GIFT OF 
 
AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
STAIRWAY IN THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY. 
 
 Decorative Paintings by Puvis de Chavannes, representing 
 
 Pastoral, Dramatic, and Epic Poetry. 
 
AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 BY 
 
 ROY BENNETT PACE 
 
 ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH 
 SWARTHMOKE COLLEGE 
 
 ALLYN AND BACON 
 
 Boston Nefo gorfc 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY 
 ROY BENNETT PACE 
 
 DAAN 
 
 J. 8. Gushing Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
Go 
 
 WILLIAM ALLEN WILBUR 
 
 SCHOLAR TEACHER 
 
 FRIEND 
 
 459969 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THIS book is the outcome of personal experience with 
 the problem of teaching literature to young people. Use 
 fulness has been the first thing sought, and it is this that 
 has determined the chief features of the book. 
 
 Only those writers have been treated whose works the 
 students may reasonably be expected to read. It is not 
 the mission of a history of literature for schools to furnish 
 a complete encyclopedia of names. 
 
 There has been no attempt to give detailed treatment of 
 recent writers, with whom the magazines have made most 
 pupils familiar. A fair judgment cannot as yet be passed 
 on their work, and time for consideration of them cannot 
 well be spared from the earlier writers, who are the first 
 object of our study. 
 
 Nowhere in the book has simplicity been sacrificed for the 
 sake of literary effect. Too often the author of a text-book 
 has spoiled an otherwise good chapter by a few flights of 
 fancy or a clever analogy quite beyond the student s obser 
 vation and experience. 
 
 In the matter of proportion this book differs from most 
 in the space given to Southern literature. The position 
 that should be taken on both sides of Mason and Dixon s 
 line is admirably expressed by Professor Wendell: "As 
 our new patriotism strengthens, we cannot prize too highly 
 such verses as Whittier s, honestly phrasing noble Northern 
 sentiment, or as Timrod s, who with equal honesty phrased 
 the noble sentiment of the South." 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 No pains have been spared to equip the book with useful 
 and attractive illustrations. "Whoever would understand 
 a poet," says the proverb, " must pay a visit to the poet s 
 country." It is hoped that the homes and haunts, the 
 manuscripts and title-pages, the portraits, tombs, and monu 
 ments reproduced here will help the pupil to pay such visits 
 in imagination, and will enliven and increase his interest in 
 the men and their works. 
 
 To the many friends who have aided by criticism and 
 suggestion the author here records his indebtedness and 
 gratitude. Though he alone is responsible for the form 
 which the book finally takes, that form is due in no small 
 degree to kindly consideration given by those with other 
 and better points of view. 
 
 ROY BENNETT PACE. 
 
 SWARTHMORE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA, 
 
 January 1, 1915. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PREFACE . ... . ., . . . . . . v 
 
 INTRODUCTION . . ... . . . . . * 1 
 
 Chapter I. From John Smith to Benjamin Franklin . . . 5-28 
 Historians Smith and Strachey, Bradford and Winthrop . 5 
 Colonial Verse Bay Psalm Book, Wigglesworth, Bradstreet 12 
 Theologians Mather, Edwards . . . . . . 17 
 
 Education . . . . ... . . .23 
 
 Periodical Literature . .27 
 
 Chapter II. From Franklin to Washington Irving . . 29-68 
 Benjamin Franklin . . . . . . . .31 
 
 The Orators Otis, Henry . .".-.. . . 41 
 
 Other Literary Statesmen Paine, Washington, Jefferson, 
 
 Hamilton . . ; . . . . . . < 45 
 
 Patriotic and Satiric Poets Hopkinson, Freneau, The Hart 
 ford Wits . . . ..... . .54 
 
 John Woolman . ... . . . .62 
 
 Thomas Godfrey, Dramatist . . . . . . . .63 
 
 Charles Brockden Brown, Novelist . . . . .65 
 
 Chapter III. From Irving to the End of the Civil War . 69-184 
 
 Washington Irving , . .71 
 
 William Cullen Bryant . ... . .81 
 
 James Fenirnore Cooper . . " . . . . 92 
 
 Drake and Halleck . . ; . . . . . 102 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe . . . . .- . . : . . 104 
 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne 119 
 
 The Literature of Slavery and Disunion ... . .130 
 
 Daniel Webster .- . . 132 
 
 Abraham Lincoln . . . . ... . . 136 
 
 John C. Calhoun . . .141 
 
 Timrod and Hayne . . . . . . . . 145 
 
 vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 History Writing in America ... . . . 154 
 
 John Lothrop Motley . . . " . . . . . 156 
 
 The Transcendental Movement . . . ... 158 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson . / . . " . . .... 162 
 
 Henry David Thoreau . . . . . . . . 176 
 
 Chapter IV. From the Civil War to the Deaths of Whittier 
 
 and Whitman ... . . . . . . 185-260 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . . . . . . 186 
 
 James Russell Lowell . . . . . . . 200 
 
 Sidney Lanier . . . . _ , . . . . . 214 
 
 Henry Woodfin Grady . ..... 223 
 
 George William Curtis t . . .227 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier . ... . . .234 
 
 Walt Whitman . . . . . . > . . . 244 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes . . . ..... .251 
 
 CONCLUSION . . . . . . . . . . 261 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LIST OP AUTHORS . . . . . 263 
 
 SELECTED LIST OF BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL WORKS . 270 
 
 INDEX 273 
 
AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 THIS book aims to trace briefly the rise and growth of 
 literature in America. The word literature is here used in 
 its broadest sense the written record of the life of a 
 people or nation. Of literature in its more restricted sense 
 " writing which has claim to consideration on the ground 
 of beauty of form or emotional effect " the first two 
 hundred years of English life in America produced only 
 a few examples; the first hundred years scarcely one. 
 During this time, however, there were produced many 
 pieces of writing an acquaintance with which is essential 
 to an understanding of the life of our forefathers, and 
 which throw not a little light on genuine literary pro 
 ductions of the later period. 
 
 It is only three centuries since the first permanent Eng 
 lish colony was planted on the shores of the James. That 
 little band of settlers found a vast expanse of country over 
 which roamed at will savage tribes of red men. Their only 
 writings consisted of hieroglyphics scratched rudely on 
 bark or stone for the purpose of conveying information 
 of passing interest. So far as is known they had not a 
 single permanent record of any kind. The only literature, 
 therefore, that can be called American is that produced by 
 the European settlers of America, and we are interested in 
 only so much of that as was produced in the thirteen Eng 
 lish colonies and their outgrowth, the United States. To 
 
 1 
 
2 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 this literature by common consent the name American has 
 been limited. 
 
 England at the time of the dawn of American literature 
 was enjoying a period of great prosperity and influence, 
 thanks to the genius and wisdom of Queen Elizabeth, who 
 had lived till four years before the landing at Jamestown. 
 James I, as king of England and Scotland, hafl united the 
 crowns of the two countries. He was encouraging the 
 expansion of British trade and the extension of the British 
 domain by subsidizing exploration, and by granting royal 
 patents to his noble friends for the colonizing of America. 
 
 Englishmen of this happy period possessed a rich heritage 
 of literature, including the works of Chaucer, Malory, Spen 
 ser, and Marlowe. They were enjoying the companionship 
 of such immortals as Beaumont and Fletcher, Ben Jonson, 
 Bacon, and Shakspere. Under the direction of the authors 
 themselves they saw acted those great dramas that will be 
 the delight and inspiration of millions so long as the 
 English language shall exist. 
 
 When our forefathers sailed away from the shores of 
 England to Virginia and to Massachusetts, they carried 
 with them, as Englishmen, an interest in this priceless 
 heritage. As we trace the growth of literature in America 
 we shall observe that the literary dependence of America on 
 England gradually became less in the same way and for 
 much the same reason as did the political dependence. As 
 America became settled and her men and women found time 
 for self-culture and contemplation, she became less de 
 pendent on the mother country for literary inspiration ; and 
 with nationality came literature in its more restricted sense, 
 a literature permeated with the freshness and the vigor of 
 the land that gave it birth. 
 
 While no division of American literature into periods can 
 be entirely satisfactory, it will be convenient to recognize 
 
INTRODUCTION 3 
 
 four up to the year 1892 the year chosen as the limit of 
 this survey. These are : 
 
 1. From John Smith to Benjamin Franklin (1608-1758). 
 
 2. From Benjamin Franklin to Washington Irving (1758- 
 1809). 
 
 3. From Washington Irving to the end of the Civil War 
 (1809-1865). 
 
 4. From the end of the Civil War to the deaths of Walt 
 Whitman and John G. Whittier (1865-1892). 
 
artthc Lne& tatew tf~aG6 ,lut ttio/l 
 diy GrOC& antLCflorytbrykter he : 
 CI%y J?airt-3>tfcoiurits arul jrewfe- Overthrown 
 
 Cf Salvages,much, Cwitfa J, ty 
 
 cftjhew *fy &pirit;arul to it Glory 
 S&jkotL art J5raf?c without, but otaC 
 
 JOHN SMITH, " ADMIRAL OF NEW ENGLAND." 
 
CHAPTER I 
 FROM JOHN SMITH TO BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 AMERICAN literature had a beginning very different from 
 that of most nations. Most literatures began before the 
 language in which they were subsequently written had a 
 definite form. They began in verse, usually in the songs of 
 bards who celebrated the heroic deeds of individuals and of 
 tribes. They expressed the emotions, beliefs, aspirations, 
 of a society more or less primitive, a civilization but slightly 
 developed. Our knowledge of these beginnings rests on a 
 long period of oral transmission. 
 
 Quite in contrast to such conditions, the author of the 
 first book written on American soil knew that his work 
 could be manifolded by the printing press within a few 
 months of its completion. His language was the language 
 of one of the world s great literatures, even then at its 
 highest achievement. Furthermore, it was the language of 
 a civilization second to none, of a nation acknowledging no 
 superior in intellectual or physical accomplishment. It 
 looked back nine centuries to a great epic poem, Beowulf ; 
 two centuries to Chaucer, a poet whose breadth of view 
 made him a world figure ; and a few decades to the defeat 
 of the Spanish Armada, a victory that showed the men who 
 spoke the language to be truly great spirits. 
 
 John Smith (1580-1631). The author of this first book 
 was John Smith, whose writings belong to history rather 
 than to literature, and to England rather than to America, 
 but who cannot be omitted from a sketch like the present. 
 Born in Lincolnshire, England, in 1580, he had from the 
 
 5 
 
AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 age of sixteen been an adventurer, traveling in various 
 parts of Europe and in Northern Africa, fighting in various 
 armies and causes, and gathering an interesting lot of 
 experiences. His love of adventure persuaded him to join 
 the party just setting out to colonize Virginia in 1607, and 
 soon after reaching Jamestown he was named a member of 
 the Council, or governing board. In this position Smith 
 
 showed such ability that 
 in September, 1608, he 
 was made president of 
 the body ; and it was 
 chiefly to his wise and 
 vigorous, if sometimes 
 unscrupulous, methods 
 that the successful estab 
 lishment of the Virginia 
 colony was due. 
 
 Only one of Smith s 
 numerous books comes 
 within the scope of this 
 work. Its full title, 
 which in its length is 
 characteristic of the 
 time, is : A True Rela 
 tion of such occurrences 
 and accidents of noate as hath hapned in Virginia since 
 the first planting of that Cottony, ivhich is now resident 
 in the South part thereof, till the last returns from thence. 
 Written by Captaine Smith Coronell of the said Cottony, to a 
 worshipfull friend of his in England. The author lays no 
 claim to style, and even the construction of his sentences 
 is often such as would shame a high school boy of to-day. 
 But his narrative possesses in no small degree the merits of 
 simplicity, directness, and vividness, and gives many inter- 
 
 STATUE AT JAMESTOWN OF SMITH, 
 "GOVERNOR OF VIRGINIA." 
 
T R v E KB: 
 
 lation of fuch occur 
 rences and accidents of noateas 
 
 haih bapiK d in Virginia fincc the firft 
 piannng chhat Collony . v.b;chisnow 
 ufidtnt in the Soiub par(thercof,tiil 
 ihelaft return (Sjliom 
 t: encc. 
 
 iind ol his in England, 
 
 L"0 
 
 are to bee (oldc at ch: Grcy= 
 
 hound in pVulrs- Ciwch -ya:d, b) ^ V > 
 l 6 Q 8 
 
 FACSIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF SMITH S A True Relation, FIRST EDITION. 
 (Courtesy of New York Public Library.) 
 
8 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 esting details of the life of the natives and his experiences 
 with them. His reason for writing he gives in these words : 
 " Many of the most eminent warriors what their swords 
 did, their pens writ. Though I be never so much their 
 inferior, yet I hold it no great error to follow good exam 
 ples." It should be remarked, however, that some modern 
 scholars question the accuracy of much Smith wrote. The 
 Pocahontas incident, for example, which Smith told in two 
 ways, is by many considered a choice bit of fiction. 
 
