
Anno 1602, in the north of England, 5 enter into a COVENANT, wherein
expressing themselves desirous, not only to attend the worship of our
Lord Jesus Christ, with a freedom from humane 6 inventions and addi-
tions, 1 but also to enjoy all the Evangelical Institutions of that wor-
ship, they did like those Macedonians, that are therefore by the
Apostle Paul commended, "give themselves up, first unto God, and
then to one another." 8 These pious people finding that their breth-
ren and neighbors in the Church of England, as then established by
law, took offense at these their endeavors after a scriptural reforma-
tion ; and being loth to live in the continual vexations which they felt
arising from their non-conformity 9 to things which their consciences
accounted superstitious and unwarrantable, they peaceably and will-
ingly embraced a banishment into the Netherlands ; where they settled
at the city of Leyden, 10 about seven or eight years after their first
combination. And now in that city this people 11 sojourned, an holy
CHURCH of the blessed JESUS, for several years under the pastoral
care of Mr. John Robinson, 1 . 2 who had for his help in the government
of the Church, a most wise, grave, good man, Mr. William Brewster, 13
the ruling elder. Indeed, Mr. John Robinson had been in \i\syounger

MATHER'S MAGNALIA CHRISTI. 333

time (as very good fruit hath sometimes been, before age hath ripened
it) sowred with the principles of the most rigid separation, in the
maintaining whereof he composed and published some little Treatises,
and in the management of the controversie made no scruple to call the
incomparable Dr. Ames H himself, Dr. Amiss, for opposing such a
degree of separation. But this worthy man suffered himself at length
to be so far convinced by his learned antagonist that with a most in-
genious retractation, he afterwards writ a little book to prove the law-
fulness of one thing, which his mistaken zeal had formerly impugned
several years, even till 1625, and about the fiftieth year of his own
age, continued he a blessing unto the whole Church of God, and
at last, when he died, he left behind him in his immortal writings,
a name very much embalmed among the people that are best able
to judge of merit ; and even among such, as about the matters of
Church-discipline, were not of his persivasion. Of such an eminent
character was he, while he lived, that when Arminianism IS so much
prevailed, as it then did in the low countries, those famous divines,
Polyander and Festus Hommius, employed this our learned Robinson
to dispute publickly in the University of Leyden against Episcopius, 16
and the other champions of that grand choak-iueed of true Christian-
ity : and when he died, not only the University, and Ministers of the
city, accompanied him to his grave, with all their accustomed solemni-
ties, but some of the chief among them with sorrowful resentments
and expressions affirmed, " That all the Churches of our Lord Jesus
Christ had sustained a great loss by the death of this worthy man."

2. The English Church had not been very long at Leyden, before
they found themselves encountered with many inconveniences. They
felt that they were neither for health, nor purse, nor language well ac-
commodated ; but the concern which they most of all had, was for their
posterity. They saw, that whatever banks the Dutch had, against the
inroads of the sea, they had not sufficient ones against a flood of mani-
fold profaneness. They could not with ten years' endeavor bring their
neighbors particularly to any suitable observation of the LORD'S DAY ; I?
without which they knew that all practical Religion must wither miser-
ably. They beheld some of their children, by the temptations of the
place, which were especially given in the licentious ways of many young
people, drawn into dangerous extravagancies. Moreover, they were
very loth to lose their interest in the English nation ; but were desirous
rather to enlarge their King's dominions. They found themselves also
under a very strong disposition of zeal, to attempt the establishment of

334 AMERICAN LIl^ERATURE.

CONGREGATIONAL CHURCHES l8 in the remote parts of the world ; where
they hoped they should be reached by the royal influence of their
Prince, in whose allegiance they chose to live and die ; at' the same
time likewise hoping that the Ecclesiasticks, who had thus driven
them out of the kingdom into a New World, for nothing in the world
but their non-conforuiity to certain rites, by the imposers confessed
indifferent,^ would be ashamed ever to persecute them with any
further molestations, at the distance of a thousand leagues. These
reasons were deeply considered by the Church ; and after many delib-
erations, accompanied with the most solemn humiliations and sup-
plications before the God of Heaven, they took up a resolution, tinder
the conduct of Heaven, to REMOVE into AMERICA ; the opened regions
whereof had now filled all Europe with reports. It was resolved; that
part of the Church should go before their brethren, to prepare a place
for the rest ; and whereas the minor part of younger and stronger men
were to go first, the Pastor was to stay with the major, till they should
see cause to follow. Nor was there any occasion for this resolve, in
any weariness which the States of Holland had of their company, as
was basely whispered by their adversaries ; therein like those who of
old assigned the same cause for the departure of the Israelites out
Egypt: for the magistrates of Leyden in their Court, reproving the
Walloons, 20 gave this testimony for our English: " These have lived
now ten years among us, and yet we never had any accusation against
any one of them ; whereas }our quarrels are continual. 1 '

3. These good people were now satisfyed, they had as plain a
command of Heaven to attempt a removal, as ever their father Abra-
ham had for his leaving the Caldean territories ; 21 and it was nothing
but such a satisfaction that could have carried them through such,
otherwise insuperable difficulties, as they met w r ithal. But in this
removal the terminus ad quern 22 was not yet resolved upon. The
country of Guiana flattered them with the promises of a perpetual
Spring, and a thousand other comfortable entertainments. But the
probable disagreement of so torrid a climate unto English bodies, and
the more dangerous vicinity of the Spaniards to that climate, were
considerations which made them fear that country would be too hot
for them. They rather propounded some country bordering upon
Virginia; and unto this purpose, they sent over agents into England,
who so far treated not only with the Virginia company, but with sev-
eral great persons about the Court ; unto whom they made evident
their agreement with the French Reformed Churches in all things

MATHER'S MAGNALIA CHRIS TI. 335

whatsoever, except in a few small accidental points; that at last, after
many tedious delays, and after the loss of many friends and /topes in
those delays, they obtained a Patent for a quiet settlement in those
territories ; and the Archbishop of Canterbury himself gave them some
expectations that they should never be disturbed in that exercise of
Religion, at which they aimed in their settlement; yea, when Sir
Robert Nanton, then principal Secretary of State unto King James,
moved his Majesty to give away " that such a people might enjoy their
liberty of conscience under his gracious protection in America, where
they would endeavor the advancement of his Majesty's dominions, and
the enlargement of the interests of the Gospel ; " the King said, " It
was a good and honest motion." All this notwithstanding, they never
made use of that Patent : but being informed of New England, thither
they diverted their design, thereto induced by sundry reasons ; but
particularly by this, that the coast being extremely well circumstanced
for fishing, they might therein have some immediate assistance against
the hardships of their first encounters. Their agents then again sent
over to England concluded articles between them and such adven-
turers as would be concerned with them in their present undertakings
articles that were indeed sufficiently hard 21 for those poor men that
were now to transplant themselves into an horrid wilderness. The
diversion of their enterprise from the first state and way of it, caused an
unhappy division among those that should have encouraged it ; and
many of them hereupon fell off. But the Removers having already
sold their estates, to put the money into a common stock, 2 * fo - the wel-
fare of the whole; and their stock as well as their time spending so fast
as to threaten them with an army of straits, if they delayed any longer :
they nimbly dispatched the best agreements they could, and came
away furnished with a Resolution for a large Tract of Land in the
southwest part of New England.

4. All things being now in some readiness, and a couple of
ships, one called The Speedwell, the other The May-Flower, being
hired for their transportation, they solemnly set apart a day for fasting
and prayer; wherein their Pastor preached unto them upon Ezra viii.
21 : "I proclaimed a fast there, at the river Ahava, that we might
afflict ourselves before our God, to seek of him a right way for us, and
for our little ones, and for all our substance."

After the fervent supplications of this day, accompanied by their
affectionate friends, they took their leave of the pleasant city, where
they had been pilgrims and strangers now for eleven years. Delft-

336 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Haven 2S was the town where they went on board one of their ships,
and there they had such a mournful parting from their brethren, as
even drowned the Dutch spectators themselves, then standing on the
shore, in tears. Their excellent Pastor, on his knees, by the sea-side,
poured out their mutual petitions unto God ; and having wept in one
another's arms, as long as the wind and the tide would permit them,
they bad adieu. So sailing to Southampton in England, they there
found the other of their ships come from London, with the rest of
their friends that were to be the companions of the voyage. Let my
reader place the chronology of this business on July 2, 1620. And
know, that the faithful Pastor of this people immediately sent after
them a pastoral letter ; a letter filled with holy counsels unto them,
to settle their peace with God in their own consciences, by an exact
repentance of all sin whatsoever, that so they might more easily bear
all the difficulties that were now before them ; and then to maintain a
good peace with one another, and beware of giving or taking offences ;
and avoid all discoveries of a touchy humour ; but use much bi-otherly
forbearance (where by the way he had this remarkable observation :
" In my own experience few or none have been found that sooner give
offence, than those that easily take it ; neither have they ever proved
sound and profitable members of societies who have nourished this
touchy humour ") ; as also to take heed of a private spirit, and all
retiredness of mind in each man, for his own proper advantage; and
likewise to be careful, that the house of God, which they were, might
not be shaken with unnecessary novelties or oppositions ; which LET-
TER afterwards produced most happy fruits among them.

5. On August 5, 1620, they set sail from Southampton; but if it
shall, as I believe it will, afflict my reader to be told what heart-break-
ing disasters befell them, in the very beginning of their undertaking,
let him glorifie God, who carried them so well through their greater
affliction.

They were by bad weather twice beaten back, before they came to
the Land's end. But it was judged, that the badness of the weather
did not retard them so much as the deceit of a master, who, grow'n
sick of the voyage, made such pretences about the leakiness of his
vessel, that they were forced at last wholly to dismiss that lesser ship
from the service. Being now all 26 stowed into one ship, on the sixth
of September they put to sea ; but they met with such terrible storms,
that the principal persons on board had serious deliberations upon
returning home again ; however, after long beating upon the Atlantick

MATHER'S MAGNALIA CHRISTL 337

ocean, they fell in with the land at Cape Cod, about the ninth of No-
vember following, where going on shore they fell upon their knees,
with many and hearty praises unto God, who had been their assu-
rance, when they were afar off upon the sea, and was to be further so,
now that they were come to the ends of the earth,

But why at this Cape? Here was not the port which they in-
tended : this was not the land for which they had provided. There
was indeed a most wonderful providence of God, over a pious and a
praying people, in this disappointment ! The most crooked way that
ever was gone, even that of Israel's peregrination through the wilder-
ness, may be called a right way, such was the way of this little Israel,
now going into a wilderness.

338 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

NOTES TO MAGNALIA CHRISTI.

THE extract for special study is from the second chapter of the first. book
of the " Magnalia Christi." Both the original edition of 1702 (Thomas
Parkhurst, London) and the reprint of 1853 (Silas Andrus & Son, Hartford)
have been used. The editor of the latter edition says: "The author's lan-
guage is peculiarly his own. In the rapidity of his manner, he could pay but
little attention to style." The justice of this observation will be apparent
from a consideration of the first few sentences. The orthography and Italics
of the original have been retained.

1. Primordia = the earliest beginnings, or primitive history.

2. The Reformation in England was begun by Henry VIII., and firmly
established by Elizabeth. The Act of Supremacy, declaring the king to be
the " only supreme head on earth of the Church of England," was passed in
I 53S- This may be regarded as the beginning of the Reformation.

3. The rallying point of the Reformers of the sixteenth century was " the
Word of God." In opposition to the authority of tradition and of the Pope,
they laid down the principle that "the Scriptures are the only rule of faith
and practice in religion." The Puritans maintained that the Anglican
Church, instead of returning to the simplicity of the primitive church, re-
tained too many ceremonies of the Roman Catholic Church. The Puritans
were so called because they urged, as they claimed, a purer worship.

4. The Act of Uniformity, which required that all public worship be con-
ducted according to the Book of Common Prayer, was passed in 1559. It
was enforced by Elizabeth with great rigor, the penalty for a third violation
being imprisonment for life. Under these circumstances the Reformation,
from the Puritan standpoint, indeed suffered a " hopeless retardation."

5. The covenant in question was formed at the village of Scrooby in
Nottinghamshire.

6. This is the old spelling of human, which comes to us through the
French. Humane, which has the accent on the last syllable, comes directly
from the Latin humanus.

7. By human "inventions and additions" are meant the clerical vest-
ments and elaborate liturgy of the Anglican Church.

8. A free reference to 2 Cor. viii. 5 : " And this they did, not as we hoped,
but first gave their own selves to the Lord, and unto us by the will of God."

9. The Puritans refused, as a matter of conscience, to wear clerical vest-

NOTES TO MAGNALIA CHR1STI. 339

ments and to use the Book of Common Prayer in public worship. This was
a violation of the Act of Uniformity, and hence they were called Non-
conformists. It is estimated that in 1604 there were more than fifteen
hundred Nonconformist clergymen in England and Wales.

10. Leyden was at this time the chief manufacturing city of the Nether-
lands, with a population of fully 70,000.

11. It is estimated that there were nearly three hundred adult persons
belonging to the congregation.

12. John Robinson (1575-1625) was educated at Cambridge, held a
benefice in Norfolk, was suspended for nonconformity, and then formed
a congregation of Independents. A man of strong faith, excellent scholar-
ship, and great ability, he deserved the praise bestowed upon him by Mather.

13. William Brewster (1560-1644) was the most considerable lay mem-
ber of the congregation immigrating to Holland. He supported himself
there by teaching English. He is generally known in history as Elder
Brewster, from the office he held in the church.

14. William Ames, D.D. (1576-1633), was an independent theologian
of England, and fellow of Christ College, Cambridge. He left England in
the reign of James I. to escape persecution, and became minister of the Eng-
lish church at The Hague. He was at Rotterdam, expecting to sail to Amer-
ica, when his death occurred.

15. By Arminianism is meant the peculiar doctrines of Arminius, a
learned theologian of Holland. He was born in 1560, and died in 1609. His
teachings may be summarized as follows : " I, God elects men to salvation on
the basis of foreseen faith ; 2, Christ died for all men, but only believers
partake of the universal redemption ; 3, Man, in order truly to believe, must
be regenerated by the Holy Spirit ; 4, The grace, by which true faith is
effected, is not irresistible ; 5, Men may fall away from a state of grace."
The doctrines of Arminius, which are now widespread in various parts of the
Christian church, were condemned by the Synod of Dort.

1 6. Simon Episcopius (his Dutch name was Bisschop) was born at Am-
sterdam in 1583 and died in 1643. He became the leader of the Arminian
party after the death of Arminius. After the Synod of Dort in 1618, he was
banished from Holland, but returned in 1626 to Amsterdam, where he be-
came a professor of theology in the Arminian College there.

17. The Puritans transferred to the Christian Lord's day the rigorous
laws of the old Jewish Sabbath. This transference has never been extensively
sanctioned on the Continent, where indeed, as many believe, the tendency has
been to the opposite extreme.

1 8. Congregationalism is that form of church government which rests all
ecclesiastical power in the assembled brotherhood of each local church.
Hence, it is opposed to the episcopal system of church government.

34O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

19. "The principle upon which the bishops justified their severities
against the Puritans was the subjects' obligation to obey the laws of their
country in all things indifferent, which are neither commanded nor forbidden
by the laws of God." Neal's Puritans, Vol. I., p. 79. To the Puritans,
however, they were not things of indifference, but of conscience.

20. The Walloons are Romanized Gauls, lineal representatives of the
ancient Belgse. They exhibit the Celtic temperament. Their number at
present in Belgium is nearly three millions.

21. See Gen. xii. I.

22. Terminus ad quern = destination.

23. The substance of these articles is given in Palfrey's *' History of New
England," Vol. I., p. 154.

24. This act showed the deep earnestness of the Puritans. It was only
a temporary communism growing out of their necessities. Bradford, a leader
among the Plymouth colonists, wrote: "The experience that was had in this
common course and condition, tried sundry years, and that amongst godly and
sober men, may well evince the vanity of that conceit of Plato's and other
ancients, applauded by some of later times, that the taking away of property,
and bringing in community into a commonwealth, would make them happy
and flourishing ; as if they were wiser than God."

25. Delftshaven is fourteen miles from Leyden and two miles from
Rotterdam, on the river Maas. Its present population is about 10,000.

26. When it was decided that the Speedwell was unseaworthy, a part of
the company returned to England. The original number was about one hun-
dred and twenty, of whom one hundred and two continued their journey in
the Mayflower.

ADDRESS TO POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC. 341

III.

SELECTION FROM FRANKLIN.

PRELIMINARY ADDRESS TO THE PENNSYLVANIA ALMANAC, EN-
TITLED POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC, FOR THE YEAR 1758.

I HAVE heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to
find his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors. This
pleasure I have seldom enjoyed ; for though I have been, if I may say
it without vanity, an eminent author (of almanacs) annually, now a full
quarter of a century, my brother authors in the same way (for what
reason I know not) have ever been very sparing in their applauses ;
and no other author has taken the least notice of me : so that, did not
my writings produce me some solid pudding, the great deficiency of
praise would have quite discouraged me.

I concluded, at length, that the people were the best judges of my
merit, for they buy my works ; and besides, in my rambles, where I am
not personally known, I have frequently heard one and another of my
adages repeated, with " As poor Richard says," at the end on't. This
gave me some satisfaction, as it showed not only that my instructions
were regarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my authority ;
and I own, that to encourage the practice of remembering and repeat-
ing those wise sentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great
gravity. 1

Judge, then, how much I have been gratified by an incident which
I am going to relate to you, I stopped my horse lately, where a great
number of people were collected at an auction 2 of merchants' goods.
The hour of sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness
of the times ; and one of the company called to a plain, clean old man,
with white locks: "Pray, father Abraham, what think ye of the
times? 3 Won't these heavy taxes quite ruin the country? How shall
we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to do?"
Father Abraham stood up and replied, " If you'd have my advice, I'll
give it to you in short ; ' for a word to the wise is enough ; and many
words won't fill a bushel,' as poor Richard says." They joined in de-

342 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

siring him to speak his mind ; and gathering'round him, he proceeded
as follows :

* Friends (says he) and neighbors, the taxes are indeed very
heavy ; and if those laid on by the government were the only ones we
had to pay, we might more easily discharge them ; but we have many
others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice
as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four
times as much by our folly; 4 and from these taxes the commissioners
cannot ease or deliver us, by allowing an abatement. However, let us
hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us ; ' God
helps them that help themselves,' as poor Richard says in his almanac.

I. 5 " It would be thought a hard government that should tax its
people one-tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service; but
idleness taxes many of us much more, if we reckon all that is spent in
absolute sloth, or doing of nothing, with that which is spent in idle
employments, or amusements that amount to nothing. Sloth, by
bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life. ' Sloth, like rust, con-
sumes faster than labor wears, while the key often used is always
bright,' as poor Richard says. ' But dost thou love life? then do not
squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of,' as poor Richard
says. How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep, for-
getting, that the sleeping fox catches no poultry, and that there will
be sleeping enough in the grave,' as poor Richard says. * If time be
of all things the most precious, wasting time must be (as poor Richard
says) the greatest prodigality ; ' since, as he elsewhere tells us, ' Lost
time is never found again: and what we call time enough, always
proves little enough. 1 Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the
purpose ; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity. ' Sloth
makes all things difficult, but industry all easy,' as poor Richard says ;
and ' He that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his
business at night ; while laziness travels so slowly, that poverty soon
overtakes him,' as we read in poor Richard ; who adds, ' Drive thy
business, let not that drive thee ; ' a\id * Early to bed, and early to
rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.'

"So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? We
make these times better if we bestir ourselves. ' Industry need not
wish,' as poor Richard says ; and, ' He that lives upon hope will die
fasting.' 'There are no gains without pains; then help, hands, for I
have no lands ; or if 1 have, they are smartly taxed ; ' and (as poor
Richard likewise observes), ' He that hath a trade hath an estate, and

ADDRESS TO POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC, 343

he that hath a calling hath an office of profit and honor ; ' but then
the trade must be worked at, and the calling well followed, or neither
the estate nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are
industrious, we shall never starve ; for, as poor Richard says, At the
workingman's house hunger looks in, b.ut dare not enter.' Nor will
the bailiff or the constable enter ; for ' Industry pays debts, but de-
spair increaseth them,' says poor Richard. What though you have
found no treasure, nor has any rich relation left you a legacy? ' Dili-
gence is the mother of good luck,' as poor Richard says ; and, ' God
gives all things to industry ; then plough deep while sluggards sleep,
and you will have corn to sell and to keep,' says poor Dick. Work
while it is called to-day; for you know not how much you may be.
hindered to-morrow ; which makes poor Richard say, ' One to-day is
worth two to-morrows ; ' and farther, ' Have you somewhat to do to-
morrow, do it to-day.' * If you were a servant, would you not be
ashamed that a good master should catch you idle? Are you then
your own master, be ashamed to catch yourself idle,' as poor Dick
says. When there is so much to be done for yo.urself, your family,
and your gracious king, be up by peep of day ; Let not the sun look
down and say, Inglorious here he lies!' . ' Handle your tools without
mittens ; ' remember, that * the cat in gloves catches no mice,' as poor
Richard says. It is true, there is much to be done, and perhaps you
are weak-handed ; but stick to it steadily, and you will see great
effects ; for, * continual dropping wears away stones,' and ' by diligence
and patience the mouse ate in two the cable,' and ' light strokes fell
great oaks,' as poor Richard says in his almanac, the year I cannot
just now remember.

" Methinks I hear some of you say, 'Must a man afford himself
no leisure?' I will tell thee, my friend, what poor Richard says:
' Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure ; and since
thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour.' Leisure is
time for doing something useful : this leisure the diligent man will
obtain; but the lazy man never; so that, as poor Richard says, 'A
life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things.' Do you imagine
that sloth will afford you more comfort than labor? No ; for, as poor
Richard says, Troubles spring from idleness, and grievous toils from
needless ease : many, without labor, would live by their wits only ; but
they break for want of stock.' Whereas industry gives comfort, and
plenty, and respect. ' Fly pleasures, and they'll follow you ; the dili-
gent spinner has a large shift ; and, now I have a sheep and cow,

344 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

everybody bids me good-morrow ; ' all which is well said by poor
Richard.

II. " But with our industry we must likewise be steady and set-
tled and careful, and oversee our own affairs with our own eyes, and
not trust too much to others ; for, as poor Richard says, -

' I never saw an oft-removed tree,
Nor yet an oft-removed family,
That throve so well as one that settled be.'

"And again, 'Three removes are as bad as a fire;' and again,
'Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee;' and again, ' If you
would have your business done, go; if not, send.' 6 And again,

He that by the plow would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive.'

" And again, ' The eye of the master will do more work than both
his hands ; ' and again, ' Want of care does us more damage than
want of knowledge ; ' and again, ' Not to oversee workmen, is to leave
them your purse open ! ' Trusting too much to others 1 care is the ruin
of many; for, as the almanac says, 'In the affairs of the world, men
are saved not by faith, but by the want of it;' but a man's own
care is profitable; for, saith poor Dick, ' Learning is to the studious,
and riches to the careful, as well as power to the bold, and heaven to
the virtuous.' And, farther, ' If you would have a faithful servant, and
one that you like, serve yourself.' And again, he adviseth to circum-
spection and care, even in the smallest matters, because sometimes,
' A little neglect may breed great mischief; ' adding, ' For want of a
nail the shoe was lost ; for want of a shoe the horse was lost ; and for
want of a horse the rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the
enemy all for want of a little care about a horse-shoe nail.'

III. "So much for industry, my friends, and attention to one's
own business ; but to these we must add frugality, 7 if we would make
our industry more certainly successful. A man may, if he knows not
how to save as he gets, ' keep his nose all his life to the grindstone,
and die not worth a groat at last.' ' A fat kitchen makes a lean will/
as poor Richard says, and,

' Many estates are spent in the getting,
Since women for tea forsook spinning and knittirg,
And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting.'

ADDRESS TO POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC. 345

" ' If you would be wealthy,' says he in another almanac, ' Think
of saving as well as getting : the Indies 8 have not made Spain rich,
because her outgoes are greater than her incomes.'

"Away then with your expensive follies, and you will not have
much cause to complain of hard times, heavy taxes, and chargeable
families ; for, as poor Dick says,

' Women and wine, game and deceit,
Make the wealth small, and the want great.'

"And, farther, ' What maintains one vice would bring up two chil-
dren.' You may think, perhaps, that a little tea, or a little punch
now and then, diet a little more costly, clothes a little finer, and a
little entertainment now and then, can be no great matter; but re-
member what poor Richard says, ' Many a little makes a mickle ; '
and, farther, Beware of little expenses ; a small leak will sink a great
ship ; ' and again, Who dainties love shall beggars prove ; ' and
moreover, ' Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them. 1

"Here you are all got together at this sale of fineries and nick-
nacks. You call them goods-, but if you do not take care, they will
prove evils to some of you. You expect they will be sold cheap, and
perhaps they may for less than they cost ; but if you have no occasion
for them, they must be dear to you. Remember what poor Richard
says, ' Buy what thou hast no need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy
necessaries.' And again, ' At a great pennyworth, pause awhile.' He
means that perhaps the cheapness is apparent only, and not real ; or,
the bargain, by straitening thee in thy business, may do thee more
harm than good. For in another place he says, ' Many have been
ruined by buying good pennyworths.' Again, as poor Richard says,
*It is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance,' and yet
this folly is practised every day at auctions, for want of minding the.
almanac. ' Wise men,' as poor Dick says, ' learn by others' harms,
fools scarcely by their own ; but Felix quern factunt alien a pericula can-
tum.""* Many a one, for the sake of finery on the back, has gone with
a hungry belly, and half starved their families : * Silks and satins, scar-
let and velvets,' as poor Richard says, * put out the kitchen fire.' These
are not the necessaries of life ; they can scarcely be called the conve-
niences ; and yet only because they look pretty, how many want to
have them ? The artificial wants of mankind thus become more nu-
merous than the natural ; and, as poor Dick says, For one poor person

346 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

there are a hundred indigent.' I0 By these and other extravagances,
the genteel are reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow of those
whom they formerly despised, but who, through industry and frugality,
have maintained their standing ; in which case, it appears plainly, ' A
ploughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees, 1 as
poor Richard says. Perhaps th^y have had a small estate left them,
which they knew not the getting of; they think, 'It is day, and will
never be night ; ' that a little to be spent out of so much is not worth
minding: ' A child and a fool (as poor Richard says) imagine twenty
shillings and twenty years can never be spent ; but always be taking
out of the meal-tub, and never putting in, soon comes to the bottom ; '
then, as poor Dick says, When the well is dry, they know the worth
of water. 1 But this they might have known before, if they had taken
his advice. If you would know the value of money, go and try to bor-
row some ; for ' He that goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing ; ' and,
indeed, so does he that lends to such people, when he goes to get it
again. Poor Dick farther advises, and says,

' Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse ;
Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse.'

" And again, ' Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal
more saucy. 1 When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy
ten more, that your appearance may be all of a piece ; but poor Dick
says, ' It is easier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that
follow it. 1 And it is as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich, as for
the frog to swell, in order to equal the ox.

' Vessels large may venf ure more,
But little boats sho.uld keep near shore.'

** 'Tis, however, a folly soon punished ; for, ' Pride that dines on
vanity, sups on contempt, 1 as poor Richard says. And, in another
place, ' Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped
with Infamy. 1 And after all, of what use is this pride of appearance
for which so much is risked, so much is suffered? It cannot promote
health nor ease pain ; it makes no increase of merit in the person ; it
creates envy ; it hastens misfortune.

What is a butterfly ? at best,
He's but a caterpillar dress'd;
The gaudy fop's his picture just,'

as poor Richard says.

" But what madness must it be to run in debt for these superflui-

ADDRESS TO POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC. 347

ties : we are offered by the terms of this sale six months credit, and that
perhaps has induced some of us to attend it, because we cannot spare
the ready money, and hope now to be fine without it. But ah ! think
what you do when you run in debt. You give to another power over
your liberty. If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to
see your creditor : you will be in fear when you speak to him ; you
will make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and by degrees come to
lose your veracity, and sink into base, downright lying ; for, as poor
Richard says, ' The second vice is lying ; the first is running in debt.'
And again, to the same purpose, ' Lying rides upon debt's back ; '
whereas a freeborn Englishman ought not to be ashamed nor afraid
to speak to any man living. But poverty often deprives a man of all
spirit and virtue : ' It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright,' as
poor Richard truly says. What would you think of that prince or that
government, who would issue an edict, forbidding you to dress like a
gentleman or gentlewoman, on pain of imprisonment or servitude?
would you not say that you were free, have a right to dress as you
please, and that such an edict would be a breach of your privileges,
and such a government tyrannical? And yet you are about to put
yourself under that tyranny when you run in debt for such dress !
Your creditor has authority, at his pleasure, to deprive you of your
liberty, 'by confining you in gaol for life,' 11 or by selling you for a
servant, if you should not be able to pay him. When you have got
your bargain, you may, perhaps, think little of payment ; but, ' Credit-
ors (poor Richard tells us) have better memories than debtors ; ' and
in another place he says, ' Creditors are a superstitious sect, great ob-
servers of set days and times.' The day comes round before you are
aware, and the demand is made before you are prepared to satisfy it.
Or if you bear your debt in mind, the term, which at first seemed s.o
long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will seem
to have added wings to his heels as well as at his shoulders. ' Those
have a short Lent (saith poor Richard) who owe money to be paid at
Easter.' Then since, as he says, * The' borrower is a slave to the
lender, and the debtor to the creditor; 1 disdain the chain, preserve
your freedom, and maintain your independency: be industrious and
free ; be frugal and free. At present, perhaps, you may think your-
selves in thriving circumstances, and that you can bear a little extrav-
agance without injury ; but, as poor Richard says,

' For age and want save while you may,
No morning sun lasts a whole day.'

348 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" Gain may be temporary and uncertain ; but ever, while you live
expense is constant and certain ; and ' It is easier to build two chim-
neys than to keep one in fuel, 1 as poor Richard says. So ' Rather go
to bed supperless than rise in debt.'

' Get what you can, and what you get, hold ;
'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold,'

as poor Richard says. And when you have got the philosopher's
stone, sure you will no longer complain of bad times or the difficulty
of paying taxes.

IV. " This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom : but, after
all, do not depend too much upon your own industry, and frugality,
and prudence, though excellent things ; for they may all be blasted
without the blessing of Heaven; 12 and, therefore, ask that blessing
humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that at present seem to
want it, but comfort and help them. Remember Job suffered, and
was afterwards prosperous.

"And now, to conclude, 'Experience keeps a dear school; but
fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that ; for it is true, we may
give advice, but we cannot give conduct, 1 as poor Richard says.
However, remember this, ' They that will not be counseled, cannot
be helped, 1 as poor Richard says; and, farther, that 'If you will not
hear Reason, she will surely rap your knuckles. 11 '

Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard
it, and approved the doctrine, and immediately practised the contrary,
just as if it had been a common sermon ; for the auction opened, and
they began to buy extravagantly, notwithstanding all his cautions, and
their own fear of taxes. I found the good man had thoroughly studied
my almanacs, and digested all I had dropped on these topics, during
the course of twenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me
must have tired every one else ; but my vanity was wonderfully de-
lighted with it, though I was conscious that not a tenth part of the
wisdom was my own, which he ascribed to me, but rather the glean-
ings that I had made of the sense of all ages and nations. However,
I resolved to be the better for the echo of it ; and though I had at first
determined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away, resolved to wear
my old one a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy
profit will be as great as mine.

I am, as ever, thine to serve thee,

RICHARD SAUNDERS.

NOTES TO ADDRESS TO POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC. 349

NOTES TO THE PRELIMINARY ADDRESS TO POOR RICHARD'S

ALMANAC.

SEE the sketch of Franklin for an account of the "Almanac," and the
popularity of Father Abraham's speech.

1. The opening paragraphs well illustrate Franklin's style. It is clear
and natural, and pervaded by a kindly humor. The flavor of Addison's
Spectator is easily recognized. The Saxon element of our language predom-
inates, and there is almost a total lack of figurative language.

2. Note the etymology: Latin augere, to increase. "A public sale,
where the price was called out and the article sold adjudged to the last
increaser of the price, or the highest bidder." WEBSTER.

The place for Father Abraham's speech was wisely chosen. The auctions
of those days were scenes of extravagance and folly. The people, summoned
by bell and crier, gathered long before the sale began, and were supplied
with rum by the salesman. Thus, when the auction began, they were in a
condition to pay prices they would not have thought of in their sober senses.

3. The people might well inquire of the times. It was a day of darkness
and gloom. " The French and Indian War had been raging four years ; and
success was still with the French. Washington had been driven from Fort
Necessity. Braddock had perished in the woods. The venture against
Niagara had failed. That against Ticonderoga had done little. The sea
swarmed with French and Spanish privateers. Trade was dull. Taxes were
heavy. Grumbling was everywhere. Men of all sorts bemoaned the hard
times." McMASTER.

4. Here we are introduced to Franklin's philosophy of life. It has been
called "the candle-end-saving philosophy.' Moral considerations for their
own sake hardly entered into it. The virtues of industry, frugality, and in-
tegrity were to be practised as the best policy. Idleness, wastefulness, and
knavery were to be avoided because experience shows that they do not
pay.

5. Note the four divisions of the speech or sermon. The first treats of
industry ; the second, of attention to one's business ; the third, of frugality ;
the fourth (and very briefly), of the blessing of Heaven. It would be difficult
to find elsewhere so much practical wisdom crowded into a small space. The
maxims, for the most part, were not original, but taken from every available
source. Many of them were improved by Franklin's happy phraseology. For
example, the aphorism, '" Bad hours and ill company have ruined many fine

35O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

young people," was transformed in "Poor Richard" into, "The rotten
apple spoils his companions."

6. This adage is noteworthy for its connection with an event in the life
of the Revolutionary hero, Paul Jones. After his celebrated victory in the
Ranger, he went to Brest to await the command of a new ship that had been
promised him. He waited for months in vain. He wrote to Franklin, to
the royal family, and to the king, but was put off with delays and excuses.
Finally, he happened to pick up a copy of " Poor Richard," and read, " If
you would have your business done, go; if not, send; " and profiting by the
lesson, he hastened to Versailles, and there got an order for the purchase of
a ship, which, in honor of his teacher, he renamed the Bon Homme Richard.

7. It is significant that Franklin uses the word frugality rather than econ-
omy. It is more in harmony with his practical philosophy. " Economy avoids
all waste and extravagance, and applies money to the best advantage; fritgai-
ity cuts off all indulgences, and .proceeds on a system of rigid and habitual
saving." Frugality is in danger of running into the vice of parsimony.

8. These are the West Indies, to which Spain originally laid claim by the
so-called right of discovery. Of all the islands, only Cuba and Porto Rico
now belong to Spain. The extensive revenues at one time derived from the
Indies were squandered in foreign wars and domestic strife.

9. " Fortunate is the man who learns by the experience of others."

10. According to Franklin's distinction, a poor person is one who cannot
supply his natural wants; an indigent person is one who cannot supply his
artificial wants. Hence we may give the sense of the maxim by saying,
More persons suffer from artificial than from natural wants.

1 1 . The law giving the creditor a right to imprison the debtor in default
of payment continued till late into the present century. It was abolished in
New York in 1831. The history of the relation of debtor and creditor shows
the march of social progress. In ancient times the creditor had power not
only over the person of the debtor, but over his wife and children also. A
reference to this fact is found in Matt, xviii. 25.

12. Franklin firmly believed in an overruling Providence. In his last
illness he expressed his gratitude to the Supreme Being, "who had raised
him, from small and low beginnings, to such high rank and consideration
among men." This belief is clearly seen in his speech before the convention
assembled to frame the Constitution of the United States, when he moved
that the sessions be opened each day with prayer. " I have lived, sir, a long
time; and, the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth,
that GOD governs in ihe affairs of men; and, if a sparrow cannot fall to the
ground without his notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his
aid ? We have been assured, sir, in the Sacred Writings, that ' except the
Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it. % I firmly believe this."

RESOL UTIONS OF JON A THAN ED WARDS. 3 5 I

IV.

RESOLUTIONS OF JONATHAN EDWARDS.

BEING sensible that I am unable to do anything without God's
help, I do humbly entreat him by his grace, to enable me to keep
these resolutions, so far as they are agreeable to his will, for Christ's
sake.

Remember to read over these resolutions once a week.

1. Resolved, That I will do whatsoever I think to be most to the
glory of God 1 and my own good, profit, and pleasure, in the whole of
my duration, without any consideration of the time, whether now, or
never so many myriads of ages hence. Resolved, to do whatever I
think to be my duty, and most for the good of mankind in general.
Resolved 'so to do, whatever difficulties I meet with, how many soever,
and how great soever.

2. Resolved, To be continually endeavoring to find out some new
contrivance and invention to promote the forementioned things.

3. Resolved, If ever I shall fall and grow dull, so as to neglect to
keep any part of these resolutions, to repent of all I can remember,
when I come to myself again.

4. Resolved, Never to do any manner of thing, whether in soul or
body, less or more, but what tends to the glory oi God ; nor be, nor
suffer it, if I can possibly avoid it.

5. Resolved, Never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it
in the most profitable way I possibly can.

6. Resolved, To live with all my might while I do live.

7. Resolved, Never to do any thing which I should be afraid to do,
if it were the last hour of my life.

8. Resolved, To act, in all respects, both speaking and doing, as
if nobody had been so vile as I, and as if I had committed the same
sins, or had the same infirmities or failings as others ; and that I will
let the knowledge of their failings promote nothing but shame in myself,
and prove only an occasion of my confessing my own sins and misery
to God.

352 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

9. Resolved, To think much, on all occasions, of my own dying,
and of the common circumstances which attend death. 2

10. Resolved, When I feel pain, to think of the pains of martyr-
dom and of hell.

1 1 . Resolved, When I think of any theorem in divinity to be
solved, immediately to do what I can towards solving it, if circum-
stances do not hinder.

12. Resolved, If I take delight in it as a gratification of pride or
vanity, or on any such account, immediately to throw it by.

13. Resolved, To be endeavoring to find out fit objects of charity
and liberality.

14. Resolved, Never to do any thing out of revenge.

15. Resolved, Never to suffer the least motions of anger towards
irrational beings.

1 6. Resolved, Never to speak evil of any one so that it shall tend
to his dishonor, more or less, upon no account, except for some real
good.