 Still, after making due allowances for boasting and for 
 unintentional exaggeration, the True Relation is conceded 
 to be in the main a trustworthy account; and as the first 
 written record of the first permanent English colony in 
 America, it deserves a place of honor in our literature as 
 well as in our history. 
 
 William Strachey. Of several other historians of the 
 Southern colony William Strachey is perhaps the most nota 
 ble. Almost nothing is known of his life, but his selection 
 as secretary of the colony indicates that he had enjoyed 
 educational advantages. Strachey s History of Travaile into 
 Virginia Britannia, written after his return to England, is 
 said to be " the most reliable single narrative of events dur 
 ing the period of Virginia history with which he deals." l 
 Our interest in the man, however, arises not from his im 
 portance as an historian, but from the fact that one work of 
 his is by some believed to have given a hint to Shakspere. 
 This work is entitled : A True Reportory of the Wrack and 
 Redemption of Sir Thomas Gates, Kt , upon and from the 
 Islands of the Bermudas ; his Coming to Virginia; and the 
 Estate of that Colony then and after under the Government of 
 Lord La Ware. (Compare, for length, Smith s title above.) 
 In it occurs a powerful description of a storm encountered 
 by a fleet of English vessels bound for Virginia. It is said 
 
 1 New International Encyclopedia. 
 
EARLY LITERARY WORK 
 
 that Shakspere had this description before him when he 
 wrote The Tempest. 1 
 
 While Strachey is forceful and vivid, far more so than 
 Smith ever could have been, it seems rather an exaggeration 
 to say, even of the tem 
 pest passage, as does 
 Tyler, that " it has some 
 sentences which for im 
 aginative and pathetic 
 beauty . . . can hardly 
 be surpassed in the whole 
 range of English prose." 
 
 Early Literary Work in 
 North and South. Writ 
 ings of perhaps a dozen 
 Southern colonists before 
 1700 have come down to 
 us, while from New Eng 
 land during that time we 
 have three or four times 
 as many. The explana 
 tion of this difference is 
 not difficult. Virginia 
 was colonized at first 
 
 largely by adventurers 
 
 RUINS OF JAMESTOWN CHURCH. 
 
 and speculators men Now cared for by the Association for the 
 who came in hope of gain Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, which 
 for themselves and for owns the island 
 
 the noble gentlemen in England who financed the expedi 
 tions. 2 They had no thought of settling permanently, and 
 
 1 For a full statement of the question, with what seems to us a fair con 
 clusion, see The Tempest, Furness s Variorum Ed., page 312. 
 
 2 Beginning about forty years after Jamestown, a much better class 
 of immigrants arrived, men of good birth and education who sought 
 
10 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 many of them including Smith and Strachey did remain 
 only a few years. They had little interest in literature, 
 and no ambition to enroll themselves in the register of 
 literary fame. Their published " works " are hardly more 
 than elaborate official reports, containing such information 
 about the country and its inhabitants and the experience 
 of the colony as the patentees at home might reasonably 
 expect. Lastly, lack of educational facilities or we may 
 say more truly, the presence of educational restrictions 
 necessarily prevented those who became permanent resi 
 dents from being equipped for literary work. 
 
 The settlers of New England, on the contrary, came to 
 escape persecution, to found a new home for themselves. If 
 not interested in literature for its own sake, they realized 
 the value of clear, forceful writing for controversial pur 
 poses. Even the narrative writers of New England wrote 
 with a very different purpose from that of the Southerners. 
 Although often forced by pressure of more immediate con 
 siderations to make their chronicles brief, they prepared 
 them with much care, not for the present but for the future. 
 This is sufficiently shown by the fact that the first two his 
 torians, Bradford and Winthrop, did not publish, but at 
 their deaths left their works in manuscript. Another point 
 to be noted is that public schools were early provided in 
 Massachusetts (1636), and a very generally educated citizen 
 ship resulted. 
 
 William Bradford (1590-1657). The first work written 
 in New England was William Bradford s History of Ply 
 mouth Plantation. In its original and complete form it was 
 not printed until 1855 ; but it was the chief source of several 
 historical works published in Massachusetts from 1669 down, 
 
 refuge from the repressive rule of Cromwell. It is from the " Cavaliers " 
 who came over in the half ceutury following 1G50 that many of the 
 "First Families of Virginia" are descended. 
 
JOHN WINTHROP 11 
 
 and its author has been not inaptly called the " Father of 
 American History." Bradford was born in Yorkshire in 
 1590, and landed on Plymouth Rock from the Mayflower. 
 The following year he was elected governor, and was re- 
 elected annually until his death in 1657, with the exception 
 of a few years when by his own wish he was allowed to re 
 tire. His History covers in the form of annals the period 
 from 1620 to 1647. It cannot be said to have greater liter 
 ary merit than the narratives of Smith and Strachey. No 
 where does it approach the power and vividness of Strachey s 
 tempest passage ; but it is characterized by a uniform dig 
 nity and sincerity not found in the works of the Southern 
 chroniclers. As might be expected, it has a religious tone 
 throughout, as had every expression of the first century of 
 New England life. An excellent example of the Puritan 
 attitude toward amusements, as well as of Bradford s general 
 style, may be found in his account of Morton s settlement 
 at " Ma-re Mount " a passage which has additional inter 
 est because of having formed the basis of one of Haw 
 thorne s tales. 1 
 
 John Winthrop (1588-1649). Hardly less important than 
 Bradford is John Winthrop, the first governor of the Mas 
 sachusetts Colony. Appointed to that position by the Com 
 pany, he led the band of colonists that landed at Salem in 
 June, 1630, and removed in September to Boston. He was 
 repeatedly (though not consecutively) reappoiuted, holding 
 the governorship for twelve out of nineteen years. His his 
 tory, published under the ambitious title of The History of 
 New England, is a diary recording the life of the colony to 
 his death. He is quite indiscriminate in noting events, 
 and is unintentionally amusing in the blunt and matter-of- 
 fact way in which he writes of them. The death of a cow 
 is mentioned without comment, as is that of his son ; the 
 
 i The Maypole of Merry Mount, in Twice Told Tales. 
 
12 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 execution of a murderer, the meeting of court, his unex 
 pectedly filling a vacant pulpit, the killing of six calves by 
 wolves, the marriage of Captain Endicott, a debate in church 
 all these matters are, if we may judge by the space and 
 prominence given them, of equal consequence to future 
 times. A sense of proportion cannot be included in the long 
 
 , _ . list of merits attributed 
 
 to him by his admirers. 
 The book is, however, 
 an invaluable record of 
 the early days of the 
 Massachusetts Colony, 
 from which all subse 
 quent historians have 
 drawn. One year (1645) 
 stands out conspicu 
 ously above the average, 
 because in it is reported 
 a speech of Governor 
 Winthrop on the nature 
 of liberty, delivered in 
 court after acquittal of 
 the charge of exceeding 
 his authority. Of this 
 speech a distinguished statesman said, " It is the best defini 
 tion of liberty in the English language." 
 
 The Bay Psalm Book. Since there was produced almost, 
 if not absolutely, no real poetry in colonial New England, it 
 is on first thought remarkable that the first book printed 
 there was a book of verse. The fact, however, becomes less 
 striking when we discover that this production was The 
 Bay Psalm Book, the work of several clergymen, of whom 
 the most important were John Eliot (1604-1690) and Richard 
 Mather (1596-1669). The extremest enthusiast for our early 
 
 JOHN WINTHROP. 
 
yhep!^^ei,5^^^^^l! 
 
 3U-X v*p /^f^sr* ** "*" fT^f** **** ** /* / "a" H *^2r^~ /" -A"* ^f 11 ^ 2r** ii^ ? "vf .\ 
 
 . WHOLE 
 
 BOOKEOFPSALMBS 
 
 TRANSLATED ir< ENGLISH 
 
 t) 
 
 J Wricreunto is prefixed a difcourfe de- 
 oclaring not only the lawfullnes, bucalfc 
 ) the neccffity of the heavenly Ordinance 
 J of fingbg scripture Pialmss in 
 > the Churches of 
 
 you , i 4// tvifdme t teaching And exhort- r J 
 intr one another in ^faftes 9 rf$mnet, t and 
 
 r-4pTi 
 
 p?r> 
 
 V, 
 
 f: 
 
 
 FACSIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF 2 /ie Bay Psalm Book. 
 (New York Public Library.) 
 
14 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 literature would not call these versified psalms poetry. The 
 authors did not, indeed, aim to make poetry; they aimed 
 merely to produce a hymn book which should render faith 
 fully " David s poetry into English metre." The most that 
 can be said for the forms of the Psalms here is that they 
 are generally not much worse than Milton s juvenile per 
 formances in the same field. " Everywhere in the book is 
 manifested the agony it cost the writers to find two words 
 that would rhyme more or less ; and so often as this ar 
 duous feat is achieved, the poetic athlete appears to pause 
 a while from sheer exhaustion, panting heavily for breath." 
 
 Apart from their connection with this work Eliot and 
 Mather are worthy of further mention. The former gave 
 his life to christianizing the natives, and is generally known 
 as the " Apostle to the Indians." He translated into their 
 language not only the entire Bible, but the Catechism, Bax 
 ter s Call to the Unconverted, and Thomas Shepard s The 
 Sincere Convert. Richard Mather shines rather by reflected 
 light than by any luster of his own. He was the founder 
 of the " Mather Dynasty," which included ten clergymen, 
 and which in the second generation produced Increase 
 Mather, a president of Harvard College, and in the third, 
 Cotton Mather, of whom we shall hear later. 
 
 Michael Wigglesworth (1631-1705). Besides The Bat/ 
 Psalm Book the writings of two other seventeenth century 
 verse makers should be noticed. Michael Wigglesworth was 
 a clergyman, a physician, and a versifier. Of his worth in 
 the first and third of these capacities a good impression 
 may be got from his most famous production, entitled The 
 Day of Doom, or, A Poetical Description of the Great and 
 Last Judgment. In this all mankind are brought before the 
 Creator to hear his judgment upon them for eternity. The 
 " sheep," few in number, are quickly assigned to their happy 
 places ; the rest of the poem (over 1500 lines) is taken up 
 
ANNE BRADSTREET 15 
 
 with the pleas of the " goats " and their condemnation bj> 
 the Judge. Its vivid pictures of a future punishment of 
 fire and brimstone are interesting as a concrete expression 
 of the general religious conviction of the author s time. In 
 what is perhaps the most striking passage in the poem the 
 Judge allows to the infants who may not dwell in bliss 
 " the easiest room in hell." As we read the work to-day, 
 we find it hard to realize how it could have been popular, 
 even among such religious zealots as the Puritans of New 
 England. It is said that the first edition of 1800 copies 
 was sold in New England within twelve months of its pub 
 lication (1662), which means one copy to every thirty-five 
 people then living there ; arid that the poem was memorized 
 by children along with the Catechism. 
 
 Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672). The position of Anne 
 Bradstreet in this period is unique : she was the only per 
 son who wrote verse for its own sake. Like all the authors 
 so far mentioned, Mrs. Bradstreet was born in England. 
 She married at the age of sixteen, and emigrated with her 
 husband two years later. A delicate woman, mother of 
 eight children, hard-working wife of a hard-working New 
 England farmer, she wrote enough in prose and verse to fill 
 a volume of 400 pages most of it before she was thirty. 
 The volume, published in London in 1650, was burdened 
 with one of those long-drawn-out 1 titles characteristic of the 
 time. It reads : The Tenth Muse Lately sprung up in Amer 
 ica; or, Several Poems, compiled ivith great variety of Wit and 
 Learning, fall of delight ; wherein is especially contained a 
 complete discourse and description of the four elements, consti 
 tutions, ages of man, seasons of the year ; together with an 
 exact epitome of the four monarchies, viz., the Assyrian, Per 
 sian, Grecian, Roman; also, a dialogue between Old England 
 and Netv concerning the late troubles; with divers other pleas 
 ant and serious poems. By a Gentlewoman in those parts. 
 
16 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 It must be admitted that much, in Mrs. Bradstreet s verse 
 does not rise above that of Wigglesworth or The Bay Psalm 
 Book. On the other hand she at times reaches a height al 
 together beyond that of any of her contemporaries. Though 
 usually faulty in execution, her best passages show unques 
 tionable poetic insight, and a genuine poetic approach to 
 
 OLD BRADSTREET HOUSE. 
 North Andover, Massachusetts. 
 
 nature. A good specimen of this may be seen in the stanza 
 of Contemplations in praise of the grasshopper and the cricket. 
 Though much of her poetry has the characteristic religious 
 tone, Mrs. Bradstreet is distinguished from other New Eng 
 land verse writers by the fact that it was never her purpose to 
 inculcate doctrine. The mere pleasure of composition seems 
 to have been her greatest spur. Of her it has been well said 
 that she, " in some worthy sense, found in poetry a vocation." 
 
COTTON MATHER 
 
 17 
 
 Of the host of theologians who gave to the literature of 
 this period its character, two stand out preeminent Cotton 
 Mather and Jonathan Edwards. Both came of ministerial 
 stock; both were phenomenal children; both distinguished 
 themselves in their own calling and in others ; and both 
 exerted great influence among their people. 
 
 Cotton Mather (1663-1728). Cotton Mather was the third 
 and the greatest of the " Mather Dynasty " already referred 
 to, and is the first writer 
 mentioned in this book 
 who was born in Amer 
 ica. His father, In 
 crease, and both his 
 grandfathers, Richard 
 Mather and John Cot 
 ton, were ministers. 
 From childhood he was 
 famed for his learning 
 and piety ; he was 
 graduated from Har 
 vard at the age of fif 
 teen ; he began preach 
 ing at seventeen. He 
 knew Latin, Greek, 
 Hebrew, French, Span 
 ish, and Algonquin (an 
 Indian dialect) ; and he 
 published books in most 
 of these languages. He had the largest private library in 
 the New World, and was, apparently, acquainted with all it 
 contained. He was a tremendous worker, and by a legend 
 over his" study door invited visitors to waste no words. For 
 forty years he was connected with the North Church of 
 Boston as assistant pastor (to his father) and as pastor. 
 
 GRAVE OF COTTON MATHER. 
 In Copp s Hill Cemetery, Boston. 
 
18 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 From firm conviction he became a leader in the witchcraft 
 persecution, and set forth the grounds of his conviction in 
 several treatises. 
 
 We shall notice only two of the more than four hundred 
 works written by Mather. To his Essays to do Good Frank 
 lin attributed much of his own usefulness in life, a sufficient 
 evidence that it possessed real merit even for a practical 
 man. Mather s greatest work, and in many respects the 
 greatest of colonial America, is entitled: Magnolia Christi 
 Americana ; or, The Ecclesiastical History of Neiv England 
 from its First Planting in the year 1620, unto the Year of 
 Our Lord 1698. "A bulky thing," Mather appropriately 
 called it, for it fills over one thousand pages. A miscella 
 neous thing it might also be called ; for it contains history 
 of the colony, history of Harvard College, biographies of 
 governors and of ministers, church doctrine, a record of 
 church squabbles, and a collection of "remarkable mercies 
 and judgements." His main purpose in the Magnolia seems 
 to have been to make a final defense of the old order of 
 the rigorous Puritan religion which was already fast losing 
 its., power, and of the immense importance of the clergy, 
 who were beginning to find much of their power assumed by 
 civil officers. By this book he became more famous in 
 Europe for his learning than were any of his countrymen. 
 It is a storehouse of facts regarding the life of the people; 
 but as history it is not so dependable as are the writings of 
 Bradford and Winthrop. 
 
 Mather was a man of strong prejudices, and his learning 
 was ill-digested and ill-arranged. His great book is, more 
 over, unattractive to our day by reason of its style, which 
 was no accident, but deliberately cultivated by its author. 
 He followed what is known as the "fantastic " school of 
 literature, the distinguishing quality of which is a boastful 
 display of all sorts of learning. Scarcely a page in the 
 
COTTON MATHER 
 
 19 
 
 OLD NORTH CHURCH, BOSTON, 
 In the tower of which Paul Revere s lanterns were placed. 
 
 Magnolia but is burdened with unusual phraseology and 
 figures of speech, and with learned allusions to books, very 
 frequently in foreign languages. The " fantastic" school 
 had already had its day in Europe j with Mather it may be 
 said to have had its demise, 
 
20 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 With Mather passed away also the ascendency of the 
 clergy. His son Samuel, who succeeded him in the pastor 
 ate of the North Church, was forced by disaffection to leave 
 his charge and form a new organization of those who adhered 
 to him. Edwards, as we shall see, found also that a New 
 England congregation would no longer take its pastor s word 
 as law, but would discipline him just as he would discipline 
 
 a humble member. And 
 this changed state of 
 things lasted. The min 
 istry continued to be in 
 fluential and respected, 
 but never again occu 
 pied any such position 
 of power as it had 
 occupied throughout the 
 seventeenth century. 
 
 Jonathan Edwards 
 (1703-1758). Jona 
 than Edwards was a 
 theologian of the same 
 type as Mather, but a 
 man of much more 
 trustworthy knowledge. 
 Like Mather also he 
 was born old and a 
 preacher. His father was a preacher, as was his maternal 
 grandfather ; he himself married at the age of twenty-three 
 a preacher s daughter; and one of his daughters married 
 a preacher. On the face of things there would seem to 
 have been enough religion in the atmosphere in which he 
 lived, and the effect of this environment appeared early; 
 for when about ten years old, he set apart a retreat in a 
 near-by swamp for secret prayer. 
 
 JONATHAN EDWARDS. 
 
JONATHAN EDWARDS 
 
 21 
 
 After graduating from Yale at the age of seventeen, he 
 studied divinity ; and a few years later became a colleague 
 pastor of the Northampton church under his grandfather, 
 Mr. Stoddard. On the latter s death in 1729 Edwards 
 
 became pastor, and re- , , 
 
 mained in that position 
 twenty-one years. At 
 the end of that time a 
 disagreement arose be 
 tween pastor and people, 
 and he was dismissed by 
 an overwhelming vote. 
 He refused calls to Eng 
 land, to Virginia, and to 
 a new church to be com 
 posed of his Northamp 
 ton adherents, and went 
 as missionary to the 
 Indians in Stockbridge, 
 Massachusetts. Here for 
 seven years he conducted 
 a very successful work, 
 and found abundant time 
 for writing. In Septem 
 ber, 1757, he was elected 
 president of Princeton 
 College, and took up the 
 duties of this position 
 the following January. Smallpox was prevalent in the col 
 lege town when Edwards arrived ; he contracted the disease, 
 and died from it in March. 
 
 Edwards s chief claim to literary distinction is usually 
 said to rest on his philosophical treatise, On the freedom of 
 the Will, which had some influence on English as well as on 
 
 MEMORIAL TABLET TO EDWARDS. 
 In the church at Northampton. 
 
22 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 American thought. In spite of the almost universal praise 
 bestowed upon this work as a powerful piece of independ 1 
 ent thought, it has little real value to-day. Except fortf 
 theologians and metaphysicians, it can hardly be called a- 
 " readable " book. 
 
 His sermons, which exerted such wonderful influence whet 
 delivered, read very curiously in the twentieth century * 
 One is rather amused than edified by the fire and brimstone*; 
 theology in most of them. Some critics have said that tl^y, 
 real Edwards is not to be found in such discourses, but in 
 those which expound the Divine Love. If, however, there 
 is little sweetness and light and love in a sermon on 
 text "In my father s house are many mansions" 
 is at a loss where to look for it. What is th$ TOn^ ^x! 
 Edwardss sermon on this text ? , | 
 
 "You may be encouraged by what has been said, earnestly trj 
 seek -heaven ; for there are many mansions there. Therg..-** 
 enough there. . . . Let our young people, therefore, t^ 
 from hence, and don t be such fools as to neglect seekin 
 
 and mansion in heaven. . . . Consider when you die, 
 
 no mansion in the house of God in heaven, you must liavn ; >< 
 
 place of abode in the habitation of devils. 1 
 
 Edwards s most famous -discourse, and the one which, Ti 
 not thoroughly typical of him, is at least typical of tl ;i< 
 religion he believed and expounded, is Sinners in the Hands 
 of an Angry God. This was the beginning, we are told, of 
 a great religious revival, which lasted two years ; and of its 
 immediate effect : " There was such a breathing of distress 
 and weeping that the preacher was obliged to speak to the 
 people and desire silence, that he might be heard." Future 
 punishment was a theme often treated by him, and always 
 in very realistic style. In one of these sermons, Tlie Future 
 Punishment of the Wicked Unavoidable and Intolerable, be 
 ginning with the picture of a human being cast into a fiery 
 
EDUCATION IN THE COLONIES 
 
 23 
 
 oven for a quarter of an hour, lie works up to what he 
 . Jtended to be a terrific climax, and then adds : " But your 
 
 orment in hell will be immensely greater than this illus 
 tration represents." In another, .The Distinguishing Marks 
 of a Work of the Spirit of God, explaining, as it were, his 
 
 ^ntinual return to this topic, he says : " If I am in danger 
 
 going to hell, I should be glad to know as much as I 
 
 ossibly can of the dreadfulness of it." With an ever 
 
 CABLET COMMKMOKATING THK FIRST PUBLIC SCHOOL IN AMERICA. 
 holograph by courtesy of Julius H. Tattle, Esq., President of the 
 Dedhain Historical Society.) 
 
 present conviction of the intense wickedness of men, and 
 an equally strong conviction of the terrors of future punish 
 ment, he felt impelled to repeated warnings. His preach 
 ing aimed, it would seem, not so much to lead men to 
 eternal bliss as to save them from eternal torment. 
 
 Education in the Colonies. Since the literary activity of 
 the different colonies depended very largely on their educa 
 tional advantages, it is interesting to trace the development 
 of education among them. New England was settled in 
 
24 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 towns and villages, often by pastors with their flocks. 
 Large farms were not profitable, the Indians were hostile, 
 and family ties tended to keep the settlements compact. 
 No sooner was one well established than the meeting house 
 and schoolhouse were built. The preacher and the school 
 master were the most influential ptrsons in every com 
 munity. To provide for the education of the children was 
 as essential as to provide means of worship. In 1647 the 
 first school law in America was passed in Massachusetts, 
 
 HARVARD COLLEGE. 
 From an old print by Paul Revere. 
 
 requiring every town of fifty householders to establish a 
 school. By 1649 every New England colony excepting 
 Rhode Island had passed laws making education com 
 pulsory. 
 
 In the Southern colonies, on the other hand, the farms 
 were large and scattered, the Indians were less troublesome, 
 and there were few villages. Frequently even the county 
 court house stood by itself with only one or two dwellings 
 within miles. " The Virginia parishes were so extensive," 
 says Campbell in his History of Virginia, " that parishioners 
 
EDUCATION IN THE COLONIES 
 
 25 
 
 sometimes lived at a distance of fifty miles from the parish 
 church." By the very nature of things a system of schools 
 like that in New England was impossible. The people 
 grieved much because it could be said that their children 
 "were inferior in knowledge to their ancestors/ and pro 
 posed various methods for solving the problem. To make 
 
 OLDEST BUILDING OF WILLIAM AND MARY COLLEGE (FOUNDED 1693). 
 Part of the wall is left from the original structure, which was destroyed 
 
 by fire. 
 
 things still harder for them they were afflicted from 1641 to 
 1677 with Sir William Berkeley as a royal governor, whose 
 position as to education was expressed in these words : " I 
 thank God there are no free schools, nor printing presses ; 
 and I hope we shall not have, these hundred years, for 
 learning has brought disobedience and heresy, and sects 
 
w - *\ *>***&* ., w.^w-J^ foiBt * 
 
 TheBolton News-Letter. 
 
 Publiltiea by Authority. 
 
 March 6. to March v March 13. 
 
 irtnorprt People, indnftri. 
 (jttC "Killing to latent, ad vtrjr ingenian. Al- 
 inr ^ a u f orB ct Xrades are cmying on in ilv.ir 
 incredible ConcTOfi 
 
 y> ^ f) , 
 
 T, .*, WHAT, # K.r*. /W^/y v.V/ ttuittuJ , and feMrro faii of two* BfrtJft 
 
 Tht hun-.b 1 !: A.- .drtl^ of ;Hc Knc: c, Ci?!HnUid Pcq->le Contribute very liberally k>r their 4Uio 
 
 BuifCt tJ in Ptrlumcut Afitsiaic*. t-i-Mnrr and fettiencBt to it-- G<ticr4 CaJfeaj-j 
 
 My it pletft y> Majtfty, ir~n-t to i tx^ih^riW: S::in. W e iuvo aavici 
 
 ^ .^ : .^^,^ r **.&*?., ^*, 
 
 , frJS*h*i**ifa,^O* * - ^ fo i.v f (cr.-car nt thf tr t.ih H a o....:<^ -7n 
 
 ifrtfri; l-n, ifh, *hcr ,*,*{- ,, rvt/p rfc.i.-. Eae.fni. Ships DO-* Leading tofBoBOB. D i l 
 
 J r.tj m ii*<r tptrthtd : r*t in ^i! :;*:: r; fat 9t { , { ; t, i>ewx*> DfXrttt. Nigi.tingdle C.lf.t. Jfi^tfm 
 
 f*ml,-*t ntirtia tl.r Frt a tl !< Cv.lw.t . a ;/ ,. lr. Nt-K-YorJt Merchant Ljpt. 7t*r/ /</ 
 
 ,^ fcrW,r ,h P, ar ^.,h-, !*.; M-r- t ,,-^i ,.{,- ffif hTSew . Y?vi . J? 
 
 r- /. -," -;/:.,! p ;.-> ^ ..-, *- u>to /, X ,,j., 7 . A". 5. Lrttm fimm arm-f of 
 
 >""iT.", -. - : . r 7-. .v r,* 1 "- V^ .pJ- "., ..;" th-^th In*rj:H ?.-;vi(e, that hjs LK-ct-r.il lii^v 
 
 f, H"* j j- . -.-.-.Vr >.-.;* / ^ rfV^>i trr /> ;.- ncl> began his Jo.mier towards tht Jmperiii Xr 
 
 xW b.v i.-i /v- : . .fi * ; tft ttittiun i Ot mv on the Upper Rhine the Day bt:<:te. [hcf 
 
 tM,ni ,-.< ,-..:-, ; - .-7 <,-, ,w O,- itufaut tx \n -tt &oiii Sfrj^spif. that it i$ ezpcded the F-i->vt> 
 
 titt Jr-i ,,-.. __ _ AniT w:ii rcpa!the Rjiineai faon as the Jirrj>e-. 
 