17. Resolved, That I will live so, as I shall wish I had done when
I come to die.

1 8. Resolved, To live so at all times, as I think it best, in my most
devout frames, and when I have the clearest notion of the things of
the gospel and another world.

19. Resolved, Never to do any thing which I should be afraid to
do, if I expected it would not be above an hour before I should hear
the last trump.

20. Resolved, To maintain the strictest temperance in eating and
drinking.

21. Resolved, Never to do any thing, which, if I should see in
another, I should account a just occasion to despise him for, or to
think any way the more meanly of him.

22. Resolved, To endeavor to obtain for myself as much happiness
in the other world, as I possibly can, with all the might, power, vigor,
and vehemence, yea, violence, I am capable of, or can bring myself to
exert, in any way that can be thought of. 3

23. Resolved, Frequently to take some deliberate action, which
seems most unlikely to be done for the glory of God, and trace it back
to the original intention, designs, and ends of it ; and, if I find it not
to be for God's glory, to repute it as a breach of the fourth resolution.

24. Resolved, Whenever I do any conspicuously evil action, to
trace it back till I come to the original cause ; and then, both care-

RESOL UTIONS OF JON A THA N ED WARDS. 353

fully to endeavor to do so no more, and to fight and pray with all my
might against the original of it.

25. Resolved, To examine carefully and constantly what that one
thing in me is, which causes me in the least to doubt of the love of
God ; and to direct all my forces against it.

26. Resolved, To cast away such things as I find do abate my
assurance. 4

27. Resolved, Never wilfully to omit any thing, except the omis-
sion be for the glory of God ; and frequently to examine my omissions.

28. Resolved, To study the Scriptures so steadily, constantly, and
frequently, as that I may find, and plainly perceive myself to grow in
the knowledge of the same.

29. Resolved, Never to count that a prayer, nor to let that pass as
a prayer, nor that as a petition of a prayer, which is so made, that I
cannot hope that God will answer it ; nor that as a confession, which
I cannot hope God will accept.

30. Resolved, To strive every week to be brought higher in reli-
gion, and to a higher exercise of grace than I was the week before.

31. Resolved, Never to say any thing at all against anybody, but
when it is perfectly agreeable to the highest degree of Christian honor,
and of love to mankind ; agreeable to the lowest humility and sense of
my own faults and failings ; and agreeable to the Golden Rule ; often
when I have said any thing against any one, to bring it to, and try it
strictly by, the test of this resolution.

32. Resolved, To be strictly and firmly faithful to my trust, and
that that in Proverbs xx. 6, " A faithful man, who can find? " may not
be partly fulfilled in me.

33. Resolved, To do always towards making, maintaining, and
preserving peace, when it can be done without an overbalancing detri-
ment in other respects.

34. Resolved, In narrations, never to speak any thing but the pure
and simple verity.

35. Resolved, Whenever I so much question whether I have done
my duty, as that my quiet and calm is thereby disturbed, to set it down,
and also how the question was resolved.

36. Resolved, Never to speak evil of any, except I have some par-
ticular good call to it.

37. Resolved, To inquire every night, as I am going to bed, wherein
I have been negligent ; what sin I have committed ; and wherein I have
denied myself. Also at the end of every week, month, and year.

354 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

38. Resolved, Never to utter any thing that is sportive, or matter
of laughter, on a Lord's day. 5

39. Resolved, Never to do any thing of which I so much question
the lawfulness, as that I intend at the same time to consider and ex-
amine afterwards whether it be lawful or not, unless I as much question
the lawfulness of the omission.

40. Resolved, To inquire every night before I go to bed, whether
I have acted in the best way I possibly could with respect to eating
and drinking.

41 . Resolved, To ask myself, at the end of every day, week, month,
and year, wherein I could possibly, in any respect, have done better.

42. Resolved, Frequently to renew the dedication of myself to God,
which was made at my baptism ; which I solemnly renewed when I
was received into the communion of the Church ; and which I have
solemnly remade this I2th day of January, 1723.

43. Resolved, Never, henceforward, till I die, to act as if I were
any way my own, but entirely and altogether God's ; agreeably to what
is to be found in Saturday, January I2th, 1723.

44. Resolved, That no other end but religion shall have any in-
fluence at all on any of my actions ; and that no action shall be, in the
least circumstance, any otherwise than the religious end will carry it. 6

45. Resolved, Never to allow any pleasure or grief, joy or sorrow,
nor any affection at all, nor any degree of affection, nor any circum-
stance relating to it, but what helps religion.

46. Resolved, Never to allow the least measure of fretting or un-
easiness at my father or mother. Resolved, to suffer no effects of it,
so much as in the least alteration of speech, or motion, of my eye; and
to be especially careful of it with respect to any of our family.

47. Resolved, To endeavor, to my utmost, to deny whatever is not
most agreeable to a good and universally sweet and benevolent, quiet,
peaceable, contented and easy, compassionate and generous, humble
and meek, submissive and obliging, diligent and industrious, charitable
and even, patient, moderate, forgiving, and sincere temper; and to
do, at all times, what such a temper would lead me to, and to examine,
strictly, at the end of every week, whether I have so done.

48. Resolved, Constantly, with the utmost niceness and diligence,
and the strictest scrutiny, to be looking into the state of my soul, that
T may know whether I have truly an interest in Christ or not ; that,
when I come to die, I may not have any negligence respecting this, to
repent of.

RE SOL UT1ONS OF JON A THA IV ED W A RDS. 355

49. Resolved, That this shall never be, if I can help it.

50. Resolved, That I will act so, as I think I shall judge would
have been best and most prudent, when I come into the future world.

51. Resolved, That I will act so, in every respect, as I think I shall
wish I had done, if I should at last be damned.

52. I frequently hear persons in old age say how they would live,
if they were to live their lives over again. Resolved, that I will live
just so as I can think I shall wish I had done, supposing I live to old
age.

53. Resolved, To improve every opportunity, when I am in the
best and happiest frame of mind, to cast and venture my soul on the
Lord Jesus Christ, to trust and confide in him, and consecrate myself
wholly to him ; that from this I may have assurance oi my safety,
knowing that I confide in my Redeemer.

54. Resolved, Whenever I hear any thing spoken in commendation
of any person, if I think it would be praiseworthy in me, that I will
endeavor to imitate it.

55. Resolved, To endeavor, to my utmost, so to act as I can think
I should do, if I had already seen the happiness of heaven, and hell
torments.

56. Resolved, Never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my
fight with my corruptions, however unsuccessful I may be.

57. Resolved, When I fear misfortunes and adversity, to examine
whether I have done my duty, and resolve to do it, and let the event
be just as Providence orders it. I will, as far as I can, be concerned
about nothing but my duty and my sin.

58. Resolved, Not only to refrain from an air of dislike, fretful-
ness, and anger in conversation; but to exhibit an air of love, cheer-
fulness, and benignity.

59. Resolved, When I am most conscious of provocations to ill-
nature and anger, that I will strive most to feel and act good-naturedly ;
yea, at such times to manifest good-nature, though I think that in
other respects it would be disadvantageous, and so as would be impru-
dent at other times.

60. Resolved, Whenever my feelings begin to appear in the least
out of order, when I am conscious of the least uneasiness within, or
the least irregularity without, I will then subject myself to the strictest
examination.

61. Resolved, That I will not give way to that listlessness which I
find unbends and relaxes my mind from being fully and fixedly set on

356 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

religion, whatever excuse I may have for it ; that what my listlessness
inclines me to do, is best to be done, etc.

62. Resolved, Never to do any thing but my duty, and then, ac-
cording to Ephesians vi. 6-8, to do it willingly and cheerfully, as
unto the Lord, and not to man ; knowing, that whatever good any man
doth, the same shall he receive of the Lord.

63. On the supposition that there never was to be but one individ-
ual in the world at any one time who was properly a complete Chris-
tian, in all respects of a right stamp, having Christianity always
shining in its true lustre, and appearing excellent and lovely, from
whatever part, and under whatever character viewed ; Resolved, to
act just as I would do, if I strove with all my, might to be that one,
who should live in my time. 7

64. Resolved, When I find those " groanings which cannot be
uttered," of which the Apostle speaks, and those " breakings of soul
for the longing it hath," of which the Psalmist speaks, Psalm cxix. 20,
that I will promote them to the utmost of my power, and that I will
not be weary of earnestly endeavoring to vent my desires, nor of the
repetitions of such earnestness.

65. Resolved, Very much to exercise myself in this, all my life
long, namely, with the greatest openness of which I am capable, to
declare my ways to God, and lay open my soul to him, all my sins,
temptations, difficulties, sorrows, fears, hopes, desires, and every
thing, and every circumstance, according to Dr. Manton's Sermon on
the 1 1 9th Psalm. 8

66. Resolved, That I will endeavor always to keep a benign aspect,
and air of acting and speaking, in all places and in all companies,
except it should so happen that duty requires otherwise.

67. Resolved, After afflictions to inquire, What am I the better for
them? what good I have got by them, and what I might have got by
them.

68. Resolved, To confess frankly to myself all that which I find in
myself, either infirmity or sin ; and, if it be what concerns religion,
also to confess the whole case to God, and implore needed help.

69. Resolved, Always to do that which I shall wish I had done,
when I see others do it.

70. Let there be something of benevolence in all that I speak.

NOTES TO JONATHAN EDWARDS. 357

NOTES TO JONATHAN EDWARDS.

FOR a general introduction to the Resolutions, see the sketch of Edwards.

The lives of Franklin and Edwards present a striking and instructive con-
trast. Franklin lived for this life ; Edwards for the life to come. Franklin
aimed at worldly success ; Edwards at moral and spiritual excellence. Frank-
lin stored his mind with maxims of practical wisdom ; Edwards with the moral
precepts of the Scriptures. Franklin led a busy life among men, seeking to
improve their material condition; Edwards lived in communion with God,
seeking to grow in spiritual wisdom and culture. Both lives, were, perhaps,
a little one-sided. It would have been better for Franklin, if he had paid
more attention to moral and spiritual truth. His character would have gained
in completeness and beauty ; and his life would have escaped the moral ob-
liquities with which it is stained. It would have been better for Edwards if
his piety had been more genial. His character would have gained in attrac-
tiveness, and his life would have appealed more strongly to the sympathies of
men.

Edwards was a profound student of the Scripture. Its truths had become
a part of his ordinary store of thought and feeling. These Resolutions seem
to have been original productions, growing directly out of his own religious
life ; yet most of them embody Scripture truth. The general tone of them,
however, shows a Puritan rigor that is commonly regarded to-day as untrue
alike to the gospel and to human life. But this rigor, it should not be for-
gotten, was characteristic of the best religious life in New England during the
Colonial period.

1. " Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to
the glory of God." I Cor. x. 31. In like manner nearly every resolution
may be illustrated from the Scripturesy Under favorable circumstances, such
an illustration might be assigned as an exercise.

2. This and the following resolution show the Puritanic type of faith.
Such habitual meditation on death is not urged in the Scripture, nor is it
helpful to the life and character.

3. This resolution savors of what has been called " other- worldliness."
The best preparation for happiness in the other world is a faithful discharge
of our duty in all the relations of this world.

4. By assurance is here meant full confidence in God's favor.

5. This resolution again reminds us of the exaggerated Puritnnism that
found expression in the so-called " Blue Laws," some of the requirements of

358 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

which were as follows : " No one shall run on the Sabbath day, or shall walk
in his garden or elsewhere, except reverently to and from meeting. No one
shall travel, cook victuals, make beds, sweep house, cut hair or shave on the
Sabbath day. No woman shall kiss her child on the Sabbath or fasting day."

6. This seems to bring out clearly the one-sidedness of Edwards's life.
Religion is only a part of life. It is not so much an end in itself as a means
to ennoble character and sanctify human relations. When religion is viewed
otherwise than in relation to the common duties of life, it is apt to degenerate
into asceticism.

7. From this and preceding resolutions, it will appear that Edwards's
type of piety was too self-centred. He was continually thinking of himself,
of his state of mind, and of his spiritual attainments and deficiencies. It may
be questioned whether this attitude of mind is best. We should think more
of God and of duty, and then our inward states will largely take care of
themselves.

8. The Rev. Thomas Manton, D.D., was a distinguished Puritan preacher
in England. He was born in 1620, and died in 1677. One of his most
admired works is " CXC. Sermons on the CXIX. Psalm."

THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 359

SELECTION FROM JEFFERSON.

A DECLARATION BY THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE UNITED STATES
OF AMERICA IN GENERAL CONGRESS ASSEMBLED.

WHEN, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for
one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them
with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth the sepa-
rate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God
entitle them, a decent f respect to the opinions of mankind requires that
they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident : that all men are created
equal; 2 that they are endowed by their Creator with [inherent and] 3
inalienable rights ; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit
of happiness ; that to secure these rights, governments are instituted
among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the gov-
erned ; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of
these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and
to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles,
and organizing it- powers in such form, as to them shall seem most
likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dic-
tate that governments long established should not be changed for
light and transient causes ; and accordingly all experience hath shown
that mankind are more disposed to suffer while evils are sufferable,
than to right themselves by abolishing -the forms to which they are
accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, [begun
at a distinguished period and] 4 pursuing invariably the same object,
evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their
right, it is their duty to throw off such government, and to provide
new guards for their future security. Such has been the patient suf-
ferance of these colonies ; and such is now the necessity which con-
strains them to [expunge] 5 their former systems of government. The
history of the present king of Great Britain 6 is a history of [unre-
mitting] 7 injuries and usurpations, [among which appears no solitary

360 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

fact to contradict the uniform tenor of the rest, but all have] 8 in
direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these
states. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world, [for
the truth of which we pledge a faith yet unsullied by falsehood] . 9

He has refused his assent to laws the most wholesome and neces-
sary for the public good.

He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of immediate and
pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his assent
should be obtained ; and, when so suspended, he has utterly neglected
to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other laws for the accommodation of large
districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of
representation in the legislature, a right inestimable to them, and for-
midable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncom-
fortable, and distant from the repository of their public records, for
the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly [and continu-
ally] 10 for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of
the people.

He has refused for a long time after such dissolutions to cause
others to be elected, whereby the legislative powers, incapable of an-
nihilation, have returned to the people at large for their exercise, the
state remaining, in the meantime, exposed to all the dangers of inva-
sion from without and convulsions within.

He has endeavored to prevent the population of these states ; for
that purpose obstructing the laws for naturalization of foreigners, re-
fusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising
the conditions of new appropriations of lands.

He has [suffered] 11 the administration of justice [totally to cease
in some of these states] , refusing his assent to laws for establishing
judiciary powers.

He has made [our] 12 judges dependent on his will alone for the
tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of new offices [by a self-assumed
power], 13 and sent hither swarms of new officers to harass our people
and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us in times of peace standing armies [and
ships of war] 14 without the consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the military independent of, and supe-
rior to, the civil power,

THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 361

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign
to our constitutions and unacknowledged by our laws, giving his as-
sent to their acts of pretended legislation for quartering large bodies
of armed troops among us ; for protecting them by a mock trial from
punishment for any murders which they should commit on the inhabi-
tants of these states ; for cutting off our trade with all parts of the
world ; for imposing taxes on us without our consent ; for depriving
us IS of the benefits of trial by jury ; for transporting us beyond seas
to be tried for pretended offences ; for abolishing the free system of
English laws in a neighboring province, establishing therein an arbi-
trary government, and enlarging its boundaries, so as to render it at
once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute
rule into these [states] ; l6 for taking away our charters, abolishing our
most valuable laws/ 7 and altering fundamentally the forms of our gov-
ernments ; for suspending our own legislatures, and declaring them-
selves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated government here, [withdrawing his governors,
and declaring us out of his allegiance and protection]. 18

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns,
and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign mercenaries
to complete the works of death, desolation, and tyranny already begun
with circumstances of cruelty and perfidy 19 unworthy the head of a
civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow citizens taken captive on the high
seas, to bear arms against their country, to become the executioners of
their friends and brethren, or to fall themselves by their hands.

He has 20 endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers,
the merciless Indian savages, whose known rule of warfare is an
undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes, and conditions [of
existence]. 21

[He has incited treasonable insurrections of our fellow citizens,
with the allurements of forfeiture and confiscation of our property.

He has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its
most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people
who never offended him, captivating and carrying them into slavery in
another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation
thither. This piratical warfare, the opprobrium of INFIDEL powers, is
the warfare of the CHRISTIAN king of Great Britain. Determined to
keep open a market where MEN should be bought and sold, he has

362 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to
prohibit or to restrain this execrable commerce. And that this assem-
blage of horrors might want no fact of distinguished die, he is now ex-
citing these very peopte to rise in arms among us, and to purchase that
liberty of which he has deprived them, by murdering the people on
whom he also obtruded them : thus paying off former crimes com-
mitted against the LIBERTIES of one people, with crimes which he
urges them to commit against the LIVES of another.] 22

In every stage of these oppressions we have petitioned for redress
in the most humble terms : our repeated petitions have been answered
only 23 by repeated injuries.

A prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may
define a tyrant is unfit to be the ruler of a people [who mean to be
free. Future ages will scarcely believe that the hardiness of one man
adventured, within the short compass of twelve years only, to lay a
foundation so broad and so undisguised for tyranny over a people fos-
tered and fixed in principles of freedom.] 24

Nor have we been wanting in attentions to our British brethren.
We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legisla-
ture to extend [a] 2 5 jurisdiction over [these our states]. 25 We have
reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement
here, [no one of which could warrant so strange a pretension : that
these were effected at the expense of our own blood and treasure, un-
assisted by the wealth or strength of Great Britain : that in constitut-
ing indeed our several forms of government, we had adopted one
common king, thereby laying a foundation for perpetual league and
amity with them : but that submission to their parliament was no part
of our constitution, nor ever an idea, if history may be credited :
and] 26 we 27 appealed to their native justice and magnanimity [as well
as to] 28 the ties of one common kindred to disavow these usurpations
which [were likely to] 29 interrupt our connection and correspondence.
They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity,
[and when occasions have been given them, by the regular course
of their laws, of removing from their councils the disturbers of our
harmony, they have, by their free election, re-established them in
power. At this very time too, they are permitting their chief magis-
trate to send over not only soldiers of our own common blood, but
Scotch and foreign mercenaries to invade and destroy us. ' These facts
have given the last stab to agonizing affection, and manly spirit bids
us to renounce forever these unfeeling: brethren. We must endeavor

THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, 363

to forget our former love for them, and hold them as we hold the rest
of mankind, enemies in war, in peace friends. We might have been a
free and a great people together ; but a communication of grandeur
and of freedom, it seems, is below their dignity. Be it so, since they
will have it. The road to happiness and to glory is open to us too.
We will tread it apart from them, and] 30 acquiesce in the necessity
which denounces our [eternal] 3 ' separation.

We therefore the representatives of the United States of America
in General Congress assembled, appealing to the supreme Judge of
the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do in the name, and by
the authority of the good people of these [states reject and renounce
all allegiance and subjection to the kings of Great Britain and all
others who may hereafter claim by, through or under them ; we ut-
terly dissolve all political connection which may heretofore have sub-
sisted between us and the people or parliament of Great Britain : and
finally we do assert and declare these colonies to be free and indepen-
dent states], 32 and that as free and independent states, they have full
power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, establish com-
merce, and to do all other acts and things which independent states
may of right do.

And for the support of this declaration^ we mutually pledge to
each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.

364 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

NOTES TO THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.

THE leading facts connected with the preparation and adoption of the
Declaration have already been given. In every respect it is a remarkable
document. It is methodical in its structure, consisting of (i) a formal intro-
duction, (2) a statement of fundamental principles, (3) a striking array of
facts, and (4) a practical conclusion. Its language is correct, clear, and
strong. It is a powerful argument suffused with emotion. This latter ele-
ment gives it the rhetorical form, which has been criticised as excessive. It
was admirably suited to its purpose, and was at once accepted by the Ameri-
can people as a fitting and triumphant statement of their cause.

The Declaration had a happy effect upon the colonies. It gave them a
definite object, and inspired a corresponding resolution and courage. Whether
read to the. army or to assemblies of the people, it aroused extraordinary
enthusiasm. It was everywhere celebrated with festive gayeties and devout
thanksgivings.

The originality of the document has unjustly been called into question.
As we have seen in our study of Jefferson and of the Revolutionary period,
the principles and facts it contains were a common possession of the colonial
patriots. Its originality consists in its incomparable arrangement and state-
ment of these facts and principles. Under the circumstances, no other origi-
nality was desirable or possible.

For two days prior to its adoption, the Declaration passed through a fiery
ordeal of criticism. Not only every paragraph, but every sentence and every
word, was subjected to searching and captious examination. Numerous ex-
pressions were changed ; and the omissions amount to nearly one-third of the
entire paper. Upon the whole, the result of this minute criticism was an
almost faultless perfection of form. The Declaration, as given in the text, is
the original draft prepared by Jefferson ; and the notes are chiefly concerned
with the changes introduced.

When the Declaration was under discussion, Jefferson remained silent.
As we have seen, he was not strong as a speaker. But who can doubt the
intense interest with which he followed the discussion ? According to his
judgment, John Adams "was the colossus in that debate." He fought
" fearlessly for every word of it and with a power to which a mind mascu-
line and impassioned in its conceptions a will of torrent-like force a her-
oism which only glared forth more luridly at the approach of danger and a
patriotism whose burning throb was rather akin to the feeling of a parent

NOTES TO DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 365

fighting over his offspring, than to the colder sentiment of tamer animals, lent
resistless sway."

Jefferson was keenly sensitive to the attacks that were made upon the
Declaration. During one of the debates, he was sitting by Franklin, who
noticed that he was writhing a little under some acrimonious criticisms, and
who comforted him with a characteristic anecdote. " I have made it a rule,"
said Franklin, "whenever in my power, to avoid becoming draughtsman of
papers to be reviewed by a public body. I took my lesson from an incident
which I will relate to you. When I was a journeyman printer, one of my com-
panions, an apprentice hatter, having served out his time, was about to open
shop for himself. His first concern was to have a handsome sign-board, with
a proper inscription. He composed it in these words : ' John Thompson,
Hatter, makes and sells hats for ready money," with a figure of a hat sub-
joined ; but he thought he would submit it to his friends for their amend-
ments. The first he showed it to thought the word ' Hatter ' tautologous,
because followed by the words, ' makes hats,' which show he was a hatter. It
was struck out. The next observed that the word ' makes ' might as well be
omitted, because his customers would not care who made the hats. If good
and to their mind, they would buy, by whomsoever made. He struck it out.
A third thought the words l for ready money ' were useless, as it was not the
custom of the place to sell on credit. Every one who purchased expected to
pay. They were parted with, and the inscription now stood, ' John Thompson
sells hats.' ' Sells hats ! ' says his next friend ; ' why, nobody will expect you
to give them away ; what then is the use of that word ? ' It was stricken out,
and ' hats ' followed it, the rather as there was one painted on the board.
So the inscription was reduced ultimately to 'John Thompson,' with the
figure of a hat subjoined."

1. Decent = proper, becoming. From Latin decere, to be fitting or be-
coming, through the French.

2. Equal, not in intellect or body, nor in the circumstances of birth, but
in civil freedom. The distinctions of master and slave, nobles and commons,
kings and subjects, are not made by nature. They are artificial distinctions ;
and though answering a good purpose for a time, they are not permanent.
This statement of the Declaration has often been misunderstood.

3. " Certain " was substituted for the words in brackets.

4. The words in brackets were struck out, with a perceptible gain in
force. The phraseology is substantially the same as in "The Summary View
of the Rights of British America." See sketch of Jefferson.

5. "Alter'" was substituted, with a gain in clearness and precision.

6. Jefferson had written "his present majesty 5" it was John Adams
who suggested the wording of the text, which is an improvement.

7. "Repeated" was substituted, with a decided gain in precision.

366 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

8. The sentence in brackets was struck out, the phrase " all having"
being inserted to retain the grammatical connection. There is a perceptible
gain in brevity and force.

9. This last sentence was wisely omitted.

10. Omitted, with evident gain in precision.

11. " Obstructed" was inserted here, and "by" took the place of the
following bracketed clause. There is a gain in precision, brevity, and force.

12. Omitted, at the suggestion of Franklin.

13. Omitted, with a gain in force.

14. Omitted.

15. " In many cases " was inserted after " us," in order to conform the
statement exactly to the facts.

1 6. " Colonies" was substituted.

17. This phrase, "abolishing our most valuable laws," was inserted by
Franklin.

1 8. In place of the bracketed expression, the following was inserted :
" by declaring us out of his protection and waging war against us" The
improvement is obvious.

19. After "perfidy" was inserted: " scarcely paralleled in the most
barbarous ages, and (of ally." In this case, the addition is a doubtful improve-
ment.

20. Here was inserted : " excited domestic insurrection among us, ana
has." This addition takes the place of the following paragraph.

21. Omitted as redundant.

22. In his Autobiography Jefferson says : "The clause reprobating the
enslaving the inhabitants of Africa was struck out in complaisance to South
Carolina and Georgia, who had never attempted to restrain the importation of
slaves, and who, on the contrary, still wished to continue it. Our Northern
brethren also, I believe, felt a little tender under these censures ; for though
their people had very few slaves themselves, yet they had been pretty consid-
erable carriers of them to others."

23. " Only" was inserted by Franklin.

24. Omitted, and the adjective "free" inserted before "people.'
Greater brevity and force are thus secured.

25. In place of "a" was substituted " an unwarrantable;" and in
in place of "these our states" the pronoun " us.' 1

26. Omitted.

27. After "we" insert "have."

28. In place of this phrase was inserted : "and we have conjured f hem
by"

29. " Would inevitably''- was substituted, with decided gain in force.

30. What is bracketed was omitted ; before "acquiesce" was inserted,

NOTES TO DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 367

" We must therefore." In reference to this omission Jefferson says : "The
pusillanimous idea that we had friends in England worth keeping terms with,
still haunted the minds of many. For this reason, those passages which con-
veyed censures on the people of England were struck out, lest they should
give them offence."

31. Omitted, and after "separation " was added : " and hold them as
we hold the rest of mankind, enemies in war, in peace friends."

32. Here was inserted, as a decided improvement, the following : "col-
onies, solemnly publish and declare, that these united colonies are, and of
right ought to be, free and independent states ; that tJiey are absolved from all
allegiance to the British crown, and that all political connection between them
and the state of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved."

33. Here was inserted, " with a firm reliance on the protection of divine
Providence. ' '

368 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

SELECTION FROM HAMILTON.

THE FEDERALIST.
NUMBER I. INTRODUCTION

AFTER full experience of the insufficiency of the existing federal
government, 1 you 2 are invited to deliberate upon a new Constitution
for the United States of America. The subject speaks its own impor-
tance ; comprehending in its consequences nothing less than the ex-
istence of the UNION, the safety and welfare of the parts of which it is
composed, the fate of an empire, in many respects, the most interesting
in the world. 3 It has been frequently remarked, that it seems to have
oeen reserved to the people of this country to decide, by their conduct
and example, the important question, whether societies of men are
really capable or not, of establishing good government from reflection
and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend for their
political constitutions, on accident and force. If there be 4 any truth
in the remark, the crisis at which we are arrived may, with propriety,
be regarded as the period when that decision is to be made ; and a
wrong election 5 of the part we shall act may, in this view, deserve to
be considered as the general misfortune of mankind.

This idea, by adding the inducements of philanthropy to those of
patriotism, will heighten the solicitude which all considerate and good
men must feel for the event. 6 Happy will it be if our choice should be
directed by a judicious estimate of our true interests, uninfluenced by
considerations foreign to the public good. But this is more ardently
to be wished for, than seriously to be expected. The plan offered to
our deliberation affects too many particular interests, innovates upon 7
too many local institutions, not to involve in its discussion a variety of
objects extraneous to its merits, and of views, passions and prejudices
little favorable to the discovery of truth. 8

Among the most formidable 9 of the obstacles 9 which the new
Constitution will have to encounter, mav readily be distinguished the

THE FEDERALIST. 369

obvious interest of a certain class of men in every State to resist all
changes which may hazard a diminution of the power, emolument, and
consequence I0 of the offices they hold under the State establishments
and the perverted ambition of another class of men, who will either
hope to aggrandize themselves by the confusions of their country, or
will flatter themselves with fairer prospects of elevation from the sub-
division of the empire into several partial confederacies, than from its
union under one government.

It is not, however, my design to dwell upon observations of this
nature. I am aware it would be disingenuous IX to resolve indiscrimi-
nately the opposition of any set of men into interested or ambitious
views, merely because their situations might subject them to suspicion.
Candor will oblige us to admit, that even such men may be actuated
by upright intentions ; and it cannot be doubted, that much of the
opposition, which has already shown itself, or that may hereafter make
its appearance, will spring from sources blameless at least, if not re-
spectable the honest errors of minds led astray by preconceived
jealousies and fears. 12 So numerous indeed and so powerful are thi
causes which serve to give a false bias to the judgment, that we, upon
many occasions, see wise and good men on the wrong as well as on
the right side of questions of the first magnitude to society. This
circumstance, if duly attended to, would always furnish a lesson of
moderation to those, who are engaged in any controversy, however
well persuaded of being in the right. And a further reason for caution
in this respect, 13 might be drawn from the reflection, that we are not
always sure, that those who advocate the truth are actuated by purer
principles than their antagonists. 14 Ambition, avarice, personal ani-
mosity, party opposition, and many other motives, not more laudable
than these, are apt to operate as well upon those who support, as upon
those who oppose, the right side of a question. Were there not even
these inducements to moderation, nothing could be more ill-judged IS
than that intolerant spirit, which has, at all times, characterized politi-
cal parties. For, in politics as in religion, it it equally absurd l6 to
aim at making proselytes by fire and sword. Heresies in either can
rarely be cured by persecution.

And yet, just as these sentiments must appear to candid I7 men,
we have already sufficient indications that it will happen in this, as in
all former cases of great national discussion. A torrent of angry and
malignant l8 passions will be let loose. To judge from the conduct
of the opposite parties/ 9 we shall be led to conclude, that they will

3/0 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

mutually hope to evince the justness of their opinions, and to increase
the number of their converts, by the loudness of their declamations,
and by the bitterness of their invectives. 20 An enlightened zeal for
the energy and efficiency 21 of government, will be stigmatized as the
offspring of a temper fond of power, and hostile to the principles of
liberty. An over-scrupulous jealousy 22 of danger to the rights of the
people, which is more commonly the fault of the head than of the
heart, will be represented as mere pretence and artifice 23 the stale
bait for popularity at the expense of public good. It will be forgotten,
on the one hand, that jealousy is the usual concomitant of violent love,
and that the noble enthusiasm of liberty is too apt to be infected with
a spirit of narrow and illiberal 24 distrust. On the other hand, it will
be equally forgotten, that the rigor of government is essential to the
security of liberty; that in the contemplation of a sound and well-
informed judgment, their 25 interests can never be separated ; and that
a dangerous ambition more often lurks behind the specious mask of
zeal for the rights of the people, than under the forbidding appear-
ances of zeal for the firmness and efficiency of government. History
will teach us, that the former has been found a much more certain
road to the introduction of despotism than the latter, and that of
those men who have overturned the liberties of republics, the greatest
number have begun their career, by paying an obsequious court to the
people ; commencing demagogues, and ending tyrants.

In the course of the preceding observations it has been my aim,
fellow citizens, to put you upon your guard against all attempts, from
whatever quarter, to influence your decision in a matter of the utmost
moment to your welfare, by any impressions, other than those which
may result from the evidence of truth. You will, no doubt, at the
same time, have collected from the general scope of them, that they
proceed from a source not unfriendly to the new Constitution. Yes,
my countrymen, I own to you, that, after having given it an attentive
consideration, I am clearly of opinion, it is your interest to adopt it.
I am convinced, that this is the safest course for your liberty, your
dignity, and your happiness. I affect not reserves which I do not
feel. 26 I will not amuse you with an appearance of deliberation, when
I have decided. I frankly acknowledge to you my convictions, and I
will freely lay before you the reasons on which they are founded. The
consciousness of good intentions disdains ambiguity. I shall not how-
ever multiply professions on this head. My motives must remain in
the depository of my own breast ; my arguments will be open to all,

THE FEDERALIST. 37 r

and may be judged of by all. They shall at least be offered in a spirit
which will not disgrace the cause of truth.

I propose, in a series of papers, to discuss the following interest-
ing particulars : T/ie utility of the UNION to your political prosperity ; 2?
the insufficiency of the present confederation to preserve that Union,; 2 *
tJie necessity of a government at least equally energetic with the one
proposed ', to the attainment of this object ; 29 the conformity of tJie pro-
posed Constitution to the true principles of republican government ; 3
its analogy to your own State Constitution ; and lastly, the additional
seciirity, which its adoption will afford to the preservation of tJiat spe-
cies of government, to liberty ', and to property? 1

In the progress of this discussion, I shall endeavor to give a sat-
isfactory answer to all the objections which shall have made their
appearance, that may seem to have any claim to attention.

It may perhaps be thought superfluous to offer arguments to prove
the utility of the Union, a point, no doubt, deeply engraved on the
hearts of the great body of the people in every State, and one which, it
may be imagined, has no adversaries. But the fact is, that we already
hear it whispered in the private circles of those who oppose the new
Constitution, that the thirteen States are of too great extent for any
general system, and that we must, of necessity, resort to separate con-
federacies of distinct portions of the whole. This doctrine will, in
all probability, be gradually propagated, till it has votaries enough to
countenance its open avowal. For nothing can be more evident, to
those who are able to take an enlarged view of the subject, than the
alternative of an adoption of the Constitution or a dismemberment of
the Union. It may, therefore, be essential to examine particularly
the advantages of that Union, the certain evils, and the probable dan-
gers, to which every State will be exposed from its dissolution. This
shall accordingly be done.

PUBLIUS.

3/2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

NOTES TO THE "FEDERALIST."

FOR a statement of the circumstances under which the " Federalist " was
written, and an estimate of its literary character, consult the sketch of
Hamilton.

The papers composing the " Federalist" were published in The Indepen-
dent Journal and other New York papers in 1787 and 1788. As a rule, a
new number appeared every three days. The first number was written by
Hamilton in the cabin of a little vessel, as he was gliding down the Hudson.
The essays were at first signed " A Citizen ; " but the writers soon afterwards,
following the fashion of the time, adopted the classical name of " Publius."

Sickness prevented Jay from doing his full share of the work. He wrote
only five numbers. The burden fell upon Hamilton and Madison, the former
writing fifty-one and the latter twenty-nine. The authorship of a few of the
papers has been disputed. As a general thing, each writer sent his article to
the printer without submitting it to his colleagues.

The comparative literary excellence of the contributions of Hamilton and
Madison has been made the subject of discussion. The literary merits of the
two writers are so nearly equal that it is difficult to decide between them.
Hamilton has, perhaps, greater force, and Madison greater elegance. To
criticize Madison's style as " stiff, harsh, and obscure " is grossly unjust.

The "Federalist" has met with the highest commendations abroad as
well as at home. Guizot said, "that in the application of the elementary
principles of government to practical administration, it was the greatest work
known to him." It is described in an early number of the Edinburgh Review
as " a work little known in Europe, but which exhibits a profundity of re-
search and an acuteness of understanding which would have done honor to
the most illustrious statesmen of modern times." In his "Commentaries on
American Law," Chancellor Kent says : "I know not of any work on the
principles of free government that is to be compared in instruction and in
intrinsic value to this small and unpretending volume of the ' Federalist ; '
not even if we resort to Aristotle, Cicero, Macchiavelli, Montesquieu, Milton,
Locke, or Burke." Jefferson pronounced it "the best commentary on the
principles of government which was ever written."

NUMBER I.

I. This refers to the government under the Articles of Confederation of
1777. Consult the general survey of the Revolutionary period.

NOTES TO THE FEDERALIST. 3/3

2. At first the essays of the " Federalist " were addressed to the people
of New York, but afterwards to the people of the United States.

3. Corresponding to the importance of the subject, the style rises to a
high degree of dignity.

4. Note the significance of the subjunctive. What would be the difference
in meaning if the indicative were used ?

5. Give a synonym for " election." Pass over no word the exact mean-
ing of which is not understood.

6. What is the meaning of " event"? Discriminate between event,
occurrence, and incident, and note the precision of Hamilton's diction.

7. Explain " innovates upon."

8. Note the precision secured in this sentence, and throughout the
" Federalist," by the use of the Latin element of our language.

9. Consult the etymology of these words, and point out their force.
Why is " obstacles " better here than impediments, difficulties, or hinder -
ances ?

10. What is the difference between " emolument"" and " conseqttence" ?
Note Hamilton's comprehensive and discriminating thought.

11. The exact meaning of " disingenuous "?

12. May " the honest errors of minds led astray by preconceived jealous-
ies and fears " be " blameless " without being " respectable "? What is the
meaning of " respectable " in this case ?

13. In what ' ' respect ' ' ?

14. Why is "antagonists" here better than opponents? Discriminate
between adversary, enemy, opponent, and antagonist.

15. Synonym for " ill-judged"

16. Why is "absurd'*'* better than irrational or foolish in this case ?
What is the force of preposterous ?

17. Why is " candid" exactly the right word ?

18. What is the difference between "angry" and "malignant" pas-
sions ?

19. Federalists and Anti-Federalists.

20. Note the manner in which the parallelism of structure has been pre-
served in this sentence. It is evident that Hamilton had been a careful
student of rhetoric.

21. What is the difference between "energy" and "efficiency"?

22. Synonym of "jealottsy" in this case.

23. Discriminate between "pretence " and "artifice." Note Hamilton's
clear thought and careful diction.

24. What is the meaning of " illiberal" here ?

25. To what does " their" refer ?

26. Paraphrase this sentence so as to bring out the meaning more clearly.

374 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

27. Discussed in numbers 2-14.

28. Numbers 15-22.

29. Numbers 23-35.

30. Numbers 36-84.

31. The last two subjects were treated of in the last number in a very
brief way, because they had been considered fully, though incidentally, in
the progress of the work.

RIP VAN WINKLE.

375

VII.

SELECTIONS FROM IRVING.

RIP VAN WINKLE.
A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER

By Woden, God of Saxons,

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday,

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep

Unto thy Ike day in which I creep into

My sepulchre.

CARTWRIGHT. 1

WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson, must remember the
Kaatskill 2 mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great
Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swell-
ing up to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country.
Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed every hour
of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of
these mountains ; and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and
near, as perfect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled,
they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on
the clear evening sky; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape
is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about their sum-
mits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up
like a crown of glory.

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried
the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs gleam
among the trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into
the fresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great
antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists, in the
early times of the province, just about the beginning of the government
of the good Peter Stuyvesant 3 (may he rest in peace !) ; and there were
some of the houses of the original settlers standing within a few years,
built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed win-
dows and gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks.

3/6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which to tell
the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived
many years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain,
a simple, good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He
was a descendant of the Van Winkles 4 who figured so gallantly in the
chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege
of Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial
character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple, good-
natured man ; he was moreover a kind neighbor, and an obedient, hen-
pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing
that meekness of spirit which gained him such universal popularity ;
for those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad,
who are under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers,
doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of
domestic tribulation, and a curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in
the world for teaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering. A
termagant wife may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a toler-
able blessing ; and if so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed.

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the good wives
of the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in all
family squabbles, and never failed, whenever they talked those matters
over in their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van
Winkle. The children of the village, too, would shout with joy when-
ever he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their play-
things, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long
stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging
about the village, he was surrounded by a troop of them hanging on
his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on
him with impunity ; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the
neighborhood.

The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aversion
to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assi-
duity or perseverance ; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as
long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur,
even though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. He
would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudg-
ing through woods and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot
a few squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a
neighbor, even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all
country frolics for husking Indian corn or building stone fences. The

RIP VAN WINKLE. 377

women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands,
and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would
not do for them ; in a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody's
business but his own; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his
farm in order, he found it impossible.

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm ; it was
the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country ; every-
thing about it went wrong, and would go wrong in spite of him. His
fences were continually falling to pieces ; his cow would either go as-
tray, or get among the cabbages ; weeds were sure to grow quicker in
his fields than anywhere else ; the rain always made a point of setting
in just as he had some out-door work to do ; so that, though his patri-
monial estate had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre,
until there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and
potatoes, yet it was the worst-conditioned farm in the neighborhood.

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to
nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, prom-
ised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was
generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a
pair of his father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to
hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather.

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of
foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white
bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble,
and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left
to himself, he would have whistled life away in perfect contentment ;
but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his
carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family.

Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and
everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household
eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind,
and that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged his
shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This,
however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so that he was
fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the house the
only side which, in truth, belongs to a henpecked husband.'

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much
henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as
companions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye
as the cause of his master's going so often astray. True it is, in all

3 78 AMERICAN LITER A TV RE.

points of spirit befitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous an
animal as ever scoured the woods but what courage can withstand
the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The
moment Wolf entered the house, his crest fell, his tail drooped to the
ground, or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows
air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the
least flourish .of a broomstick or ladle, he would fly to the door with
yelping precipitation.

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle, as years of mat-
rimony rolled on: a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp
tongue is the only edge tool that grows keener with constant use. For
a long while he used to console himself, when driven from home, by
frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and
other idle personages of the village, which held its sessions on a bench
before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of his majesty
George the Third. Here they used to sit in the shade, of a long lazy
summer's day, talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless
sleepy stories about nothing. But it would have been worth any states-
man's money to have heard the profound discussions which sometimes
took place, when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands,
from some passing traveller. How solemnly they would listen to the
contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster,
a dapper, learned little man, who was not to be daunted by the most
gigantic word in the dictionary ; and how sagely they would deliberate
upon public events some months after they had taken place.

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas
Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door
of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving suffi-
ciently to avoid the sun, and keep in the shade of a large tree ; so that
the neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as
by a sun-dial. It is true, he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked
his pipe incessantly. His adherents, however (for every great man
has his adherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather
his opinions. When anything that was read or related displeased
him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth
short, frequent, and angry puffs ; but when pleased, he would inhale
the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds,
and sometimes taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the frag-
rant vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token
of perfect approbation.

RIP VAN WINKLE. 3/9

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed
by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tran-
quillity of the assemblage, and call the members all to naught; nor
was that august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the
daring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright with
encouraging her husband in habits of idleness.

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair, and his only alter-
native to escape from the labor of the farm and the clamor of his wife,
was to take gun in hand, and stroll away into the woods. Here he
would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the con-
tents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow-
sufferer in persecution. ** Poor Wolf, 1 ' he would say, * thy mistress
leads thee a dog's life of it ; but neve"r mind, my lad, whilst I live thou
shalt never want a friend to stand by thee ! " Wolf would wag his
tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I
verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.

In a long ramble of the kind, on a fine autumnal day, Rip had un-
consciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill
mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel-shooting, and
the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his
gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon,
on a green knoll covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the
brow of a precipice. From an opening between the trees, he could
overlook all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He
saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its
silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the
sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and
at last losing itself in the blue highlands.

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen,
wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the
impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the
setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene ; evening
was gradually advancing; the mountains began to throw their long
blue shadows over the valleys ; he saw that it would be dark long
before he could reach the village ; and he heaved a heavy sigh when
he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.

As he was about to descend he heard a voice from a distance hal-
looing, " Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked around,
but could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the
mountain, He thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turned

380 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

again to descend, when he heard the same, cry ring through the still
evening air, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" at the same
time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his
master's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a
vague apprehension stealing over him : he looked anxiously in the
same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the
rocks, and bending under the weight of something he carried on his
back. He was surprised to see any human being in this lonely and
unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some one of the neighbor-
hood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.

On nearer approach, he was still more surprised at the singularity
of the stranger's appearance. He was a short square-built old fellow,
with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the
antique Dutch fashion a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist
several pair of breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated
with rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He
bore on his shoulders a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and
made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. Though
rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip complied with
his usual alacrity, and mutually relieving each other, they clambered
up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As
they ascended, Rip every now and then heard long rolling peals, like
distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine or rather
cleft between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted.
He paused for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one
of those transient thunder-showers which often take place in mountain
heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a
hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular preci-
pices, over the brinks of which impending trees shot their branches,
so that you only caught glimpses of the azure sky, and the bright even-
ing cloud. During the whole time, Rip and his companion had la-
bored on in silence ; for though the former marvelled greatly what
could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain,
yet there was something strange and incomprehensible about the
unknown, that inspired awe, and checked familiarity.

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented
themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-look-
ing personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a quaint
outlandish fashion : some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with
long knives in their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches,

RIP VAN WINKLE.

381

of similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were
peculiar : one had a large head, broad face, and small piggish eyes ;
the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was sur-
mounted by a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail.
They all had beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who
seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with
a weather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt
and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-
heeled shoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of
the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie Van
Schaick, the village parson, and which had been brought over from
Holland at the time of the settlement.

What seemed particularly odd to Rip, was, that though these
folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the
gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most
melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing inter-
rupted the stillness of the scene but the noise of the balls, which,
whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling
peals of thunder.

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly de-
sisted from their play, and stared at him with such a fixed statue-like
gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his
heart turned within him, and his knees smote together. His compan-
ion now emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made
signs to him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear and
trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then re-
turned to their game.

By degrees, Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ven-
tured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which
he found had much of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was natu-
rally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One
taste provoked another, and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so
often that at length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his
head, his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll from whence he
had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes it was a
bright sunny morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among
the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure
mountain breeze. " Surely," thought Rip, " I have not slept here all
night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange

382 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

man with the keg of liquor the mountain ravine the wild retreat
among the rocks the wo-begone party at nine-pins the flagon
" Oh ! that wicked flagon ! " thought Rip " what excuse shall I make
to Dame Van Winkle ? "

He looked around for his gun ; but in place of the clean well-oiled
fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel en-
crusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He
now suspected that the grave roisters of the mountain had put a trick
upon him, and having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his
gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away
after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted his
name, but all in vain ; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but
no dog was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol,
and if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As
he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his
usual activity. " These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought
Rip, " and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism,
I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some dif-
ficulty he got down into the glen ; he found the gully up which he and
his companion had ascended the preceding evening ; but to his aston-
ishment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping from
rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, how-
ever, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way
through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes
tripped up or entangled by the wild grape vines that twisted their coils
and tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in his
path.

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the
cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but no traces of such opening remained.
The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall, over which the torrent
came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep
basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then,
poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after
his dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows,
sporting high in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice;
and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at
the poor man's perplexities. What was to be done? The morning
was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast.
He grieved to give up his dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife ;

RIP VAN WINKLE. 383

but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his
head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and with a heart full of trouble and
anxiety, turned his steps homeward.

As he approached the village, he met a number of people, but none
whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought
himself acquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress,
too, was of a different fashion from that to which he was accustomed..
They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever
they cast eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The con-
stant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the
same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot
long !

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange
children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray
beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an old
acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was
altered ; it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses
which he had never seen before, and those which had been his famil-
iar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the doors
strange faces at the windows everything was strange. His mind
now misgave him ; he began to doubt whether both he and the world
around him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village,
which he had left but a day before. There stood the Kaatskill moun-
tains there ran the silver Hudson at a distance there was every
hill and dale precisely as it had always been Rip was sorely per-
plexed. " That flagon last night," thought he, " has addled my poor
head sadly ! "

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house,
which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear
the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to
decay the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off
the hinges. A half-starved dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking
about it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his
teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. "My very
dog," sighed poor Rip, " has forgotten me !"

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth. Dame Van Winkle
had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently
abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears he
called loudly for his wife and children the lonelv chambers rang for
a moment with his voice, and then all again was silence.

384 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village
inn but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden building stood in
its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken, and
mended with old hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted,
" The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree
that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was
reared a tall naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a
red nightcap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singu-
lar assemblage of stars and stripes all this was strange and incom-
prehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of
King George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe,
but even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was
changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead
of a sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and under-
neath was painted in large characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that
Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed changed.
There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the
accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the
sage Nicholas Vedder, with' his broad face, double chin, and fair long
pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco smoke, instead of idle speeches ; or
Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an ancient
newspaper. In place of these, a lean bilious-looking fellow, with his
pockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of
citizens election members of Congress liberty Bunker's hill
heroes of seventy-six and other words that were a perfect Baby-
lonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty
fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of women and children
that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tav-
ern politicians. They crowded round him, eying him from head to
foot, with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and drawing
him partly aside, inquired, " on which side he voted ? " Rip stared in
vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by
the arm, and rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "whether he was
Federal or Democrat." Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the
question ; when a knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp
cocked hat, made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right
and left with his elbows as he passed, and planting himself before Van
Winkle, with one arm a-kimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keeo

RIP VAN WINKLE. . 385

eyes and sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, de-
manded in an austere tone, " what brought him to the election with a
gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to
breed a riot in the village ?"

** Alas ! gentlemen, 1 ' cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, " I am a poor,
quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the King, God
bless him ! "

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders "A tory ! a tory !
a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him ! "

It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in the
cocked hat restored order ; and having assumed a tenfold austerity of
brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit, what he came there
for, and whom he was seeking. The poor man humbly assured him
that he meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some oi
his neighbors, who used to keep about the tavern.

'* Well who are they ? name them."

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, " Where's Nicho-
las Vedder ? "

There wa^ a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in
a thin, piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder ? why, he is dead and gone
these eighteen years ! There was a wooden tombstone in the church'
yard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too."

" Where's Brom Butcher ? "

" Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some
say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point 5 others say he was
drowned in a squall, at the foot of Antony's Nose. 6 I don't knaw
he never came back again."

" Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster ?"

" He went off to the wars, too ; was a great militia general, and is
now in Congress."

Rip's heart died away, at hearing of these sad changes in his home
and friends, and rinding himself thus alone in the world. Every an-
swer puzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time,
and of matters which he could not understand : war Congress
Stony Point ! he had no courage to ask after any more friends, but
cried out in despair, " Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle ? "

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three. "Oh, to be
sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree."

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he went
up the mountain; apparently as lazy and certainly as ragged. The

386 .AMERICAN LITERATURE.

poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own
identity, and whether he was himself or another man. In the midst
of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was,
and what was his name ?

** God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end ; " I'm not myself
I'm somebody else that's me yonder no that's somebody else,
got into my shoes I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the
mountain, and they've changed my gun, and every thing's changed,
and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my name, or who I am ! "

The bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, wink sig-
nificantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There was a
whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow from
doing mischief; at the very suggestion of which, the self-important
man with the cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this crit-
ical moment a fresh comely woman passed through the throng to get a
peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms,
which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. " Hush, Rip," cried she,
"hush, you little fool; the old man won't hurt you." The name of
the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, a^l awakened a
train of recollections in his mind.

'* What is your name, my good woman ?" asked he.

"Judith Gardenier."

" And your father's name ? "

" Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle ; it's twenty years
since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard
of since his dog came home without him ; but whether he shot him-
self, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then
but a little girl."

Rip had but one question more to ask ; but he put it with a falter-
ing voice :

" Where's your mother ?"

Oh, she too had died but a short time since: she broke a blood-
vessel in a fit of passion at a New England pedler.

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The
honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter
and her child in his arms. " I am your father ! " cried he " Young
Rip Van Winkle once old Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody
know poor Rip Van Winkle I "

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among
the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face

RIP VAN WINKLE. 387

for a moment, exclaimed, " Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle it
is himself. Welcome home again, old neighbor Why, where have
you been these twenty long years ? "

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to
him but as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it ; some
were seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks ;
and the self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm
was over, had returned to the field, screwed clown the corners of hi.
mouth, and shook his head upon which there was a general shaking
of the head throughout the assemblage.

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Van-
derdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a de-
scendant of the historian of that name, 7 who wrote one of the earliest
accounts of the province. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of
the village, and well-versed in all the wonderful events and traditions
of the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated
his story in the most satisfactory manner. He assured the company
that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, that
the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by strange beings.
That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first discov-
erer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty
years, with his crew of the Half-moon, being permitted in this way to
revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the
river and the great city called by his name. That his father had once
seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow
of the mountain ; and that he himself had heard, one summer after-
noon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of thunder.

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned
to the more important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took
him home to live with her ; she had a snug, well-furnished house, and
a stout cheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of
the urchins that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and
heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, he
was employed to work on the farm ; but evinced a hereditary disposi-
tion to attend to anything else but his business.

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits ; he soon found many
of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and
tear of time ; and preferred making friends among the rising genera-
tion, with whom he soon grew into great favor.

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that happy

388 AMERICAN LITERATURE,

age when a man can do nothing with impunity, he t&jk his place once
more on the bench, at the inn door, and was reverenced as one of the
patriarchs of the village, and a chronicle of the old times " before the
war." It was some time before he could get into the regular track of
gossip, or could be made to comprehend the strange events that had
taken place during his torpor. How that there had been a revolution-
ary war that the country had thrown off the yoke of old England
and that, instead of being a subject of his majesty George the
Third, he was now a free citizen of the United States. Rip, in fact,
was no politician ; the changes of states and empires made but little
impression on him ; but there was one species of despotism under
which he had long groaned, and that was petticoat government.
Happily, that was at an end ; he had got his neck out of the yoke of
matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he pleased, without
dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name
was mentioned, however, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders,
and cast up his eyes ; which might pass either for an expression of
resignation to his fate, or joy at his deliverance.

He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr.
Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some points
every time he told it, which was doubtless owing to his having so
recently awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale I have
related, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighborhood but
knew it by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it,
and insisted that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one
point. on which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabi-
tants, however, almost universally gave it full credit, Even to this
day, they never hear a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about
the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at
their game of nine-pins ; and it is a common wish of all henpecked
husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands,
that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle's
flagon. 8

THE B2ZOKEN HEART. 389

THE BROKEN HEART.

I never heard

Of any true affection, but t'was nipt
With care, that, like the caterpillar, eats
The leaves of the spring's sweetest book, the rose.

MlDDLETON. 1

IT is a common practice with those who have outlived the suscepti-
bility of early feeling, or have been brought up in the gay heartless-
ness of dissipated life, to laugh at all love stories, and to treat the
tales of romantic passion as mere fictions of novelists and poets. My
observations on human nature have induced me to think otherwise. 2
They have convinced me that however the surface of the character
may be chilled and frozen by the cares of the world, or cultivated into
mere smiles by the arts of society, still there are dormant fires lurking
in the depths of the coldest bosom, which, when once enkindled, be-
come impetuous, and are sometimes desolating in their effects. In-
deed, I am a true believer in the blind deity, 3 and go to the full extent
of his doctrines. Shall I confess it? I believe in broken hearts, and
the possibility of dying of disappointed love ! I do not, however,
consider it a malady often fatal to my own sex ; but I firmly believe
that it withers down many a lovely woman into an early grave.

Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His nature leads
him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but the
embellishment of his early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the
acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's thought,
and dominion over his fellow-men. But a woman's whole life is a
history of the affections. The heart is her world ; it is there her am-
bition strives for empire it is there her avarice seeks for hidden
treasures. She sends forth her sympathies on adventure ; she em-
barks her whole soul in the traffic of affection ; and if shipwrecked,
her case is hopeless for it is a bankruptcy of the heart.

To a man, the disappointment of love may occasion some bitter
pangs : it wounds some feelings of tenderness it blasts some pros-
pects of felicity ; but he is an active being ; he may dissipate his
thoughts in the whirl of varied occupation, or may plunge into the

390 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

tide of pleasure ; or, if the scene of disappointment be too full of pain-
ful associations, he can shift his abode at will, and taking, as it were,
the wings of the morning, can "fly to the uttermost parts of the earth,
and be at rest." 4

But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, and a meditative
life. She is more the companion of her own thoughts and feelings ;
and if they are turned to ministers of sorrow, where shall she look for
consolation? Her lot is to be wooed and won ; and if unhappy in her
love, her heart is like some fortress that has been captured, and sacked,
and abandoned, and left desolate. 5

How many bright eyes grow dim how many soft cheeks grow
pale how many lovely forms fade away into the tomb, and none can
tell the cause that blighted their loveliness ! As the dove will clasp
its wings to its side, and cover and conceal the arrow that is preying
on its vitals so is it the nature of woman, to hide from the world
the pangs of wounded affection. The love of a delicate female is
always shy and silent. Even when fortunate, she scarcely breathes
it to herself; but when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her
bosom, and there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of her
peace. With her, the desire of her heart has failed the great charm
of existence is at an end. She neglects all the cheerful exercises
which gladden the spirit, quicken the pulse, and send the tide of life in
healthful currents through the veins. Her rest is broken the sweet
refreshment of sleep is poisoned by melancholy dreams "dry sorrow
drinks her blood," until her enfeebled frame sinks under the slightest
external injury. Look for her, after a little while, and you find friend-
ship weeping over her untimely grave, and wondering that one, who
but lately glowed with all the radiance of health and beauty, should so
speedily be brought down to " darkness and the worm." You will be
told of some wintry chill, some casual indisposition, that laid her low
but no one knows the mental malady that previously sapped her
strength, and made her so easy a prey to the spoiler.

She is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty of the grove;
graceful in its form, bright in its foliage, but with the worm preying at
its heart. We find it suddenly withering, when it should be most
fresh and luxuriant. We see it drooping its branches to the earth,
and shedding leaf by leaf; until, wasted and perished away, it falls
even in the stillness of the forest ; and as we muse over the beautiful
ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could
have smitten it with decay.

THE BROKEN- HEART, 391

I have seen many instances of women running to waste and self-
neglect, and disappearing gradually from the earth, almost as if they
had been exhaled to heaven ; and have repeatedly fancied that I could
trace their deaths through the various declensions of consumption,
cold, debility, languor, melancholy, until I reached the first symptom of
disappointed love. But an instance -of the kind was lately told to me ;
the circumstances are well known in the country where they happened,
and I shall but give them in the manner in which they were related.

Every one must recollect the tragical story of young E , the

Irish patriot ; 6 it was too touching to be soon forgotten. During the
troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and executed, on a
charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression on public sym-
pathy. He was so young so intelligent so generous so brave
so every thing that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct
under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The noble indignation
with which he repelled the charge of treason against his country
the eloquent vindication of his name and his pathetic appeal to
posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation all these entered
deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented
the stern policy that dictated his execution.

But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impossible to
describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes he had won the affec-
tions of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late cele-
brated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervor
of a woman's first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed
itself against him ; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger
darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his
very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even
of his foes, what must have been the agony of her, whose whole soul
was occupied by his image ? Let those tell who have had the portals
cf the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most
loved on earth who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a
cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and loving
had departed.

But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dishon-
ored ! There was nothing for memory to dwell on that could soothe
the pang of separation none of those tender, though melancholy cir-
cumstances, that endear the parting scene nothing to melt sorrow
into those blessed tears, sent, like the dews of heaven, to revive tta
heart in the parting hour of anguish

392 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred
her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an
exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind
offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by
horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the
Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most
delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her, by families of wealth
and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds
of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her
from the tragical story of her love. But it was all in vain. There
are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the soul that
penetrate to the vital seat of happiness and blast it, never again to
put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts
of pleasure, but she was as much alone there, as in the depths of soli-
tude. She walked about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscious ol
the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe that
mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and " heeded not the
song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely."

The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade.
There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking
and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering
like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay to see it
dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-
begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a mo-
mentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid
rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself
down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for some time
with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish scene,
she began, with the capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little
plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was
so simple, so touching it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness
that she drew a crowd, mute and silent, around her, and melted
every one into tears.

The story of one so true and tender could not but excite great
interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won
the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought
that one so true to the dead, could not but prove affectionate to the
living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrecover-
ably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however,
~^rsisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem.

THE BROKEN HEART.

393

He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her
own destitute and dependent situation, for she was existing on the
kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining
her hand, though with the solemn assurance, that her heart was
unalterably another's.

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene
might wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable
and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one ; but noth-
ing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered
into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow, but hopeless decline,
and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.

It was on her that Moore, the distinguished Irish poet, composed
the following lines :

"She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,

And lovers around her are sighing ;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,

Every note which he loved awaking
Ah I little they think, who delight in her strains,

How the heart of the minstrel is breaking 1

He had lived for his love for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him

Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind himl

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,

When they promise a glorious morrow ;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,

From her own loved island of sorrow 1"

394 AMERICAN LITERATURE

NOTES TO IRVING.

"Rip VAN WINKLE" and "The Broken Heart" are taken from the
il Sketch Book." The former illustrates Irving's lighter vein, the latter his
serious vein. For the circumstances under which the "Sketch Book " was
written, consult the sketch of Irving.

Irving prefaced the story of "Rip Van Winkle" with the following
explanation : " The following tale was found among the papers of the late
Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very
curious in the Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the descen-
dants from its primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not
lie so much among books as among men ; for the former are lamentably
scanty on his favorite topics ; whereas he found the old burghers, and still
more, their wives, rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to true history.
Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut
up in its low-roofed farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon
it as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a
bookworm.

" The result of all these researches was a history of the province, during
the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since.
There have been various opinions as to the literary character of his work,
and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief
merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which, indeed, was a little questioned on its
first appearance, but has since been completely established ; and it is now
admitted into all historical collections, as a book of unquestionable authority.

"The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, and
now, that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory to say
that his time might have been much better employed in weightier labors.
He, however, was apt to ride his hobby in his own way ; and though it did
now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors, and
grieve the spirit of some friends for whom he felt the truest deference and
affection, yet his errors and follies are remembered * more in sorrow than in
anger,' and it begins to be suspected that he never intended to injure or
offend. 1 But however his memory may be appreciated by critics, it is still

1 Knickerbocker's History of New York had given offence to some for its irreverent
use of honored names and its caricature of Dutch character. In an address before the New
Vork Historical Society, Gulian C. Verplanck, a friend of Irving's, said : " It is painful to see

NOTES TO IRVING. 395

held dear among many folk, whose good opinion is well worth having ; par-
ticularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his
likeness on their New-Year cakes, and have thus given him a chance for
immortality almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo medal or a
Queen Anne farthing." 1

The two pieces selected for special study well illustrate Irving's charac-
teristics as a writer. We find in them an easy grace and elegance, a flowing
and musical rhythm, a light play of fancy and humor, a delicate and tender
sentiment, a smooth and unaffected narrative ; picturesque description, and
graphic delineation of character. Of Irving it may be said, as of few other
writers, that the style is the man. His writings are suffused with his genial
personality. Thackeray has described him in the family as "gentle, gener-
ous, good-humored, affectionate, self-denying; in society, a delightful example
of complete gentlemanliness." These traits are reflected in his work.

" His facility in writing and the charm of his style," says W 7 illiam Cullen
Bryant, "were owing to very early practice, the reading of good authors,
and the native elegance of his mind, and not, in my opinion, to any special
study of the graces of manner or any anxious care in the use of terms and
phrases. Words and combinations of words are sometimes found in his
writings to which a fastidious taste might object; but these do not prevent
his style from being one of the most agreeable in the whole range" of our
literature. It is transparent as the light, sweetly modulated, unaffected, the
native expression of a fertile fancy, a benignant temper, and a mind which,
delighting in the noble and the beautiful, turned involuntarily away from their
opposites. His peculiar humor was, in a great measure, the offspring of this
constitution of his mind. This ' fanciful playing with common things,' as Mr.
Dana calls it, is never coarse never tainted with grossness, and always in
harmony with our better sympathies. It not only tinged his writings, but
overflowed in his delightful conversation."

RIP VAN WINKLE.

I. William Cartwright (1611-1643) "was distinguished by a graceful
person and attractive manner, and by extraordinary industry ; and, indeed,

a mind, as admirable for its exquisite perception of the beautiful as it is for its quick sense of
the ridiculous, wasting the richness of its fancy on an ungrateful theme, and its exuberant
humor in a coarse caricature." Irving read this criticism just as he was finishing Rip Van
Winkle, and accordingly made this pleasant reference and playful apology.

1 According to a popular but baseless story, only three farthings were coined in Queen
Anne's reign, of which two were in public keeping, and the other was lost.

396

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

his fame rests on his personal popularity and the praise which he received
from his fellow-poets, and especially from Ben Jonson, rather than on the
merit of his verses, which are, in fact, very ordinary productions."

2. "The Catskill, Katskill, or Cat River Mountains," says Irving, "de-
rived their name, in the time of the Dutch domination, from the catamounts
by which they were infested ; and which, with the bear, the wolf, and the
deer, are still to be found in some of their most difficult recesses. ... To
me they have ever been the fairy region of the Hudson. I speak, however,
from early impressions, made in the happy days of boyhood, when all the
world had a tinge of fairyland. I shall never forget my first view of these
mountains. It was in the course of a voyage up the Hudson, in the good old
times before steamboats and railroads had driven all poetry and romance out
of travel. ... I was a lively boy, somewhat imaginative, of easy faith, and
prone to relish everything that partook of the marvellous. Among the pas-
sengers on board of the sloop was a veteran Indian trader, on his way to the
Lakes to traffic with the natives. He had discovered my propensity, and
amused himself throughout the voyage by telling me Indian legends and gro-
tesque stories about every noted place on the river. . . . The Catskill
Mountains especially called forth a host of fanciful traditions. We were all
day slowly tiding along in sight of them, so that he had full time to weave his
whimsical narratives."

3. Peter Stuyvesant (1602-1682) was governor of the New Netherlands
from 1647 to 1664, when the province passed into the hands of the English.
Three of the seven books of Knickerbocker's " History of New York" are
devoted to his reign. He is characterized as "a tough, sturdy, valiant,
weather-beaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion-hearted, generous-
spirited old governor."

4. In the illustrious catalogue of " the- sturdy chivalry of the Hudson,"
who accompanied Stuyvesant in his expedition against Fort Christina, we find
the Van Winkles. At the moment of setting out, these heroes were " all for-
tified with a mighty dinner, and to use the words of a great Dutch poet,

< Brimful of wrath and cabbage.'"

5. A small rocky promontory on the right bank of the Hudson, forty-two
miles from New York. It was stormed by Gen. Anthony Wayne, July 16,
1770.. This is regarded by some as not only the most brilliant assault of the
Revolutionary War, but the most brilliant in all history.

6. Antony's Nose is a promontory a few miles above Stony Point. If we
may believe Diedrich Knickerbocker, it was named after Antony Van Corlear,
Stuyvesant's trumpeter. " It must be known that the nose of Antony the
trumpeter was of a very lusty size, strutting boldly from his countenance like

NOTES TO IRVING.

397

a mountain of Golconda. . . . Now thus it happened, that bright and early
in the morning, the good Antony, having washed his burly visage, was lean-
ing over the quarter railing of the galley, contemplating it in the glassy wave
below. Just at this moment the illustrious sun, breaking in all his splendor
from behind a high bluff of the highlands, did dart one of his most potent
beams full upon the refulgent nose of the sounder of brass the reflection of
vhich shot straightway down, hissing hot, into the water, and killed a mighty
sturgeon that was sporting beside the vessel ! . . . When this astonishing
miracle came to be made known to Peter Stuyvesant he ... marvelled ex-
ceedingly ; and as a monument thereof, he gave the name of Antony 's Nose
to a stout promontory in the neighborhood and it has continued to be
called Antony's Nose ever since that time."

7. Adrian Vanderdonk, who wrote a " famous account of the New
Netherlands."

8. To this story Irving appended the following note : "The foregoing
tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. Knickerbocker by a little
German superstition about the Emperor Frederick der Rcthbart, and the
Kypphauser mountain; the subjoined note, however, which he had ap-
pended to the tale, shows that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his usual
fidelity.

" 'The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but never-
theless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of our old Dutch settle-
ments to have been very subject to marvellous events and appearances.
Indeed, I have heard many stranger stories than this, in the villages along
the Hudson ; all of which were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt.
I have even talked with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him,
was a very old venerable man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on
every other point, that I think no conscientious person could refuse to take
this into the bargain ; nay, I have seen a certificate on the subject taken
before a country justice and signed with a cross, in the justice's own hand-
writing. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of doubt. D. K.' "

THE BROKEN HEART.

1. Thomas Middleton, a dramatic writer, who lived in the reign of Eliza-
beth, James I., and Charles I. His earliest known piece belongs to 1602,
and his latest to 1626.

2. Irving's own life illustrated a "romantic passion."

3. Cupid, who was often represented with a bandage over his eyes.
Why should he be thus represented, or called " blind "?

4. Apparently a reference to Ps. Iv. 6, though not an exact quotation.

5. This and the two preceding paragraphs recall Byron's lines :

398 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,

'Tis woman's whole existence ; man may range

The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart;
Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange

Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart,

And few there are whom these cannot estrange."

6. Robert Emmet (1778-1803) was a schoolfellow of the poet Moore,
In 1803 he attempted to excite a revolution in Ireland, but ingloriously failed.
He fled to the mountains; and perceiving that success was impossible, he re-
solved to escape to the Continent. But he delayed to have a last interview
with the lady to whom he was deeply attached, a daughter of Curran, the
celebrated barrister. He was apprehended, condemned to death, and exe-
cuted Sept. 20, 1803. His fate is commemorated by Moore in one of the
" Irish Melodies : "

" Oh ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid ;
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps ;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls."

ESCAPE FROM A PANTHER. 399

VIII.

SELECTION FROM COOPER.
ESCAPE FROM A PANTHER. 1

BY this time they 2 had gained the summit of the mountain, where
they left the highway, and pursued their course under the shade of the
stately trees that crowned the eminence.

The day was becoming warm, 'and the girls plunged more deeply
into the forest, as they found its invigorating coolness agreeably con-
trasted to the excessive heat they had experienced in the ascent. The
conversation, 3 as" if by mutual consent, was entirely changed to the
little incidents and scenes of their walk, and every tall pine, and every
shrub or flower, called forth some simple expression of admiration.

In this manner they proceeded along the margin of the precipice,
patching occasional glimpses of the placid Otsego, 4 or pausing to listen
to the rattling of wheels and the sounds of hammers, that rose from
the valley, to mingle the signs of men with the scenes of nature, when
Elizabeth suddenly started, and exclaimed,

" Listen ! there are the cries of a child 5 on this mountain! is there
a clearing near us? or can some little one have strayed from its
parents? "

'* Such things frequently happen," returned Louisa. " Let us follow
the sound : it may be a wanderer starving on the hill."

Urged by this consideration, the females 6 pursued the low, mourn-
ful sounds, that proceeded from the forest, with quick and impatient
steps. More than once the ardent Elizabeth was on the point of an-
nouncing that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa caught her by the
arm, and pointing behind them, cried, 7

" Look at the dog!"

Brave had been their companion, from the time the voice of his
young mistress lured him from his kennel, to the present moment.
His advanced age had long before deprived him of his activity ; and
when his companions stopped to view the scenery, or to add to their
bouquets, the mastiff would lay his huge frame on the ground, and

400 AMERICAN LITER A TURE.

await their movements, with his eyes closed, and a listlessness in his
air, that ill accorded with the character of a protector. But when,
aroused by this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog
with his eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near the
ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, through fright or
anger. It was most probably the latter, for he was growling in a low
key, and occasionally showing his teeth, in a manner that would have
terrified his mistress, had she not so well known his good qualities.

" Brave ! " she said, " be quiet, Brave! what do you see, fellow?"

At the sounds of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, instead of being
at all diminished, was very sensibly increased. He stalked in front
of the ladies, and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling
louder than before, and occasionally giving vent to his ire, by a short,
surly barking.

'* What does he see? " said Elizabeth : " there must be some ani-
mal in sight."

Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss Temple turned her
head, and beheld Louisa, standing with her face whitened to the color
of death, and her finger pointing upwards, with a sort of flickering,
convulsed motion. The quick eye of Elizabeth glanced in the direction
indicated by her friend, where she saw the fierce front and glaring eyes
of a female panther, fixed on them in horrid malignity, and threaten-
ing to leap. 8

"Let us fly!" exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the arm of Louisa,
whose form yielded like melting snow.

There was not a single feeling in the temperament of Elizabeth
Temple that could prompt her to desert a companion in such an ex-
tremity. She fell on her knees, by the side of the inanimate Louisa,
tearing from the person of her friend, with instinctive readiness, such
parts of her dress as might obstruct her respiration, and encouraging
their only safeguard, the dog, at the same time, by the sounds of her
voice.

" Courage, Brave ! " she cried, her own tones beginning to tremble,
''courage, courage, good Brave!"

A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been unseen, now ap-
peared, dropping from the branches of a sapling that grew under the
shade of the beech which held its dam. This ignorant, but vicious
creature, approached the dog, imitating the actions and sounds of its
parent, but exhibiting a strange mixture of the playfulness of a kitten
with the ferocity of its race. Standing on its hind legs, it would rend

ESCAPE FROM A PANTHER. 401

the bark of a tree with its fore paws, and play the antics of a cat ; and
then, by lashing itself with its tail, growling, and scratching the earth,
it would attempt the manifestations of anger that rendered its parent
so terrific.

All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, his short tail erect,
his body drawn backward on its haunches, and his eyes following the
movements of both dam and cub. At every gambol played by the
latter, it approached nigher to the dog, the growling of the three be-
coming more horrid at each moment, until the younger beast, over-
leaping its intended bound, fell directly before the mastiff. There was
a moment of fearful cries and struggles, but they ended almost as soon
as commenced, by the cub appearing in the air, hurled from the jaws
of Brave, with a violence that sent it against a tree so forcibly as to
render it completely senseless. 9

Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her blood was warm-
ing with the triumph of the dog, when she saw the form of the old
panther in the air, springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech
to the back of the mastiff. No words of ours can describe the fury
of the conflict that followed. It was a confused struggle on the dry
leaves, accompanied by loud and terrific cries. Miss Temple contin-
ued on her knees, bending over the form of Louisa, her eyes fixed on
the animals, with an interest so horrid, and yet so intense, that she
almost forgot her own stake in the result. So rapid and vigorous were
the bounds of the inhabitant of the forest, that its active frame seemed
constantly in the air, while the dog nobly faced his foe at each succes-
sive leap. When the panther lighted on the shoulders of the mastiff,
which I0 was its constant aim, old Brave, though torn with her talons, 11
and stained with his own blood, that already flowed from a dozen
wounds, would shake off his furious foe like a feather, and rearing on
his hind legs, rush to the fray again, with jaws distended, and a daunt-
less eye. But age, and his pampered life, greatly disqualified the
noble mastiff for such a struggle. In everything but courage, he was
only the vestige of what he had once been. A higher bound than
ever raised the wary and furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog,
who was making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, from which
she alighted in a favorable position, on the back of her aged foe. For
a single moment only could the panther remain there, the great
strength of the dog returning with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth
saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side of his enemy, that the
collar of brass around his neck, which had been glittering throughou:

4O2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

the fray, was of the color of blood, and directly, that his frame was
sinking to the earth, where it soon lay prostrate and helpless.

Several mighty efforts of the wild-cat I2 to extricate herself from
the jaws of the dog followed, but they were fruitless, until the mastiff
turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened, when
the short convulsions and stillness that succeeded announced the
death of poor Brave.

Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There is
said to be something in the front of the image of the Maker that
daunts the hearts of the inferior beings of his creation ; and it would
seem that some such power, in the present instance, suspended the
threatened blow. The eyes of the monster and the kneeling maiden
met for an instant, when the former stooped to examine her fallen
foe ; next to scent her luckless cub. From the latter examination, it
turned, however, with its eyes apparently emitting flashes of fire, its
tail lashing its sides furiously, and its claws projecting inches 13 from
her broad feet.

Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her hands were clasped
in the attitude of prayer, but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible
enemy ; her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her
lips were slightly separated with horror.

The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal termination,
and the beautiful figure of Elizabeth was bowing meekly to the stroke,
when a rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock her organs
than to meet her ears.

"Hist! hist! said a low voice, "stoop lower, gal; your bonnet
hides the creator's head."

It was rather the yielding of nature than a compliance with this
unexpected order, that caused the head of our heroine to sink on her
bosom ; when she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bul-
let, and the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the
earth, biting its own flesh, and tearing the twigs and branches within
its reach. At the next instant the form of the Leatherstocking rushed
by her, and he called aloud,

" Come in, Hector, come in, old fool ; 'tis a hard-lived animal, and
may jump ag'in."