 * - amp. They 
 
 ; arrival ot the Hector of Hjn-^f lu the Ar> 
 mr. The French kp er<nr Numt>er at wjrfc o 
 t!v_:r Lin behind the Lmtr to prevent the Ir- 
 
 t!J - n ^crnr Conntrr vr rieir ovn nfe. Wbta 
 
 tiiics ;V A great many of" the U-ira ir.-ird Men hire thefe A-ricei wrre (iifpitched, the Marihtt iTfitr. 
 
 been re* CJoatrfd 1 , *nd rait in Hojrd Hc-r Maje- <^w wa< jtiil arrived at Sfathtutt and had girta 
 
 ft : S : iip", of War, tj be trained up in N ivi^at; ,a the neceiiarv Orders o: h:s Jnfi ,rr\- ta be TraoP 
 
 T!ic CoftuniiTioficrs arc iciKinj; <;c; Fa.niiies to p-^rted to the Liiv.-s of Lauttrtwg. It it report* 
 
 ] c*uv] to be frtt!cJ there ^ wi;iih m:ir prove a ed rrorn the Fr- :r;.rs t nr 1:1 the ASion Rear G>- 
 
 verv pn-per Mctlioti in a Ihcrt ti;nr to Ojrrote /-.-ru tile tne:n.* k-.t twelve hundred Menj after 
 
 rousin that Kii^im. Jt is (ii>! ar.-r:thr part of CwwAr-ry, whicli I jacc not being ia condition 
 
 them will be rctt;-.\i a:.>: r ti-e C -uit^ of A"->-//{ S 1 /- frr a Defence, the Gariloji retired and marched 
 
 ten. The Lords IV jiruters of tt>c!a have 111- to the Cunp near S-irrcaar. The Ichabitarts of 
 
 vltd thtm upon vcr> acwr.raccr.us Terms td ft-t- the Cou:itrr are in a general Confteniation * 
 
 tie there, bat as it would etrtfunlr \x more benefi- fiv in Cr.n^s to Oremtlt. All Perfons of di!tiiv 
 
 cial to this Kation, and C^rrcMpondcnt with die ^iori in thofe Parts are & much alarmed at th 
 
 bt KatiiralizatioB Act, upon which foundation approach ot the Imperial Forces, dot they remo 
 
 they came over, to fettle here .- it is under Con- their trTeds beyorxi tic Khone. 
 fideration how to cifpofe of them Ib as that with- Tmrtuy J*rt$ 17: A . S. On TadSar, Ge- 
 
 cot being any burthen to the Sug^i, the^ may be neral review is to be made ot our Arrav ; aoa 
 
 wit into a Capacity of maintaining thcmielves.jnd o doubt, if the War continues, we fliall endea* 
 
 EncreaCng the Wealth and Trade of thcfe KicR- votir to i>tr.ctr: - into France. General Schulem. 
 
 doaiv In the mean time they dwell with their berg w!:v- :; Maftet of the Conntetfcirp in 4 
 
 FaaiiUea in Toitj en Btack-heath aivd adjacent Ea- : % i- . 
 
 farts. Her Majtfty aUows thwi upwards of an 4*/Yi, . " * Hb Eoellency the El 
 
 hundred and futy Pounfls fer day, which with c r GJ ;vr . -i^erortiT ill of th Gout, 
 
 hit jr lit: -. " 
 
 BOSTON NEWS-LETTER. 
 
 The first periodical in America that enjoyed a long life. 
 (New York Public Library.) 
 
PERIODICAL LITERATURE 
 
 27 
 
 into the world, and printing has divulged them, and libels 
 against the best government. God keep us from both," 
 
 In the middle colonies New Jersey was the first (1693) 
 to provide public schools. New York and Pennsylvania had 
 only private schools until after the Revolution. 
 
 In 1636 Massachusetts provided for the establishment at 
 Newtown (Cambridge) of a college, which was later called 
 Harvard, in grateful re 
 membrance of the liber 
 ality of a preacher, John 
 Harvard. The other col 
 leges established before 
 1758 were : William and 
 Mary, in 1693; Yale, 
 in 1700 ; Princeton, in 
 1746 ; the University of 
 Pennsylvania, in 1749 ; 
 Columbia, in 1754. 
 Many of the colonists, 
 especially those in the 
 South, sent their sons to 
 England to be educated. 
 It is said that at a time 
 before 1700 one person 
 out of every two hundred 
 in New England was a 
 graduate of the English 
 Cambridge, and that 
 
 OLD SOUTH CHURCH, BOSTON. 
 Besides serving for many years as a 
 meeting-house, Old South was the scene of 
 there were many Oxford many momentous town meetings in the 
 men besides. years just preceding the Revolution. 
 
 Periodical Literature. Periodical literature in America 
 began with PuUick Occurrences, one issue of which appeared 
 in Boston in 1690. It was announced to be published 
 monthly "or oftener " ; but the contents of the first number 
 
28 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 displeased the authorities, and it was suppressed within 
 twenty-four hours. The Boston News-Letter, begun in 1704, 
 held the field alone for fifteen years, after which rivals 
 sprang up rapidly. The most important of these early 
 journals were : the Boston Gazette, and the American Weekly 
 Mercury of Philadelphia (both 1719); the New England 
 Courant (by James Franklin, brother of Benjamin, 1721) ; 
 the New York Gazette (1725); the Boston Evening Post 
 (1735); and a second Boston Gazette (1755). 1 John Adams 
 was a contributor to the last named, and it became a strong 
 "voice of the people" against England. After this date 
 other papers followed rapidly, and for a long time contented 
 themselves with simply publishing news items and adver 
 tisements, abstaining carefully from anything that resem 
 bled an editorial opinion. Most of them were weeklies, 
 and were very diminutive sheets. 
 
 Monthly journals, with distinctly literary pretensions, 
 began with Franklin s The General Magazine (Philadelphia, 
 1741). Of its many followers during the next twenty years 
 the most noteworthy were The American Magazine (Boston, 
 1743), The Independent Reflector (New York, 1752), and a 
 second American Magazine (Philadelphia, 1757). 
 
 1 The earlier Gazette ,had been absorbed by the News-Letter, the pro- 
 British organ in New England. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 FROM FRANKLIN TO IRVING, 1758-1809 
 
 Introduction. In the year 1758 Jonathan Edwards, the 
 last of the great colonial theologians, died. As we noted in 
 writing of Mather, the 
 ascendency of the 
 clergy was already on 
 the wane ; and Edwards 
 was the last of that call 
 ing who strove to main 
 tain the dictatorship it 
 had possessed. 
 
 An event of far more 
 importance to letters 
 than the death of Ed 
 wards was the appear 
 ance in the same year 
 of " the most famous 
 piece of literature the 
 colonies produced." 
 This was Franklin s The 
 Way to Wealth, or, Pref 
 ace to Poor Richard Im 
 proved, better known 
 perhaps as " Father 
 Abraham s Speech." Its 
 particular significance 
 in the chronology of our literature lies in the fact that it 
 is the first notable piece of writing of the first American to 
 obtain recognition abroad. 
 
 29 
 
 BUST OF FRANKLIN. 
 By Houdon, noted French sculptor. 
 
30 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Rise of Political Literature. Although The Way to 
 Wealth is not quite typical of the literary productions of 
 this period, the author is typical of the writers in that most 
 of his life and writing were devoted to the gaining of inde 
 pendence and the establishment of the Republic. The 
 literature of the preceding period was chiefly either leisurely 
 records of current events (in the South), or vigorous reli 
 gious discussions (in New England). The former dealt 
 with existing conditions only, and was satisfied with them. 
 The latter represented an aspiration for improvement, but 
 only in the direction of a future life. On the other hand, 
 the men we are now to study became convinced that the 
 government under which they lived was unjust; and they 
 devoted the best energies of their pens and voices toward 
 breaking away from this government, and creating a new 
 one and a new society on altogether new principles. Their 
 concern was to better their circumstances in this earthly life. 
 
 The new style of writing was the natural expression of 
 a feeling of nationality which had previously been lacking. 
 Henry s " I am not a Virginian, but an American, 7 found 
 an echo in thousands of hearts in every colony. Thomas 
 Paine speaks of the wrongs under which, not Pennsylvania, 
 but " this continent," labors. Hamilton vindicates the title 
 to freedom, not of New Yorkers, but of " Americans." Otis 
 pleads for redress, not for Massachusetts alone, but for "all 
 his Majesty s most loyal and affectionate British-American 
 subjects." Different as were the motives and aims of the 
 settlers in the various colonies, they had now come to realize 
 that their common interests were far greater than any 
 interest binding a single colony to the mother country. 
 
 By far the greatest part of this period s literary expres 
 sion took the simple and popular forms of oratory, political 
 pamphlets and essays, and patriotic poems. Before the 
 end of the century, however, we find our first dramatist 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 31 
 
 (Godfrey), our first poet worthy of the name (Freneau), 
 and our first novelist (Brown). Joining these three names 
 with that of Franklin, we perceive that in addition to 
 founding a new nation, the last half of the eighteenth cen 
 tury began also a new literature destined, before another 
 half century had passed, to take an honorable place among 
 the literatures of the world. 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 1706-1790 
 
 Franklin s own story of his life down to 1757 is one of 
 the great biographies of the world. Written in the form of 
 a letter to his son, for the latter and his descendants only, 
 and with no thought of publication, it has found a secure 
 place among the world s 
 classics. It is a simple 
 straightforward account 
 of the author s rise by 
 his own efforts from 
 " poverty and obscurity 
 ... to a state of afflu 
 ence and some degree of 
 celebrity in the world." 
 
 Early Life. He was 
 born in Boston, the 
 fifteenth of seventeen 
 children of his father, 
 of whom ten were by 
 a second wife, Abiah 
 Folger, daughter of a 
 New England preacher 
 who distinguished him- 
 self somewhat by his 
 
 advocacv of religions 
 advocacy .ngious 
 
 toleration. Add to the 
 
 FRANKLIN S BIRTHPLACE IN MILK 
 STREET, BOSTON. 
 
 At the age of seventeen Benjamin ran 
 > and from that time hig home wag in 
 
 Philadelphia. 
 
32 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 size of the family the fact that Franklin s father was a 
 candle maker, and the " poverty and obscurity " of his 
 situation will be readily understood. After two years at 
 school Benjamin was taken at the age of ten to help his 
 father. He disliked the business ; and his father, fearing 
 that the boy would yield to a strong "hankering" for the 
 
 sea, decided to put him 
 in some line of work 
 that would please him 
 better. His great 
 fondness for books 
 prompted his father 
 to apprentice him to 
 his brother James, a 
 printer. 
 
 After some dis 
 agreements with his 
 employer, Benjamin, 
 then seventeen years 
 old, ran away to ]N"ew 
 York. Finding no 
 work there, he pro 
 ceeded on the advice 
 of an acquaintance to 
 Philadelphia, which 
 city was to be his 
 home for the rest of 
 his life, and with whose history his own was to be in 
 separably connected. One of his familiar and humorous 
 stories is that of his first promenade up Market Street, eat 
 ing a loaf of dry bread, and carrying a loaf under each arm. 
 Miss Read, his future wife, saw him, " and thought I made," 
 says he, "as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous 
 appearance." He worked with one Keimer for a time ; and 
 
 FRANKLIN S PRINTING PRESS. 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 33 
 
 becoming known as a good workman, was led by Governoi 
 Keith to go to England in order to secure equipment for a 
 shop of his own which would do the government printing. 
 In London Keith s name proved of no value, and Franklin 
 was obliged to seek work at his trade for support. He was 
 very successful at this, and attained great distinction as 
 the " Water-American " 
 among the beer-drinking 
 English printers, who 
 marveled that he was 
 stronger than they. 
 After eighteen months 
 in London, he sailed for 
 
 in 
 
 July, 
 
 Philadelphia 
 1726. 
 
 Part in Public Affairs. 
 Again engaging in 
 the printing business, he 
 purchased three years 
 later The Pennsylvania 
 Gazette. His influence, 
 always for good, in 
 creased. He formed a 
 number of his most 
 substantial friends into 
 a society called the 
 " Junto " which de 
 veloped into the American Philosophical Society. With the 
 aid of the Junto he started his "first project of a public 
 nature that for a subscription library, the mother of all 
 the North American subscription libraries." In 1749 he 
 was the moving spirit in the foundation of an academy, 
 which six years later received a charter raising it to col 
 legiate grade, and subsequently became the University of 
 
 PORTRAIT OF FRANKLIN BY DUPLESSIS. 
 The subject s favorite of the 600 like 
 nesses of himself which had come under 
 his notice. 
 
34 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Pennsylvania. Among other results of his activity for the 
 public good were the paving of the Philadelphia streets, the 
 organization of a regular police force and a fire department, 
 and the establishment of a state militia. 
 
 After 1748 he took no active part in business, " having 
 taken a very able, industrious, and honest partner," who 
 managed the concern successfully for eighteen years. By 
 this move " I flattered myself," says Franklin, " that I had 
 found leisure during the rest of my life for philosophical 
 studies and amusements ; but the public laid hold of me for 
 their purposes." He was appointed or elected magistrate, 
 councilman, assemblyman, postmaster-general, delegate to 
 the Albany Congress in 1754, 1 colonial agent in England 
 and in France, member of the Second Continental Congress, 
 and member of the Constitutional Convention. He has the 
 distinction of being the only man who signed the four most 
 important documents of our country, the Declaration of 
 Independence, the Treaty of Alliance with France, the 
 Treaty of Peace with England, and the Constitution. 
 
 It is interesting to note that, though Franklin s services to 
 the colonies were inestimable, he was out of the country 
 during the war and during the greater part of the twenty 
 years preceding it. From 1757 to 1762 he represented 
 Pennsylvania in England ; from 1764 to 1775, Pennsylvania, 
 New Jersey, Massachusetts, and Georgia ; and from 1776 to 
 1783 he was ambassador to France from the United States 
 of America. He was uniformly and eminently successful 
 in every public office he held, and on his foreign missions 
 achieved great social triumphs. On his return to Pennsyl 
 vania in 1785 he was chosen governor of the state, and two 
 
 1 Franklin drew up a plan of union, which was rejected by the colonies 
 because " there was too much prerogative in it," and by the mother 
 country because there was "too much of the democratic" Autobiog 
 raphy, Chap. X. 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 35 
 
 years later was an influential member of the body that 
 framed the Constitution. This was his last public service, 
 and was performed faithfully despite the fact that he was 
 not only in poor health, incident to old age, but was suffer 
 ing constant, severe pain. 
 
 " Whilst the last members were signing " [the Constitu 
 tion], says James Madison, 1 "Doctor Franklin, looking 
 towards the president s chair, at the back of which a rising 
 sun happened to be painted, observed to a few members near 
 him, that painters had found it difficult to distinguish in 
 their art, a rising, from a setting sun. I have, said he, 
 often and often, in the course of the session, arid the 
 vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue, looked at 
 that behind the President without being able to tell whether 
 it was rising or setting ; but now at length, I have the 
 happiness to know, that it is a rising, and not a setting sun. " 
 The sun of Franklin s life, on the contrary, was approaching 
 its setting ; and the end came April 17, 1790, a month before 
 the last state signed the Constitution. At his death Congress 
 went into mourning for one month, and the French Assembly 
 addressed a letter of condolence to the American people. 
 
 First Literary Efforts. The above outline of Franklin s 
 life gives little hint of why he has a place in literature, and 
 no writings of his have been mentioned except the Auto 
 biography and The Way to Wealth. He was, however, a 
 voluminous writer, and on a wide range of subjects. His 
 first publications appeared while he was still a boy (1722) 
 a series of fourteen letters written to his brother James s 
 newspaper, signed " Silence Dogood." The substance of 
 them was inspired by Mather s essays, 2 and the style by 
 Addison s Spectator. 
 
 " Mrs. Dogood " introduces herself in the first papers as a 
 
 1 In his Journal of the Constitutional Convention. 
 - See above, page 18. 
 
36 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 "courteous and affable, good-humored and handsome, and 
 sometimes witty " widow, not unwilling to change her state, 
 " an enemy to vice, . . . jealous for the liberties of my country," 
 and inclined " to reprove the faults of others " ; and then 
 proceeds to satirize some of the foibles and vices of the town 
 (Boston). She ridicules pride, popular poetry, hypocrites, 
 fanciful philanthropic schemes, drunkenness, and so on. 
 These papers are important to us chiefly as showing how 
 early Franklin acquired something of the simplicity and 
 purity of style, the characteristic humor, and the interest in 
 matters of more than personal importance which marked 
 his whole career. 
 
 The Dogood Papers, however, reached no great audience 
 and probably had little influence. Nor can more be said of 
 the Busy-Body pieces written in 1729, for the express pur 
 pose of driving an unfair competitor out of business. This 
 they accomplished, but they show no advance in literary 
 merit over their predecessors. Though Franklin continued 
 to write under his own as well as under various assumed 
 names and on a variety of subjects, big and little, it was not 
 until the appearance of his Almanac that he became some 
 thing of an influence in the colony. 
 
 "Poor Richard s Almanac." Begun in 1732, under the 
 name of " Richard Saunders," the Almanac circulated largely, 
 made money for its author, and was thought to have " its 
 share of influence," says Franklin, " in producing that grow 
 ing plenty of money which was observable for several years 
 after its publication." This was due, doubtless, to the 
 proverbs or maxims scattered through the book, being 
 " chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality." While 
 in substance they were the world s wisdom and not 
 Franklin s, it was in his phraseology that they became cur 
 rent ; and no one should feel any hesitation in calling them 
 original, a term, which, as Lowell observes, "is never 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 37 
 
 nm 
 
 Poor RICHARD improved : 
 
 BEING AN 
 
 ALMANACK 
 
 E P 
 
 absolute." The proverbs, scattered through the issues of 
 the Almanac for sixteen years, obtained still greater currency 
 through their collection in the preface of 1758, the " Father 
 Abraham s Speech " 
 mentioned above. It 
 is in this form also 
 that they have be 
 come so familiar to 
 the succeeding gen 
 erations. Almost 
 any American boy or 
 girl of a dozen years 
 can finish, "Early to 
 bed and . . . ," "A 
 small leak will . . .," 
 " Constant dropping 
 . . . ," " Experience 
 keeps a dear school 
 but ... " 
 
 It would be im 
 possible to give in 
 our small space quo 
 tations or summaries 
 adequately charac- 
 terizing the body of 
 Franklin s writings. 
 One of the many 
 collections of his 
 manuscripts, that of 
 the American Phil 
 osophical Society, 
 numbers 13,000 doc 
 uments, " compris 
 ing," says Professor 
 
 AND 
 
 H E M E R I S 
 
 O F T H E 
 
 MOTIONS of the SUN and MOON; 
 
 THE TRUE 
 
 PLACES and ASPECTS of the PLANETS ; 
 
 THE 
 RISING and SETTING of the SUN 
 
 AND THE 
 
 Rifing, Setting and Southing of the Moon, 
 
 FOR THE 
 
 YEAR of our L O R D I 7 5 8: 
 
 Being the Second after LEAP-YEAR. 
 
 Containing alfo, 
 
 The lunations, Conjunctions, Eclipfes, Judg 
 ment of th Weather, Rifing and Setting of rhe 
 Planets, Length of Days and Nights, Fairs, Courts, 
 Roads, fr . Together with ufeful Tables, chro- 
 nologicalObfervations, and entertaining Remarks. 
 
 the Latitude of Forty Dsgrees, and a Meridian of near 
 flve Hours Wft from London ; but may, without fen C We Error, 
 fervaall the NORTH2* * COLONIES. 
 
 By RLCHARD SOUNDERS, Philom. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 Printed and Sold by B. FRANKLIN, and D. HALL. 
 
 TITLE-PAGE OF Poor Richard s Almanac FOR 
 1758, the Issue in which Poor Richard s " Say 
 ings " were first collected. 
 (Courtesy of the Library of Congress.) 
 
/" C 
 
 ->du:^2l ^ 
 
 Tj^esr- 
 
 X^^ ^ 
 
 FACSIMILE OF A LETTER OF FRANKLIN S WHICH WAS NEVER SENT. 
 (Library of Congress.) 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 39 
 
 Smyth, " a correspondence carried on in nine languages with 
 all the world, and dealing with every theory of philosophy 
 and every scheme of politics familiar and unfamiliar in the 
 eighteenth century." 1 
 
 Political Writings. Of his many political pieces the 
 Causes of the American Discontents before 1768 is an excellent 
 example of Franklin s serious vein, and the Edict of the 
 King of Prussia of his satiric. In the former, professing to 
 write as "an impartial historian of American facts and 
 opinions," he cites as causes of the unfortunate conditions 
 in America: first, the various forms of taxation following 
 the repeal of the Stamp Act; second, the restrictions on the 
 colonists trade; third, the multiplicity of obnoxious offi 
 cials ; and lastly, the emptying of British prisons into the 
 settlements. 2 It was not published in London exactly as 
 written ; indeed Franklin wrote to his son that the editor 
 had " drawn the teeth and pared the nails of my paper so 
 that it can neither scratch nor bite." 
 
 In the Edict the Prussian monarch is represented as lay 
 ing claim to Britain, and making demands for long-neglected 
 tribute and acknowledgment of Prussia s authority over the 
 island. These demands " will be thought just and reason 
 able " by the " colonists " in Britain, says he, since they are 
 in accord with numerous statutes of Parliament, and with 
 " resolutions of both houses, entered into for the good gov 
 ernment of their own colonies in Ireland and America" 
 (Italics are Franklin s.) The Edict, published in a London 
 magazine, was accepted by many for a time as genuine, and 
 occasioned great indignation ; but discovery of its real char 
 acter produced no effect in Britain beyond a recognition of 
 
 1 Writings of Benjamin Franklin, I, viii. 
 
 2 This refers to the practice of sending prisoners to America as inden 
 tured servants i.e. each bound to a master for a specified term of 
 years. 
 
40 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 its justice by some far-seeing minds, and a general conviction 
 that America meant tight. 
 
 Lighter Works. Most readers agree that when Franklin 
 had as his chief aim in writing, not to gain some practical 
 end, but merely to entertain, he is not altogether success 
 ful. Of the inconsiderable number of pieces of this type, 
 The Whistle is perhaps the favorite. This is a letter to 
 Madame Brillon, a clever Frenchwoman, whose family were 
 great admirers of Franklin, and were never weary of enter 
 taining and being entertained and instructed by the Ameri 
 can ambassador. The WJiistle, based on a boyhood experience 
 of the writer when he gave- four times its worth for an 
 instrument of torment to his household, is a humorous 
 moral discourse on bad bargains. 
 
 The work of Franklin the scientist is too well known to 
 call for much remark. It seems sufficient to give the 
 evidence of the value put upon his discoveries, especially in 
 electricity, by the learned world. Yale and Harvard con 
 ferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts ; the univer 
 sities of Oxford, Edinburgh, and Saint Andrews, that of 
 Doctor of Laws ; he was made a Fellow of the Royal Society 
 without application by him a very unusual proceeding 
 and without payment of fees ; and the Copley gold medal, 
 conferred annually for the most important discovery in 
 natural philosophy, was awarded to him in 1753. 
 
 From even this brief sketch it can be seen that, whether 
 viewed as author, scientist, statesman, or practical business 
 man, Franklin fills a large place in the history of our coun 
 try. One is inclined to doubt whether with fewer occupa 
 tions he would have made a greater name in literature. He 
 wrote less effectively, because less naturally, when he had 
 not some practical object in mind, such as inculcating indus 
 try and frugality in his neighbors, or inspiring his descend 
 ants by the story of his life, or presenting the colonial view 
 
JAMES OTIS 41 
 
 of things to the mother country. Since the vast majority of 
 his writings, however, had these practical objects, it is fair 
 to judge and place him by them. The distinguished Eng 
 lish critic, Matthew Arnold, said to New England audiences 
 as late as 1884, that Franklin and Emerson are " the most 
 distinctively and honourably American of your writers ; 
 they are the most original and the most valuable." 
 