Natty fearlessly maintained his position in front of the females,
notwithstanding the violent bounds and threatening aspect of the
wounded panther, which gave several indications of returning strength
and ferocity, until his rifle was again loaded, when he stepped up to

ESCAPE FROM A PANTHER. 403

the enraged animal, and placing the muzzle close to its head, every
spark of life was extinguished by the discharge.

The death of her terrible enemy appeared to Elizabeth like a
resurrection from her own grave. There was an elasticity in the
mind of our heroine that rose to meet the pressure of instant dan-
ger, and the more direct it had been, the more her nature had strug-
gled to overcome it. But still she was a woman. Had she been left
to herself in her late extremity, she would probably have used her fac-
ulties to the utmost, and with discretion, in protecting her person;
but encumbered with her inanimate friend, retreat was a thing not to
be attempted. Notwithstanding the fearful aspect of her foe, the eye
of Elizabeth had never shrunk from its gaze, and long after the event
her thoughts would recur to her passing sensations, and the sweet-
ness of her midnight sleep would be disturbed, as her active fancy
conjured, 14 in dreams, the most trifling movements of savage fury
that the beast had exhibited in its moment of power.

We shall leave the reader to imagine the restoration of Louisa's
senses, and the expressions of gratitude which fell from the young
women. The former was effected by a little water, that was brought
from one of the thousand springs of those mountains, in the cap of
the Leatherstocking ; and the latter were uttered with the warmth
that might be expected from the character of Elizabeth. Natty re-
ceived her vehement protestations of gratitude with a simple expres-
sion of good-will, and with indulgence for her present excitement, but
with a carelessness that showed how little he thought of the service he
had rendered.

" Well, well," he said, "be it so, gal; let it be so, if you wish it
we 1 !! talk the thing over another time. Come, come; let us get
into the road, for you've had terror enough to make you wish yourself
in your father's house ag'in."

This was uttered as they were proceeding, at a pace that was
adapted to the weakness of Louisa, towards the highway : on reach-
ing which, the ladies separated from their guide, declaring themselves
equal to the remainder of the walk without his assistance, and feeling
encouraged by the sight of the village, which lay beneath their feet
like a picture, with its limpid lake in front, the winding stream IS along
its margin, and its hundred chimneys of whitened bricks.

The reader need not be told the nature of the emotions which two
youthful, ingenuous, and well-educated girls would experience at their
escape from a death so horrid as the one which had impended over

404 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

them, while they pursued their way in silence along the track on the
side of the mountain ; nor how deep were their mental thanks to that
Power which had given them their existence, and which had not
deserted them in their extremity ; neither how often they pressed each
other's arms, as the assurance of their present safety came like a heal-
ing balm athwart their troubled spirits, when their thoughts were
recurring to the recent moments of horror.

Leatherstocking remained on the hill, gazing after their retiring
figures, until they were hidden by a bend in the road, when he whistled
in his dogs, and shouldering his rifle, he returned into the forest.

" Well, it was a skeary thing to the young creaturs," said Natty,
while he retrod the path towards the plain. " It might frighten an
older woman, to see a she-painter l6 so near her, with a dead cub by
its side. I wonder if I had aimed at the varmint's eye, if I shouldn't
have touched the life sooner than in the forehead ; but they are hard-
lived animals, and it was a good shot, consid'ring that I could see
nothing but the head and the peak of its tail."

NOTES TO COOPER. 405

NOTES TO COOPER.

1. The "Escape from a Panther" is an episode taken from chapter
xxviii. of "The Pioneers." For a notice of this work, see the sketch of
Cooper. This selection well illustrates our author's power of vivid descrip-
tion and narrative. As already pointed out, it is in work of this kind that he
appears at his best.

2. Miss Elizabeth Temple, the heroine of "The Pioneers," and her
friend, Miss Louise Grant, daughter of the local rector. They are out on a
pleasure walk, a short distance from Leatherstocking's hut, and not far from
the village of Templeton, the name for Cooperstown adopted in the story.

3. They had been talking about a young man, the hero of the tale, in
whom both were more interested than they would have cared to acknowledge,
and about whose life there was a mystery explained, of course, near the
end of the story.

4. Otsego Lake, about seven and a half miles long and one and a half
miles wide. It is surrounded by high hills, and the scenery is picturesque.

5. The cry of the panther, so old hunters have said, often bears a strik-
ing resemblance to the human voice, for which, as in the present case, it has
sometimes been mistaken.

6. It was customary in Cooper's time to call a woman by the very indefi-
nite title of "female" a usage that has fortunately given way to better
taste.

7. Do you discover any incongruity in this sentence ? Remodel and
improve it.

8. To this sentence Cooper appended the following note : " Not long
since there appeared in the papers an account of a hunter, upon whose head
a panther had leaped, as he was sitting in the woods. A severe struggle en-
sued. The man was seriously wounded, but saved himself by plunging into
a piece of water close at hand, and diving beneath the surface. There can
be no doubt that these animals have occasionally inflicted fatal wounds.
Governor DeWitt Clinton mentioned a panther, killed early in this century
near Oneida Lake, by a Frenchman. The animal was shot in the attitude of
leaping on the man. Its length was nine feet, eleven inches. The head
was taken to Schenectady, where it may possibly still be found."

9. This sentence may be taken as illustrating Cooper's rapid and careless
style.

10. What is the antecedent of " which"? Note also the careless use of
" its " and " her " in the same sentence.

406

AMERICAN LITER A TURK.

11. Is this a correct use of the word " talons " ?

12. Is it correct to call a panther a " wild cat "?

13. Could this be strictly true ? Note the unsteadiness in the use of the
pronouns in this and the preceding sentence.

14. What is the difference between conjure and conjttre up ? Which is
the correct word here ?

15. The Susquehanna, one branch of which takes its rise in Otsego Lake.

1 6. A term for panther frequently used by uneducated persons.

SELECTIONS FROM BRYANT. 40;

IX.

SELECTIONS FROM BRYANT.
THANATOPSIS.

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion J with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language : for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty ; * and she glides
Into his darker musings, 3 with a mild
And healing 4 sympathy, that steals 5 away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter 6 hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern 7 agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, 8 and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ;
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air
Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace 9 of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, 10 to be resolved to earth again ;
And, lost each human trace," surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements ;
To be a brother to the insensible I2 rock,
And to the sluggish ciod, which the rude swain I3
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad -od pierce thy mould.

408 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs I4 of the infant world, with kings,
The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; IS the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness l6 between ;
The venerable I7 woods ; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green ; and poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy l8 waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 19
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 20
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, 21 pierce the Barcan wilderness, 22
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, 23 and hears no sound
Save his own dashings, yet the dead are there !
And millions in those solitudes, 24 since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep, the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw
In silence 2S from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood 26 of care
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom ; 27 yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide 28 away, the sons of men
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man * 9

SELECTIONS FROM BItYANT. 409

Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To that mysterious realm, 30 where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

TO A WATERFOWL.

WHITHER, midst falling dew, 1
While glow 2 the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary 3 way ?

Vainly the fowler's 4 eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats 5 along.

Seek'st thou the plashy 6 brink
Of weedy lake, or marge 7 of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

On the chafed 8 ocean-side ?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast 9
The desert and illimitable air

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, 10 the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

4IO AMERICAN LITERATURE.

And soon that toil shall end ;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend,

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss " of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart
Deeply has sunk the lesson I2 thou hast given,

And shall not soon depart :

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

A FOREST HYMN.

THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 1
And spread the roof above them, ere he framed
The lofty vault, 2 to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems ; 3 in the darkling 4 wood,
Amid 5 the cool and silence, he knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest solemn 6 thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not 7 resist the sacred influences
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once
All their green tops, stole 8 over him, and bowed
His spirit with the thought of boundless power
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, 9 neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, 10 and adore
Only among the crowd, and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least,
Here, in fhe shadow of this aged wood,
Offer one hymn thrice happy, if it find
Acceptance in His ear.

SELECTIONS FROM BRYANT. 4! I

Father, thy hand

Hath reared these venerable columns, thou
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down
Upon the naked earth, 11 and, forthwith, rose
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun,
Budded and shook their green leaves in thy breeze,
And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood,
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,
Fit shrine I2 for humble worshipper to hold
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults,
These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride
Report I3 not. No fantastic I4 carvings show
The boast of our vain race to change the form
Of thy fair works. But thou art here thou fill'st
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds
That run along the summit of these trees
In music ; thou art in the cooler breath
That from the inmost darkness of the place
Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground,
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct IS with thee.
Here is continual worship ; Nature, here,
In the tranquillity that thou dost love,
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around,
From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs,
Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left
Thyself without a witness, in the shades,
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace
Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem
Almost annihilated not a prince,
In all that proud old world beyond the deep,
E'er wore his crown as loftily as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare

4 1 2 AMERICAN LITER A TURE.

Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flowei,
With scented breath and look so like a smile,
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould,
An emanation l6 of the indwelling Life,
A visible token of the upholding Love,
That are the soul of this great universe.

My heart is awed within me when I think
Of the great miracle that still goes on,
In silence, round me the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed
Forever. Written on thy works I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.
Lo ! all grow old and die but see again,
How on the faltering footsteps of decay
Youth presses ever gay and beautiful youth
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost
One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet,
After the flight of untold centuries,
The freshness of her far beginning lies
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
Of his arch-enemy Death yea, seats himself
Upon the tyrant's throne the sepulchre,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe
Makes his own nourishment. For he I7 came forth
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have been holy men l8 who hid themselves
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived
The generation born with them, nor seemed
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks
Around them ; and there have been holy men
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.
But let me often to these solitudes
Retire, and in thy presence reassure
My feeble virtue, Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink

SELECTIONS FROM BRYANT. 413

'And tremble and are still. O God! when thou
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill,
With all the waters of the firmament,
The swift dark whirlwind I9 that uproots the woods
And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call,
Uprises the great deep and throws himself
Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by?
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath
Of the mad, unchained elements to teach
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate,
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty,
And to the beautiful order of thy works
Learn to conform the order of our lives.

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 1

THOU blossom, bright with autumn dew,
And colored with the heaven's own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night ;

Thou comest not when violets lean

O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen,

Or columbines, 2 in purple dressed,

Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.

Thou waitest late, and com'st alone,
When woods are bare and birds are flown,
And frosts and shortening days portend
The aged Year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quite eye
Look through its fringes to the sky,
Blue blue as if that sky let fall
A flower from its cerulean wall.

4 ! 4 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

I would that thus, when I shall see
The hour of death draw near to me,
Hope, blossoming within my heart,
May look to heaven as I depart.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ;

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,

And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers that lately sprang and

stood

In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,

And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ;

But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,

And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on

men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade and

glen.

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ;

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are

still,

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The South Wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
\nd sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.

SELECTIONS FROM BRYANT.

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,

The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.

In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;

Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of o^urs,

So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.

THE EVENING WIND.

SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day !

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow ;
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,

Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,

Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray,

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee

To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!

Nor I alone, a thousand bosoms round

Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound

Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ;
And languishing to hear thy welcome sound,

Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth.

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest ;

Curl the still waters, bright with stars ; and rouse
The wide old wood from his majestic rest,

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs,
The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast.

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.

Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway

The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone,
That they who near the churchyard willows stray,

4 1 6 AMERICA N LITER A TURE.

And listen in the deepening gloom, alone,
May think of gentle souls that passed away,

Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown,
Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men,
And gone into the boundless heaven again.

The faint old man shall lean his silver head

To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,

And dry the moistened curls that overspread

His temples, while his breathing grows more deep:

And they who stand about the sick man's bed
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,

And softly part his curtains to allow

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.

Go, but the circle of eternal change,

Which is the life of nature, shall restore,

With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range,
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more.

Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore ;

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem

He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.

NOTES TO BRYANT. 417

NOTES TO BRYANT.

A FEW suggestions are made in reference to the study of poetry in
general.

1. It is desirable to know as much as possible about the poet. Charac-
ter and beliefs are reflected in poetry. All great poets have fundamental
religious or philosophic beliefs that give tone to their productions. It is
impossible fully to understand what is most characteristic in Wordsworth,
Emerson, or Browning without a knowledge of their views of nature and of
human life.

2. It will prove helpful in many cases to know the circumstances under
which any given poem was written. The poet is apt to turn his experience,
whether happy or unhappy, into verse. Sorrow especially forces from his
soul the sweet perfume of poetry. If we know the occasion of its compo-
sition, it will generally be easier for us to catch the full meaning of the
poem. When we know the circumstances under which it was written, Bry-
ant's poem "To a Waterfowl " becomes much more interesting.

3. A genuine poem should be carefully studied. The words should be
weighed, the allusions cleared up, the scenes pictured by the imagination.
The structure of the verse should be clearly comprehended. The harmony
and force of each line and sentence should be tested. The development of
the poem and the symmefry of its parts should be traced. As our great
poets are consummate artists, and use language with exquisite care, this pains-
taking process will constantly reveal new beauties.

4. As far as possible, we should enter into sympathy with the poet.
We should surrender to his spell, and glow with his emotions. We should
fondly linger in the enchanted region to which he introduces us ; for it is
only thus that we pass at length into the fulness of his vision and rapture.
The painstaking labor spent upon any poem is but preliminary to this full
enjoyment.

THANATOPSIS.

For facts concerning the composition and publication of this poem, see
the sketch of Bryant.

The title (from Greek thanatos> death, and ofisis, view), means a view of,
or meditation on, death.

The poem illustrates two of Bryant's leading characteristics: (l) his
sympathy with nature, and (2) his reflective, ethical tone.

41 8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

As first published in the North American Review, the poem began with
the lines,

" Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course,"

and closed with the words,

"And make their bed with thee."

The present beautiful beginning and close were added in 1822, when eight
of Bryant's poems were published in a pamphlet of forty-eight pages.

Bryant is distinguished for the quality of his blank verse. No other
American poet has used it so effectively. It has an elevation, rhythm, and
sonorous music that furnish a fitting dress for his lofty thought and deep
emotion.

The several parts of this poem and the movement of thought may be
briefly indicated as follows: i. Nature speaks a various language to those
who love and commune with her (lines 1-8). 2. When sorrowful thoughts
of death come to the soul, listen to Nature's teachings (8-17). 3. Her voice
tells us that our forms will soon vanish from the earth (17-30). 4. Yet our
resting-place is hallowed by the presence of the mighty, the wise, and the
good, and decorated by the hills, woods, rivers, and " Old ocean's gray and
melancholy waste" (30-45). 5. The innumerable dead that reign in all
parts of the earth (45-57). 6. The present and coming generations will
all come to make their bed with us in the dust (57-72). 7. We should so
live as to approach the grave with an unfaltering trust (72-81).

1. Explain "communion" What "visible forms" are meant?

2. Eloquence of beauty = a beauty capable of exciting deep emotion.

3. Explain " darker musings." Note the force of the word "glides."

4. In some editions we find "gentle" in place of "healing." Which
is preferable?

5. What is the force of " steals " here, and why is it better than takes ?

6. Give a synonym of " bitter," and explain " blight" in the same line.

7. Explain " stern."

8. That is, of the coffin in the " narrow house " or grave

9. Embrace = clasp. French en, in, and bras, arm.

10. Growth == developed form.

11. Parse "trace."

12. What is the meaning of " insensible"? Is there any difference be-
tween " insensible" and "sluggish " in the next line?

13. Explain " rude swain."

14. What is the etymology of "patriarchs.," and who are meant here?

NOTES TO BRYANT. 419

15. This statement is not strictly true ; but when Bryant wrote, the nebu-
lar hypothesis was not so generally adopted, and geological science was yet in
its infancy. As a matter of fact, the hills are a comparatively recent phenonv
enon in the history of our globe, and certainly much less ancient than the sun.

16. Explain "pensive quietness."

17. Give the exact idea of " venerable."

18. Note the fine effect of these adjectives. Give a synonym of " mel-

19. What is meant by this phrase?

20. What is meant by " tribes " f

21. An adaptation of Ps. cxxxix. 9 : " If I take the wings of the morn-
ing, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea."

22. Other readings are: "Traverse Barca's desert sands," and "the
Barcan desert pierce." Which is preferable ? Barca is a country in north-
ern Africa.

23. Another name for the Columbia River.

24. This statement is true of Barca, which at present has a population of
a million, and contains ruins indicative of a flourishing era in the past ; but its
truth is not so obvious in the case of the Oregon.

' 25. Other readings are : "If thou withdraw Unheeded," and " If thou
shall fall Unnoticed."

26. Brood = progeny, offspring. Paraphrase this sentence.

27. What is a "phantom " ? What are some of the "phantoms " men
pursue ?

28. Bryant also wrote "glides" Which is better?

29. For this line, the following is substituted in some editions :

" The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,"

which is certainly more poetical.

30. Another reading is : " The pale realms of shade." Which do you
prefer ?

To A WATERFOWL.

For the circumstances of its composition, see the sketch of Bryant.
The following incident is related by Mr. Parke Godwin :
"Once when the late Matthew Arnold, with his family, was visiting the
ever-hospitable country home of Mr. Charles Butler, I happened to spend an
evening there. In the course of it Mr. Arnold took up a volume of Mr.
Bryant's poems from a table, and, turning to me, said, 'This is the American
poet, facile princeps ; ' and after a pause he continued : ' When I first heard
of him, Hartley Coleridge (I was but a lad at the time) came into my father's

4 2 O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

house one afternoon considerably excited, and exclaimed, '* Matt, do you want
to hear the best short poem in the English language? " " Faith, Hartley, I
do," was my reply. He then read a poem " To a Waterfowl," in his best
manner. And he was a good reader. As soon as he had done, he asked,
" What do you think of that ? " " I am not sure but you are right, Hartley;
is that your father's ?" was my reply. "No," he rejoined; " father has writ-
ten nothing like that." Some days after he might be heard muttering to
himself,

' The desert and illimitable air,
Lone wandering, but not lost." ' 1

Note the use of the generic term " waterfowl." Can you give a reason
for this ? What aquatic fowl is probably meant ?

Make an analysis of the poem so as to give the order of thought in the
successive stanzas. Do not fail mentally to picture the scenes described.

1. Explain the phenomenon of " dew." Does all dew fall? At what
time is the " waterfowl " seen by the poet?

2. Explain "glow." What figure of speech is used with " day" ?

3. Does the "waterfowl" in question usually migrate alone? What
form do the flocks generally assume in their migrations ?

4. Why should the poet think of a "fowler " as he watches the water-
fowl ?

5. Why use the word "floats " here?

6. Explain " plashy."

7. What word would the poet have used in prose?

8. Explain " chafed." All the waters mentioned in this stanza are vis-
ited by the wild goose, with the habits of which the poet was evidently
acquainted.

9. Coast = region an unusual meaning.

10. These birds usually fly at a great height. It is only when confused
or lost that they fly near the earth.

11. Abyss = immeasurable space. From Greek a privative and bussos^
depth, bottom. Etymologically, a bottomless depth.

12. Here we have another illustration of Bryant's ethical habit of mind.
The following stanza contains the lesson learned.

A FOREST HYMN.

In this poem Bryant's deep religious nature is clearly apparent.
Make an analysis of the poem by noting the successive topics.

1 Bigelow, William Cullen Bryant, p. 43.

NOTES TO BRYANT. 421

1. Explain "shaft" and " architrave.'* See illustrations in a good
dictionary.

2. Vault = arched roof or ceiling. In the great cathedrals of Europe
the arched ceiling is often very lofty.

3. As poured forth from the great cathedral organs and large choirs.

4. Darkling = dusky, gloomy. " The pres. part, of a supposed verb
darkle ', diminutive from dark." WEBSTER.

5. In some editions we find "amidst." " Amid " is used mostly in
poetry.

6. Give a synonym for " solemn."

7. Might not was not able. A. S. magan, to be able.

8. What is the subject of " stole " ? From what three separate objects
came the " sacred influences "?

9. Explain " riper years.'*

10. What is the etymological force of sanctuary?

11. Bryant had in mind Gen. i. 10, II.

12. Explain " shrine ." Why does Bryant say " humble worshipper "\

13. Report = te\\.

14. Fantastic = existing only in imagination ; hence, unlike anything in
nature. Such ornamentation can hardly be justified on any correct principles
of architecture. According to Ruskin, ornamentation should in some degree
express or adopt the beauty of natural objects. " All noble ornament is the
expression of man's delight in God's work."

15. Instinct = moved, animated. Lat. instinguere, to instigate, incite.

16. Emanation = that which issues from any source. Lat. e, out, and
manare, to flow.

17. To what does "he" refer?

18. These were the anchorets or hermits of the early centuries of the
Christian era. " They lived in caves, avoided all intercourse with their fellow-
men, abstained as much as possible from food, spoke no word, but prayed in
silence." Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia.

19. Express " the swift dark whirlwind " in a single word.

To THE FRINGED GENTIAN.

This poem is justly admired for its delicate feeling. The poet's love of
nature, exhibited in the various fine descriptions of " Thanatopsis," and " A
Forest Hymn," is here centred in a little flower. His acquaintance with
the appearance and habits of the several flowers mentioned indicates his
attentive observation.

I. Gentiana crinita^ or Blue Fringed Gentian, found in cool, low groundi

422 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

from Canada to Carolina. The stem is about a foot high, and the flowers are
sky-blue. It blooms in autumn.

2. Aquilegia Vtdgaris, or common Columbine. It blooms in June, with
large purple flowers. Another common species, Aquilegia Canadensis, has
scarlet flowers.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

This poem was written in memory of the poet's sister, the beloved com-
panion of his earlier years. See the sketch of Bryant. " No one is to be
envied," says a biographer, " who can read the closing stanzas to-day without
emotion."

What characteristics of the poet are exemplified in this piece? This
poem, as well as the following one, "The Evening Wind," will repay careful
Study.

SELECTIONS FROM FOE. 423

SELECTIONS FROM POE.
THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my chamber door

Only this and nothing more." 1

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 2
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost Lenore >
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 3
Thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; 4

This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer,
" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " here I opened wide the door ;

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

424 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word " Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word ** Lenore ! "

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
** Surely, 1 ' said I, " surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore ;

'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 5
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed he ;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door
Perched upon a bust of Pallas 6 just above my chamber door

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern*decorum of the countenance it wore,

" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no

craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore ! "

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 7

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown before
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said " Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

' Doubtless, 1 ' said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store,

SELECTIONS FROM POE. 42$

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of ' Never nevermore.' "

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door ;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking " Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er

She shall press, ah, nevermore !

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen

censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee by these angels he

hath sent thee

Respite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore !
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore ! "

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore."

' Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil !
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
On this Home by horror haunted tell me truly, I implore
Is there is 'here balm in Gilead ? tell me tell me, I implore ! "

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore."

" Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil !
By that heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 8

426 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I shrieked, upstart-
ing

" Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore !

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken !

Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door !

Take thy beak from out my heart, 9 and take thy form from off my
door ! "

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the

floor; 10

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted nevermore.

THE MASQUE ' OF THE RED DEATH.

THE " Red Death " 2 had long devastated the country. No pesti-
.ence had ever been so fatal or so hideous. Blood was its Avator 3
and its seal the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp
pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores,
with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially
upon the face of the victim were the pest ban 4 which shut him out
from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the
whole seizure, progress, and termination of the disease were the inci-
dents of half an hour.

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious.
When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his pres-
ence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights
and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of
one of his castellated abbeys. 5 This was an extensive and magnifi-
cent structure, the creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august
taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of
iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy
hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means
neither of ingress nor egress 6 to the sudden impulses of despair or of
frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such

SELECTIONS FROM POE. 427

precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. 7 The ex-
ternal world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to
grieve or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of
pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisator!, 8 there were
ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was
wine. All these and security were within. Without was the " Red
Death/'

It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion,
and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince
Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the
most unusual magnificence.

It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell
of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven an imperial
suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight
vista, 9 while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either
hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here
the case was very different, as might have been expected from the
duke's love of the bizarre. 10 The apartments were so irregularly dis-
posed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time.
There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each
turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall,
a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor
which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of
stained glass, whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue
of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the
eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue and vividly blue
were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments
and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green
throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished
and lighted with orange the fifth with white the sixth with violet.
The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries,
that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy
folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this cham-
ber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the dec-
orations. The panes here were scarlet a deep blood-color. Now, in
no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum ri
amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro
or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanat-
ing from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the
corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each win-

AMERICAN LITERATURE,

(low, a heavy tiipod, bearing a brazier 12 of fire, that projected its rays
through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And
thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances.
But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that
streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes was
ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the coun-
tenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company
bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western
wall a gigantic clock of ebony. 13 Its pendulum swung to and fro with
a dull, heavy, monotonous clang ; and when the minute hand made the
circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from
the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and
deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis
that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were
constrained to pause momentarily in their performance, to hearken to
the sound ; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions ; and
there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company ; and, while the
chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew
pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their
brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes
had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the
musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervous-
ness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the
next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion ;
and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes (which embrace three thou-
sand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies), there came yet
another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and
tremulousness and meditation as before.

But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel.
The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors
and effects. He disregarded the decora I4 of mere fashion. His plans
were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre.
There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt
that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to
be sure that he was not.

He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments of the
seven chambers upon occasion of this great f&te ; and .it was his own
guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure
they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy

SELECTIONS FROM POE. 429

and phantasm much of what has been since seen in " Hernani." x s
There were arabesque l6 figures with unsuited limbs and appointments.
There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There
were much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre,
something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have
excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in
fact, a multitude of dreams. And these the dreams writhed in
and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of
the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there
strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And
then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the
clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of
the chime die away they have endured but an instant and a light,
half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again
the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more
merrily than ever, taking hue from the many tinted windows through
which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which
lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers
who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier
light through the blood-colored panes ; and the blackness of the sable
drapery appalls ; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet
there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more sol-
emnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the
more remote gayeties of the other apartments.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, in them beat
feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until
at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock.
And then the music ceased, as I have told ; and the evolutions of the
waltzers were quieted ; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things
as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the
bell of the clock ; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought
crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among
those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before
the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there
were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become
aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the atten-
tion of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new pres-
ence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length
from the whole company a buzz or murmur expressive of disapproba-
tion and surprise then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

43 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well
be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sen-
sation. In truth, the masquerade license of the night was nearly un-
limited ; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, 17 and
gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum.
There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be
touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life
and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jests can be
made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that
in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety
existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to
foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the
visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened
corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting
the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved,
by the mad revellers around. But the mummer l8 had gone so far
as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled
in blood; and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was
besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image
(which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain
its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be con-
vulsed in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or
distaste ; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

" Who dares? " he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood
near him "who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery?
Seize him and unmask him that we may know whom we have to
hang at sunrise from the battlements ! "

It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince
Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven
rooms loudly and clearly ; for the prince was a bold and robust man,
and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of
pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight
rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who,
at the moment, was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and
stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain
nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had
inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand
to seize him ; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the

SELECTIONS FROM POE. 431

prince's person ; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse,
shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way
uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which
had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to
the purple through the purple to the green through the green to
the orange through this again to the white and even thence to the
violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was
then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the
shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the
six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror
that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had ap-
proached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the re-
treating figure, when the latter, having attained the extiemity of the
velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There
was a sharp cry and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable
carpet, upon which, instantly afterward, fell prostrate in death the
Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a
throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apart-
ment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and
motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unuttera-
ble horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse-like mask which
they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible
form.

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He
had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the rev-
ellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the
despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went
out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods
expired. And Darkness and the Red Death held illimitable dominion
over all.

432 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

NOTES TO POE.
THE RAVEN.

FOR facts connected with the publication of " The Raven," and also for
a statement of Poe's poetical principles, see the preceding sketch.

In a paper entitled "The Philosophy of Composition," the poet has
given us a rather incredible description of the method he pursued in the com-
position of "The Raven." Whatever may be thought of the truthfulness of
the description (his word for it is hardly sufficient), it throws much light on
the structure of the poem. The following notes are chiefly an abridgment of
Poe's analysis, which the student would do well to read in full.

The story in prose Poe gives as follows : "A raven, having learned by
rote the single word 'Nevermore,' and having escaped from the custody of
Hs owner, is driven at midnight, through the violence of a storm, to seek ad-
mission at a window from which a light still gleams, the chamber-window
of a student, occupied half in poring over a volume, half in dreaming of a be-
loved mistress deceased. The casement being thrown open at the fluttering
of the bird's wings, the bird itself perches on the most convenient seat out of
the immediate reach of the student, who, amused by the incident and the
oddity of the visitor's demeanor, demands of it, in jest and without looking
for a reply, its name. The raven addressed answers with its customary word,
' Nevermore ' a word which finds immediate echo in the melancholy heart
of the student, who, giving utterance aloud to certain thoughts suggested by
the occasion, is again startled by the fowl's repetition of ' Nevermore.' The
student now guesses the state of the case, but is impelled, by the human thirst
for self-torture, and in part by superstition, to propound such queries to the
bird as will bring him, the lover, the most of the luxury of sorrow, through
the anticipated answer 'Nevermore.' "

After having decided to write a poem, the first thing to be determined,
Poe tells us, was its length. In order to secure unity of impression, it should
not be too long to be read at a single sitting. Furthermore, it ought not to
extend beyond the limits of the soul to bear intense emotion. From these
considerations, he reached the conclusion, so he says, that his poem should
consist of about one hundred lines. It contains, in fact, a hundred and
eight.

As to the impression or effect to be conveyed, Poe held that " Beauty is
the sole legitimate province of the poem." The tone of its highest manifes-

NOTES TO POE.

433

tation is one of sadness. " Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme develop-
ment, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the
most legitimate of all the poetical tones."

By his usual ratiocination Poe reached the conclusion that " the death of
a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world ;
and equally is it beyond doubt that, the lips best suited for such topic are
those of a bereaved lover."

As to the metre, "the feet employed throughout (trochees) consist of a
long syllable followed by a short : the first line of the stanza consists of eight
of these feet the second of seven and a half (in effect two-thirds) the
third of eight the fourth of seven and a half the fifth the same the
sixth three and a half. Now, each of these lines, taken individually, has been
employed before, and what originality the ' Raven ' has, is in their combina-
tion into stanza; nothing even remotely approaching this combination has
ever been attempted. The effect of this originality of combination is aided
by other unusual, and some altogether novel effects, arising from an extension
of the application of the principles of rhyme and alliteration."

1. In order to obtain " artistic piquancy," he adopted the refrain. But,
he says, " I resolved to diversify, and so heighten, the effect, by adhering, in
general, to the monotone of sound, while I continually varied that of thought;
that is to say, I determined to produce continuously novel effects, by the va-
riation of the application of the refrain the refrain itself remaining, for
the most part, unvaried."

2. "I made the night tempestuous, first to account for the Raven's seek-
ing admission, and secondly, for the effect of contrast with the (physical)
serenity within the chamber."

3. Deeming a close circumscription of space necessary for the effect
aimed at, he determined " to place the lover in his chamber in a chamber
rendered sacred to him by memories of her who had frequented it. The room
is represented as richly furnished this in mere pursuance of the ideas I have
already explained on the subject of Beauty, as the sole true poetical thesis."

4. "The locale being thus determined, I had now to introduce the bird
and the thought of introducing him through the window was inevitable.
The idea of making the lover suppose, in the first instance, that the flapping
of the wings of the bird against the shutter is a ' tapping ' at the door, origi-
nated in a wish to increase, by prolonging, the reader's curiosity, and in a
desire to admit the incidental effect arising from the lover's throwing open
the door, finding all dark, and thence adopting the half-fancy that it was the
spirit of his mistress that knocked."

5. "About the middle of the poem, also, I have availed myself of the
force of contrast, with a view of deepening the ultimate impression. For ex-
ample, an air of the fantastic approaching as nearly to the ludicrous as was

434 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

admissible is given to the Raven's entrance. He comes in 'with many a
flirt and flutter.'

'Not the least obeisance made Jie not a moment stopped or stayed he,
But -with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.'

In the two stanzas which follow, the design is more obviously carried out."

6. "I made the bird alight on the bust of Pallas, also for the effect of
contrast between the marble and the plumage it being understood that the
bust was absolutely suggested^ the bird the bust of Pallas being chosen,
first, as most in keeping with the scholarship of the lover, and, secondly, for
the sonorousness of the word Pallas itself."

7. When Poe had resolved upon the refrain, he had to decide upon the
character of the word to be so used. That it must be sonorous, and suscepti-
ble of protracted emphasis, admitted no doubt ; '* and " thus continues the
veracious narrative "these considerations inevitably led me to the long o
as the most sonorous vowel, in connection with r as the most producible
consonant.

" The sound of the refrain being thus determined, it became necessary to
select a word embodying this sound, and at the same time in the fullest pos-
sible keeping with that melancholy which I had predetermined as the tone of
the poem. In such a search it would have been absolutely impossible to over-
look the word ' Nevermore.' In fact, it was the very first which presented
itself."

The next desideratum was a pretext for the continuous use of the one
word " nevermore." Its monotonous use by a human being would not, he
thought, be readily reconciled with the exercise of reason. " Here, then,
immediately arose the idea of a <?-reasoning creature capable of speech ;
and, very naturally, a parrot, in the first instance, suggested itself, but was
superseded forthwith by a Raven, as equally capable of speech, and infinitely
more in keeping with the intended tone."

8. "I had now to combine the two ideas, of a lover lamenting his deceased
mistress, and a Raven continuously repeating the word ' Nevermore.' . . .
And here it was that I saw at once the opportunity afforded for the effect on
which I had been depending that is to say, the effect of the variation of
application. I saw that I could make the first query propounded by the
lover the first query, to which the Raven should reply 'Nevermore' a
commonplace one the second less so, the third still less, and so on until
at length the lover, startled from his original nonchalance by the melancholy
character of the word itself by its frequent repetition and by a considera-
tion of the ominous reputation of the fowl that uttered it is at length excited
to superstition, and wildly propounds queries of a far different character,
queries whose solution he has passionately at heart propounds them half in

NOTES TO POE. 435

Superstition and half in that species of despair which delights in self-torture
propounds them not altogether because he believes in the prophetic or demo-
niac character of the bird (which, reason assures him, is merely repeating a
lesson learned by rote), but because he experiences a frenzied pleasure in so
modelling his questions as to receive from the expected ' Nevermore ' the most
delicious because the most intolerable of sorrow. Perceiving the opportunity
thus afforded me or, more strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of
the construction I first established in mind the climax, or concluding query
that query to which ' Nevermore ' should be in the last place an answer
that query in reply to which this word ' Nevermore ' should involve the utmost
conceivable amount of sorrow and despair.

" Here then the poem may be said to have its beginning at the end,
where all works of art should begin, for it was here, at this point of my pre-
considerations, that I first put pen to paper in the composition of the stanza :

" ' Prophet,' said I, ' thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil I

By that heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore,' etc.

" I composed this stanza at this point, first, that, by establishing the climax,
I might the better vary and graduate, as regards seriousness and importance,
the preceding queries of the lover ; and secondly, that I might definitely settle
the rhythm, the metre, and the length and general arrangement of the stanza
as well as graduate the stanzas which were to precede, so that none of them
might surpass this in rhythmical effect."

9. "It will be observed that the words ' from out my heart' involve the
first metaphorical expression in the poem. They, with the answer ' Never-
more,' dispose the mind to seek a moral in all that has been previously nar-
rated. The reader begins now to regard the Raven as emblematical but it
is not until the very last line of the very last stanza that the intention of mak-
ing him emblematical of Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance is per-
mitted distinctly to be seen."

10. It is almost ungrateful, at this point, to indicate any slight defects in
the poem, such as the wretched rhymes in the sixth stanza, and the impossi-
bility that the Raven's shadow should fall on the floor, as described in the
last stanza.

After reading the analysis Poe has given us of " The Raven," it is not
surprising to learn that he regarded it as " the greatest poem that ever was
written."

THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH.

For a characterization of Poe's genius as a writer of tales, see the preced-
ing sketch.

"The Masque of the Red Death" is one of his shorter tales. It illus-

436 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

trates both his constructive genius and his method in prose fiction. Like all
his better work, it is wrought out with great care.

In writing his stories, he always began, as he tells us, with the considera-
tion of an effect to be produced ; and he then contrived both incident and
tone to that one end. Speaking of the literary artist, he says : " If his very
initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, then he has failed
in his first step. In the whole composition there should be no word written
of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to the one pre-established
design. And by such means, with such care and skill, a picture is at length
painted which leaves in the mind of him who contemplates it with a kindred
art, a sense of the fullest satisfaction." Without a clear understanding of
Poe's principles and methods, as thus set forth, we shall not be able fully to
appreciate the admirable art and genius of his work.

1. This is the French form of the word, now commonly Anglicized into
mask.

2. This disease seems to be one of Poe's inventions.

3. Now spelled avatar = incarnation. In Sanscrit the word means a
descent, and is specially applied to the descent upon earth of a Hindu deity
in a manifest shape.

4. Pest ban = plague curse or interdiction.

5. Castellated abbeys seem to be a reminiscence of Poe's sojourn in Eng-
land. Such reminiscences frequently occur in his writings.

6. Explain ingress and egress etymologically.

7. Discriminate between contagion and infection. What is the etymology
of contagion ?

8. Explain improvisatori. From what language ?

9. Exact force of vista.

10. Etymology and force of bizarre. It will be remembered that Poe
was a good French scholar a fact which he took no pains to conceal. He
sometimes quoted German and Hebrew languages that he did not under-
stand.

1 1 . Etymology and meaning of candelabrum.

12. What is a brazier ?

13. What is ebony , and why so called ?

14. Decora = outward proprieties.

15. " Hernani" is one of Victor Hugo's most popular dramas in the
romantic style. It contains several fantastic scenes.

1 6. In 1840 Poe published in Philadelphia a collection of his prose
fiction with the title, "Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque." It is
regarded as a happily descriptive title. Can you paraphrase it, and bring out
his idea ?

NOTES TO FOE. 437

17. Explain the phrase out-Heroded Herod. The reference is to Herod
the Great, who obtained the title " King of Judea," 40 B.C. His long reign
was stained with cruelties and atrocities of a character almost without parallel
in history. " The lightest shade of suspicion sufficed as the ground for his
wholesale butcheries. Of these, the one with which we are best acquainted
is the slaughter of the infants at Bethlehem."

1 8. Mummers = maskers.

43^ AMERICAN LITERATURE.