 THE ORATORS 
 
 It has been noted that oratory was one of the chief liter 
 ary forms of the Revolution. The fact is not surprising. 
 " Times that try men s souls " are likely to find expression 
 by word of mouth. Moreover, the colonists were deeply in 
 terested in the literature produced in Parliament, and natu 
 rally gave more time and thought to the speeches of Burke 
 and Fox than to the writings of Goldsmith and Johnson. 
 The stately and measured style of the orators of this period 
 clearly shows that they followed English models. Massa 
 chusetts and Virginia held the leadership in this field. The 
 conspicuous names in Massachusetts are James Otis, Samuel 
 and John Adams, Dr. Joseph Warren, John Hancock, and 
 Josiah Quincy. Of these Otis was the first in time, the 
 most striking figure, and may be taken as typical of the 
 New Englanders. 
 
 James Otis (1725-1783). Otis s part in the development 
 of the spirit of American independence covers a short time, 
 but is of great importance. Though we can hardly say, 
 with John Adams, that "American independence was born" 
 when Otis delivered his most famous speech, we must 
 admit that both his example and his words carried great 
 weight with the people, not only of Massachusetts, but of 
 all the colonies. Otis was a Harvard graduate, who studied 
 law and began to practice in Plymouth. At the age of 
 
42 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 twenty-five he moved to Boston, and immediately took a 
 high place in his profession. He became Advocate-General 
 of the Crown, but resigned in 1761 because he would not 
 defend the writs of assistance a duty belonging to the 
 office. He was thereupon chosen to assist in the attack on 
 ^_^^__^^______^______ them, and it is upon 
 
 fragmentary reports of 
 his speech on that 
 occasion that his fame 
 as an orator largely 
 rests. 
 
 These writs were 
 search-warrants, origi 
 nally issued, as Otis 
 shows, to specified 
 officials, giving them 
 authority to search 
 specified houses for 
 certain specified goods 
 suspected of being con 
 cealed. The objection 
 raised by the colonists 
 was to the issuance of 
 a writ to any petty 
 officer, who might give 
 or sell it to any indi 
 vidual, who might 
 search the house of any 
 
 other individual against whom he might have a grievance or 
 even a grudge. The fragment of Otis s speech left to us con 
 tains one clause that has passed into a proverb : " A man s 
 house is his castle." The legal argument is convincing, the 
 character of the man is attractive, the English is that of a 
 cultured Massachusetts gentleman. If we fail to be ditz- 
 
 OLD STATE HOUSE, BOSTON. 
 
 It dates from 1748, and its outer walls 
 
 from 1712. The lion and unicorn of the 
 
 British arms remain at the corners of 
 
 the roof. 
 
PATRICK HENRY 
 
 43 
 
 zled by the "flame of fire" (Adams s phrase describing Otis 
 before the Court), we must recall that all oratory loses when 
 committed to ink and paper, and that in this instance we 
 have the additional difficulty of judging a five-hour speech 
 by a ten-minute fragment. 
 
 Of Southern orators the most distinguished were John 
 Rutledge and Chief Justice Drayton, of South Carolina, and 
 Edmund Randolph, Richard Henry Lee, and Patrick Henry, 
 of Virginia. Of these Patrick Henry was easily the great 
 est, considered strictly as an orator. 
 
 Patrick Henry (1736-1799). Henry received a meager 
 education, and failed at farming and " store keeping." At 
 
 ST. JOHN S CHURCH, RICHMOND. 
 
 Where Henry delivered his famous speech before the Virginia Con 
 vention. The church was built in 1740, and some tombstones in the yard 
 date back to 1751. 
 
44 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the age of twenty-four he studied law for a short time, and 
 was admitted to the bar on the understanding with the exam 
 iners that he would shortly " learn some essential points." 
 He soon attained success and popularity as a lawyer, and in 
 1765 was elected to the House of Burgesses. During his 
 first year in that body he became conspicuous by a speech 
 
 INTERIOR OF ST. JOHN S. 
 
 The Henry pew (just forward of the window on the left) is marked by 
 
 a brass plate placed by the Old Dominion Chapter of the Daughters of the 
 
 Kevolution in 1910. 
 
 against the Stamp Act, which concludes with the familiar 
 " Caesar had his Brutus " passage. Ten years later, in the 
 Virginia convention, held in old St. John s Church, Rich 
 mond, he delivered what was probably his greatest speech, 
 reaching its climax in the sentiment not by any means gen 
 eral at the time : " I know riot what course others may take ; 
 but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! " 
 
THOMAS PAINE 45 
 
 This speech has been called Henry s individual declara 
 tion of war. It resulted in the unanimous adoption of reso 
 lutions he offered, and in his appointment as chairman of the 
 committee to provide means of defense for the colony. Other 
 honors conferred upon him were several terms in the legis 
 lature and five as governor. He declined a sixth term as 
 governor, election to the United States Senate, a. place in 
 Washington s Cabinet, the chief-justiceship of the Supreme 
 Court, and appointment by John Adams as minister to 
 France. The last five years of his life were spent in re 
 tirement. 
 
 Thomas Paine (1737-1809). With the orators should be 
 classified the political pamphleteers, of whom the most in- 
 ^fluential during the Revolution was Thomas Paine, an 
 Englishman and a Quaker, who, after a checkered career at 
 home, landed in Philadelphia on the eve of the war, Novem 
 ber 30, 1774. He brought letters of introduction from 
 Franklin, and rapidly made friends. 
 
 In less than thirteen months after his arrival he pub 
 lished anonymously Common Sense, a vigorous presentation 
 of the American cause, which is credited by some with large 
 influence on the Declaration of Independence six months 
 afterwards. " A government of our own is our natural 
 right," wrote Paine. " I challenge the warmest advocate 
 for reconciliation to show a single advantage that this con 
 tinent can reap by being connected with Great Britain." 
 " Since nothing but blows will do, for God s sake let us come 
 to a final separation." Though comparatively few colonial 
 leaders had been prepared a year earlier to follow Henry to 
 " liberty or death," Paine s pamphlet roused the rank and 
 file of the people from Massachusetts to Georgia. Within 
 three months a number of editions, amounting to over 
 100,000 copies, had been printed and circulated in America. 
 " A wonderful production " " a masterly, irresistible per- 
 
46 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 formance " the writer " deserves a statue of gold " " in 
 unison with the sentiments and feelings of the people": 
 such phrases give some idea of the reception accorded 
 this radical expression of anti-British feeling. 
 
 Paine followed Common Sense with a series of sixteen 
 
 PAINE S HOMESTEAD AT NEW ROCHELLE, NEW YORK. 
 
 New York State gave him the farm of 275 acres, Pennsylvania gave him 
 
 $2500, Congress $3800. The house was moved in 1910 to a spot within a 
 
 few yards of Paine s grave and monument. 
 
 papers called TJie Crisis. The first number, beginning with 
 "These are the times that try men s souls" another 
 American proverb to be placed with Otis s quoted above, 
 was written during the disorderly retreat of the army across 
 New Jersey in December, 1776. It was by no means de- 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 47 
 
 liberately argumentative as was his first production ; and it 
 descends in places to hot-headed invective, as, for instance, 
 when he compares George III to a " common murderer, a 
 highwayman, or a house-breaker." But in the words of 
 Woodrow Wilson, it " swung men to its humor," as did the 
 succeeding papers, which appeared at irregular intervals to 
 the close of the war in 1783. " His infallible instinct for 
 interpreting to the public its own conscience and its own 
 consciousness," says Tyler, was the secret of his power. 
 He served the country well in the field, and obtained sup 
 plies and a large loan from France at a critical hour. His 
 greatest service, however, to the cause of independence was 
 with his pen, from which, under the most adverse conditions, 
 including poverty, came stirring and inspiring words that 
 went straight to their goal the hearts of his adopted 
 countrymen. 
 
 George Washington (1732-1799). Of the life of the great 
 leader and first president of the republic no account is 
 needed here. The life of Washington is the history of our 
 country from the meeting of the first Continental Congress 
 in 1774 to his death. The niche he fills in our literature is 
 a much smaller one. 
 
 He was, said Patrick Henry, the greatest man in the 
 Congress of 1774 in " solid information and sound judg 
 ment," both of which qualities appear in his writings. 
 These comprise only a large correspondence and state 
 papers, of which the best known and in most respects the 
 best done is the Farewell Address to his countrymen on leav 
 ing the presidency. His high conception of duty and his 
 devotion to it, his modesty, his sublime trust in God, the 
 unquestionable purity of his motives these qualities also 
 stand out clearly. The First Inaugural is a wise handling 
 of a difficult subject, for which he had no model or prec 
 edent. His Legacy, a circular letter addressed to the 
 
48 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 governors of the states on disbanding the army, and written 
 with the expectation of retiring permanently to the repose 
 
 of Mount Vernon, gives 
 
 his "final blessing" to 
 the country, to which 
 he had already given 
 his best thought and 
 energies. 
 
 Washington was 
 among the first to as 
 sert the right of the 
 colonies to self-govern 
 ment. Possessing great 
 power of self-control, 
 he may mislead his 
 reader into supposing 
 he was not a man of 
 strong feeling. But 
 we have a fragment of 
 a speech delivered in 
 the Virginia Conven 
 tion of 1774 which 
 shows a fire seldom 
 found in him except by 
 reading between the 
 lines. When the suf 
 ferings of Boston under 
 the enforcement of the 
 Port Bill were brought 
 out, Washington rose 
 and said: "I will raise 
 a thousand men, sub 
 sist them at my own expense, and march with them, at 
 their head, for the relief of Boston." 
 
 HOUDON S WASHINGTON. 
 In the rotunda of the State Capitol at 
 Richmond, Va.; believed by many to be 
 the best representation of the statesman. 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 49 
 
 ^r^yg 
 
 ^^^^^X-^ 
 
 ^^^g^^^x^^U^.^^^ 
 
 FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF WASHINGTON S Farewell Address. 
 
 Showing the extensive revision to which the whole was subjected. 
 
 (New York Public Library.) 
 
50 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Without the simplicity and homely wit of Franklin, with 
 out the force of Paine or the oratorical power of Henry, 
 Washington s writings show a dignity, poise, and honesty 
 which can never fail to attract the serious reader. They 
 reveal, moreover, a singularly pure and beautiful character. 
 
 MOUNT VERNON. 
 
 Washington s home on the Potomac near the Capital. It was named in 
 
 honor of Admiral Vernon by Lawrence Washington, George s brother, 
 
 and came into George s possession by bequest in 1752. 
 
 which has stood the supreme test of a century of unim- 
 passioned research and examination. 
 
 Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826). Another statesman of 
 the Revolution who is entitled to a place in our literature 
 is Thomas Jefferson. Like Otis, and unlike Henry, Paine, 
 and Washington, Jefferson was a college-bred man, having 
 been graduated from William and Mary at the age of 
 seventeen. Nine years later he began his public career 
 as a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses, and for 
 
THOMAS JEFFERSON 
 
 -51 
 
 the succeeding forty years (to the end of his second term as 
 President) he was prominent and influential in both state 
 and national affairs. From 1809 till his death he lived 
 quietly on his beautiful estate called Monticello, a few 
 miles from Charlottesville, subsequently the seat of the 
 University of Virginia. The achievements of which he 
 
 MONTICELLO, HOME OF JEFFERSON. 
 
 Built after a plan of his own. It "remains to this day the confessed 
 architectural triumph of a dreamer scarcely beyond his youth." (J. S. 
 
 Patton.) 
 
 was proud are indicated by the inscription on his tomb, 
 written by himself : " Author of the Declaration of Ameri 
 can Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for Eeligious 
 Freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia." 
 
 When Jefferson entered the Continental Congress in 1775, 
 he already had some reputation as a writer and scholar. 
 He was appointed on committees to prepare documents for 
 
52 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the body, and a year after its assembling he was made a 
 member of the committee of five to prepare " a Declara 
 tion?" John Adams and Jefferson were designated a sub- 
 committee to draft it, and Adams insisted that the Virginian 
 was the man to do the writing. Adams late in life spoke 
 slightingly (if not cjfrjpmptuously) of the Declaration, 
 
 _ especially of its lack of 
 
 originality. As has, 
 however, been pointed 
 out, it was not intended 
 to be an original, indi 
 vidual document, but 
 the expression of the 
 American people as a 
 whole; and there can 
 be no question that 
 Jefferson succeeded ad 
 mirably in giving voice 
 to feelings and wishes 
 that had already be 
 come national. 
 