SELECTION FROM EMERSON.
ART. 1

BECAUSE the soul is progressive, it never quite repeats itself, but
in every act attempts the production of a new and fairer whole. This
appears in works both of the useful and fine arts, 2 if we employ the
popular distinction of works according to their aim either at use cr
beauty. Thus in our fine arts, not imitation, but creation, 3 is the aim.
In landscapes the painter should give the suggestion of a fairer crea-
tion than we know. The details, the prose of nature, he should omit,
and give us only the spirit and splendor. He should know that the
landscape has beauty for his eye because it expresses a thought which
is to him good : and this because the same power which sees through
his eyes is seen in that spectacle ; 4 and he will come to value the ex-
pression of nature and not nature itself, and so exalt in his copy the
features that please him. He will give the gloom of gloom and the
sunshine -of sunshine. In a portrait he must inscribe the character
and not the features, and must esteem the man who sits to him as
himself only an imperfect picture or likeness of the aspiring original
within.

What is that abridgment and selection we observe in all spiritual
activity but itself the creative impulse? for it is the inlet of that
higher illumination which teaches to convey a larger sense by simpler
symbols. What is a man but nature's finer success in self-explica-
tion? 5 What is a man but a fine.r and compacter landscape than the
horizon figures ; nature's eclecticism ? and what is his speech, his love
of painting, love of nature, but a still finer success? all the weary
miles and tons of space and bulk left out, and the spirit or moral of it
contracted into a musical word, or the most cunning stroke of the
pencil? 6

But the artist must employ the symbols in use in his day and
nation to convey his enlarged sense to his fellow-men. Thus the new
in art is always formed out of the old. The Genius of the Hour

SELECTION FROM EMERSON. 439

always sets his ineffaceable seal on the work and gives it an inexpres-
sible charm for the imagination. As far as the spiritual character of
the period overpowers the artist and finds expression in his work, so
far it will always retain a certain grandeur, and will represent to future
beholders the Unknown, the Inevitable, the Divine. 7 No man can
quite exclude this element of Necessity from his labor. No man can
quite emancipate himself from his age and country, or produce a
model in which the education, the religion, the politics, usages, and
arts of his times shall have no share. Though he were never so origi-
nal, never so wilful and fantastic, he cannot wipe out of his work
every trace of the thoughts amidst which it grew. The very avoid-
ance betrays the usage he avoids. Above his will and out of his sight
he is necessitated by the air he breathes and the idea on which he
and his contemporaries live and toil, to share the manner of his times,
without knowing what that manner is. Now that which is inevitable
in the work has a higher charm than individual talent can ever give,
inasmuch as the artist's pen or chisel seems to have been held and
guided by a gigantic hand 8 to inscribe a line in the history of the
human race. This circumstance gives a value to the Egyptian hiero-
glyphics, to the Indian, Chinese and Mexican idols, however gross
and shapeless. They denote the height of the human soul in that
hour, and were not fantastic, but sprung from a necessity as deep as
the world. Shall I now add that the whole extant product of the plas-
tic arts has herein its highest value, as history; as a stroke drawn in
the portrait of that fate, 9 perfect and beautiful, according to whose
ordinations all beings advance to their beatitude?

Thus, historically viewed, it has been the office of art to educate the
perception of beauty. We are immersed in beauty, 10 but our eyes
have no clear vision. It needs, by the exhibition of single traits, to
assist and lead the dormant taste. We carve and paint, or we behold
what is carved and painted, as students of the mystery of Form. The
virtue of art lies in detachment, in sequestering one object from the
embarrassing variety. Until one thing comes out from the connection
of things, there can be enjoyment, contemplation, but no thought.
Our happiness and unhappiness are unproductive. The infant lies in
a pleasing trance, but his individual character and his practical power
depend on his daily progress in the separation of things, and dealing
with one at a time. Love and all the passions concentrate all exis-
tence around a single form. It is the habit of certain minds to give
an all-excluding fulness to the object, the thought, the word they

44O AMERICAN LITER A TURE.

alight upon, and to make that for the time the deputy of the world.
These are the artists, the orators, the leaders of society. The power
to detach, and to magnify by detaching, is the essence of rhetoric in
the hands of the orator and the poet. This rhetoric, or power to fix
the momentary eminency of an object, so remarkable in Burke, in
Byron, in Carlyle, the painter and sculptor exhibit in color and in
stone. The power depends on the depth of the artist's insight of that
object he contemplates. For every object has its roots in central
nature, 11 and may of course be so exhibited to us to represent the
world. Therefore each work of genius is the tyrant of the hour, and
concentrates attention on itself. For the time, it is the only thing
worth naming, to do that, be it a sonnet, an opera, a landscape, a
statue, an oration, the plan of a temple, of a campaign, or of a voyage
of discovery. Presently we pass to some other object, which rounds
itself into a whole as did the first ; for example a well-laid garden : and
nothing seems worth doing but the laying out of gardens. I should
think fire the best thing in the world, if I were not acquainted with
air, and water, and earth. For it is the right and property of all nat-
ural objects, of all genuine talents, of all native properties whatsoever,
to be for their moment the top of the world. A squirrel leaping from
bough to bough and making the wood but one wide tree for his pleas-
ure, fills the eye not less than a lion, is beautiful, self-sufficing, and
stands then and there for nature. 12 A good ballad draws my ear and
heart whilst I listen, as much as an epic has done before. A dog,
drawn by a master, or a litter of pigs, satisfies and is a reality not less
than the frescoes of Angelo. From this succession of excellent objects
learn we at last the immensity of the world, the opulence of human
nature, which can run out to infinitude in any direction. But I also
learn that what astonished and fascinated me in the first work, aston-
ished me in the second work also ; that excellence of all things is one.
The office of painting and sculpture seems to be merely initial.
The best pictures can easily tell us their last secret. The best pictures
are rude draughts of a few of the miraculous dots and lines and dyes
which make up the ever-changing "landscape with figures" amidst
which we dwell. Painting seems to be to the eye what dancing is to
the limbs. When that has educated the frame to self-possession, to
nimbleness, to grace, the steps of the dancing-master are better for-
gotten ; so painting teaches me the splendor of color and the expression
of form, and as I see many pictures and higher genius in the art, I see
the boundless opulence of the pencil, the indifferency in which the

SELECTION FROM EMERSON. 441

artist stands free to choose out of the possible forms. If he can draw
every thing, why draw any thing ? and then is my eye opened to the
eternal picture which nature paints in the street, with moving men and
children, beggars and fine ladies, draped in red and green and blue
and gray; long-haired, grizzled, white-faced, black-faced, wrinkled,
giant, dwarf, expanded, elfish, capped and based by heaven, earth,
and sea. 13

A gallery of sculpture teaches more austerely the same lesson. As
picture teaches the coloring, so sculpture the anatomy of form. When
I have seen fine statues and afterwards enter a public assembly, I un-
derstand well what he meant who said, " When I have been reading
Homer, all men look like giants." I too see that painting and sculp-
ture are gymnastics of the eye, training to the niceties and curiosities
of its function. There is no statue like this living man, with his in-
finite advantage over all ideal sculpture, of perpetual variety. What
a gallery of art have I here ! No mannerist made these varied groups
and diverse original single figures. Here is the artist himself impro-
vising, grim and glad, at his block. Now one thought strikes him,
now another, and with each moment he alters the whole air, attitude,
and expression of his clay. Away with your nonsense of oil and easels,
of marble and chisels: except to open your eyes to the witchcraft of
eternal art, they are hypocritical rubbish. 14

The reference of all production at last to an aboriginal Power
explains the traits common to all works of the highest art, that they
are universally intelligible ; that they restore to us the simplest states
of mind ; and are religious. Since what skill is therein shown is the
reappearance of the original soul, a jet of pure light, it should produce
a similar impression to that made by natural objects. In happy hours,
nature appears to us one with art ; art perfected, the work of genius.
And the individual in whom simple tastes and susceptibility to all the
great human influences overpower the accidents of a local and special
culture, is the best critic of art. 15 Though we travel the world over to
find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not. The
best of beauty is a finer charm than skill in surfaces, in outlines, or
rules of art can ever teach, namely a radiation from the work of art, of
human character,' 6 a wonderful expression through stone, or canvas,
or musical sound, of the deepest and simplest attributes of our nature,
and therefore most intelligible at last to those souls which have these
attributes. In the sculptures of the Greeks, in the masonry of the
Romans, and in the pictures of the Tuscan and Venetian masters, the

44 2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

highest charm is the universal language they speak. A confession of
moral nature, of purity, love, and hope, breathes from them all. That
which we carry to them, the same we bring back more fairly illustrated
in the memory. The traveller who visits the Vatican and passes from
chamber to chamber through galleries of statues, vases, sarcophagi,
and candelabra, through all forms of beauty cut in the richest materials,
is in danger of forgetting the simplicity of the principles out of which
they all sprung, and that they had their origin from thoughts and laws
in his own breast. He studies the technical rules on these wonderful
remains, but forgets that these works were not always thus constel-
lated ; that they are the contributions of many ages and many coun-
tries ; that each came out of the solitary workshop of one artist, who
toiled perhaps in ignorance of the existence of other sculpture, created
his work without other model save life, household life, and the sweet
and smart of personal relations, of beating hearts, and meeting eyes ;
of poverty and necessity and hope and fear. These were his inspira-
tions, and these are the effects he carries home to your heart and mind.
In proportion to his force, the artist will find in his work an outlet for
his proper character. He must not be in any manner pinched or hin-
dered by his material, but through his necessity of imparting himself
the adamant will be wax in his hands, and will allow an adequate com-
munication of himself, in his full stature and proportion. Not a con-
ventional nature and culture need he cumber himself with, nor ask
what is the mode in Rome or in Paris, but that house and weather and
manner of living which poverty and the fate of birth have made at once
so odious and so dear, in the gray unpainted wood cabin, on the corner
of a New Hampshire farm, or in the log hut of the backwoods, or in
the narrow lodging where he has endured the constraints and seeming
of a city poverty, will serve as well as any other condition as the
symbol of a thought which pours itself indifferently through all. 1 /

I remember when in my younger days I had heard of the wonders
of Italian painting, I fancied the great pictures would be great stran-
gers ; some surprising combination of color and form ; a foreign won-
der, barbaric pearl and gold, like the spontoons and standards of
the militia, which plays such pranks in the eyes and imaginations of
school-boys. I was to see and acquire I knew not what. When I
came at last to Rome and saw with eyes the pictures, I found that
genius left to novices the gay and fantastic and ostentatious, and itself
pierced directly to the simple and true ; that it was familiar and sin-
cere ; that it was the old, eternal fact I had met already in so many

SELECTION FROM EMERSON. 443

forms ; unto which I lived ; that it was the plain you and me I knew so
well, had left at home in so many conversations. I had the same
experience already in a church at Naples. There I saw that nothing
was changed with me but the place, and said to myself, ' Thou
foolish child, hast thou come out hither, over four thousand miles of
salt water, to find that which was perfect to thee there at home ? '
that fact I saw again in the Academmia at Naples, in the chambers of
sculpture, and yet again when I came to Rome and to the paintings
of Raphael, Angelo, Sacchi, Titian, and Leonardo da Vinci. "What,
old mole ! workest thou in the earth so fast ? " It had travelled by my
side : that which I fancied I had left in Boston was here in the Vati-
can, and again at Milan and at Paris, and made all travelling ridicu-
lous as a treadmill. 18 I now require this of all pictures, that they
domesticate me, not that they dazzle me. Pictures must not be too
picturesque. Nothing astonishes men so much as common sense and
plain dealing. All great actions have been simple, and all great
pictures are.

The Transfiguration, by Raphael, is an eminent example of this
peculiar merit. A calm benignant beauty shines over all this picture,
and goes directly to the heart. It seems almost to call you by name.
The sweet and sublime face of Jesus is beyond praise, yet how it dis-
appoints all florid expectations ! This familiar, simple, home-speaking
countenance is as if one should meet a friend. The knowledge of
picture-dealers has its value, but listen not to their criticism when
your heart is touched by genius. It-was not painted for them, it was
painted for you ; for such as had eyes capable of being touched by
simplicity and lofty emotions.

Yet when we have said all our fine things about the arts, we must
end with a frank confession that the arts, as we know them, are but
initial. Our best praise is given to what they aimed and promised,
not to the actual result. He has conceived meanly of the resources of
man, who believes that the best age of production is past. The real
value of the Iliad or the Transfiguration is as signs of power ; billows
or ripples they are of the great stream of tendency ; tokens of the
everlasting effort to produce, which even in its worst estate the soul
betrays. Art has not come to its maturity if it do not put itself
abreast with the most potent influences of the world, if it is not practi-
cal and moral, if it do not stand in connection with the conscience, if
it do not make the poor and uncultivated feel that it addresses them
with a voice of lofty cheer. 19 There is higher work for Art than the

444 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

arts. They are abortive births of an imperfect or vitiated instinct
Art is the need to create ; but in its essence, immense and universal,
it is impatient of working with lame or tired hands, and of making
cripples and monsters, such as all pictures and statues are. Nothing
less than the creation of man and nature is its end. A man should
find in it an outlet for his whole energy. He may paint and carve only
as long as he can do that. Art should exhilarate, and throw down
the walls of circumstance on every side, awakening in the beholder
the same sense of universal relation and power which the work evinced
in the artist, and its highest effect is to make new artists.

Already History is old enough to witness, the old age and disap-
pearance of particular arts. The art of sculpture is long ago perished
to any real effect. It was originally an useful art, a mode of writing, a
savage's record of gratitude or devotion, and among a people pos-
sessed of a wonderful perception of form this childish carving was re-
fined to the utmost splendor of effect. But it is the game of a rude
and youthful people, and not the manly labor of a wise and spiritual
nation. Under an oak-tree loaded with leaves and nuts, under a sky
full of eternal eyes, I stand in a thoroughfare. Cut in the works of our
plastic arts, and especially of sculpture, creation is driven into a cor-
ner. I cannot hide from myself that there is a certain appearance of
paltriness, as of toys and the trumpery of a theatre, in sculpture.
Nature transcends all our moods of thought, and its secret we do not
yet find. But the gallery stands at the mercy of our moods, and there
is a moment when it becomes frivolous. I do not wonder that New-
ton, with an attention habitually engaged on the paths of planets and
suns, should have wondered what the Earl of Pembroke found to
admire in "stone dolls." Sculpture may serve to teach the pupil how
deep is the secret of form, how purely the spirit can translate its mean-
ings into that eloquent dialect. But the statue will look cold and false
before that new activity which needs to roll through all things, and is
impatient of counterfeits and things not alive. Picture and sculpture
are the celebrations and festivities of form. But true art is never
fixed, but always flowing. The sweetest music is not in the oratorio,
but in the human voice when it speaks from its instant life tones of
tenderness, truth, or courage. The oratorio has already lost its rela-
tion to the morning, to the sun, and the earth, but that persuading
voice is in tune with these. All works of art should not be detached,
but extempore performances. A great man is a new statue in every
attitude and action. A beautiful woman is a picture which drives alJ

SELECTION FROM EMERSON. 445

beholders nobly mad. Life may be lyric or epic, as well as a poem or
a romance.

A true announcement of the law of creation, if a man were found
worthy to declare it, would carry art up into the kingdom of nature,
and destroy its separate and contrasted existence. 20 The fountains of
invention and beauty in modern society are all but dried up. A popu-
lar novel, a theatre, or a ballroom makes us feel that we are all paupers
in the almshouse of this world, without dignity, without skill or indus-
try. Art is as poor and low. The old tragic Necessity, which lowers
on the brows even of the Venuses and the Cupids of the antique, and
furnishes the sole apology for the intrusion of such anomalous figures
into nature, namely that they were inevitable ; that the artist was
drunk with a passion for form which he could not resist, and which
vented itself in these fine extravagancies, no longer dignifies the
chisel or the pencil. 21 But the artist and the connoisseur now seek in
art the exhibition of their talent, or an asylum from the evils of life.
Men are not well pleased with the figure they make in their own im-
aginations, and they flee to art, and convey their better sense in an
oratorio, a statue, or a picture. Art makes the same effort which a
sensual prosperity makes ; namely, to detach the beautiful from the
useful, to do up the work as unavoidable, and, hating it, pass on to
enjoyment. These solaces and compensations, this division of beauty
from use, the laws of nature do not permit. As soon as beauty is
sought, not from religion and love but for pleasure, it degrades the
seeker. High beauty is no longer attainable by him in canvas or in
stone, in sound, or in lyrical construction ; an effeminate, prudent,
sickly beauty, which is not beauty, is all that can be formed ; for the
hand can never execute anything higher than the character can inspire.

The art that thus separates is itself first separated. Art must not
be a superficial talent, but must begin farther back in man. Now
men do not see nature to be beautiful, and they go to make a statue
which shall be. They abhor men as tasteless, dull, and inconvertible,
and console themselves with color-bags and blocks of marble. They
reject life as prosaic, and create a death which they call poetic.
They despatch the day's weary chores, and fly to voluptuous reveries.
They eat and drink, that they may afterwards execute the ideal. Thus
is art vilified ; the name conveys to the mind its secondary and bad
senses; it stands in the imagination as somewhat contrary to nature,
and struck with death from the first. Would it not be better to begin
higher up, to serve the ideal before they eat and drink ; to serve the

446 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ideal in eating and drinking, in drawing the breath, and in the func-
tions of life? Beauty must come back to the useful arts, and the dis-
tinction between the fine and the useful arts be forgotten. If history
were truly told, if life were nobly spent, it would be no longer easy or
possible to distinguish the one from the other. In nature, all is use-
ful, all is beautiful. It is therefore beautiful because it is alive, mov-
ing, reproductive ; it is therefore useful because it is symmetrical and
fair. Beauty will not come at the call of a legislature, nor will it repeat
in England or America its history in Greece. It will come, as always,
unannounced, and spring up between the feet of brave and earnest
men. 22 It is in vain that we look for genius to reiterate its miracles
in the old arts ; it is its instinct to find beauty and holiness in new and
necessary facts, in the field and roadside, in the shop and mill. Pro-
ceeding from a religious heart it will raise to a divine use the railroad,
the insurance office, the joint-stock company ; our law, our primary
assemblies, our commerce, the galvanic battery, the electric jar, the
prism, and the chemist's retort ; in which we seek now only an econom-
ical use. Is not the selfish and even cruel aspect which belongs to our
great mechanical works, to mills, railways, and machinery, the effect
of the mercenary impulses which these works obey? When its errands
are noble and adequate, a steamboat bridging the Atlantic between
Old and New England, and arriving at its ports with the punctuality
of a planet, is a step of man into harmony with nature. The boat
at St. Petersburg, which plies along the Lena by magnetism, needs
little to make it sublime. When science is learned in love, and its
powers are wielded by love, they will appear the supplements and con-
tinuations of the material creation.

NOTES TO EMERSON. 447

NOTES TO EMERSON.

THE essay on " Art " is taken from the first volume of "Essays." For
a general introduction, read the preceding sketch. A more exact title would
be "Some Thoughts on Art." In "Society and Solitude " Emerson pub-
lished a second essay on "Art," from which most of the following notes are
taken.

1. The following are Emerson's definitions of art: "The conscious ut-
terance of thought, by speech or action, to any end, is Art." "Art is the
spirit's voluntary use and combination of things to serve its end." "Art,
universally, is the spirit creative."

2. "The useful arts comprehend not only those that lie next to instinct,
as agriculture, building, weaving, etc., but also navigation, practical chemis-
try, and the construction of all the grand and delicate tools and instruments
by which man serves himself ; as language, the watch, the ship, the decimal
cipher ; and also the sciences, as far as they are made serviceable to political
economy."

" Music, Eloquence, Poetry, Painting, Sculpture, Architecture. This is
a rough enumeration of the Fine Arts."

3. "The facts of nature, to possess a serious interest for us upon canvas,
require to be heated with poetic fire, transfused, and newly wrought in the
crucible of the painter's mind." VAN DYKE, Art for Art's Sake.

4. Here we have Emerson's idealism: " There is but one Reason. The
mind that made the world is not one mind, but the mind. Every man is an
inlet to the same, and to all of the same." All nature, as a manifestation of
the infinite Spirit, is full of meaning.

5. This means that man is the crowning point, toward which nature has
been climbling through all lower beings, whether animate or inanimate.

6. The fine arts are the summit of man's attainment, as he himself is the
summit of nature's attainment.

7. "The Gothic cathedrals were built when the builder and the priest
and the people were overpowered by their faith. Love and fear laid every
stone. The Madonnas of Raphael and Titian were made to be worshipped."
In " The Problem " the same idea is beautifully expressed:

" The hand that rounded Peter's dome
Ana groined the aisles of Christian Rome
Wrought in a sad sincerity ;

44-8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Himself from God he could not free ;
He builded better than he knew:
The conscious stone to t beauty grew."

8. This, of course, is the universal Spirit, which pervades and moves all
things; whose gradual unfolding in nature is the source of all history.

9. Emerson means by fate " the invincible order and unity of the world
of spirit, that its methods are perfect and invariable ; that justice can never be
violated; that the truth is always the same, and always faithful to itself."
COOKE.

10. "Beauty in its largest and profoundest sense is one expression for
the universe ; God in the all-fair. Truth and goodness and beauty are but
different faces of the same All. But beauty in nature is not ultimate. It is
the herald of inward and eternal beauty."

11. As a product of the universal Spirit, whose character is reflected
alike in great and small. "The true doctrine of the omnipresence is, that
God reappears with all his parts in every moss and cobweb. The value of
the universe contrives to throw itself into every point." In " Blight " Emer-
son says :

If I know
Only the herbs and simples of the wood,

O, that were much, and I could be a part
Of the round day, related to the sun
And planted world."

Compare Tennyson's

" Flower in the crannied wall."

12. Similarly in Emerson's " Fable: "

" The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter < Little Prig;'
Bun replied,

' You are doubtless very big ;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together,
To make up a year
And a sphere.
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;

NOTES TO EMERSON. 449

Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut.' "

13. "'Tis the privilege pf Art

Thus to play its cheerful part,
Man on earth to acclimate
And bend the exile to his fate,
And, moulded of one element
With the days and firmament,
Teach him on these stairs to climb,
And live on even terms with Time;
Whilst upper life the slender rill
Of human sense doth overfill."

14. The highest end of human art is to teach man to appreciate the
beauty of "eternal art " in the world about us.

15. " The universal Soul is the alone creator of the useful and the beau-
tiful ; therefore, to make anything useful or beautiful, the individual must be
submitted to the universal Mind."

1 6. In the poem " Destiny," Emerson says:

" You must add the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There is a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it ;
Art its height could never hit ;
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn."

17. "To attain sublimity in painting, the thought must be so all-absorb-
ing that it overawes form; it must carry us away with its sudden revelation
of might; it must present to us the individual strength of its producer so viv-
idly that in its contemplation we forget the forms of the picture." VAN
DYKE, Art for Art's Sake.

1 8. In " The Day's Ration," Emerson says:

" Why seek Italy,

Who cannot circumnavigate the sea.
Of thoughts and things at home, but still adjourn
The nearest matters for a thousand days."

19. " Proceeding from absolute mind, whose nature is goodness as much
as truth, the great works are always attuned to moral nature. If the earth
and sea conspire with virtue more than vice, so do the masterpieces of art."

20. "We feel in seeing a noble building which rhymes well, as we do
in hearing a perfect song, that it is spiritually organic ; that it had a necessity
in nature for being*; was one of the possible forms in the Divine Mind, and is

450 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

now only discovered and executed by the artist, not arbitrarily composed by
him. And so every genuine work of art has as much reason for being as the
earth and the sun." In " The Problem " we have the same thought again :
" Earth proudly wears the Parthenon,

As the best gem upon her zone,

And Morning opes with haste her lids

To gaze upon the Pyramids ;

O'er England's abbeys bends the sky,

As on its friends, with kindred eye ;

For out of Thought's interior sphere

These wonders rose to upper air ;

And Nature gladly gave them place,

Adopted them into her race,

And granted them an equal date

With Andes and with Ararat."

21. " Arising out of eternal Reason, one and perfect, whatever is beau-
tiful rests on the foundation of the necessary. Nothing is arbitrary, nothing
is insulated in beauty. It depends forever on the necessary and the useful."

22. "Beauty, truth, and goodness are not obsolete ; they spring eternal
in the breast of man ; they are as indigenous in Massachusetts as in Tuscany
or the Isles of Greece. And that eternal Spirit, whose triple face they are,
moulds from them forever, for his mortal child, images to remind him of
the Infinite and Fair."

SELECTIONS FROM HAWTHORNE 451

XII.

SELECTIONS FROM HAWTHORNE.
THE GRAY CHAMPION.

THERE was once a time when New England groaned under the
actual pressure of heavier wrongs than those threatened ones which
brought on the Revolution. James II., the bigoted successor of
Charles the Voluptuous, had annulled the charters l of all the colonies,
and sent a harsh and unprincipled soldier to take away our liberties
and endanger our religion. The administration of Sir Edmund Andros
lacked scarcely a single characteristic of tyranny : 2 a Governor and
Council, holding office from the King, and wholly independent of the
country ; laws made and taxes levied without concurrence of the people,
immediate or by their representatives ; the rights of private citizens
violated, and the titles of all landed property declared void ; the voice
of complaint stifled by restrictions on the press ; and, finally, disaffec-
tion overawed by the first band of mercenary troops that ever marched
on our free soil. For two years our ancestors were kept in sullen sub-
mission, by that filial love which had invariably secured their allegiance
to the mother-country, whether its head chanced to be a Parliament,
Protector, or popish Monarch. Till these evil times, however, such
allegiance had been merely nominal, and the colonists had ruled them-
selves, enjoying far more freedom than is even yet the privilege of the
native subjects of Great Britain.

At length a rumor reached our shores that the Prince of Orange 3
had ventured on an enterprise the success of which would be the tri-
umph of civil and religious rights and the salvation of New England.
It was but a doubtful whisper ; it might be false, or the attempt might
fail ; and, in either case, the man that stirred against King James would
lose his head. Still the intelligence produced a marked effect. The
people smiled mysteriously in the streets, and threw bold glances at
their oppressors ; while far and wide there was a subdued and silent
agitation, as if the slightest signal would rouse the whole land from its
sluggish despondency. Aware of their danger, the rulers resolved to

452 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

avert it by an imposing display of strength, and perhaps to confirm
their despotism by yet harsher measures. One afternoon in April,
1689, Sir Edmund Andros and his favorite councillors, being warm
with wine, assembled the red-coats of the Governor's Guard, and made
their appearance in the streets of Boston. 4 The sun was near setting
when the march commenced.

The roll of the drum, at that unquiet crisis, seemed to go through
the streets less as the martial music of the soldiers than as a muster-
call to the inhabitants themselves. A multitude, by various avenues,
assembled in King-street, which was destined to be the scene, nearly
a century afterwards, 5 of another encounter between the troops of Brit-
ain and a people struggling against her tyranny. Though more than
sixty years had elapsed since the Pilgrims came, this crowd of their
descendants still showed the strong and sombre features of their char-
acter, perhaps more strikingly in such a stern emergency than on hap-
pier occasions. There were the sober garb, the general severity of
mien, the gloomy but undismayed expression, the scriptural forms of
speech, and the confidence in Heaven's blessing on a righteous cause,
which would have marked a band of the original Puritans when threat-
ened by some peril of the wilderness. Indeed, it was not yet time for
the old spirit to be extinct ; since there were men in the street, that
day, who had worshipped there beneath the trees, before a house was
reared to the God for whom they had become exiles. Old soldiers of
the Parliament 6 were here too, smiling grimly at the thought that their
aged arms might strike another blow against the house of Stuart.
Here, also, were the veterans of King Philip's war, 7 who had burned
villages and slaughtered young and old with pious fierceness, while
the godly souls throughout the land were helping them with prayer.
Several ministers were scattered among the crowd, which, unlike all
other mobs, regarded them with such reverence, as if there were sanc-
tity in their very garments. These holy men exerted their influence
to quiet the people, but not to disperse them. Meantime, the purpose
of the Governor, in disturbing the peace of the town at a period when
the slightest commotion might throw the country into a ferment, was
almost the universal subject of inquiry, and variously explained.

" Satan will strike his master-stroke presently," cried some, " be-
cause he knoweth that his time is short. All our godly pastors are to
be dragged to prison! We shall see them at a Smithfield 8 fire in
King-street ! "

Hereupon, the people of each parish gathered closer round their

SELECTIONS FROM HAWTHORNE. 453

minister, who looked calmly upwards and assumed a more apostolic
dignity, as well befitted a candidate for the highest honor of his pro-
fession, the crown of martyrdom. It was actually fancied, at that
period, that New England might have a John Rogers 9 of her own, to
take the place of that worthy in the Primer. 10

" The Pope of Rome has given orders for a new St. Bartholo-
mew!" 11 cried others. * We are to be massacred, man and male
child ! "

Neither was this rumor wholly discredited, although the wiser class
believed the Governor's object somewhat less atrocious. His prede-
cessor under the old charter, Bradstreet, 12 a venerable companion of
the first settlers, was known to be in town. There were grounds for
conjecturing that Sir Edmund Andros intended, at once, to strike
terror, by a parade of military force, and to confound the opposite fac-
tion, by possessing himself of their chief.

'* Stand firm for the old charter Governor!" shouted the crowd,
seizing upon the idea. " The good old Governor Bradstreet ! "

While this cry was at the loudest, the people were surprised by the
well-known figure of Governor Bradstreet himself, a patriarch of nearly
ninety, who appeared on the elevated steps of a door, and, with char-
acteristic mildness, besought them to submit to the constituted au-
thorities.

"My children," concluded this venerable person, "do nothing
rashly. Cry not aloud, but pray for the welfare of New England, and
expect patiently what the Lord will do in this matter ! "

The event was soon to be decided. All this time, the roll of the
drum had been approaching through Cornhill, louder and deeper, till
with reverberations from house to house, and the regular tramp of
martial footsteps, it burst into the street. A double rank of soldiers
made their appearance, occupying the whole breadth of the passage,
with shouldered matchlocks, 13 and matches burning, so as to present
a row of fires in the dusk. Their steady march was like the progress
of a machine that would roll irresistibly over everything in its way.
Next, moving slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on the pavement,
rode a party of mounted gentlemen, the central figure being Sir Ed-
mund Andros, elderly, but erect and soldier-like. Those around him
were his favorite councillors, and the bitterest foes of New England.
At his right hand rode Edward Randolph, our arch-enemy, that
" blasted wretch," as Cotton Mather calls him, who achieved the down-
fall of our ancient government, and was followed with a sensible curse,

454 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

ihrough life and to his grave. On the other side was Bullivant, scat,
tering jests and mockery as he rode along. Dudley came behind, with
a downcast look, dreading, as well he might, to meet the indignant
gaze of the people, who beheld him, their only countryman by birth,
among the oppressors of his native land. The captain of a frigate in
the harbor, and two or three civil officers under the Crown, were alsc
there. But the figure which most attracted the public eye, and stirred
up the deepest feeling, was the Episcopal clergyman of King's Chapel,
riding haughtily among the magistrates in his priestly vestments, the
fitting representative of prelacy and persecution, the union of church
and state, and all those abominations which had driven the Puritans
to the wilderness. 14 Another guard of soldiers, in double rank, brought
up the rear.

The whole scene was a picture of the condition of New England ;
and its moral, the deformity of any government that does not grow
out of the nature of things and the character of the people. On one
side, the religious multitude, with their sad visages and dark attire;
and on the other, the group of despotic rulers, with the high-churchman
in the midst, and here and there a crucifix at their bosoms, all magnifi-
cently clad, flushed with wine, proud of unjust authority, and scoffing
at the universal groan. And the mercenary soldiers, waiting but the
word to deluge the street with blood, showed the only means by which
obedience could be secured.

"O Lord of Hosts," cried a voice among the crowd, "provide a
Champion for thy people ! "

This ejaculation was loudly uttered, and served as a herald's cry, to
introduce a remarkable personage. The crowd had rolled back, and
were now huddled together nearly at the extremity of the street,, while
the soldiers had advanced no more than a third of its length. The
intervening space was empty a paved solitude, between lofty edifices
which threw almost a twilight shadow over it. Suddenly there was
seen the figure of an ancient man, who seemed to have emerged from
among the people, and was walking by himself along the centre of the
street, to confront the armed band. He wore the old Puritan dress, a
dark cloak and a steeple-crowned hat, in the fashion of at least fifty
years before, with a heavy sword upon his thigh, but a staff in his
hand, to assist the tremulous gait of age. 15

When at some distance from the multitude, the old man turned
slowly round, displaying a face of antique majesty, rendered doubly
venerable by the hoary beard that descended on his breast. He made

SELECTIONS FROM HAWTHORNE. 455

a gesture at once of encouragement and warning, then turned again
and resumed his way.

" Who is this gray patriarch ? " asked the young men of their sires.

"Who is this venerable brother?" asked the old men among
themselves.

But none could make "reply. The fathers of the people, those of
fourscore years and upwards, were disturbed, deeming it strange that
they should forget one of such evident authority, whom they must
have known in their early days, the associate of Winthrop,' 6 and all
the old Councillors, giving laws, and making prayers, and leading
them against the savage. The elderly men ought to have remembered
him, too, with locks as gray in their youth as their own were now.
And the young! How could he have passed so utterly from their
memories that hoary sire, the relic of long-departed times, whose
awful benediction had surely been bestowed on their uncovered heads
in childhood?

"Whence did he come? What is his purpose? Who can this
old man be?" whispered the wondering crowd.

Meanwhile, the venerable stranger, staff in hand, was pursuing his
solitary walk along the centre of the street. As he drew near the
advancing soldiers, and as the roll of their drum came full upon his
ear, the old man jaised himself to a loftier mien, while the decrepitude
of age seemed to fall from his shoulders, leaving him in gray but un-
broken dignity. Now he marched onward with a warrior's step, keep-
ing time to the military music. Thus the aged form advanced on one
side, and the whole parade of soldiers and magistrates on the other,
till, when scarcely twenty yards remained between, the old man
grasped his staff by the middle, and held it before him like a leader's
truncheon.

"Stand! "cried he.

The eye, the face, and attitude of command ; the solemn yet war-
like peal of that voice, fit either to rule a host in the battle-field or be
raised to God in prayer, were irresistible. At the old man's word and
outstretched arm, the roll of the drum was hushed at once, and the
advancing line stood still. A tremulous enthusiasm seized upon the
multitude. That stately form, combining the leader and the saint, so
gray, so dimly seen, in such an ancient garb, could only belong to
some old champion of the righteous cause, whom the oppressor's drum
had summoned from his grave. They raised a shout of awe and
exultation, and looked for the deliverance of New England.

456 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

The Governor, and the gentlemen of his party, perceiving them-
selves brought to an unexpected stand, rode hastily forward, as if they
would have pressed their snorting and affrighted horses right against the
hoary apparition. He, however, blenched not a step, but glancing his
severe eye round the group, which half encompassed him, at last bent
it sternly on Sir Edmund Andros. One would have thought that the
dark old man was chief ruler there, and that the Governor and Coun-
cil, with soldiers at their back, representing the whole power and
authority of the Crown, had no alternative but obedience.

"What does this old fellow here?" cried Edward Randolph,
fiercely. " On, Sir Edmund ! Bid the soldiers forward, and give the
dotard the same choice that you give all his countrymen to stand
aside or be trampled on ! "

" Nay, nay, let us show respect to the good grandsire," said Bulli-
vant, laughing. " See you not, he is some old round-headed dignitary
who hath lain asleep these thirty years and knows nothing of the
change of times? Doubtless, he thinks to put us down with a proc-
lamation in Old Noll's l? name ! "

"Are you mad, old man?" demanded Sir Edmund Andros, in
loud and harsh tones. " How dare you stay the march of King
James's Governor?"

" I have staid the march of a King himself, ere now," replied the
gray figure, with stern composure.

*' I am here, Sir Governor, because the cry of an oppressed people
hath disturbed me in my secret place ; and beseeching this favor ear-
nestly of the Lord, it was vouchsafed me to appear once again on earth,
in the good old cause of his saints. And what speak ye of James?
There is no longer a popish tyrant on the throne of England, and by
to-morrow noon his name shall be a by-word in this very street where
ye would make it a word of terror. Back, thou that wast a Governor,
back ! With this night thy power is ended to-morrow, the prison !
back, lest I foretell the scaffold ! "

The people had been drawing nearer and nearer, and drinking in
the words of their champion, who spoke in accents long disused, like
one unaccustomed to converse, except with the dead of many years
ago. But his voice stirred their souls. They confronted the soldiers,
not wholly without arms, and ready to convert the very stones of the
street into deadly weapons. Sir Edmund Andros looked at the old
man ; then he cast his hard and cruel eye over the multitude, and be-
held them burning with that lurid wrath, so difficult to kindle or to

SELECTIONS FROM HAWTHORNE. 457

quench ; and again he fixed his gaze on the aged form, which stood
obscurely in an open space, where neither friend nor foe had thrust
himself. What were his thoughts, he uttered no word which might
discover. But whether the oppressor were overawed by the Gray
Champion's look, or perceived his peril in the threatening attitude of
the people, it is certain that he gave back, and ordered his soldiers to
commence a slow and guarded retreat. Before another sunset, the
Governor, and all that rode so proudly with him, were prisoners, and
long ere it was known that James had abdicated, King William was
proclaimed throughout New England.

But where was the Gray Champion? Some reported that when
the troops had gone from King-street and the people were thronging
tumultuously in their rear, Bradstreet, the aged Governor, was seen to
embrace a form more aged than his own. Others soberly affirmed
that while they marvelled at the venerable grandeur of his aspect, the
old man had faded from their eyes, melting slowly into the hues of
twilight, till, where he stood, there was an empty space. But all
agreed that the hoary shape was gone. The men of that generation
watched for his reappearance, in sunshine and in twilight, but never
saw him more, nor knew when his funeral passed, nor where his
gravestone was.