 The personal note, 
 which was largely ab 
 sent from the Declaration, was heard in an earlier work, known 
 as a Summary View of the Rights of British America. This 
 paper Jefferson hoped to see adopted by the Virginia Conven 
 tion as instructions to its delegates to the Colonial Congress, 
 but was disappointed. The Americans, said he, are indebted 
 to Britain for nothing of what they have: "for themselves 
 they fought, for themselves they conquered, and for them 
 selves alone they have a right to hold." And in a passage 
 which must have been in Henry s mind the year following, 
 Jefferson asserts that "the God that gave us life gave us 
 liberty at the same time." 
 
 MONUMENT AT GRAVE OF JEFFERSON. 
 
 In grounds of Monticello. The simple 
 
 shaft is admirably in keeping with his 
 
 character. 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 53 
 
 Alexander Hamilton (1757-1804). The Empire State 
 makes a noteworthy entrance into the literature of this 
 period with the writings of Alexander Hamilton. Realizing 
 the weakness of the government formed in 1779, Hamilton 
 wrote in 1781 a series of papers called The Continentalist, 
 setting forth "that it is necessary to augment the powers 
 of the confederation." 
 As one of the " symp 
 toms of the evils to 
 be apprehended " he 
 notes that "in the 
 midst of a war for our 
 existence as a nation, 
 some of the states have 
 evaded, or refused, 
 compliance with the 
 demands of Congress 
 in points of the great 
 est moment to the com 
 mon safety." This was 
 the beginning of his 
 agitation for a consti 
 tution that would make 
 a stronger union of the 
 states, an agitation 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 
 
 After Trumbull s portrait. Original 
 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. 
 
 in 
 
 which bore fruit in 
 1787. 
 
 Hamilton s fame as a writer rests chiefly on his contribu 
 tions to TJie Federalist, a series of eighty-five papers written 
 to secure ratification of the Constitution by the State of New 
 York. The series was planned by Hamilton, and at least 
 fifty-one of the papers were written by him. Of the rest, 
 fourteen were written by James Madison (afterwards Presi 
 dent), five by John Jay (first Chief Justice of the Supreme 
 
54 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Court), three by Hamilton and Madison together ; the 
 authorship of twelve is uncertain. When the last paper 
 was published, August 15, 1788, all the states except North 
 Carolina and Rhode Island had ratified the Constitution, 
 Hamilton s own state being the eleventh. The value of 
 TJie Federalist may be judged by the fact that it is still the 
 acknowledged authority 011 the interpretation of the Consti 
 tution. In style it shows that America had not yet gained 
 literary independence of the mother country. In sonorous 
 ness of diction and sentence structure it emulates Johnson 
 and Hume. In thought, however, it is an altogether origi 
 nal contribution to the political philosophy of the world. 
 
 Hamilton became Secretary of the Treasury under Wash 
 ington, and worked out a satisfactory financial system for 
 the new Republic. He believed in a strong central govern 
 ment, and thus came into conflict with Jefferson, Secretary 
 of State, who championed state sovereignty. Two political 
 parties were rapidly developed, the lineal descendants of 
 which to-day rest on the fundamental principles of Jefferson 
 and Hamilton, however much these may have become com 
 plicated with matters of detail. 
 
 REVOLUTIONARY VERSE 
 
 Times of widespread agitation and excitement do not 
 usually express themselves through the fine arts. Even a 
 great poet is hardly likely to produce " immortal verse " 
 when his country is absorbed in the discussion of great 
 questions of government ; witness the few sonnets constitut 
 ing the whole of Milton s poetic output during the Great 
 Rebellion. Men will, however, at such times sing songs of 
 defiance, and celebrate the deeds of heroes in verses which, 
 if they are not great poetry, have the merits of spontaneity 
 and genuine feeling. 
 
REVOLUTIONARY VERSE 55 
 
 The Revolution inspired a multitude of such productions ; 
 and a somewhat smaller number of satiric poems, which 
 show plainly the influence of the English poets of the cen 
 tury. Formal satire in English poetry had its origin with 
 Dryden (died 1700) ; and before the spirit of liberty mani 
 fested itself strongly in America, this form of literature 
 had reached a high state of excellence in the writings of 
 Swift, Gay, Johnson, Pope, and a host of smaller men. 
 The works of these men held up to ridicule, not merely the 
 fashions and foibles of the day, but the physical and mental 
 shortcomings of their enemies, and even the feelings of men 
 for things most dear to them. America produced imitations 
 even of this last class, of which one of the most notable is 
 Freneau s Emancipation from British Dependence, written as 
 a rhymed parody of the English litany. 
 
 While there are four or five names that stand higher than 
 the rest as versifiers, no estimate of the period s output in 
 this line can overlook the vast number of anonymous poems, 
 or the occasional poems of men whose vocation was quite 
 other than literature. In the latter class should be men 
 tioned Franklin s The Mother Country, Paine s Liberty Tree, 
 and the less known though not less meritorious songs of 
 Joseph Warren, physician, orator, and martyr ; l of Judge 
 Royall Tyler, of Vermont; and of Meshech Weare, preacher, 
 lawyer, warrior, statesman. 
 
 The anonymous poems above referred to were thrown off 
 in moments of intense enthusiasm caused generally by some 
 great victory, or the contemplation of some popular hero. 
 Paul Jones is a favorite subject in these, doubtless because 
 of his picturesque character and career; Washington, of 
 course, is sung by many ; and less distinguished heroes, like 
 Warren. Marion, and Nathan Hale, are celebrated by occa 
 sional rhymers. Almost every great battle had its panegyr- 
 He fell at Bunker Hill. 
 
56 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 1st. The comment that the unknown authorship of such 
 poems is a blessing to the authors says merely that they 
 count for little or nothing as poetry. They are, however, of 
 unquestionable importance as evidence of the hopes, aspira 
 tions, and ideals of the people, and as such form a valuable 
 supplement to the prose literature of the period. 
 
 Francis Hopkinson (1737-1791). Of the chief poets of the 
 day, the first in time is an occasional poet like those just 
 named. This is Francis Hopkinson, lawyer, of Pennsyl 
 vania and New Jersey. He was much occupied with public 
 affairs, serving his country as a member of the Continental 
 Congress, as a signer of the Declaration of Independence, 
 and as Judge. He wrote extensively in prose and verse 
 and on a variety of subjects. His best-known prose work, 
 a political allegory called A Pretty Story, is far less inter 
 esting to-day than is his ballad, The Battle of the Kegs, and 
 probably was so to his contemporaries. 
 
 This political-satirical ballad " was occasioned by a real 
 incident," according to Hopkinson. "Certain machines, 
 in the form of kegs, charg d with gun-powder, were sent 
 down the river to annoy the British shipping then at Phila 
 delphia. The danger of these machines being discovered, 
 the British manned the wharfs and shipping, and discharged 
 their small arms and cannons at everything they saw float 
 ing in the river during the ebb tide." It is far from being 
 a great poem far from being even the best Hopkinson 
 wrote ; but it is the one that brought him most fame in his 
 day, and probably accomplished much in the way of in 
 spiriting the colonists. 
 
 Philip Freneau (1752-1832). One of the most meritori 
 ous of Revolutionary poets, and almost the only one who 
 may be read to-day for his own sake, is Philip Freneau, 
 already mentioned as a satirist. His long life was filled 
 with varied activities and many literary efforts; but his 
 
PHILIP FRENEAU 
 
 57 
 
 fame, though secure, rests on a small number of genuine 
 poems. 
 
 He was born in New York City. At the age of nineteen 
 he was graduated from Princeton, in the class with James 
 Madison. He taught school for a time after leaving college, 
 studied law, made numerous ventures in journalism, gratified 
 a love of the sea by various voyages (including one as a pri- 
 
 NASSAU HALL, PRINCETON. 
 The oldest building of the University. 
 
 vateer), and served a short term as translator for the De 
 partment of State under Jefferson. He early began to write 
 verses, and in 1775 wrote the first of his political satires. 
 A large number of satirical and heroic pieces came from his 
 pen at frequent intervals from this time till the end of the 
 War of 1812. 
 
 Freneaii s war poems show little superiority over those 
 of his contemporaries, differing chiefly in the degree of bit- 
 
58 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 terness expressed toward everything English. He seems to 
 have searched his dictionary for words of abuse and to have 
 exhausted his stock in every two or three poems. In 
 Emancipation from British Dependence (mentioned above), 
 Lord North is a "caitiff," the king has a "toothful of 
 brains," the British are successively " scoundrels," " ras 
 cals," " pirates," " ban 
 ditti/ "butchers." 
 One poem in the patri 
 otic group that to 
 the memory of the 
 Americans who fell at 
 Eutaw Springs is 
 free from this bitter 
 ness and coarseness, 
 and is a dignified and 
 noble tribute to a gal 
 lant band. 
 
 Even Eutaw Springs, 
 however, would give 
 Freneau little claim to 
 a firm place as a poet. 
 It is to a very differ 
 ent class of poems that 
 he owes his distinc 
 tion. These are the 
 nature poems TJie 
 
 Wild Honey Suckle, On the Sleep of Plants, To a Caty- 
 did, On a Honey Bee in which a new note is struck 
 for poetry in English. As a satirist, Freneau, like Hop- 
 kinson and the rest, was but following the traditions 
 of the mother country ; but in this other field he was 
 a pioneer. Not merely in choice of subjects, but in minute 
 ness of observation and in sincerity and accuracy of expres- 
 
 PHILIP FRENEAU. 
 
 Sometimes called the "Laureate of the 
 Revolution . 
 
JOHN TRUMBULL 59 
 
 sion, Freneau deserves a high place among the score of 
 preeminent nature poets in the language. His first collec 
 tion appeared in 1786 the year of Burns s first volume, 
 and twelve years before the epoch-marking Lyrical Ballads 
 of Wordsworth and Coleridge. In variety and fitness of 
 rhythms, also, Freneau shows a pioneer spirit and an inde 
 pendence of British models. He is the first genuine poet 
 America produced. 
 
 The "Hartford Wits." Three poets who enjoyed great 
 fame in their day may be grouped together because of their 
 connection with Yale College and the city of Hartford. 
 They were members of a larger group, known as the " Hart 
 ford Wits," who came nearer forming what is called a 
 " school " of writers than any other body in America before 
 or since, excepting possibly the " Transcendentalists " a half 
 century later. Their work resembled much of their contem 
 poraries in tone; but the satires of Freneau, Hopkinson, 
 and the host of lesser men were spontaneous and unpreten 
 tious, whereas those of this celebrated trio were elaborate 
 performances, following English models. These men were 
 John Trumbull, Timothy Dwight, and Joel Barlow. 
 
 John Trumbull (1750-1831). Trumbull was graduated 
 from Yale at the age of seventeen, received his Master s 
 degree three years later, and became a tutor in the College. 
 The field in which he made his reputation he entered during 
 his first year as tutor, when he wrote The Adventures oj 
 Tom Brainless. This poem is a satire on education as then 
 carried on in colleges, where students are 
 
 " In the same round condemned each day 
 To study, read, recite, and pray ; " 
 
 and are compelled by the curriculum to 
 
 " Gain ancient tongues and lose their own." 
 
60 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 While connected with the College, Trumbull urged instruc 
 tion in English literature and composition. 
 
 Trumbull s greatest work and the greatest satire of the 
 Revolutionary period is McFingal, a mock-heroic poem 
 written shortly after Bunker Hill and published in January, 
 1776. The title character is a Scotch- American magistrate 
 of Tory sympathies, who lives in a town near Boston. Set 
 over against him is Honorius champion of the people 
 the figure supposed to be drawn from John Adams. Squire 
 McFingal stands for " divine right," and insists on the folly 
 of attempting resistance to Great Britain. Honorius ap 
 peals to the people s sense of wrong, and urges them to a 
 united opposition of the misgovernment they have so long 
 endured. In 1781-1782, Trumbull enlarged the poem to twice 
 its size, concluding it with the tarring and feathering of the 
 Squire, and the utter discomfiture of his Tory followers. 
 
 Timothy Dwight (1752-1817). Dwight was associated 
 with Trumbull as teacher and as author. Besides these 
 occupations he was farmer and preacher, and for the last 
 twenty years of his life President of Yale. Though he wrote 
 much, both in prose and verse, including a long religious 
 satire, The Triumph of Infidelity, his interest for us is due to 
 one short poem, beginning 
 
 " Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 
 The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." 
 
 This song does not impress the reader of to-day as a very 
 spirited production ; but its mere preservation, when so 
 many similar poems have disappeared, shows that it held a 
 place in the people s hearts somewhat like that held by 
 Paine s Crisis. In one respect Dwight s poem deserves 
 a higher place than Paine s essay, inasmuch as it looks be 
 yond its own day of strife to an illustrious future for 
 America. 
 