And who was the Gray Champion? Perhaps his name might be
found in the records of that stern Court of Justice which passed a
sentence too mighty for the age, but glorious in all after-times for its
humbling lesson to the monarch and its high example to the subject.
I have heard that whenever the descendants of the Puritans are to
show the spirit of their sires, the old man appears again. When
eighty years had passed, he walked once more in King-street. Five
years later, in the twilight of an April morning, he stood on the green,
beside the meeting-house, at Lexington, where now the obelisk of
granite, with a slab of slate inlaid, commemorates the first fallen of
the Revolution. And when our fathers were toiling at the breastwork
on Bunker's Hill, all through that night the old warrior walked his
rounds. Long, long may it be ere he comes again ! His hour is one
of darkness, and adversity, and peril. But should domestic tyranny
oppress us, or the invader's step pollute our soil, still may the Gray
Champion come: for he is the type of New England's hereditary
spirit, 18 and his shadowy march, on the eve of danger, must ever be
the pledge that New England's sons will vindicate their ancestry.

458 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

FANCY'S SHOW-BOX.

A MORALITY.

WHAT is Guilt ? A stain upon the soul. And it is a point of vast
interest, whether the soul may contract such stains, in all their depth
and flagrancy, from deeds which may have been plotted and resolved
upon, but which, physically, have never had existence. Must the
fleshly hand and visible frame of man set its seal to the evil designs
of the soul, in order to give them their entire validity against the sin-
ner ? Or, while none but crimes perpetrated are cognizable before an
earthly tribunal, will guilty thoughts of which guilty deeds are no
more than shadows will these draw down the full weight of a con-
demning sentence in the supreme court of eternity ? In the solitude
of a midnight chamber, or in a desert, afar from men, or in a church,
while the body is kneeling, the soul may pollute itself even with those
crimes which we are accustomed to deem altogether carnal. If this
be true, it is a fearful truth.

Let us illustrate the subject by an imaginary example. A venerable
gentleman, one Mr. Smith, who had long been regarded as a pattern
of moral excellence, was warming his aged blood with a glass or two
of generous wine. His children being gone forth about their worldly
business, and his grandchildren at school, he sat alone in a deep, lux-
urious armchair with his feet beneath a richly carved mahogany table.
Some old people have a dread of solitude, and when better company
may not be had, rejoice even to hear the quiet breathing of a babe,
asleep upon the carpet. But Mr. Smith, whose silver hair was the
bright symbol of a life unstained, except by such spots as are insepara-
ble from human nature, had no need of a babe to protect him by its
purity, nor of a grown person to stand between him and his own soul.
Nevertheless, either Manhood must converse with Age, or Womanhood
must sooth him with gentle cares, or Infancy must sport around his
chair, or his thoughts will stray into the misty region of the past, and
the old man be chill and sad. Wine will not always cheer him. Such
might have been the case with Mr. Smith, when, through the brilliant
medium of his glass of old Madeira, he beheld three figures entering
the room. These were Fancy, who had assumed the garb and aspect
of an itinerant showman, with a box of pictures on her back ; and
Memory, in the likeness of a clerk, with a pen behind her ear, an ink-
horn at her buttonhole, and a huge manuscript volume beneath hei

SELECTIONS FROM HAWTHORNE. 459

arm', and lastly, behind the other two, a person shrouded in a dusky
mantle which concealed both face and form. But Mr. Smith had a
shrewd idea that it was Conscience.

How kind of Fancy, Memory, and Conscience to visit the old gen-
tleman, just as he was beginning to imagine that the wine had neither
so bright a sparkle nor so excellent a flavor as when himself and the
liquor were less aged! Through the dim length of the apartment,
where crimson curtains muffled the glare of sunshine and created a rich
obscurity, the three guests drew near the silver-haired old man. Mem-
ory, with a finger between the leaves of her huge volume, placed he''-
self at his right hand. Conscience, with her face still hidden in the
dusky mantle, took her station on the left, so as to be next his heart ;
while Fancy set down her picture-box upon the table, with the magni-
fy! ng-glass convenient to his eye. We can sketch merely the outlines
of two or three out of the many pictures which, at the pulling of a
string, successively peopled the box with the semblances of living
scenes.

One was a moonlight picture ; in the background, a lowly dwelling ;
and in front, partly shadowed by a tree, yet besprinkled with flakes of
radiance, two youthful figures, male and female. The young man stood
with folded arms, a haughty smile upon his lip, and a gleam of triumph
:n his eye, as he glanced downward at the kneeling girl. She was
almost prostrate at his feet, evidently sinking under a weight of shame
and anguish, which hardly allowed her to lift her clasped hands in sup-
plication. Her eyes she could not lift. But neither her agony, nor
the lovely features on which it was depicted, nor the slender grace of
the form which it convulsed, appeared to soften the obduracy of the
young man. He was the personification of triumphant scorn. Now,
strange to say, as old Mr. Smith peeped through the magnifying-glass,
which made the objects start out from the canvas with magical decep-
tion, he began to recognize the farm-house, the tree, and both the
figures of the picture. The young man, in times long past, had often
met his gaze within the looking-glass ; the girl was the very image of
his first love his cottage-love his Martha Burroughs! Mr. Smith
was scandalized. "Oh, vile and slanderous picture!" he exclaims.
" When have I triumphed over ruined innocence ? Was not Martha
wedded in her teens to David Tompkins, who won her girlish love,
and long enjoyed her affection as a wife ? And ever since his death,
she has lived a reputable widow ! " Meantime, Memory was turning
over the leaves of her volume, rustling them to and fro with uncertain

4-6 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

fingers, until, among the earlier pages, she found one which had refer-
ence to this picture. She reads it, close to the old gentleman's ear;
it is a record merely of sinful thought, which never was embodied in
an act ; but, while Memory is reading, Conscience unveils her face,
and strikes a dagger to the heart of Mr. Smith. Though not a death-
blow, the torture was extreme.

The exhibition proceeded. One after another, Fancy displayed
her pictures, all of which appeared to have been painted by some mali-
cious artist, on purpose to vex Mr. Smith. Not a shadow of proof
could have been adduced, in any earthly court, that he was guilty of
the slightest of those sins which were thus made to stare him in the
face. In one scene, there was a table set out, with several bottles,
and glasses half filled with wine, which threw back the dull ray of an
expiring lamp. There had been mirth and revelry, until the hand of
the clock stood just at midnight, when Murder stepped between the
boon companions. A young man had fallen on the floor, and lay stone
dead, with a ghastly wound crushed into his temple, while over him,
with a delirium of mingled rage and horror in his countenance, stood
the youthful likeness of Mr, Smith. The murdered youth wore the
features of Edward Spencer! " What does this rascal of a painter
mean ? " cries Mr. Smith, provoked beyond all patience. Edward
Spencer was my earliest and dearest friend, true to me as I to him,
through more than half a century. Neither I, nor any other, ever
murdered him. Was he not alive within five years, and did he not,
in token of our long friendship, bequeath me his gold-headed cane,
and a mourning ring ? " Again had Memory been turning over her
volume, and fixed at length upon so confused a page, that she surely
must have scribbled it when she was tipsy. The purport was, however,
that, while Mr. Smith and Edward Spencer were heating their young
blood with wine, a quarrel had flashed up between them, and Mr.
Smith, in deadly wrath, had flung a bottle at Spencer's head. True,
it missed its aim, and merely smashed a looking-glass ; and the next
morning, when the incident was imperfectly remembered, they had
shaken hands with a hearty laugh. Yet, again, while Memory was
reading, Conscience unveiled her face, struck a dagger to the heart of
Mr. Smith, and quelled his remonstrance with her iron frown. The
pain was quite excruciating.

Some of the pictures had been painted with so doubtful a touch,
and in colors so faint and pale, that the subjects could barely be con-
jectured. A dull, semi-transparent mist had been thrown over the

SELECTIONS FROM HAWTHORNE. 461

surface of the canvas, into which the figures seemed to vanish, while
the eye sought most earnestly to fix them. But in every scene, how-
ever dubiously portrayed, Mr. Smith was invariably haunted by his
own lineaments, at various ages, as in a dusty mirror. After poring
several minutes over one of these blurred and almost indistinguishable
pictures, he began to see that the painter had intended to represent
him, now in the decline of life, as stripping the clothes from the backs
of three half-starved children. " Really, this puzzles me!' 1 quoth Mr.
Smith, with the irony of conscious rectitude. " Asking pardon of the
painter, I pronounce him a fool, as well as a scandalous knave. A
inan of my standing in the world, to be robbing little children of their
clothes! Ridiculous!" But while he spoke, Memory had searched
her fatal volume, and found a page, which, with her sad, calm voice,
she poured into his ear. It was not altogether inapplicable to the
misty scene. It told how Mr. Smith had been grievously tempted, by
many devilish sophistries, on the ground of a legal quibble, to com-
mence a lawsuit against three orphan children, joint heirs to a consid-
erable estate. Fortunately, before he was quite decided, his claims
had turned out nearly as devoid of law as of justice. As Memory
ceased to read, Conscience again thrust aside her mantle, and would
have struck her victim with the envenomed dagger, only that he strug-
gled, and clasped his hands before his heart. Even then, however,
he sustained an ugly gash.

Why should we follow Fancy through the whole series of those
awful pictures ? Painted by an artist of wondrous power, and terrible
acquaintance with the secret soul, they embodied the ghosts of all the
never-perpetrated sins that had glided through the lifetime of Mr.
Smith. And could such beings of cloudy fantasy, so near akin to
nothingness, give valid evidence against him, at the day of judgment?
Be that the case or not, there is reason to believe, that one truly
penitential tear would have washed away each hateful picture, and left
the canvas white as snow. But Mr. Smith, at a prick of Conscience
too keen to be endured, bellowed aloud, with impatient agony, and
suddenly discovered that his three guests were gone. There he sat
alone, a silver-haired and highly venerated old man, in the rich gloom
of the crimson-curtained room, with no box of pictures on the table,
but only a decanter of most excellent Madeira. Yet his heart still
seemed to fester with the venom of the dagger.

Nevertheless, the unfortunate old gentleman might have argued
the matter with Conscience, and alleged many reasons wherefore she

462 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

should not smite him so pitilessly. Were we to take up his cause, it
should be somewhat in the following fashion. A scheme of guilt, till
it be put in execution, greatly resembles a train of incidents in a pro-
jected tale. The latter, in order to produce a sense of reality in the
reader's mind, must be conceived with such proportionate strength by
the author as to seem, in the glow of fancy, more like truth, past,
present, or to come, than purely fiction. The prospective sinner, on
the other hand, weaves his plot of crime, but seldom or never feels a
perfect certainty that it will be executed. There is a dreaminess dif-
fused about his thoughts; in a dream, as it were, he strikes the death-
blow into his victim's heart, and starts to find an indelible blood stain
on his hand. Thus a novel-writer, or a dramatist, in creating a villain
of romance, and fitting him with evil deeds, and the villain of actual
life, in projecting crimes that will be perpetrated, may almost meet
each other half-way between reality and fancy. It is not until the
crime is accomplished th^t guilt clenches its gripe upon the guilty
heart and claims it for its own. Then, and not before, sin is actually
felt and acknowledged, and, if unaccompanied by repentance, grows a
thousandfold more virulent by its self-consciousness. Be it consid-
ered, also, that men often overestimate their capacity for evil. At a
distance, while its attendant circumstances do not press upon their
notice, and its results are dimly seen, they can bear to contemplate it.
They may take the steps which lead to crime, impelled by the same
sort of mental action as in working out a mathematical problem, yet
be powerless with compunction at the final moment. They knew not
what deed it was that they deemed themselves resolved to do. In
truth, there is no such thing in man's nature as a settled and full re-
solve, either for good or evil, except at the very moment of execution.
Let us hope, therefore, that all the dreadful consequences of sin will
not be incurred unless the act have set its seal upon the thought.

Yet, with the slight fancy-work which we have framed, some sad
and awful truths are interwoven. Man must not disclaim his brother-
hood, even with the guiltiest, since, though his hand be clean, his
heart has surely been polluted by the flitting phantoms of iniquity.
He must feel that when he shall knock at the gate of heaven, no sem-
blance of an unspotted life can entitle him to entrance there. Peni-
tence must kneel, and Mercy come from the footstool of the throne,
or that golden gate will never open !

NOTES TO HAWTHORNE. . 463

NOTES TO HAWTHORNE.
THE GRAY CHAMPION.

THIS and the following selection are taken from the first series of " Twice-
Told Tales," published in 1837. The first story illustrates Hawthorne's fond-
ness for New England themes, and his imaginative method of treating them ;
the second, his sense of human sin, and his manner of probing the heart.
In both will be found his peculiar grace of style.

Of the "Twice-Told Tales" Hawthorne says, in a bit of self-criticism:
"They have the pale tint of flowers that blossomed in too retired a shade,
the coolness of a meditative habit, which diffuses itself through the feeling
and observation of every sketch. Instead of passion, there is sentiment ;
and, even in what purport to be pictures of actual life, we have allegory, not
always so warmly dressed in its habiliments of flesh and blood, as to be taken
into the reader's mind without a shiver."

1. This was done in 1686.

2. The colonists gave vent to their feelings by calling him " the tyrant
of New England." For further illustrations of this paragraph, consult a good
history.

3. The Prince of Orange, upon the invitation of a number of English
statesmen, entered England with an army, and succeeded in dethroning James
I. This movement is known in history as the Revolution of 1688.

4. This appearance seems to be an invention of Hawthorne's, in order
to furnish occasion for the incidents that follow.

5. A reference, of course, to the "Boston Massacre," which took place
March 5, 1770. " King-street " is now called State Street.

6. This refers to the Civil War in England, a struggle between the Par-
liament and Charles I. (1642-1646), which resulted in the beheading of the
king, Jan. 30, 1649.

7. This war between the colonists and the confederated Indians (1675-
1676) was carried on with great fierceness and determination on both sides.

8. Smithfield was a locality in London, where a number of Puritans
suffered martyrdom.

9. John Rogers was burned at Smithfield in 1555, the first martyr under
the reign of "Bloody Mary." In 1537, under the name of John Matthew,
he published " Matthew's Bible," a compilation from Coverdale's and Tyn-
dale's versions-

464 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

10. This was the "New England Primer," which for a century and a
half was the first book in religion and morals as well as in learning and
literature.

11. For an account of the massacre of Protestants in Paris on St. Bar-
tholomew's Day, Aug. 24, 1572, consult a good encyclopaedia.

12. Simon Bradstreet was governor of Massachusetts in 1679-1686, and
again in 1689-1692.

13. The matchlocks were fired by means of slow-burning match-core^
which were lighted at one or both ends when carried into action.

14. To hold an Anglican service, Andros forcibly took possession of the
Old South Meeting-house. This will explain the bitter feeling of the people.

15. According to an old tradition, when the town of Hadley was attacked
in King Philip's War, and the settlers were irresolute for want of a leader,
" a venerable man, unknown to all, appeared suddenly in the streets, took
command of the people, gave military orders that led to the defeat of the In-
dians, and then disappeared as suddenly as he came. It was afterwards sup-
posed that this mysterious person was William Goffe, who had been a general
in Cromwell's army, and had been compelled to flee from England as a * regi-
cide ' for having been one of the judges who sentenced Charles I. to death."
It was this mysterious appearance that Hawthorne here makes use of, chan-
ging the time and place of the event.

1 6. John Winthrop landed in Massachusetts in 1630, and served repeat-
edly as colonial governor.

17. " Old Noll " was a nickname of Oliver Cromwell.

18. It is characteristic of Hawthorne's genius, thus to make the Gray
Champion symbolize New England independence and courage. This single
stroke gives a deeper meaning to the entire story.

FANCY'S Snow-Box.

This story, as we learn from Julian Hawthorne's excellent biography of
his father, possesses a peculiar personal interest. It was suggested by a bitter
experience. Hawthorne had been ensnared in the toils of a false and mali-
cious woman, by whom he was induced to believe that a friend of his had
grossly insulted her. In his sudden burst of indignation, Hawthorne sent him
a challenge. Fortunately, the friend in question was acquainted with the
dangerous character of the woman ; and after fully vindicating his innocence,
and convincing Hawthorne of her perfidy, he generously demanded a renewal
of their friendship. This, of course, was as generously granted.

Unfortunately, this was not the end of the matter. Shortly afterwards
another friend of Hawthorne's, Cilley by name, received a challenge, which
he was not bound by the so-called "code of honor" to accept. But while

NOTES TO HAWTHORNE. 465

he was hesitating, some one said to him, " If Hawthorne was so ready to
fight a duel without stopping to ask questions, you certainly need not hesi-
tate." Hawthorne was considered a model of honorable and manly conduct,
and this argument was decisive. Cilley accepted the challenge, met his antag-
onist, and was killed.

When Hawthorne learned these facts, he was smitten with remorse.
He saw that it was Cilley's high esteem for him that led to his fatal decision.
" Had I not sought to take the life of my friend," was the burden of his
meditation, "this other friend would still be alive." And he felt as if he
were almost as much responsible for his friend's death as the man that shot
him.

It was under these circumstances that " Fancy's Show -Box " was written.
"In it the question is discussed, whether the soul may contract the stains of
guilt, in all their depth and flagrancy, from deeds which may have been
plotted and resolved upon, but which physically have never had an existence.
The conclusion is reached, that * it is not until the crime is accomplished that
guilt clinches its gripe upon the guilty heart and claims it for its own. . . .
There is no such thing, in man's nature, as a settled and full resolve, either
for good or evil, except at the very moment of execution.' Nevertheless,
' man must not disclaim his brotherhood with the guiltiest; since, though his
hand be clean, his heart has surely been polluted by the flitting phantoms of
iniquity. He must feel that, when he shall knock at the gate of Heaven, no
semblance of an unspotted life can entitle him to entrance there. Penitence
must kneel, and Mercy come from the footstool of the throne, or that golden
gate will never open ! ' Those who wish to obtain more than a superficial
glimpse into Hawthorne's heart cannot do better than to ponder every part of
this little story."

466 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

XIII.

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW.
A PSALM OF LIFE.

TELL me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream !-

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem

Life is real ! Life is earnest !

And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow

Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !

Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !

Let the dead Past bury its dead
Act, act in the living Present !

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 467

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

WHEN the hours of day are numbered,
And the voices of the night

Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight ;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And like phantoms grim and tall,

Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall ;

Then the forms of the departed

Enter at the open door ;
The beloved, the true-hearted,

Come to visit me once more ;

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,

By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life !

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,

Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more !

468 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,

More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,

Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me

With those deep and tender eyes,

Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died.

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

* SPEAK! speak ! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,

Comest to daunt me !
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,

Why dost thou haunt me ? n

Then from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December ;

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 469

And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe

From the heart's chamber.

" I was a Viking old !
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald x in song has told,

No Saga 2 taught thee !
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse ;
For this I sought thee.

" Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,

Tamed the gerfalcon ;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 3
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

" Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare

Fled like a shadow ;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolfs 4 bark,
Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

" But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew

With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led ;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,

By our stern orders.

470 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out ;
Often our midnight shout

Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's 5 tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,

Filled to o'erflowing.

" Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender ;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine

Fell their soft splendor.

" I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade

Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest

By the hawk frighted.

" Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,

Chanting his glory ;
When of old Hildebrand 6
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand

To hear my story.

" While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 47 l

So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

" She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,

I was discarded !
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night

Her nest unguarded ?

" Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she

Among the Norsemen !
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,

With twenty horsemen.

" Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind failed us ;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw, 7
So that our foe we saw

Laugh as he hailed us.

" And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
* Death ! ' was the helmsman's hail,

' Death without quarter ! '
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel ;
Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water !

472 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

" As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,

With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,

Bore I the maiden.

" Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore

Stretching to leeward ;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,

Stands looking seaward.

" There lived we many years ;
Time dried the maiden's tears ;
She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother ;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies ;
Ne'er shall the sun arise

On such another !

" Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen !
Hateful to me were men,

The sunlight hateful !
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,

Oh, death was grateful !

" Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars

My soul ascended !

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 473

There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal 1 8 to the Northland ! skoal! "
Thus the tale ended.

THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.

THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ;

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys !

What loud lament and dismal Miserere x

Will mingle with their awful symphonies !

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,

The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,

In long reverberations reach our own.

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, 2

Through Cimbric 3 forest roars the Norseman's song,

And loud, amid the universal clamor,

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.

1 hear the Florentine, who from his palace

Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din,

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 4

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin ;

The tumult of each sacked and burning village ;

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ;
The soldier's revels in the midst of pillage ;
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ;

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ;

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder
The diapason of the cannonade.

474 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies ?

Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,

Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals and forts :

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred !

And every nation, that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead

Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain ! 5

Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ;

And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace ! " 6

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals

The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies !

But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP.

" BUILD me straight, O worthy Master! 1
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel,
That shall laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! "

The merchant's word

Delighted the Master heard ;

For his heart was in his work, and the heart

Giveth grace unto every Art.

A quiet smile played round his lips,

As the eddies and dimples of the tide

Play round the bows of ships,

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 4?$

That steadily at anchor ride.

And with a voice that was full of glee,

He answered, " Ere long we will launch

A vessel as goodly, and strong, and stanch,

As ever weathered a wintry sea ! "

And first with nicest skill and art,

Perfect and finished in every part,

A little model the Master wrought,

Which should be to the larger plan

What the child is to the man,

Its counterpart in miniature ;

That with a hand more swift and sure

The greater labor might be brought

To answer to his inward thought.

And as he labored, his mind ran o'er

The various ships that were built of yore ;

And above them all, and strangest of all,

Towered the Great Harry, 2 crank 3 and tall,

Whose picture was hanging on the wall,

With bows and stern raised high in air,

And balconies hanging here and there,

And signal lanterns and flags afloat,

And eight round towers, like those that frown

From some old castle, looking down

Upon the drawbridge and the moat.

And he said with a smile, " Our ship, I wis,

Shall be of another form than this ! "

It was of another form, indeed ;

Built for freight, and yet for speed,

A beautiful and gallant craft ;

Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast,.

Pressing down upon sail and mast,

Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ;

Broad in the beam, but sloping aft

With graceful curve and slow degrees,

That she might be docile to the helm,

And that the currents of parted seas,

Closing behind, with mighty force,

Might aid and not impede her course.

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

In the ship-yard stood the Master,
With the model of the vessel,
That should laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle !

Covering many a rood of ground,

Lay the timber piled around ;

Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak,

And scattered here and there, with these,

The knarred 4 and crooked cedar knees ;

Brought from regions far away,

From Pascagoula's 5 sunny bay,

And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! 6

Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is

To note how many wheels of toil

One thought, one word, can set in motion !

There's not a ship that sails the ocean,

But every climate, every soil,

Must bring its tribute, great or small,

And help to build the wooden wall !

The sun was rising o'er the sea,
And long the level shadows lay,
As if they, too, the beams would be
Of some great airy argosy,
Framed and launched in a single day.
That silent architect, the sun,
Had hewn and laid them every one,
Ere the work of man was yet begun-
Beside the Master, when he spoke,
A youth, against an anchor leaning,
Listened, to catch his slightest meaning.
Only the long waves, as they broke
In ripples on the pebbly beach,
Interrupted the old man's speech.

Beautiful they were, in sooth,
The old man and the fiery youth !
The old man, in whose busy brain
Many a ship that sailed the main

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 4/7

Was modelled o'er and o'er again ;

The fiery youth, who was to be

The heir of his dexterity,

The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand,

When he had built and launched from land

What the elder head had planned.

" Thus," said he, " will we build this ship !
Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 7
And follow well this plan of mine.
Choose the timbers with greatest care ;
Of all that is unsound beware ;
For only what is sound and strong
To this vessel shall belong.
Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine
Here together shall combine.
A goodly frame, and a goodly fame,
And the UNION be her name !
For the day that gives her to the sea
Shall give my daughter unto thee ! "

The Master's word

Enraptured the young man heard ;

And as he turned his face aside,

With a look of joy and a thrill of pride,

Standing before

Her father's door,

He saw the form of his promised bride.

The sun shone on her golden hair,

And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair,

With the breath of morn and the soft sea air.

Like a beauteous barge was she,

Still at rest on the sandy beach,

Just beyond the billow's reach ;

But he

Was the restless, seething, stormy sea!

Ah, how skilful grows the hand

That obeyeth Love's command !

It is the heart, and not the brain,

That to the highest doth attain,

4/8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

And he who followeth Love's behest
Far excelleth all the rest !

Thus with the rising of the sun

Was the noble task begun,

And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds

Were heard the intermingled sounds

Of axes and of mallets, plied

With vigorous arms on every side ;

Plied so deftly and so well,

That, ere the shadows of evening fell,

The keel 8 of oak for a noble ship,

Was lying ready, and stretched along

The blocks, well placed upon the slip.

Happy, thrice happy, every one

Who sees his labor well begun,

And not perplexed and multiplied,

By idly waiting for time and tide !

And when the hot, long day was o'er,

The young man at the Master's door

Sat with the maiden calm and still,

And within the porch, a little more

Removed beyond the evening chill,

The father sat, and told them tales

Of wrecks in the great September gales,

Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main,

And ships that never came back again,

The chance and change of a sailor's life,

Want and plenty, rest and strife,

His roving fancy, like the wind,

That nothing can stay and nothing can bind,

And the magic charm of foreign lands,

With shadows of palms, and shining sands,

Where the tumbling surf,

O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar,

Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 9

As he lies alone and asleep on the turf.

And the trembling maiden held her breath

At the tales of that awfuL Ditiless sea,

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 479

With all its terror and mysiery,

The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death,

That divides and yet unites mankind !

And whenever the old man paused, a gleam

From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume

The silent group in the twilight gloom,

And thoughtful faces, as in a dream ;

And for a moment one might mark

What had been hidden by the dark,

That the head of the maiden lay at rest,

Tenderly, on the young man's breast !

Day by day the vessel grew,

With timbers fashioned strong and true,

Stemson I0 and keelson and sternson-knee,

Till, framed with perfect symmetry,

A skeleton ship rose up to view !

And around the bows and along the side

The heavy hammers and mallets plied,

Till after many a week, at length,

Wonderful for form and strength,

Sublime in its enormous bulk,

Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk !

And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing,

Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething

Caldron, that glowed,

And overflowed

With the black tar, heated for the sheathing.

And amid the clamors

Of clattering hammers,

He who listened heard now and then

The song of the Master and his men :

Build me straight, O worthy Master,
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel,
That shall laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! "

With oaken brace and copper band,
Lay the rudder oa the sand

480 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

That, like a thought, should have control

Over the movement of the whole ;

And near it the anchor, whose giant hand,

Would reach down and grapple with the land,

And immovable and fast

Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast !

And at the bows an image stood,

By a cunning artist carved in wood,

With robes of white, that far behind

Seemed to be fluttering in the wind.

It was not shaped in a classic mould,

Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old,

Or Naiad rising from the water,

But modelled from the Master's daughter

On many a dreary and misty night,

'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light,

Speeding along through the rain and the dark,

Like a ghost in its snow-white sark,

The pilot of some phantom bark,

Guiding the vessel, in its flight,

By a path none other knows aright !

Behold, at last,
Each tall and tapering mast
Is swung into its place ;
Shrouds and stays
Holding it firm and fast I

Long ago,

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine,

When upon mountain and plain

Lay the snow,

They fell, those lordly pines !

Those grand, majestic pines !

'Mid shouts and cheers

The jaded steers,

Panting beneath the goad,

Dragged down the weary, ^winding road

Those captive kings so straight and tall,

To be shorn of their streaming hair,

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW. 481

And naked and bare,

To feel the stress and the strain

Of the wind and the reeling main,

Whose roar

Would remind them forevermore

Of their native forests they should not see again.

And everywhere

The slender, graceful spars

Poise aloft in the air,

And at the rnast-head,

White, blue, and red,

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars.

Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless,

In foreign harbors shall behold

That flag unrolled,

'Twill be as a friendly hand

Stretched out from his native land,

Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless !

All is finished ! and at length

Has come the bridal day

Of beauty and of strength.

To-day the vessel shall be launched t

With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched,

And o'er the bay,

Slowly, in all his splendors dight,

The great sun rises to behold the sight.

The ocean old,

Centuries old,

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,

Paces restless to and fro,

Up and down the sands of gold.

His beating heart is not at rest ;

And far and wide,

With ceaseless flow,

His beard of snow

Heaves with the heaving of his breast.

He waits impatient for his bride.

There she stands.

482 AMERICAN LITER A TURE.

With her foot upon the sands,

Decked with flags and streamers gay,

In honor of her marriage day,

Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending,

Round her like a veil descending,

Ready to be

The bride of the gray old sea.

On the deck another bride
Is standing by her lover's side.
Shadows from the flags and shrouds,
Like the shadows cast by clouds,
Broken by many a sudden fleck,
Fall around them on the deck.

The prayer is said,

The service read,

The joyous bridegroom bows his head ;

And in tears the good old Master

Shakes the brown hand of his son,

Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek

In silence, for he cannot speak,

And ever faster

Down his own the tears begin to run.

The worthy pastor

The shepherd of that wandering flock,

That has the vessel for its wold,

That has the ocean for its fold,

Leaping ever from rock to rock

Spake, with accents mild and clear,

Words of warning, words of cheer,

But tedious to the bridegroom's ear.

He knew the chart

Of the sailor's heart,

All its pleasures and its griefs,

All its shallows and rocky reefs,

All those secret currents, that flow

With such resistless undertow,

And lift and drift, with terrible force,

The will from its moorings and its course.

Therefore he spake, and thus said he :

SELECTIONS FRO At LONGFELLOW. 483

" Like unto ships far off at sea,

Outward or homeward bound, are we.

Before, behind, and all around,

Floats and swings the horizon's bound,

Seems at its distant rim to rise

And climb the crystal wall of the skies,

And then again to turn and sink,

As if we could slide from its outer brink.

Ah ! it is not the sea,

It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,

But ourselves

That rock and rise

With endless and uneasy motion,

Now touching the very skies,

Now sinking into the depths of ocean.

Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing

Like the compass in its brazen ring,

Ever level and ever true

To the toil and the task we have to do,

We shall sail securely, and safely reach

The Fortunate Isles, 11 on whose shining beach

The sights we see, and the sounds we hear,

Will be those of joy and not of fear ! "

Then the Master,

With a gesture of command,

Waved his hand ;

And at the word,

Loud and sudden there was heard,

All around them and below,

The sound of hammers, blow on blow,

Knocking away the shores and spurs.

And see ! she stirs !

She starts, she moves, she seems to feel

The thrill of life along her keel,

And, spurning with her foot the ground,

With one exulting, joyous bound,

She leaps into the ocean's arms !

And lo ! from the assembled crowd
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,

484 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

That to the ocean seemed to say,

" Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray,

Take her to thy protecting arms,

With all her youth and all her charms ! "

How beautiful she is ! How fair

She lies within those arms, that press

Her form with many a soft caress

Of tenderness and watchful care !

Sail forth into the sea, O ship !

Through wind and wave, right onward steer !

The moistened eye, the trembling lip,

Are not the signs of doubt or fear.

Sail forth into the sea of life,
O gentle, loving, trusting wife,
And safe from all adversity
Upon the bosom of that sea
Thy comings and thy goings be !
For gentleness and love and trust
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ;
And in the wreck of noble lives
Something immortal still survives !

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State !
Sail on, O UNION, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate !
We know what Master I2 laid thy keel,
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope !
Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'Tis of the wave and not the rock ;
Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale !
In spite of rock and tempest's roar,

SELECTIONS FROM LONGFELLOW.

In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea !
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee are all with thee 1

486 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

NOTES TO LONGFELLOW.

FOR a general introduction to each poem, consult the preceding sketch.

The poems selected are all well known. It is probable that the student
is already familiar with them. But there is a great deal of superficial reading;
and it is possible that a careful study will not only reveal new beauty in each
poem, but also lead to a higher appreciation of the poet's genius and art.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

Of this poem Mr. Longfellow said : "I kept it some time in manuscript,
unwilling to show it to any one, it being a voice from my inmost heart, at a
time when I was rallying from depression." His first wife died in 1835, and
the poem was published in 1838. Before its publication the poet read it to
his college class at the close of a lecture on Goethe.

The poem is the message of courage and hope that the psalmist's heart
brought to him. Under the temporary shock and depression of bereavement,
he felt that life is empty, that immortality is a fiction, and that duty is a
phantom. It is a feeling that at times comes to most men.

With the second stanza begins the strong, earnest voice of the psalmist's
heart. It corrects his despairing view of life. With a reference to the story
of man's creation in Genesis, it declares the truth of man's immortality. It
then points out the true end of life, the spirit in which duty is to be met, and
the beneficent influence of heroic example. It concludes with the practical
exhortation, " learn to labor and to wait."

The " Psalm of Life " is a good specimen of Longfellow's didactic poetry.
It is a short sermon or moral lecture in verse, with an introduction, argument,
and conclusion. No word or phrase should be passed without determining its
meaning, and the successive steps of the argument should be pointed out. It
is safe to say that there is a great deal more in the poem than most readers
find.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

The original title of this poem was " Evening Shadows." The reference
in the fourth stanza is to the poet's brother-in-law, George W. Pierce, of
whom he wrote long afterwards, " I have never ceased to feel that in his
death something was taken from my own life which could never be restored."
Longfellow received the news of his death at Heidelberg on Christmas Eve,

NOTES TO LONGFELLOW. 487

1835, less than a month after the death of his wife, who is tenderly referred
to in the closing stanzas. This poern exhibits not only the true-hearted char-
acter of the poet, but also the sound moral tone of all his poetry. The verse
is simple and clear throughout.

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

This is an admirable ballad. In its main features it was no do'>h : sug-
gested by Coleridge's " Ancient Mariner." It was built up from the sicnder-
est foundation of fact, and may fairly be regarded as one of Longfellow's
most imaginative pieces. It is artistically wrought out in all its parts, and
the verse shows more vigor than usual. The stanzas are compact, and the
epithets happily chosen.

The historic groundwork is found in the Round Tower of Newport and
the Fall River skeleton. The theory of the Norse origin of the tower is
accepted. The bold Viking says,

" There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward."

In digging down a hill near Fall River, a skeleton was discovered in a
sitting posture. On the breast was a plate of brass, evidently intended for
protective armor. The origin of the skeleton, though probably that of an
Indian, has not been definitely determined. In the poem, however, it is the
skeleton of the suicide Viking,

" In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,

Oh, death was grateful 1"

Much of the beauty of the poem will be lost without a vivid conception
of the wild life of the Vikings. Who were they ? Where did they live ?
Their daring spirit is well exhibited in the poem. The " wassail-bouts " and
minstrel songs introduce us to the castle-life of the mediaeval period. Almost
every stanza presents a clear-cut and interesting picture. "To old-fashioned
people," says Stedman, " this heroic ballad is worth a year's product of what
I may term Kensington-stitch verse."

1. Skald = an ancient Scandinavian minstrel, the equivalent of bard
among Celtic peoples.

2. Saga = a Scandinavian myth, or heroic story ; in a wider sense, a
Jegend.

488 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

3. The Sound 'is a sea-passage between Sweden and the island of Zea-
land in Denmark. In its narrowest part it is three miles wide.

4. Werewolf = a person who, according to mediaeval superstition, be-
came voluntarily or involuntarily a wolf, and in that form practised cannibal-
ism. Otherwise spelled werwolf.

5. Berserk = in Norse legend a warrior who fought with frenzied fury,
known ar the "berserker rage."

6. Hildebrand was a common name in the legendary lore of the Teutonic
race.

7. The Skaw is a cape at the northeastern extremity of Jutland in Den-
mark.

8. Skoal. Of this word Longfellow said: "In Scandinavia, this is
the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed the
orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation."

THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.

In 1777 General Washington selected Springfield as a suitable location
for an arsenal. Small arms were manufactured there a few years later, and
since then it has become a large factory and repository.

In 1843, when on his wedding journey, Longfellow visited the arsenal in
company with his bride and Charles Sumner. " While Mr. Sumner was en-
deavoring," says Mr. Samuel Longfellow, " to impress upon the attendant
that the money expended upon those weapons of war would have been much
better spent upon a large library, Mrs. Longfellow pleased her husband by
remarking how like an organ looked the ranged and shining gun-barrels
which covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and suggesting what mournful
music Death would bring from them. ' We grew quite warlike against war,'
she wrote, * and I urged H. to write a peace poem.' " The poem was written
some months later.

The subject took deep hold upon the poet. The poem is written with
extraordinary energy. Like nearly all of Longfellow's verse, it has a moral
purpose. It teaches the religion of humanity. It consists of an introduction,
a rapid review of war scenes in successive ages and different countries, mourn-
ful reflections on the wrong and curse of war, and concludes with the cheer-
ing prophecy of the reign of universal peace.

1. Miserere a musical composition adapted to the Fifty-first Psalm.
It is the first word of that Psalm in the Latin version, and means have mercy.
The miserere is of frequent occurrence in the services of the Roman Church,
and is one of the most expressive chants in the whole range of sacred music.

2. Saxon hammer = a weapon of attack in war used by the Saxons and

NOTES TO LONGFELLOW. 489

others during the Middle Ages. The hammer usually had one blunt face, with
a sharp point on the opposite side.

3. Cimbric = pertaining to the Cimbri, an ancient people of central Eu-
rope. The peninsula of Jutland was named from them, the Cimbric Cherso-
nese.

4. Teocalli = a. structure of earth and stone or brick, used as a temple
or place of worship by the Aztecs and other aborigines of America. It was
generally a solid, four-sided, truncated pyramid, built terrace-wise, with the
temple proper on the platform at the summit.

5. Curse of Cain. See Gen. iv. 11-15.

6. Peace. See Mark iv. 39.

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP.

As already indicated, the form of this poem is borrowed from Schiller's
"Song of the Bell ; " and it is scarcely inferior to the work of the great
German. The poet's heart was in his work ; and the metre and rhythm are
in excellent keeping with the thought and sentiment. He had probably
learned something of ship-building in Portland. The successive pictures pre-
sented by the poem have been compared to instantaneous photographs. The
felling of the giant pines and the terrors and mysteries of the sea are admi-
rably described. The human element is no less interesting. The ship-builder,
with his conscious skill and integrity, is a fine portrait. The love-story inter-
woven with the main narrative gives the poem an air of tenderness. The
name of the vessel suggests the American Union, and the poem concludes
with a noble burst of patriotic feeling. It has been pronounced " the freshest
and most stirring of our national poems."

1. Master = proprietor of a ship-yard.

2. Great Harry the first war -ship of the British navy, built in 1438.

3. Crank = liable to careen or be capsized.

4. Knarred '= gnarled, knotty.

5. Pascagoula Bay is in the southeastern part of Mississippi. The river
of the same name, which empties into the bay, runs through a sandy region
of pine forests.

6. Roanoke = a river of Virginia and North Carolina, emptying into
Albemarle Sound. It rises in the Alleghany Mountains, and in its course in
Virginia may, with some justice, be characterized as " roaring."

7. Slip = an inclined plane on the bank of a river or harbor, intended
for ship-building.

8. Keel= the principal timber in a ship, extending from stem to stern
at the bottom.

9. Lascar = a native sailor employed in European vessels in East India.

49 AMERICAN LITER A TURE.

10. Stemson a piece of curved timber fixed on the after part of the
apron inside. The lower end is scarfed into the keelson, and receives the
scarf of the stem, through which it is bolted. Keelson = a beam running
lengthwise above the keel of the ship, and bolted to the middle of the floor-
frames, in order to stiffen the vessel. Stermon = the end of a ship's keelson,
to which the stern-post is bolted.

1 1 . The Fortunate Isles, according to the ancients, were located off the
western coast of Africa. Their name is due to their remarkable beauty, a'nd
the abundance of all things desirable which they were supposed to contain.
By some they are identified with the Canaries.

12. Master = Washington. The workmen referred to in the next line
are the statesmen who assisted in organizing our government.

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. 491

XIV.

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL.

WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS.

GUVENER B. 1 is a sensible man ;

He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks ;
He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,
An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes ;
But John P.
Robinson he
Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

My ! aint it terrible ? What shall we du ?

We can't never choose him o' course, thet's flat ;
Guess we shall hev to come round, (don't you ?)
An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that ;
Fer John P.
Robinson he
Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

Gineral C. 2 is a dreffle smart man :

He's ben on all sides thet give places 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 shall vote fer Gineral C.

Gineral C. he goes in fer the war ;

He don't vally principle more'n an old cud ;
Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer,

But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood ?
So John P.
Robinson lie
Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

49 2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, 5

With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut aint,
We kind o' thought Christ went agin 1 war an 1 pillage,
An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint ;
But John P.
Robinson he
Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.

The side of our country must oilers be took,

An' President Polk, you know, he is our country;
An 7 the angel thet writes all our sins in a book

Puts the debit to him, an' to us the/<?r contryj 4
An' John P.
Robinson he
Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.

Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies ;

Sez they 're nothin' on airth but jest _/<?, jfaw, fumt* -
An' thet all this big talk of our destinies

Is half ov it ign'ance, an' t'other half rum;
But John P.
Robinson he
Sez it aint no sech thing ; an', of course, so must we

Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life

Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats
An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife,

To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes ;
But John P.
Robinson he
Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.

Wai, it's a marcy we've gut folks to tell us

The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow,
God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers,
To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough ;
Fer John P.
Robinson he
Sez the worldll go right, ef he hollers out Gee I

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. 493

THE PRESENT CRISIS.

WHEN a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching

breast

Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time.

Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe,
When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to and fro ;
At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start,
Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart,
And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the Future's
heart.

So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill,

Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill,

And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies with God l

In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the sod,

Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod.

For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along,
Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong ; 2
Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame
Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame;
In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim. 3

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side ;
Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or

blight,

Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,
And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.

Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand,
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?
Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is strong, 4
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.

494 AMERICAA r LITERATURE.

Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,

That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea;

Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry

Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff

must fly ;
Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.

Careless seems the great Avenger ; history's pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word ; 5
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within' the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great,
Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate,
But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din,
List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic 6 cave within,
* They enslave their children's children who make compromise with
sin."

Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, 7 fellest of the giant brood,

Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth

with blood,

Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day,
Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey ;
Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play?

Then to side with truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just ;
Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified,
And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.

Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, they were souls that stood

alone,

While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone,
Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline
To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine,
By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design.

By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track,
Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back,

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. 495

And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned
One new word of that grand Credo** which in prophet-hearts hath

burned

Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven up-
turned.

For Humanity sweeps onward : where to-day the martyr stands,
On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands ;
Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,
While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return
To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn.

'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves

Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves,

Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime ;

Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their

time?
Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock

sublime? 10

They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts,

Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's ;

But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us

free,

Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee
The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea.

They have rights who dare maintain them ; we are traitors to our sires,
Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires ;
Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to slay,
From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away
To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day?

New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth ,
They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of

Truth ;

Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must Pilgrims be,
Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter

sea,
Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.

496 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL.

PRELUDE TO PART FIRST. 1

OVER his keys the musing organist,

Beginning doubtfully and far away,
First lets his fingers wander as they list,

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay;
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme,
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 2

Not only around our infancy
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; 3
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
, We Sinais climb and know it not.

Over our manhood bend the skies ;

Against our fallen and traitor lives
The great winds utter prophecies :

With our faint hearts the mountain strives ;
Its arms outstretched, the druid wood

Waits with its benedi:ite;
And to our age's drowsy blocd

Still shouts the inspiring sea.

Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ;

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,

We bargain for the graves we lie in ;
At the Devil's booth are all things sold,
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ;

For a cap and bells our lives we pay,
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking:

'Tis heaven alone that is given away,
Tis only God may be had for the asking;
No price is set on the lavish summer ;
June may be had by the poorest comer. 4

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. 497

And what is so rare as a day in June? 5

Then, if ever, come perfect days ;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays : 6
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ;
Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ;
The flush of life may well be seen

Thrilling back over hills and valleys ;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean

To be some happy creature's palace ;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun

With the deluge of summer it receives ;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? 7

Now is the high-tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it ; 8
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ;
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing ;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near, 9

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,

498 AMERICAN LITER A TUKE.

That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not lack ;

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,

Tells all in his lusty crowing !

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,

Everything is upward striving ;
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,

'Tis the natural way of living : .
Who knows whither the clouds have fled ?

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ;
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache ;
The soul partakes of the season's youth,

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,

Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.
What wonder if Sir Launfal now
Remembered the keeping of his vow? I0

PART FIRST.

" My golden spurs now bring to me,
And bring to me my richest mail,

For to-morrow I go over land and sea
In search of the Holy Grail ;

Shall never a bed for me be spread,

Nor shall a pillow be under my head,

Till I begin my vow to keep ;

Here on the rushes will I sleep,

And perchance there may come a vision true

Ere day create the world anew."

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. 499

Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim,
Slumber fell like a cloud on him,
And into his soul the vision flew.

The crows flapped over by twos and threes,

In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees,

The little birds sang as if it were

The one day of summer in all the year,
And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees :
The castle alone in the landscape lay
Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray :
'Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree,
And never its gates might opened be,
Save to lord or lady of high degree ;
Summer besieged it on every side,
But the churlish stone her assaults defied ;
She could not scale the chilly wall,
Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall
Stretched left and right,
Over the hills and out of sight ;

Green and broad was every tent,

And out of each a murmur went
Till the breeze fell off at night.

in.

The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang,
And through the dark arch a charger sprang,
Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight,
In his gilded^mail, that flamed so bright
It seemed the dark castle had gathered all
Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall

In his siege of three hundred summers long,
And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf,

Had cast them forth : so, young and strong,
And lightsome as a locust-leaf,
Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail,
To seek 'in all climes for the Holy Grail.

5OO AMERICAN LITERA TURE.

IV.

It was morning on hill and stream and tree,
And morning in the young knight's heart ;

Only the castle moodily

Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free,
And gloomed by itself apart ;

The season brimmed all other things up

Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup.

As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate,

He was 'ware of leper, crouched by the same,
Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate ;

And a loathing over Sir Launfal came ;
The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill,

The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl,
And midway its leap his heart stood still

Like a frozen waterfall ;
For this man, so foul and bent of stature,
Rasped harshly against his dainty nature,
And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,
So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.

VI.

The leper raised not the gold from the dust :
" Better to me the poor man's crust,
Better the blessing of the poor,
Though I turn me empty from his door ;
That is no true alms which the hand can hold ;
He gives nothing but worthless gold

Who gives from a sense of duty ;
But he " who gives but a slender mite,
And gives to that which is out of sight,

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty
Which runs through all and doth all unite,
The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms,
The heart outstretches its eager palms,
For a god goes with it and makes it store
To the soul that was starving in darkness before."

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. $Ol

PRELUDE TO PART SECOND. 12

Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,

From the snow five thousand summers old ;
On open wold and hill-top bleak

It had gathered all the cold,

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ;
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare ;
The little brook heard it and built a roof I3
'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof;
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams ;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the lashes of light that trim the stars ;
He sculptured every summer delight
In his halls and chambers out of sight ;
Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt
Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt,
Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees
Bending to counterfeit a breeze ;
Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew
But silvery mosses that downward grew ;
Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief
With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf;
Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear
For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here
He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops
And hung them thickly with diamond-drops,
That crystalled the beams of moon and sun,
And made a star of every one :
No mortal builder's most rare device
Could match this winter-palace of ice ;
'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay
In his depths serene through the summer day,
Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky,

Lest the happy model should be lost,
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry

By the elfin builders of the frost. 14

5O2 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Within the hall are song and laughter,

The cheeks of Christmas grow red and jolly,
And sprouting is every corbel IS and rafter

With lightsome green of ivy and holly;
Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide

Wallows the Yulelog's roaring tide ; l6
The broad flame-pennons droop and flap

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind ;
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap,

Hunted to death in its galleries blind ;
And swift little troops of silent sparks,

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear,
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks

Like herds of startled deer.
But the wind without was eager and sharp,
Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp,
And rattles and wrings
The icy strings,

Singing, in dreary monotone,

A Christmas carol of its own,

Whose burden still, as he might guess,

Was " Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless ! "
The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch
As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch,
And he sat in the gateway and saw all night

The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold,

Through the window-slits of the castle old,
Build out its piers of ruddy light

Against the drift of the cold.

PART SECOND.
I.

There was never a leaf on bush or tree,
The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ;
The river was dumb and could not speak,

For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun,
A single crow on the tree-top bleak

From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun ;
Again it was morning, \)ut shrunk and cold,

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. 5<D3

As if her veins were sapless and old,

And she rose up decrepitly

For a last dim look at earth and sea.

Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate,

For another heir in his earldom sate ;

An old, bent man, worn out and frail,

He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ;

Little he recked of his earldom's loss,

No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross,

But deep in his soul the sign he wore,

The badge of the suffering and the poor.

ill.

Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare

Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air,

For it was just at the Christmas time ;

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime,

And sought for a shelter from cold and snow

In the light and warmth of long-ago ;

He sees the snake-like caravan crawl

O'er the edge of the desert, black and small,

Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one,

He can count the camels in the sun,

As over the red-hot sands they pass

To where, in its slender necklace of grass,

The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade,

And with its own self like an infant played,

And waved its signal of palms.

IV.

" For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms ; "
The happy camels may reach the spring,
But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing,
The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone,
That cowers beside him, a thing as lone
And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas
In the desolate horror of his disease.

504 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

And Sir Launfal said, " I behold in thee

An image of Him who died on the tree ;

Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns,

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns,

And to thy life were not denied

The wounds in the hands and feet and side :

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ;

Behold, through him, I give to Thee ! "

VI.

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes

And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he
Remembered in what a haughtier guise

He had flung an alms to leprosie,
When he girt his young life up in gilded mail
And set forth in search of the Holy Grail.
The heart within him was ashes and dust ;
He parted in twain his single crust,
He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink,
And gave the leper to eat and drink :
'Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread,

'Twas water out of a wooden bowl,
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed,

And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul.

VII.

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,

A light shone round about the place ;

The leper no longer crouched at his side,

But stood before him glorified,

Shining and tall and fair and straight

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, 17

Himself the Gate whereby men can

Enter the temple of God in Man.

VIII.

His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,
That mingle their softness and quiet in one

SELECTIONS FROM LOWELL. 505

With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ;

And the voice that was calmer than silence said,

" Lo it is I, be not afraid !

In many climes, without avail,

Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ;

Behold, it is here, this cup which thou

Didst fill at the streamlet for Me but now ;

This crust is My body broken for thee,

This water His blood that died on the tree ;

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,

In whatso we share with another's need :

Not what we give, but what we share,

For the gift without the giver is bare ;

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me." l8

IX.

Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound : -
"The Grail in my castle here is found!
Hang my idle armor up on the wall,
Let it be the spider's banquet-hall ;
He must be fenced with stronger mail
Who would seek and find the Holy Grail."

The castle gate stands open now,

And the wanderer is welcome to the hall

As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough ; I9
No longer scowl the turrets tall,

The Summer's long siege at last is o'er ;

When the first poor outcast went in at the door,

She entered with him in disguise,

And mastered the fortress by surprise ;

There is no spot she loves so well on ground,

She lingers and smiles there the whole year round ;

The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land

Has hall and bower at his command ;

And there's no poor man in the North Countree

But is lord of the earldom as much as he.

506 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

NOTES TO LOWELL.

THE selections from Lowell are intended to illustrate his different styles
of writing. For a general introduction, read the sketch of the poet in Part
First.

WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS.

This selection is from the first series of the " Biglow Papers." It illus-
trates Lowell's manner and power as a satirist ; and to use the words of a
biographer, it " tickled the public amazingly," especially those who were op-
posed to the Mexican War.

As we learn from the editorial remarks of the Rev. Homer Wilbur, the
satire of the verses " was not meant to have any personal, but only a general,
application. Of the gentleman upon whose letter they were intended as a
commentary Mr. Biglow had never heard, till he saw the letter itself. The
position of the satirist is oftentimes one which he would not have chosen,
had the election been left to himself. In attacking bad principles, he is
obliged to select some individual who has made himself their exponent, and
in whom they are impersonate."

1 . George N. Briggs ( 1 796-1861 ), a lawyer, judge, member of Congress,
and Whig governor of Massachusetts from 1844 to 1851.

2. Caleb Gushing (1800-1879), a lawyer, statesman, and author of abil-
ity and learning. In politics he belonged originally to the Jeff ersonian Re-
publican party, then turned Whig, and afterwards, with President Tyler,
drifted over to the other side. He advocated the Mexican War in the face of
strong opposition from the people of Massachusetts. He commanded a regi-
ment in the war, and rose to the rank of brigadier-general. While in Mexico
he was nominated by the Democrats as governor of Massachusetts. The
satire of this and the following stanza was very cutting.

3. Jaalam, where lived Hosea Biglow and Parson Wilbur.

4. Per contry = per contra, contrariwise.

5. Fee-faw-fum = nonsense.

THE PRESENT CRISIS.

This poem brings Lowell before us as a preacher or reformer. It is writ-
ten in heroic and prophetic mood. What it lacks in polish, it gains in force.
We recognize something of Emerson's philosophy, with which, as we have

NOTES TO LOWELL. 507

seen, Lowell was much impressed in early manhood. The poem was written
in 1845, when the question of annexing Texas was before the country. This
annexation was opposed by the anti-slavery party on the ground that it would
strengthen the South.

1. This is E&jersonian, recognizing the presence of God in nature and
humanity.

2. This line contains a reference to the electric telegraph, which had
been put into operation only a short time before the poem was written.

3. This is a strong assertion of the solidarity of the human race, a
truth not yet sufficiently understood.

4. This line recalls Bryant's well-known lines,

" Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ;
The eternal years of God are hers."

All our great singers have had this same faith in the power of truth.

5. A reference to John i. I : "In the beginning was the Word, and
the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

6. The oracle at Delphi in Greece was very celebrated. Consult a good
encyclopaedia.

7. Cyclops, meaning round eye, was the name anciently applied to a
fabulous race of giants. The reference throughout this stanza is to Poly-
phemus of Sicily. According to Homer, when Ulysses landed on this island,
he entered the cave of Polyphemus with twelve companions, of whom the
gigantic cannibal devoured six. The others expected the same fate ; but
their cunning leader made Polyphemus drunk, then thrust a burning stake
into his single eye, and thus made his escape, leaving the blinded monster to
grope about in darkness.

8. Can you name any of the heroes referred to in this stanza?

9. Credo = creed ; so called, because in Latin the Apostles' Creed be-
gins with this word, meaning " I believe." The idea here presented, namely,
that the creed of humanity is being slowly built up through the ages, is a
grand one.

io. The meaning of this line may be given as follows : " Do these tracks,
that make Plymouth Rock sublime, turn toward the Past or toward the
Future? " The poet's answer is, of course, "Toward the Future."

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL.

The following note was prefixed to the first edition published in 1848 :
"According to the mythology of the Romancers, the San Greal, or Holy
Grail, was the cup out of which Jesus Christ partook of the last supper with
his disciples. It was brought into England by Joseph of Arimathea, and re-
mained there, an object of pilgrimage and adoration, for many years in the

5O8 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

keeping of his lineal descendants. It was incumbent upon those who had
charge of it to be chaste in thought, word, and deed ; but, one of the keepers
having broken this condition, the Holy Grail disappeared. From that time
it was a favorite enterprise of the Knights of Arthur's court to go in search of
it. Sir Galahad was at last successful in finding it, as may be read in the
seventeenth book of the Romance of King Arthur. Tennyson has made Sir
Galahad the subject of one of the most exquisite of his poems.

" The plot (if I may give that name to anything so slight) of the follow-
ing poem is my own ; and, to serve its purposes, I have enlarged the circle
of competition in search of the miraculous cup in such a manner as to include
not only other persons than the heroes of the Round Table, but also a period
of time subsequent to the date of King Arthur's reign."

1. Note how each of the two Preludes is in harmony with the part of
the story that follows. Nature is brought into sympathy with Sir Launfal.
The great popularity of the poem is due in no small degree to the beautiful
descriptions of nature in the Preludes.

2. These opening lines are admirable, both for the picture of the musing
organist, and for the melody of the stanza.

3. A reference to the well-known and beautiful passage in Wordsworth's

famous Ode :

" Heaven lies about us in our infancy ;
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing boy."

In the inspiring lines that follow, Lowell teaches that heaven is continually
about us, bending over our manhood, and speaking encouragement to old
age.

4. Observe the contrast in this stanza between "Earth gets its price,"
with the instances that follow, and

" 'Tis heaven alone that is given away."

5. June was the favorite month of Lowell, as May was of the English
poets. In the poem, "Under the Willows," which gives name to a volume
of his verse, he dwells on the charm of June at considerable length. He

says,

"June is the pearl of our New England year;"

but

" May is a pious fraud of the almanac,
A ghastly parody of real spring."

6. This figure is taken from the musician, who places his ear close to his
violin to determine whether it be in tune.

7. " What Lowell loves most in nature," says Stedman, "are the trees
and their winged inhabitants, and the flowers that grow untended. The sing-

NOTES TO LOWELL. 509

ing of brrds, as we learn in both his prose and verse, enraptured him." In
his poem ' An Indian-Summer Reverie," in which his love of nature is most
fully set rorth, we find the following exquisite lines :

" Meanwhile that devil-may-care, the bobolink,

Remembering duty, in mid-quaver stops
Just ere he sweeps o'er rapture's tremulous brink,
And twixt the windrows most demurely drops."

8. This line illustrates Lowell's deep religious nature. The whole poem,
indeed, is suffused with religious feeling. Though discarding something of
the creed of his ancestry, he had a strong faith in the presence and love of

God.

" Through ways unlocked for and through many lands,
Far from the rich folds built with human hands,
The gracious footprints of his love I see."

9. Lowell was fond of the dandelion, which gives name to one of his
finest poems :

" Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold."

10. Not unlike the musing organist, the poet has been letting his fingers
wander as they list. But in these two lines his theme has at length drawn
near.

n. Note the solecism in the use of "^."

12. This Prelude describes winter, which was a favorite season with
Lowell. In "An Indian-Summer Reverie," there are beautiful descriptions
of winter scenes. And in his essay, " A Good Word for Winter," we have a
delightful presentation of its varied charms. "For my part," he says, "I
think Winter a pretty wide-awake old boy, and his bluff sincerity and hearty
ways are more congenial to my mood, and more wholesome for me, than any
charms of which his rivals are capable."

13. In a letter written in December, 1848, Lowell refers to "the little
brook : " "Last night I walked to Watertown over the snow, with the new
moon before me, and a sky exactly like that in Page's evening landscape.
Orion was rising behind me ; and, as I stood on the hill just before you enter
the village, the stillness of the fields around me was delicious, broken only by
the tinkle of a little brook which runs too swiftly for Frost to catch it. My
picture of the brook in ' Sir Launfal ' was drawn from it."

14. This stanza exemplifies a fine employment of the fancy. Its separate
pictures should be clearly brought before the mind. Explain " <rrjyV," " re-
lief >" and " arabesques.' 1 ' 1

15. Corbel = a short piece of timber or other material jutting out in a
wall as a shoulder-piece.

5IO AMERICAN LITERATURE.

16. Yule-log = Christmas-log ; that is, the large log burned in the fire-
place on Christmas Eve. The custom descended from heathen times. From
Swedish and Danish jul, Christmas.

17. Beautiful Gate is apparently a reference to Acts iii. 2, and Josephus
("The Jewish War," Book V., chap, v., 3), where a magnificent column,
fifty cubits in height, is described in connection with a gate supposed by some
to be the "gate Beautiful " of Scripture.

18. This lesson of human sympathy and love is one that Lowell frequently
enforces. In "A Parable," Christ is made to say to the chief priests and
rulers and kings :

" Have ye founded your thrones and altars, then,
On the bodies and souls of living men ?
And think ye that building shall endure,
Which shelters the noble and crushes the poor?"

19. In his "My Garden Acquaintances," Lowell devotes a delightful
paragraph to the oriole, or hangbird, mentioning especially its nest in the
elm.

SELECTIONS FROM WHITTIER. 511

XV.

SELECTIONS FROM WHITTIER.
MEMORIES.

A BEAUTIFUL and happy girl,

With step as light as summer air,
Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl,
Shadowed by many a careless curl

Of unconfined and flowing hair,
A seeming child in everything,

Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms,
As Nature wears the smile of Spring

When sinking into Summer's arms.

A mind rejoicing in the light

Which melted through its graceful bower,
Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright,
And stainless in its holy white,

Unfolding like a morning flower : l
A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute,

With every breath of feeling woke,
And, even when the tongue was mute,

From eye and lip in music spoke.

How thrills once more the lengthening chain

Of memory, at the thought of thee !
Old hopes which long in dust have lain,
Old dreams, come thronging back again,

And boyhood lives again in me ;
I feel its glow upon my cheek,

Its fulness of the heart is mine,
As when I leaned to hear thee speak,

Or raised my doubtful eye to thine.

512 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

I hear again thy low replies,

I feel thy arm within my own,
And timidly again uprise
The fringed lids of hazel eyes,

With soft brown tresses overblown.
Ah ! memories of sweet summer eves,

Of moonlit wave and willowy way,
Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves,

And smiles and tones more dear than they !

Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled

My picture of thy youth to see,
When, half a woman, half a child,
Thy very artlessness beguiled,

And folly's self seemed wise in thee ;
I too can smile, when o'er that hour

The lights of memory backward stream,
Yet feel the while that manhood's power

Is vainer than my boyhood's dream.

Years have passed on, and left their trace,

Of graver care and deeper thought ;
And unto me the calm, cold face
Of manhood, and to thee the grace

Of woman's pensive beauty brought.
More wide, perchance, for blame than praise,

The school-boy's humble name has flown ;
Thine, in the green and quiet ways

Of unobtrusive goodness known.

And wider yet in thought and deed

Diverge our pathways, one in youth;
Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, 2
While answers to my spirit's need

The Derby dalesman's simple truth. 3
For thee, the priestly rite and prayer,

And holy day and solemn psalm ;
For me, the silent reverence where

My brethren gather, slow and calm.

SELECTIONS FKOM WHITTIER. 513

Yet hath thy spirit left on me

An impress Time hath worn not out,
And something of myself in thee,
A shadow from the past, I see,

Lingering, even yet, thy way about ;
Not wholly can the heart unlearn

That lesson of its better hours,
Not yet hath Time's dull footstep worn

To common dust that path of flowers.

Thus, while at times before our eyes

The shadows melt, and fall apart,
And, smiling through them, round us lies
The warm light of our morning skies,

The Indian Summer of the heart !
In secret sympathies of mind,

In founts of feeling which retain
Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find

Our early dreams not wholly vain !

THE SHIP-BUILDERS.

THE sky is ruddy in the east,

The earth is gray below,
And, spectral in the river-mist,

The ship's white timbers show.
Then let the sounds of measured stroke

And grating saw begin ;
The broad-axe to the gnarled oak,

The mallet to the pin !

Hark ! roars the bellows, blast on blast,

The sooty smithy * jars,
And fire-sparks, rising far and fast,

Are fading with the stars.
All day for us the smith shall stand

Beside that flashing forge ;
AH day for us his heavy hand

The groaning anvil scourge.*

514 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

From far-off hills, the panting team

For us is toiling near ;
For us the raftsmen down the stream

Their island barges 3 steer.
Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke

In forests old and still,
For us the century-circled oak

Falls crashing down his hill.

Up! up! in nobler toil than ours

No craftsmen bear a part :
We make of Nature's giant powers

The slaves of human Art. 4
Lay rib to rib, and beam to beam,

And drive the treenails 5 free ;
Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam

Shall tempt the searching sea !

Where'er the keel of our good ship,

The sea's rough field shall plough,
Where'er her tossing spars 6 shall drip

With salt-spray caught below,
That ship must heed her master's beck,

Her helm obey his hand,
And seamen tread her reeling deck

As if they trod the land.

Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak

Of Northern ice may peel ;
The sunken rock and coral peak

May grate along her keel ;
And know we well the painted shell

We give to wind and wave,
Must float, the sailor's citadel,

Or sink, the sailor's grave !

Ho ! strike away the bars and blocks,
And set the good ship free !

Why lingers on these dusty rocks
The young bride of the sea?

SELECTIONS FROM WHITTIER. 515

Look ! how she moves adown the grooves,

In graceful beauty now !
How lowly on the breast she loves

Sinks down her virgin prow !

God bless her ! wheresoe'er the breeze

Her snowy wing shall fan,
Aside the frozen 7 Hebrides,

Or sultry Hindostan!
Where'er, in mart or on the main,

With peaceful flag unfurled,
She helps to wind the silken chain

Of commerce round the world !

Speed on the ship ! But let her bear

No merchandise of sin,
No groaning cargo of despair

Her roomy hold within ;
No Lethean drug for Eastern lands,

Nor poison-draught for ours ;
But honest fruits of toiling hands

And Nature's sun and showers. 8

Be hers the Prairie's golden grain,

The Desert's golden sand,
The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,

The spice of Morning-land !
Her pathway on the open main

May blessings follow free,
And glad hearts welcome back again

Her white sails from the sea !

BARCLAY OF URY.

UP the streets of Aberdeen, 1
By the kirk and college green,

Rode the Laird of Ury ;
Close behind him, close beside,
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed

Pressed the mob in fury.

516 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Flouted him the drunken churl,
'Jeered at him the serving-girl,

Prompt to please her master ;
And the begging carlin, 2 late
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate,

Cursed him as he passed her.

Yet with calm and stately mien,
Up the streets of Aberdeen

Came he slowly riding :
And, to all he saw and heard,
Answering not with bitter word,

Turning not for chiding.

Came a troop with broadswords swinging,
Bits and bridles sharply ringing,

Loose and free and froward :
Quoth the foremost, " Ride him down !
Push him ! prick him ! through the town

Drive the Quaker coward !"

But from out the thickening crowd
Cried a sudden voice and loud :

" Barclay ! Ho ! a Barclay ! *
And the old man at his side
Saw a comrade, battle tried,

Scarred and sunburned darkly ;

Who with ready weapon bare,
Fronting to the troopers there,

Cried aloud : " God save us,
Call ye coward him who stood
Ankle deep in Lutzen's 3 blood,

With the brave Gustavus ? "

" Nay, I do not need thy sword,
Comrade mine," said Ury's lord;

" Put it up, I pray thee:
Passive to his holy will,
Trust I in my Master still,

Even though he slay me.

SELECTIONS FROM WHlTTtER. 517

'* Pledges of thy love and faith,
Proved on many a field of death,

Not by me are needed."
Marvelled much that henchman bold,
That his laird, so stout of old,

Now so meekly pleaded.

" Woe's the day ! " he sadly said,
With a slowly shaking head,

And a look of pity ;
Ury's honest lord reviled,
Mock of knave and sport of child,

In his own good city !

' Speak the word, and master, mine,
As we charged on Tilly's 4 line,

And his Walloon 5 lancers,
Smiting through their midst we'll teach
Civil look and decent speech

To these boyish prancers ! "

" Marvel not, mine ancient friend,
Like beginning, like the end : "

Quoth the Laird of Ury,
" Is the sinful servant more
Than his gracious Lord who bore

Bonds and stripes in Jewry ?

" Give me joy that in his name
I can bear, with patient frame,

All these vain ones offer;
While for them He suffereth long,
Shall I answer wrong with wrong,

Scoffing with the scoffer?

Happier I, with loss of all,
Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall,

With few friends to greet me,
Than when reeve 6 and squire were seen,
Riding out from Aberdeen,

With bared heads to meet me.

5 1 8 AMERICAN LITER A TURE.

'* When each good wife, o'er and o'er,
Blessed me as I passed her door ;

And the snooded 7 daughter,
From her casement glancing down,
Smiled on him who bore renown

From red fields of slaughter.

" Hard to feel the stranger's scoff,
Hard the old friend's falling off,

Hard to learn forgiving :
But the Lord his own rewards,
And his love with theirs accords,

Warm and fresh and living.

" Through this dark and stormy night
Faith beholds a feeble light

Up the blackness streaking ;
Knowing God's own time ; best,
In a patient hope I rest

For the full day-breaking ! w

So the Laird of Ury said,
Turning slow his horse's head

Towards the Tolbooth prison,
Where, through iron grates, he heard
Poor disciples of the Word

Preach of Christ arisen !

Not in vain, Confessor old,
Unto us the tale is told

Of thy day of trial ;
Every age on him, who strays
From its broad and beaten ways,

Pours its sevenfold vial.

Happy he whose inward ear
Angel comfortings can hear,

O'er the rabble's laughter ;
And while Hatred's fagots burn,
Glimpses through the smoke discern

Of the good hereafter.

SELECTIONS FROM WHITTIER. 519

Knowing this, that never yet
Share of Truth was vainly set

In the World's wide fallow ;
After hands shall sow the seed,
After hands from hill and mead

Reap the harvests yellow.

Thus, with somewhat of the Seer,
Must the moral pioneer

From the Future borrow ;
Clothe the waste with dreams of grain,
And, on midnight's sky of rain,
Paint the golden morrow I

MAUD MULLER.

MAUD MULLER on a summer's day
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast,

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

52O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

And asked a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And rilled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

" Thanks ! * said the Judge ; " a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." -

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees ;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown ;

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me !
That I the Judge's bride might be !

" He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

** My father should wear a broadcloth coat ;
My brother should sail a painted boat.

" I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.

" And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all should bless me who left our door."

SELECTIONS FROM WHITTIER. $21

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.

" A form more fair, a face more sweet
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

" And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.

" Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay :

'* No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

" But low of cattle and song of birds,
And health and quiet and loving words."

But he thought of his sisters proud and cold,
And his mother vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune ;

And the young girl mused beside the well
Till the rain on the \inraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go ;

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead ;

522 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.

And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain,
"Ah, that I were free again !

" Free as when I rode that day,
Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay."

She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her doc*.

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,

And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,

In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein.

And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls ;

The weary wheel to a spinnet l turned,
The tallow candle an astral 2 burned,

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.

Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, " It might have been."

SELECTIONS FROM WHITTIER. 523

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,

For rich repiner and household drudge

God pity. them both ! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these : " It might have been!"

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes ;

And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away !

TAULER.

TAULER, 1 the preacher, walked, one autumn day,
Without the walls of Strasburg by the Rhine,
Pondering the solemn Miracle of Life ;
As one who, wandering in a starless night,
Feels, momently, the jar of unseen waves,
And hears the thunder of an unknown sea,
Breaking along an unimagined shore.

And as he walked he prayed. Even the same
Old prayer with which, for half a score of years,
Morning, and noon, and evening, lip and heart
Had groaned : " Have pity upon me, Lord !
Thou seest, while teaching others, I am blind.
Send me a man who can direct my steps ! "

Then, as he mused, he heard along his path
A sound as of an old man's staff among
The dry, dead linden-leaves ; and, looking up,
He saw a stranger, weak, and poor, and old.

" Peace be unto thee, father !" Tauler said,
" God give thee a good day ! " The old man raised
Slowly his calm blue eyes. " I thank thee, son;
But all my days are good, and none are ill."

524 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Wondering thereat, the preacher spake again,

" God give thee happy life. 11 The old man smiled,

*' I never am unhappy. 11

Tauler laid

His hand upon the strangers coarse gray sleeve :
" Tell me, O father, what thy strange words mean.
Surely man's days are evil, and his life
Sad as the grave it leads to. 11 " Nay, my son,
Our times are in God's hands, and all our days
Are as our needs ; for shadow as for sun,
For cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike
Our thanks are due, since that is best which is ;
And that which is not, sharing not his life,
Is evil only as devoid of good.
And for the happiness of which I spake,
I find it in submission to his will,
And calm trust in the holy Trinity
Of Knowledge, Goodness, and Almighty Power."
Silently wondering, for a little space,
Stood the great preacher, then he spake as one
Who, suddenly grappling with a haunting thought
Which long has followed, whispering through the dark
Strange terrors, drags it, shrieking, into light ;
" What if God's will consign thee hence to Hell ?"

" Then, 1 ' said the stranger cheerily, " be it so.
What Hell may be I know not ; this I know,
I cannot lose the presence of the Lord :
One arm, Humility, takes hold upon
His dear Humanity ; the other, Love,
Clasps his Divinity. So where I go
He goes ; and better fire-walled Hell with Him
Than golden-gated Paradise without"

Tears sprang in Tauler's eyes. A sudden light,
Like the first ray which fell on chaos, clove
Apart the shadow wherein he had walked
Darkly at noon. And, as the strange old man
Went his slow way, until his silver hair

SELECTIONS FROM WHITTIER. 525

Set like the white moon where the hills of vine
Slope to the Rhine, he bowed his head and said :
" My prayer is answered. God hath sent the man
Long sought, to teach me, by his simple trust,
Wisdom the weary schoolmen never knew."

So, entering with a changed and cheerful step

The city gates, he saw, far down the street,

A mighty shadow break the light of noon,

Which tracing backward till its airy lines

Hardened to stony plinths, 2 he raised his eyes

O'er broad faade and lofty pediment, 3

O'er architrave 4 and frieze and sainted niche,

Up the stone lace-work chiselled by the wise

Erwin of Steinbach, 5 dizzily up to where

In the noon-brightness the great Minsters tower, 6

Jewelled with sunbeams on its mural crown,

Rose like a visible prayer. " Behold ! " he said,

"The stranger's faith made plain before mine eyes.

As yonder tower outstretches to the earth

The dark triangle of its shade alone

When the clear day is shining on its top,

So, darkness in the pathway of Man's life

Is but the shadow of God's providence,

By the great Sun of Wisdom cast thereon ;

And what is dark below is light in Heaven."

526 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

NOTES TO WHITTIER.
FOR a general introduction to the selections, see the sketch of Whittier.

MEMORIES.

There is great tenderness in this poem. It points to a romance that left
a tinge of sadness on the poet's life.

1. This sentence is neither felicitous nor clear. The poet was encum-
bered by the difficulties of his metre and rhyme. "Leaf after leaf," etc.,
describes the manner in which the mind unfolded " like a morning flower."

2. The Genevan is John Calvin. His theological system is known as
Calvinism. Its distinguishing features are : I. Original sin, or total depravity ;
2. Predestination ; 3. Particular redemption; 4. Effectual calling; and 5. Per-
severance of the saints. To the Quaker poet several of these doctrines ap-
peared " stern."

3. The Derby dalesman is George Fox (born in England in 1624), the
founder of the sect of Friends, or Quakers. The most distinctive point of
doctrine is their belief in the immediate influence of the Holy Spirit in worship
and all other religious acts.

THE SHIP-BUILDERS.

This poem is one of the " Songs of Labor." The object of these songs,
as stated in the dedication, is to show:

"The unsung beauty hid life's common things below."

They were intended to reflect the life of New England, but they are
equally applicable to the same labors in all parts of our country.

1. Smithy = the shop of a smith. This suggests Longfellow's lines:

" Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands."

2. Scourge and forge will serve to illustrate Whittier's defective rhyme.
There are several other instances in this poem ; point them out.

3. Explain the phrase island barges.

4. Define Art as here used.

5. Treenail ' = a long wooden pin used in fastening the planks of a ship
to the timbers.

NOTES TO WHITTIER. $2?

6. Spars is a general term for mast, yard, boom, and gaff.

7. This adjective is not well chosen. " Enjoying the benefit of the Gulf
Stream, the climate of the Hebrides is peculiarly mild. Snow seldom lies
long on the sea-shores or low grounds, and in sheltered spots tender plants are
not nipped by winter frosts."

8. In this stanza we discern the uncompromising moralist, who condemns
everything that debases society, the slave-trade, the opium traffic, and the
liquor curse.

BARCLAY OF URY.

In reference to this poem, Whittier has the following note : " Among the
earliest converts to the doctrines of Friends in Scotland was Barclay of Ury,
an old and distinguished soldier, who had fought under Gustavus Adolphus in
Germany. As a Quaker, he became the object of persecution and abuse
at the hands of the magistrates and the populace. None bore the indignities
of the mob with greater patience and nobleness of soul than this once proud
gentleman and soldier. One of his friends, on an occasion of uncommon
rudeness, lamented that he should be treated so harshly in his old age who
had been so honored before. ' I find more satisfaction,' said Barclay, ' as well
as honor, in being thus insulted for my religious principles, than when, a few
years ago, it was usual for the magistrates, as I passed the city of Aberdeen,
to meet me on the road and conduct me to public entertainment in their hall,
and then escort me out again, to gain my favor.' "

1. Aberdeen is the chief city and seaport in the north of Scotland, at the
mouth of the river Dee. It is the seat of Marischal College, referred to in
the next line. In 1860 this college, united with King's College, became the
University of Aberdeen.

2. Carlin = a stout old woman ; a Scottish word.

3. Lutzen is a small town in Saxony. At this point a great battle was
fought in 1632 between Gustavus Adolphus and Wallensteih. Victory finally
remained with the Swedes.

4. Tilly was one of the greatest generals of the seventeenth century.
During the Thirty Years' War he was victor in thirty-six battles ; but finally he
met Gustavus Adolphus, by whom he was defeated.

5. The Walloons are descendants of the old Gallic Belgge, "who held
their ground among the Ardennes Mountains when the rest of Gaul was over-
run by the German conquerors." They number about two millions in Bel-
gium and Holland.

6. Reeve = an officer, steward. A. S. gerefa, steward. Obsolete except
in compounds; as, shire-reeve, now written sheriff.

7. Snooded = wearing a snood ; that is, a band which binds the hair of a
young, unmarried woman. (Scot.)

$28 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

MAUD MULLER.

This is, perhaps, the most popular of Whittier's poems. It is remarkably
clear throughout. It illustrates the thoughtful moral tone of the poet; and
the last stanzas, with their touching sadness, seem to have sprung from his
own experience. This fact gives them an additional interest. The poet has
been mildly criticised for calling the heroine, a plain New England country
girl, by the name of Maud ; but it is not easy to think of any other name that
would have suited better.

1. Spinnet = a. musical instrument resembling the harpsichord, but of
smaller size and lighter tone.

2. Astral astral lamp; a lamp with a ring-shaped reservoir so placed
that its shadow does not fall directly below the flame.

TAULER.

"The religious element in Whittier's poems," says Underwood, "is
s Dmething vital and inseparable. The supremacy of moral ideas is indeed in-
culcated by almost all great poets, and at no time more than in the present.
And in almost all modern verse the filial relation of man to his Creator, and
the immanence of the Spirit in the human heart, are at least tacitly recognized.
The leading poets of America are, one and all, reverent in feeling and tone.
But it is quite evident that Whittier alone is religious in a high and inward
s*nse." His deep religious feeling is exhibited in this poem.

. i. John Tauler (1290-1361) was born at Strasburg, where he spent
most of his life. He was one of the most prominent representatives of medi-
aeval German mysticism, and one of the greatest preachers of his time. His
words " came home to the heart of both high and low, spreading light every-
where, and justly procuring for him the title of doctor illumtnatus."

2. Plinth = " the square member at the bottom of the base of a column.
Also the plain projecting band forming a base of a wall." CHAMBERS.

3. Pediment = the triangular ornamental space over a portico, or over
doors, windows, and gates.

4. Architrave the part of an entablature that rests immediately on the
column. Above the architrave is the frieze. See Dictionary for illustration.

5. Erwin of Steinbach was one of the architects of the Strasburg Cathe-
dral, which was four centuries in building.

6. This tower reaches to a height of 465 feet.

SELECTIONS FROM HOLMES. 529

XVI.

SELECTIONS FROM HOLMES.
OLD IRONSIDES. 1

AY, tear her tattered ensign down !

Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see

That banner in the sky ;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,

And burst the cannon's roar ;
The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more !

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,

Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood

And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,

Or know the conquered knee ;
The harpies 2 of the shore shall pluck

The eagle of the sea.

O better that her shattered hulk

Should sink beneath the wave ;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,

And there should be her grave ;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,

Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms, 3

The lightning and the gale.

53O AMERICAN LITERATURE.

THE LAST LEAF.

I SAW him once before,
As he passed by the door,

And again

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

With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time

Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
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,

SELECTIONS FROM HOLMES. 53 J

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.

THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.

I WROTE some lines once on a time

In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say

They were exceeding good.

They were so queer, so very queer,

I laughed as I would die ;
Albeit, in the general way,

A sober man am I.

I called my servant, and he came ;

How kind it was of him
To mind a slender man like me,

He of the mighty limb !

' These to the printer," I exclaimed,
And, in my humorous way,

I added (as a trifling jest)

" There'll be the devil to pay."

532 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

He took the paper, and I watched,
And saw him peep within ;

At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.

He read the next ; the grin grew broad,
And shot from ear to ear ;

He read the third ; a chuckling noise
I now began to hear.

The fourth ; he broke into a roar ;

The fifth ; his waistband split ;
The sixth ; he burst five buttons off,

And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
I watched that wretched man ;

And since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,

Sails the unshadowed main,

The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren * sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids 2 rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 3

Wrecked is the ship of pearl !

And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

Before thee lies revealed,-
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed {

SELECTIONS FRuM HOLMES. 533

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil ;

Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

Built up its idle door, 4
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap forlorn !
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton 5 blew from wreathed horn !

While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings :

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll !

Leave thy low-vaulted past !
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea !

CONTENTMENT.

LITTLE I ask ; my wants are few ;

I only wish a hut of stone,
(A very plain brown stone will do,)

That I may call my own ;
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.

Plain food is quite enough for me ;

Three courses are as good as ten ;
If Nature can subsist on three,

Thank Heaven for three. Amen !
I always thought cold victual nice ;
My choice would be vanilla-ice.

534 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

I care not much for gold or land ;

Give me a mortgage here and there,

Some good bank-stock, some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share ;

I only ask that Fortune send

A little more than I shall spend.

Honors are silly toys, I know,

And titles are but empty names ;

I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, 1
But only near St. James : 2

I'm very sure I should not care

To fill our Gubernator's chair.

Jewels are bawbles ; 'tis a sin

To care for such unfruitful things ;

One good-sized diamond in a pin,
Some, not so large, in rings,

A ruby, and a pearl, or so,

Will do for me ; I laugh at show.

My dame should dress in cheap attire ;

(Good, heavy silks are never dear) ;
I own perhaps I might desire

Some shawls of true Cashmere,
Some marrowy crapes of China silk,
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.

I would not have the horse I drive

So fast that fol-ks must stop and stare :

An easy gait two, forty-five
Suits me ; I do not care ;

Perhaps, for just a single spurt,

Some seconds less would do no hurt 3

Of pictures, I should like to own

Titians 4 and Raphaels 5 . three or four,

I love so much their style and tone,
One Turner, 6 and no more,

(A landscape, foreground golden dirt,

The sunshine painted with a squirt).

SELECTIONS FROM HOLMES. 535

Of books but few, some fifty score

For daily use, and bound for wear ;
The rest upon an upper floor ;

Some little luxury there
Of red morocco's gilded gleam,
And vellum rich as country cream.

Busts, cameos, gems, such things as these,

Which others often show for pride,
/ value for their power to please,

And selfish churls deride ;
One Stradivarius, 7 I confess,
Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess.

Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn,
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool ;

Shall not carved tables serve my turn,
But all must be of buhl ? 8

Give grasping pomp its double share,

I ask but one recumbent chair.

Thus humble let me live and die,

Nor long for Midas' 9 golden touch ;
If Heaven more generous gifts deny,

I shall not miss them much,
Too grateful for the blessing lent
Of simple tastes and mind content.

THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE;
OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-Hoss SHAY."

A LOGICAL STORY.

HAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,

That was built in such a logical way

It ran a hundred years to a day,

And then, of a sudden, it ah, but stay,

I'll tell you what hapoened without delay,

536 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits,
Have you ever heard of that, I say?

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,
Geor gius Secundus was then alive,
Snuffy old drone from the German hive ;
That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,

There is always somewhere a weakest spot,

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, lurking still,

Find it somewhere you must and will,

Above or below, within or without,

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,

That a chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.

But the Deacon swore, (as Deacons do,
With an " I dew vum," or an "I tellj^?/*,")
He would build one shay to beat the taown
V the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ;
It should be so built that it couldn't break daown ;
" Fur," said the Deacon, " t's mighty plain
That the weakes' place mus' stan 1 the strain ;
'n' the way t 1 fix it, uz I maintain,

Is only jist
T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,
That was for spokes and floor and sills ;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills ;

SELECTIONS FROM HOLMES. 537

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,

But lasts like iron for things like these ;

The hubs of logs from the " Settler's ellum,"

Last of its timber, they couldn't sell 'em,

Never an axe had seen their chips,

And the wedges flew from between their lips,

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ;

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,

Steel of the finest, bright and blue ;

Thorotighbrace bison-skin, thick and wide ;

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide

Found in the pit when the tanner died.

That was the way he " put her through."

" There ! " said the Deacon, " naow she'll dew ! "

Do ! I tell you, I rather guess

She was a wonder, and nothing less

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,

Deacon and deaconess dropped away,

Children and grandchildren where were they ?

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay

As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day !

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED ; it came and found
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.
Eighteen hundred increased by ten ;
" Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came;
Running as usual ; much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrive,
And then came fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE.

Little of all we value here

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year

Without both feeling and looking queer.

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,

So far as I know, but a tree and truth.

538 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

(This is a moral that runs at large ;

Take it. You're welcome. No extra charge.)

FIRST OF NOVEMBER, the Earthquake-daj.

There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,

A general flavor of mild decay,

But nothing local, as one may say.

There couldn't be, for the Deacon's art

Had made it so like in every part

That there wasn't a chance for one to start.

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,

And the floor was just as strong as the sills,

And the panels just as strong as the floor,

And the whipple-tree neither less nor more,

And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,

And spring and axle and hub encore.

And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt,

In another hour it will be worn out!

First of November, 'Fifty-five !

This morning the parson takes a drive.

Now, small boys, get out of the way !

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.

" Huddup ! " said the parson. Off went they.

The parson was working his Sunday's text,

Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed

At what the Moses was coming next.

All at once the horse stood still,

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.

First a shiver, and then a thrill,
Then something decidedly like a spill,
And the parson was sitting upon a rock,

At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,
Just the hour of the Earthquake shock !

What do you think the parson found,
When he got up and stared around?
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,
As if it had been to the mill and ground !

SELECTIONS FROM HOLMES. 539

You see, of course, if you're not a dunce,
How it went to pieces all at once,
All at once, and nothing first,
Just as bubbles do when they burst.

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
Logic is logic. That's all I say.

54 AMERICAN LJJ'E MATURE.

NOTES TO HOLMES.
FOR a general introduction to the selections, see the sketch of Holmes.

OLD IRONSIDES.

The interesting circumstances connected with the publication of this poem
are mentioned in the sketch of Holmes.

1 . This title was popularly conferred on the frigate Constitution in rec-
ognition of her numerous victories. She was launched at Boston in 1797
She took a prominent part in the bombardment of Tripoli in 1804, and es-
pecially distinguished herself in the War of 1812. " In the course of two
years and nine months," says James Fenimore Cooper, "this ship had been
in three actions, had been twice critically chased, and had captured five ves-
sels of war. In all her service, her good fortune was remarkable. She never
was dismasted, never got ashore, and scarcely ever suffered any of the usual
accidents of the sea. Though so often in battle, no very serious slaughter
ever took place on board her."

2. Harpy = in mythology a fabulous winged monster, ravenous and filthy,
having the face of a woman and the body of a vulture, with long claws, and
with a face pale with hunger. Hence, one that is rapacious or ravenous ; a
plunderer.

3. God of storms = Neptune, the god of the sea. The symbol of his
power was a trident, with which he raised and stilled storms.

THE LAST LEAF.

This poem illustrates the mingled humor and pathos of Holmes. " Is
there in all literature," queries his biographer, Morse, " a lyric in which droll-
ery, passing nigh unto ridicule, yet stopping short of it, and sentiment becom-
ing pathos, yet not too profound, are so exquisitely intermingled as in ' The
Last Leaf '? To spill into the mixture the tiniest fraction of a drop too much
of either ingredient was to ruin all. How skilfully, how daintily, how uner-
ringly Dr. Holmes compounded it, all readers of English know well. It was
a light and trifling bit, if you will ; but how often has it made the smile and
the tear dispute for mastery, in a rivalry which is never quite decided ! "

NOTES TO HOLMES. 541

THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.

The poet's comic vein reaches its climax in this bit of extravaganza
There are several personal touches in it. His feelings toward the public were
so kindly that he always expected his productions to meet with a favorable
reception. He had a good opinion of these lines :

" And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good."

In the third stanza there is a reference to his slight build.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

This selection, as well as the remaining ones, is taken from "The Auto-
crat of the Breakfast Table." It is there introduced as follows: " Did I not
say to you a little while ago that the universe swam in an ocean of similitudes
and analogies? I will not quote Cowley, or Burns, or Wordsworth, just now,
to show you what thoughts were suggested to them by the simplest natural
objects, such as a flower or a leaf; but I will read you a few lines, if you do
not object, suggested by looking at a section of one of those chambered shells
to which is given the name of Pearly Nautilus. We need not trouble ourselves
about the distinction between this and the Paper Nautilus, the Argonauta of
the ancients. The name applied to both shows that each has long been com-
pared to a ship, as you may see more fully in Webster's Dictionary, or the
' Encyclopaedia,' to which he refers. If you will look into Roget's Bridge-
water Treatise, you will find a figure of one of these shells and a section of it.
The last will show you the series of enlarging compartments successively dwelt
in by the animal that inhabits the shell, which is built in a widening spiral.
Can you find no lesson in this ? "

"The Chambered Nautilus" was a favorite poem with Holmes. "In
writing the poem," he says, " I was filled with a better feeling the highest
state of mental exaltation and the most crystalline clairvoyance, as it seemed
to me I mean that lucid vision of one's thought, and of all forms of expres-
sion which will be at once precise and musical, which is the poet's special
gift, however large or small in amount or value."

This poem is the high-water mark of the author's poetic achievement. In
this single flight he has not been often surpassed in America.

I. Siren = one of three damsels, according to mythology, said to dwell
near the island of Capreae, in the Mediterranean, and to sing with such sweet-
ness that they who sailed by forgot their country, and died in an ecstasy of
delight.

542 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

2. Sea-maid '= mermaid, a sea nymph with a fish's tail. Mermaid is
from Fr. mer, sea, and Eng. maid.

3. "The story of its spreading a sail is as fabulous as the similar story
regarding the argonaut." CHAMBERS.

4. The shell is camerated, or divided into chambers, by transverse
curved partitions of shelly matter.

5. Triton = a fabled sea demigod, the trumpeter of Neptune.

CONTENTMENT.

This poem is introduced in the "Autocrat" as follows: "Should you
like to hear what moderate wishes life brings one to at last? I used to be
very ambitious, wasteful, extravagant, and luxurious in all my fancies. Read
too much in the 'Arabian Nights.' Must have the lamp, couldn't do
without the ring. Exercise every morning on the brazen horse. Plump
down into castles as full of little milk-white princesses as a nest is of young
sparrows. All love me dearly at once. Charming idea of life, but too high-
colored for the- reality. I have outgrown all this ; my tastes have become
exceedingly primitive, almost, perhaps, ascetic. We carry happiness into
our condition, but must not hope to find it there. I think you will be willing
to hear some lines which embody the subdued and limited desires of my
maturity."

1. Plenipo = plenipotentiary ; an ambassador or envoy to a foreign Court,
furnished with full power to negotiate a treaty or transact other business.

2. St. James = the English Court, so called from the Palace of St.
James, used for Court purposes.

3. See the sketch of Holmes for a remark on this stanza.

4. Titian (1477-1576) was the head of the Venetian school, and one of
the greatest painters that ever lived. The number of his works exceeds six
hundred.

5. Raphael (1483-1520), called by his countrymen "the divine, '' is
ranked by almost universal consent as the greatest of painters.

6. Turner (1775-1851) was the greatest of British landscape painters.
By his industry and thrift he amassed a fortune of a million dollars.

7. Stradivarius (1644-1737) was a- distinguished maker of violins. In
this connection the following extract from Holmes's biography will be read
with interest: " At one time the Doctor was seized with an ardent desire to
learn to play upon the violin. I think there was not the slightest reason to
suppose that he ever could learn, and certainly he never did ; but he used
to shut himself up in his little ' study,' beside the front door in the Charles-
street house, and fiddle away with surprising industry, and a satisfaction out
of all proportion to his achievement, After two or three winters he reached

NOTES TO HOLMES. 543

a point at which he could make several simple tunes quite recognizable, and
then finally desisted from what would have been a waste of time had it not
been a recreation."

8. j9///=a light and complicated figure of brass, unburnished gold,
etc., set as an ornament into surfaces of ebony or other dark wood.

9. Midas = a Phrygian king, to whom was granted the wish that what-
ever he touched might turn into gold.

THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE.

This is the best-known and the most popular of Holme s's humorous
pieces. At the Breakfast Table one morning " the young fellow whom they
call John" had proposed some conundrums before the Autocrat made his
appearance. The Autocrat disapproved of their trifling character. Then,
as introductory to the poem: "I am willing, I said, to exercise your
ingenuity in a rational and contemplative manner. No, I do not proscribe
certain forms of philosophical speculation which involve an approach to the
absurd or the ludicrous, such as you may find, for example, in the folio of
the Reverend Father Thomas Sanchez, in his famous Disputations, ' De
Sancto Matrimonio.' I will therefore turn this levity of yours t~> profit by
reading you a rhymed problem, wrought out by my friend the Professor."

INDEX.

Abbott, Jacob, 97.

Abbott, John S. C., 97, 281.

Abbott, Lyman, 272.

Adams, Henry, 323.

Adams, John, 61.

Alcott, Amos Bronson, 95.

Alcott, Louisa May, 269.

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 268, 291.

Allen, James Lane, 275.

Allston, Washington, 96.

American literature, 3 ; development in
nineteenth century, 4 ; favorable con-
ditions for, 5 ; periods of, 6.

Articles of Confederation, 68.

Bancroft, George, 97, 112.

Bancroft, Henry Howe, 323.

Barlow, Joel, 61, 73,

Barnard, Henry, 103, 323.

Bay Psalm Book, 18.

Beers, Ethel, 281.

Berkeley, Bishop, quoted, 36.

Berkeley, Sir William, on free schools, 14.

Blair, James, 33.

Boyesen, Hjalmar Hjorth, 271.

Brackenridge, Hugh Henry, 62.

Bradford, William, 9.

Bradstreet, Anne, 10, 20.

Brainerd, David, 32.

Brook Farm, 112, 187.

Brown, Charles Brockden, 62, 72.

Browne, Charles Farrar, 269, 289.

Browning, Mrs., quoted, 176.

Bryant, William Cullen, sketch of, 150;
upright character, 150 ; moral element
in literature, 150 ; ancestry, 151 ; pre-
cocity, 151 ; poetic bent, 152 ; legal
studies, 152; as a lawyer, 153; love
of nature, 153; " Thanatopsis," 154;
" To a Waterfowl," 155 ; marriage,
156; domestic life, 156; "A Forest

Hymn," 156; "Death of the Flow-
ers," 157; "Journey of Life," 157;
Evening Post, 158 ; prose writings,
158 ; advice to a young man, 158 ;
peculiarities, 159 ; travels, 159 ; ad-
dresses, 159; as a poet, 160; on
poetic style, 160 ; his poems abroad,
161 ; relations with Irving, 161 ; cri-
tique of his poetry, 162 ; translations,
163; country residences, 164; reli-
gion, 164; estimate of, 165.

Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 274.

Byles, Mather, 32.

Byrd, William, 33.

Cable, George W., 274, 308.

Carleton, Will, 277.

Carman, Bliss, 273.

Gary, Alice, 272.

Gary, Phoebe, 272.

Cawein, Madison Julius, 276.

Censorship of press, 35.

Centres, literary, 288.

Channing, William Ellery, 95.

Charleston as literary centre, 118.

Child, Lydia Maria, 96.

Churchill, Winston, 276, 287.

Civil War, influence of, 280.

Clarke, James Freeman, 268.

Clemens, Samuel L., 277.

Colonial period, interest of, 34; educa-
tional progress of, 35.

Colonies, tendency to union of, 36, 39.

Colonization, English, Spanish, and
French, n.

Constitution, the, drawn up and ratified,
69, 70.

Continental Congress, 66.

Convention of Albany, 40.

Cooke, John Esten, 100, 117.

Cooke, Philip Pendleton, 101.

545

546

INDEX.

Cooke, Rose Terry, 269.

Cooper, James Fenimore, sketch of, 138 ;
a national writer, 138 ; early years, 138 ;
defective education, 139; in the navy,
139; marriage, 140 ; "Precaution," 140;
" The Spy," 141 ; " The Pioneers," 141 ;
"The Pilot," 142; " Last of the Mohi-
cans," 142 ; in New York, 143 ; goes
abroad, 143 ; literary activity there,
144; controversies, 144; return to
America, 145; libel suits, 145; "His-
tory of Navy," 146; Leatherstocking
series, 146 ; estimate of, 147 ; critique
of his writings, 148.

Cotton, John, 9.

Crawford, Francis Marion, 274, 283,286.

Critical independence of America, 288.

Curtis, George William, 100.

Dana, Richard Henry, 96.
Davies, Samuel, 32.
Davis, Jefferson, 281.
Davis, Richard Harding, 273.
Deland, Margaret Wade, 269.
Dial, The, in.
1 Dixon, Thomas, Jr., 281.
Dodge, Mary A., 270.
Drake, Joseph Rodman, 98, 115.
Draper, John W., 281.
Dwight, Timothy, 61, 71.

Education, in First Colonial Period, 16;
in Second, 35 ; in First National Period,
103; present interest in, 282.

Edwards, Jonathan, sketch of, 53; char-
acter, 53 ; ancestry, 53 ; precocity, 54 ;
at Yale, 54; interest in religion, 55; a
preacher in New York, 55 ; a tutor in
Yale, 55; his "Resolutions," 55; in
Northampton, 56; studious habits, 56;
as a preacher, 56; "Present Revival
of Religion in New England," 57;
forced lo resign, 57; at Stockbridge,
57, 58 ; " Freedom of the Will," 58 ;
call to Princeton, 58 ; " History of Re-
demption," 59; estimate of, 60.

Eggleston, Edward, 277, 321.

Eliot, John, 10.

Ely, Richard T., 323.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, sketch of, 180;

a great thinker, 180; a seer, 181;
idealists and mystics, 181 ; sturdy
sense, 181 ; ancestry, 182 ; as a teacher,
182 ; as a preacher, 183 ; trip abroad,
183; as a lecturer, 184; at Concord,
185; "Concord Hymn," 185; "Na-
ture," 186; Transcendental Club, 186;
transcendentalism, 186 ; The Dial, 187 ;
Brook Farm, 187; " Essays," 188; phi-
losophy of, 188; studious life, 189;
" Threnody," 190 ; second series of
" Essays," 190 ; address at Cambridge,
190; "Representative Men," 191;
"Poems," 191; critique of, 192; stu-
dent of nature, 193 ; literary methods,
195 ; last years, 195.

England and France in America, 38.

Everett, Alexander H., 96.

Everett, Edward, 96.

Evolution and literature, 285.

" Federalist, The," 69.

Field, Eugene, 277.

Fields, James T., 97.

Finch, Francis M., 281.

First National Period, 102.

Fiske, John, 268.

Ford, Paul Leicester, 272, 287.

Fox, John, Jr., 276.

Franklin, Benjamin, sketch of, 43; popu-
larity, 43; his fondness for reading,
43; style formed on Spectator, 44;
early literary efforts, 44; in Philadel-
phia, 45 ; in England, 45 ; with Keimer,
45; literary club, 46; his self-control,
46 ; modesty of statement, 46 ; business
methods, 47 ; founds a newspaper, 47 ;
" Poor Richard's Almanac," 47, 48 ;
public spirit, 48 ; political honors, 49 ;
linguistic studies, 49 ; in Braddock's
campaign, 50; electrical experiments,
50; as representative abroad, 51 ; gov-
ernor of Pennsylvania, 51 ; last years,

5 2 -

French, Alice, 278.
Freneau, Philip, 62, 71.

Garrison, William Lloyd, 108.
Gilder, Richard Watson, 271.
Glasgow, Ellen A., 275.

INDEX.

547

Godfrey, Thomas, 33, 42.
Goodrich, Samuel G., 99.
Grant, Ulysses S., 281.
Guiney, Louise Imogen, 296.
Guizot, quoted, 92.

Hale, Edward Everett, 269, 294.

Hale, Sarah Josepha, 99.

Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 98, 116.

Hamilton, Alexander, sketch of, 85 ; an-
cestry, 85 ; youthful ambition, 85 ; liter-
ary bent, 86 ; espouses colonial cause,
86 ; as pamphleteer, 87 ; faces a mob, 87 ;
studies military science, 87 ; on Wash-
ington's staff, 88 ; quarrel, 88 ; popu-
larity, 89 ; marriage, 89 ; in Congress,
90; "The Federalist," 90, 91 ; in New
York convention, 91; Secretary of
Treasury, 92 ; relations with Jefferson,
92; as statesman, 92, 93; as lawyer,
93 ; duel with Burr, 93 ; character, 93,

94-

Harris, Joel Chandler, 274.

Harris, William T., 270.

Harte, Francis Bret, 276, 316.

Harvard College, founded, 17; literary
influence of, 104.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, sketch of, 197;
genius, 197; ancestry, 197; boyhood,
198 ; at college, 198 ; literary bent, 199 ;
his reading, 199 ; studious habits, 200 ;
critique of style,- 200; "Twice-Told
Tales," 200; Longfellow's criticism,
201 ; in Boston custom-house, 201 ; at
Brook Farm, 201 ; habits of observa-
tion, 202; marriage, 203; "Mosses
from an Old Manse," 203; in custom-
house at Salem, 204; " Scarlet Letter,"
205; " House of Seven Gables," 206;
" Wonder-Book " and " Tanglewood
Tales," 206; consul to Liverpool, 207;
"Our Old Home," 207; "Marble
Faun," 208 ; his sense of human
guilt, 208 ; last years, 208 ; estimate of,
209.

Hawthorne, Julian, 274.

Hay, John, 277.

Hayne, Paul Hamilton, 101, 119.

Hayne, William Hamilton, 276.

Hildreth, Richard, 97.

Holland, Josiah Gilbert, 97.

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, sketch of, 255 ;
popularity, 255 ; characteristics, 255 ;
men of wit distrusted, 256; belief in
heredity, 256 ; ancestry, 256 ; " Auto-
biographical Notes," 256; manner of
reading, 257; at Harvard, 257; "class
of '29," 257; studies medicine, and
goes abroad, 257; "Old Ironsides,"
258; practising physician, 258; first
volume of verse, 259 ; " The Last
Leaf," 259; marriage, 259; professor
at Harvard, 260; as popular lecturer,
260; "Autocrat of the Breakfast
Table," 260 ; " The Chambered Nau-
tilus," 261 ; " Contentment," 261 ;
Saturday Club, 262 ; Boston's laureate,
262; theological proclivities, 262;
" Professor at the Breakfast Table,"
263 ; " Poet at the Breakfast Table,"
263 ; novels, 264 ; as biographer, 264 ;
resigns professorship, 265 ; " Our Hun-
dred Days in Europe," 265 ; " Over the
Teacups," 265; last days, 266; charac-
ter, 266.

Hopkinson, Francis, 62.

Hopldnson, Joseph, 62.

Howe, Julia Ward, 281.

Howells, William Dean, 270; quoted,
285-286; sketch of, 296-298.

Humor, American, 289.

Hutton, Laurence, 273.

International relations, 283.

Irving, Washington, sketch of, 124; his
education, 124; excursions, 125; visit
to Europe, 125; philosophical spirit,
126; interest in painting, 126; Salma-
gundi, 127; in politics, 127; early
romance, 128 ; " Knickerbocker's His-
tory," 128; as a merchant, 128, 129;
in Washington, 128; Select Reviews,
129; in Europe, 129 ; "Sketch Book,"
130; " Bracebridge Hall," 131; "Tales
of a Traveller," 132 ; " Life of Colum-
bus," 132; "Conquest of Granada,"
132; "The Alhambra," 133; secre-
tary of legation in London, 133; re-
turn to America, 133; "Tour on the
Prairies," 133; Sunnyside, 134;

548

INDEX.

prominence, 134 ; literary labors, 134 ;
minister to Spain, 135 ; " Life of Gold-
smith," 135 ; " Mahomet and his Suc-
cessors," 136; " Life of Washington,"
136; character, 136.

Jackson, Helen Hunt, 278.

James, Henry, 270.

James, William, 323.

Jefferson, Thomas, sketch of, 75; great
epochs and great men, 75 ; rank and
ancestry, 75; education, 76; law stu-
dent, 76; as lawyer, 77; member of
House of Burgesses, 77 ; marriage, 77 ;
committee of correspondence, 78 ;
day of fasting and prayer, 78 ; " Rights
of British America," 78; in Conti-
nental Congress, 79 ; " Declaration of
Independence," 80; member of the
Virginia legislature, 80; his educa-
tional system, 80; various positions,
81 ; Secretary of State, 81 ; Demo-
cratic leader, 81; President, 82; his
administration, 82; founds University
of Virginia, 83 ; death, 83 ; estimate
of, 83, 84.

Jesuits in America, 39.

Jewett, Sarah One, 269.

Johnson, Edward, 10.

Johnston, Joseph E., 281.

Johnston, Mary, 275, 287.

Kennedy, John Pendleton, 100.
Key, Francis Scott, 100.
King, Charles, 278.
Knickerbocker School, 114.

Ladd, George T., 323.

Lanier, Sidney, 275, 310-314.

Larcom, Lucy, 270.

Lawson, John, 33.

Lazarus, Emma, 272.

Leland, Charles Godfrey, 272.

Literature, study of, I ; definition, I ;
restricted meaning, 2; determining
factors, 2; American, 3; real beginning
of, 4 ; in nineteenth century, 4 ; future
of, 5 ; periods of, 6 ; in Colonial Period,
40; in First National Period, 104, 107;
in the South, 117; Second National
Period, 279; for children, 289.

Livingston, William, 32, 41.

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, sketch
of, 210; popularity, 210; calm life, 210;
ancestry, 211 ; early surroundings, 211 ;
at college, 211; literary turn, 212; pro-
fessor at Bowdoin, 212; " Outre Mer,"
213; marriage, 213; "Footsteps of
Angels," 213; called to Harvard, 214;
"Hyperion," 214; as a teacher, 214;
"Three Friends of Mine," 215;
"Voices of the Night," 215; " Ballads
and Other Poems," 216; critique of,
216; "The Spanish Student," 217;
" Poems on Slavery," 217 ; " Poets and
Poetry of Europe," 218; "Belfry of
Bruges, and Other Poems," 218;
" Evangeline," 219; unfavorable criti-
cism, 220; "Kavanagh," 220; "The
Seaside and the Fireside," 220; resig-
nation at Harvard, 221 ; "Hiawatha,"
221 ; " The Courtship of Miles Stan-
dish," 222; "Divine Comedy," 224;
" Tales of a Wayside Inn," 224 ; trilogy
of " Christus," 225 ; other poems, 226;
death, 226.

Lossing, Benson J., 99.

Louis XIV., policy of, 39.

Lowell, James Russell, sketch of, 227;
varied greatness of, 227 ; originality,
227 ; New England spirit, 228 ; ances-
try, 228 ; at Harvard, 229 ; " A Year's
Life," 229; 7/2i? Pioneer, 229; second
volume of poems, 229 ; " The Biglow
Papers," 231 ; " The Vision of Sir
Launfal," 232; "A Fable for Critics,"
233; as a lecturer, 234; called to
Harvard, 234; editor of Atlantic, 234;
"Fireside Travels," 235; "Under the
Willows," 235; Commemoration Odes,
236; "The Cathedral," 237; prose
writings, 238 ; as a critic, 239 ; minister
to Spain and to England, 239 ; " De-
mocracy and Other Addresses," 240;
estimate of, 240.

Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 272.
Madison, James, 62.
Mahan, Alfred T., 323.
Mann, Horace, 103, 323.
Markharn, Edwin, 278.

INDEX.

549

Marshall, John, 63.

Massachusetts, settlement of, 15.

Mather, Cotton, sketch of, 26; prolific
authorship, 26; atypical Puritan, 26;
as a preacher, 27; his marriage, 28;
industry and scholarship, 28 ; " Mag-
nalia Christi," 29; " Bonifacius," 30;
relation to witchcraft tragedy, 30; an
advocate of vaccination, 30, 31 ; aspi-
rations for Harvard presidency, 31 ;
estimate of, 31.

Mather, Increase, 10.
Matthews, Brander, 272.

Middle States, in literature, 296.
Miller, Cincinnatus Heine, 277, 318-320.

Mitchell, Silas Weir, 272, 287.

Morris, George P., 99.

Motley, John Lothrop, 97, 113.

Moulton, Louise Chandler, 270.

Murfree, Mary Noailles, 275, 309.

National growth, 102.

New England, settlement of, 15; popu-
lar education in, 16; literary eminence
of, 17, 18 ; present writers, 291.

News-Letter, the, first periodical, 35.

North American Review, the, 104.

Novel, the historical, 287.

Osgood, Frances Sargent, 97.
Ossoli, Margaret Fuller, 95.

Page, Thomas Nelson, 274, 281.

Paine, Thomas, 62.

Palfrey, James Gorham, 97.

Parkman, Francis, 98.

Paulding, James K., 98, 114.

Percival, James Gates, 98.

Philosophy and literature, 284.

Piatt, John James, 278.

Piatt, Sarah Morgan Bryan, 278.

Pike, Albert, 281.

Pinkney, Edward Coate, 101.

Poe, Edgar Allan, sketch of, 166; diffi-
cult to form estimate of, 166 ; peculiar
place in literature, 166 ; ancestry, 166 ;
early training, 167 ; in England, 167 ;
at University of Virginia, 168 ; seeking
his fortune, 168 ; in the army, 169 ; at
West Point, 169 ; his poetic principle,

170; " Al Aaraaf" and " Israfel," 170;
imitates Moore and Byron, 171; "A
MS. Found in a Bottle," 172 ; Southern
Literary Messenger, 172; as critic,
172; "Arthur Gordon Pym," 173; The
Gentleman's Magazine, 173 ; Graham's
Magazine, 174; violent criticism, 174;
Griswold's description, 175 ; critique
of his Tales, 175; Evening Mirror,
176; "The Raven," 176; Broadway
Journal, 176 ; " Literati of New York,"
176; principal poems, 177; personal
traits, 178 ; devotion to his wife, 178 ;
"Eureka," 179; estimate of, 179.

Poetry, present tendency of, 290.

Prentice, George D., 101.

Prescott, William Hickling, 96, 112.

Press, periodical, 104, 282.

Preston, Margaret J., 275.

Public school system, 103.

Puritans, character of, 15.

Reed, Thomas Buchanan, 99.

Realism, 285.

Religion and literature, 284.

Repplier, Agnes, 273.

Revolution, leaders of, 64 ; causes of, 65 ;

justice of, 67.
Revolutionary Period, 64 ; literature of,

7i-

Riley, James Whitcomb, 277.
Rives, Amelie, 276.
Roe, Edward Payson, 271.
Romanticism, 285.
Roosevelt, Theodore, 273.
Rovvson, Mi-s. Susanna, 61.
Royce, Josiah, 323.
Ryan, Abram J., 275, 281, 314-316.

Sandys, George, 9, 19.
Saxe, John Godfrey, 99.
Science, advance of, 106.
Scudder, Horace E., 269.
Second Colonial Period, 34.
Second National Period, 279.
Sedgwick, Catharine Maria, 96.
Sewell, Samuel, 32.
Shaw, H. W. t 290.
Sherman, Frank Dempster, 274.
Sherman, William T., 281.

550

INDEX.

Sigourney, Lydia Huntley, 96.

Simms, William Gilmore, 100, 118.

Slavery, 108.

Smith, Captain John, romantic life and
character of, 21 ; early years, 21 ; rov-
ing adventures, 22; fighting Turks,
22; at Jamestown, 23; Pocahontas
incident, 23; accident, 24; testimony
of companions, 24; voyage to New
England, 24; list of his works, 24;
summary and estimate of his life, 25.

Social progress, 283.

South, the, in literature, 117, 307.

Southern Literary Messenger, the, 117.

Spanish War, influence of, 282.

State rights, 108.

Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 271, 298-
300.

Stephens, Alexander H., 281.

Stith, William, 33.

Stockton, Francis Richard, 271, 302-304.

Stoddard, Richard Henry, 271, 301, 302.

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 98.

Strachey, William, 9.

Stuart, Ruth McEnery, 276.

Tabb, John B., 276.

Talleyrand, quoted, 92.
' Tarkington, Newton Booth, 278.
Taylor, Bayard, 100.

Terhune, Mary Virginia, 275.

Thaxter, Celia, 270.

Thomas, Edith M., 277.

Thompson, John R., 100.

Thompson, Maurice, 277, 287.

Thoreau, Henry David, 95.

Timrod, Henry, 101, 121.

Tolstoi, influence of, 286.

Tourgee, Albion Winegar, 278, 281.

Transcendentalism, no.

Trent, William P., 276.

Trowbridge, John T., 268.

Trumbull, John, 61, 72.

Unitarian controversy, 109, no.
United States, growth of, 102.

* Van Dyke, Henry, 273.
Virginia, settlement of, 12; literary con-
ditions, 13.

Walker, Francis A., 323.

Wallace, Lewis, 276, 287.

Ward, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 269.

Ware, William, 98.

Warner, Charles Dudley, 268, 292.

Washington, George, 63.

West, the, in literature, 316.

Wheatley, Phillis, 61.

Whipple, E. P., 268.

Whitaker, Alexander, 9.

White, Richard Grant, 271.

Whitman, Walt, 271, 304-307.

Whitney, Adeline D. T., 269.

Whittier, John Greenleaf, sketch of, 241 ;
Quaker ancestry, 241 ; a self-made
man, 241 ; " The Barefoot Boy," 241 ; in-
fluenced by Burns, 242; acquaintance
with Garrison, 242; at school, 242;
edits Weekly Review, 243 ; anti-slavery
movement, 243 ; Pennsylvania Free-
man, 244; "Voices of Freedom,"
244; " Mogg Megone," etc., 245;
democratic sympathies, 245 ; " Songs
of Labor," 245; early romance, 246;
a bard of faith, 247; National Era,
247 ; " The Last Walk in Autumn,"
247 ; " Margaret Smith's Journal," etc.,
248 ; " Home Ballads, Poems, and
Lyrics," 248; "In War Time," 249;
" Barbara Frietchie," 250 ; " Snow-
Bound," 250 ; " The Tent on the
Beach," 252; his old age, 252; critique
of, 253 ; character, 253.

Wigglesworth, Michael, 32.

Wilde, Richard Henry, 100.

Wilkins, Mary E., 296.

William and Mary College, founded, 14.

Willis, Nathaniel P., 99.

Wilson, Alexander, 62.

Wilson, Augusta J. Evans, 275.

Winsor, Justin, 323.

Winter, William, 273.

Winthrop, John, 9.

Wirt, William, 63.

Women, in literature, 288 ; New England
group of, 295.

Woodberry, George Edward, 274.

Woodworth, Samuel, 98.

" Yankee Doodle," 73.

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