JOEL BARLOW 61 
 
 Joel Barlow (1754-1812). Barlow, the youngest of the 
 "big three," is remembered for his Vision of Columbus, 
 a pretentious patriotic poem expanded twenty years later 
 (1807) into an epic called The Columbiad. In this poem 
 Columbus is taken from prison to a hill, where he has a 
 vision of the America-to-be. It is written in heroic couplets, 
 the standard metrical form of eighteenth century England, 
 
 YALE COLLEGE. 
 From an old print. 
 
 and in a high-sounding polysyllabic vocabulary which sug 
 gests, if it is not actually modeled on, that of England s 
 literary dictator, the great Samuel Johnson. 
 
 The satisfaction with which writings like those of the three 
 men just treated were received by their contemporaries may 
 be gathered from some Lines Addressed to Dwight and 
 Barloiv by Truiubull. They are invited to 
 
62 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 " join the sons of song, 
 
 And scorn the censures of the envious throng ; 
 Prove to the world, in these new-dawning skies, 
 What genius kindles and what arts arise ; 
 All Virtue s friends are yours. Disclose the lays ; 
 Your country s heroes claim the debt of praise ; 
 Fame shall assent, and future years admire. 
 Barlow s strong flight, and Dwight s Homeric fire. 1 
 
 Whatever shortcomings the verses of these men may 
 show, their patriotism is manifest and admirable. Barlow, 
 moreover, served his country well in other ways, notably 
 while, at great personal sacrifice, he was consul at Algiers. 
 His death was caused by exposure when he was on his way 
 to meet Napoleon, having accepted reluctantly and only 
 from a sense of duty appointment as commissioner to the 
 French emperor. 
 
 John Woolman (1720-1772). One interesting book writ 
 ten during the storm and stress of the pre-Revolution days 
 shows none of the agitation of soul or the enthusiasm of the 
 other writers discussed in this chapter. This is the Journal 
 of John Woolman, a Quaker tailor of New Jersey, which 
 was strongly commended by such men as the American 
 Channing and the Englishman Charles Lamb. The exist 
 ence of slavery in America distressed Woolman far more 
 than did the tyranny of the mother country ; and he gave 
 his life to working up a sentiment for emancipation. His 
 Journal lives, not for any great literary merit it possesses, 
 but for the pure and self-sacrificing character it portrays. 
 In simplicity and sincerity this autobiographic record equals 
 Franklin s, and in loftiness of spirit far surpasses it. We 
 never hear of Poor Richard s going home " under a hum 
 bling sense of the gracious dealings of the Lord" with 
 him; nor does he ever say or imply that "the fear of the 
 Lord so covered me at times, that my way was made easier 
 than I expected." 
 
THOMAS GODFREY 63 
 
 The two men who remain to be considered in this chapter 
 are distinctly set off from most of the writers contemporary 
 with them, in that they were from first to last purely liter 
 ary men. Neither of them seems to have been at all con 
 cerned with the great movements of their times ; \md their 
 works belong to the realm of art only, even though they may 
 
 &&&*> 
 
 
 FACSIMILE OB^ A MKDITATION OF JOHN WOOLMAN ON THE USE OF 
 SILVER VESSELS. 
 
 (Courtesy of Dr. Arthur Beardsley, Librarian of the Friends Historical 
 Library, Swarthmore College. Photograph by Prof . G. A. Hoadley.) 
 
 not occupy very high places in that realm. These men, 
 already mentioned as our first dramatist and our first novel 
 ist, are Thomas Godfrey and Charles Brockden Brown. 
 
 Thomas Godfrey (1736-1763) had a short and troubled life. 
 When he was thirteen years of age, his father, the Thomas 
 Godfrey of Franklin s " Junto," died. The boy, who had 
 shown taste for study and especially for poetry, was then 
 taken from school and put to a trade. When he became of 
 age, he left this occupation, served a short time in the 
 
64 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Pennsylvania militia, and then went into business in North 
 Carolina. Here four years later he died of fever, at the age 
 of twenty-seven. His writings, collected and published in 
 Philadelphia in 1765, consist of a small number of lyrics, a 
 poem of 500 lines modeled on Chaucer and Pope and called 
 The Court of Fancy, and a tragedy, The Prince of Parthia. 
 In one of his lyrics, TJie Wish, Godfrey bespeaks for himself 
 the place which he seems to have obtained : 
 
 " I only ask a mod rate fate, 
 And tho not in obscurity, 
 I would not yet be placed too high ; 
 Between the two extremes I d be, 
 Not meanly low, nor yet too great, 
 From both contempt and envy free." 
 
 It is possibly true that Godfrey s name is kept alive by 
 the sentimental interest attaching to the author of the first 
 drama written in America. Its scene, as the title indicates, 
 is laid in the East, and the play itself is of little intrinsic 
 merit. The story concerns the love of the king (Artabanus) 
 and his two sons (Arsaces and Vardanes) for the beautiful 
 captive (Evan the) ; and the consequent jealousy and in 
 trigues of these three and the queen (Thermusa). In the 
 end Artabanus is murdered, Evanthe takes poison, and 
 Arsaces (her betrothed) dies by his own hand. The story 
 lacks originality, the language and versification furnish much 
 evidence of imitation ; yet the play has some strong scenes, 
 and is, in the opinion of Professor Tyler, " a noble beginning 
 of dramatic literature in America." 
 
 Beyond this distinction as dramatist, Godfrey shows real 
 lyric power. The song in The Prince of Parthia, Act V, 
 beginning 
 
 " Tell me, Phyllis, tell me why, 
 You appear so wondrous coy," 
 
CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 65 
 
 and the juvenile compositions addressed to Celia, Amyntor, 
 and Corinna, give quite as much promise as does the drama. 
 They contain many suggestions of his English masters of 
 the seventeenth century Herrick, Wither, and the Cavalier 
 Poets, but they are far from being servile copies. 
 
 CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN, 1771-1810 
 
 A Romancer of Distinction. Charles Brockden Brown 
 performed his literary work with the handicap, not of 
 poverty or lack of education, but of a delicate constitution. 
 His career, like the careers of Godfrey, Paine, Franklin, and 
 Hopkinson, belongs to Philadelphia, and he used that city 
 and the country surrounding it as scenes for his novels. It 
 is with these works only that the student of Brown is con 
 cerned, though he wrote political essays, magazine criticism, 
 and much other hack-work. 
 
 The novels or romances, six in number, were written be 
 tween 1798 and 1801. Their titles are : Wieland, or, Tlie 
 Transformation; Arthur Mervyn, or, Memories of the Year 
 1793; Edgar Huntly, or, Memoirs of a Sleep Walker; 
 Ormond, or, The Secret Witness; Clara Howard, or, The 
 Enthusiasm of Love; and Jane Talbot. Brown was not the 
 first American to write novels, but he was the first to attain 
 distinction in this line, and he is the only one before Cooper 
 whose works are of importance to-day. 
 
 These stories have many points in common. They are so 
 loosely put together that it is actually difficult to follow the 
 development of the plot. They are tragic stories, full of the 
 mysterious and the terrible. On the side of style they are 
 marked by objectionable mannerisms both in vocabulary and 
 sentence structure. Most of the characters are not only 
 complex, but puzzling we find them difficult to under 
 stand. Against these faults, however, may be set some 
 
66 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 positive merits. Brown narrates single incidents with tell 
 ing effect ; and in spite of long-drawn-out passages he holds 
 the reader s interest throughout. He gave the American 
 
 Indian a place in 
 romantic fiction. 
 His stories have a 
 uniformly high 
 moral tone. It is 
 also to his credit 
 that he had suffi 
 cient confidence in 
 his ability and in 
 the public to adopt 
 literature as his pro 
 fession he was the 
 first American to do 
 this. 
 
 Plots. The char 
 acter of the stories 
 may be indicated 
 briefly. The plot of 
 Wieland . turns on 
 the exercise of the 
 power of ventrilo- 
 quism, which 
 through the mere 
 heedlessness of the 
 possessor causes 
 wife-murder, mad 
 ness, and suicide. Arthur Mervyn and Ormond are chiefly 
 concerned with yellow fever epidemics in Philadelphia and 
 New York, with all the horrors of poor hospitals, incompetent 
 attendants, and criminally ignorant and negligent officials. 
 Edgar Huntly (subtitle, "Memoirs of a Sleep Walker") deals 
 
 CENOTAPH OF CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN. 
 In Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia. 
 
BROWN S LITERARY VALUE 67 
 
 really with two sleep walkers, both of whom go through 
 extraordinary and mysterious adventures, and one of whom, 
 like Wieland, ends his stormy career in madness and 
 suicide. The element of suspense is strong, and surprises 
 are frequent. 
 
 Style. Among his mannerisms of style is the over-fre 
 quent use of certain favorite words, often in unusual senses. 
 An example that will strike the reader of any of these 
 stories is " bereave." The hero of Edgar Huntly is " be 
 reaved" of the use of his limbs, "bereaved" of sense, "be 
 reaved of strength," " bereaved of the power to walk " ; and 
 an Indian he shoots is " bereaved of sensation though not 
 of life." In other stories persons are " bereft " of all satis 
 faction, of understanding, of activity, of affectionate regards, 
 etc. Another mannerism is a wearisome tendency to what 
 may be called the polysyllabic style. " It was obvious to 
 conclude that his disease was pestilential " ; " His aspect 
 was embellished with good nature, though indicative of 
 ignorance " ; " He promised to maintain with me an episto 
 lary intercourse." Of Brown s most noticeable peculiarity 
 in sentence structure an excessive use of the rhetorical 
 question, especially in series a single example will suffice. 
 " How, I asked, might he regard her claims ? In what 
 light would he consider that engagement of the understand 
 ing, rather than of the heart, into which I had entered? 
 How far would he esteem it proper to adhere to it ? and 
 what efforts might he make to dissolve it ? " 
 
 Brown s Literary Value. One errs in attributing to Brown, 
 as does the writer of the " Memoir " prefixed to Wieland, 
 " superior genius and profound knowledge." The reader 
 who comes to any one of Brown s romances expecting to 
 find either of these will be disappointed. He will find a 
 gloomy and sometimes exciting story, of peculiar if not 
 puzzling people, who talk in rather high-flown language, and 
 
68 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 whose conversation is often enigmatical. He will find a 
 narrative that " gets going " in fewer pages than do many 
 of Cooper s or Scott s, and that seldom lets the reader s 
 interest flag. If he brings to the reading a recollection of 
 the times in which the author wrote, the romance will gain 
 the additional interest that attaches to all pioneer or inde 
 pendent work. The novel as a literary form was young in 
 England, and in America still in its infancy. Few Americans 
 had written literature for its own sake. Add to these cir 
 cumstances the fact that the English poet Shelley and his 
 wife were admittedly influenced by Brown, and the proba 
 bility that Poe and Hawthorne were also, and it will be 
 seen that he has an importance in literature on other than 
 historical grounds. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 FROM IRVING TO THE END OF THE CIVIL WAR, 
 1809-1865 
 
 Introduction. According to Brander Matthews " it would 
 be possible to maintain the thesis that American literature 
 began in 1809 with the publication of living s Knickerbocker s 
 History of New York." This is true only if one takes liter 
 ature in the restricted sense mentioned on page 1 ; and else 
 where Professor Matthews admits that "not a few of the 
 early state papers of our country have literary merit in a 
 high degree." If we omitted from our literary history the 
 authors of the Declaration of Independence, The Crisis, The 
 Federalist, Liberty or Death, we should be unable to defend 
 the inclusion of several names found in the present chapter. 
 Webster and Lincoln hold a higher place in literature, 
 doubtless, than do Jefferson and Hamilton; but no one of 
 the four was much concerned with "beauty of form or 
 emotional effect." They addressed the intellect as " a clear, 
 cold, logic engine " ; yet Irving, Cooper, Bryant, Poe, and 
 Hawthorne are not more sure of places in American litera 
 ture of this period than are Webster and Lincoln. 
 
 Literature as well as politics indeed, the whole life of 
 the American people down to the end of 1865 was domi 
 nated by the slavery question. Not only in the halls of 
 Congress does this appear. Poetry and fiction were devoted 
 to abolition ; the lyceum platform took it up; journalism of 
 every kind was given over to it ; newspapers and magazines 
 
 69 
 
70 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 came into existence solely to attack slavery. The defense 
 of the institution was left to the orators, who formally de 
 fended, not slavery, but a principle of government. The 
 discussion involved a question which had divided the very 
 founders of the government, as noted above in our sketch 
 of Hamilton. This question was whether the United States 
 of America was a league of sovereign states, or an indissol 
 uble union of the people. On this question the country 
 divided in such a way as to involve even purely literary 
 men. Foe thought he saw in Lowell s Fable for Critics a 
 criticism of the South; and there is no doubt that Haw 
 thorne s death was hastened by grief over the war. 
 
 With the entrance of Irving, " the first ambassador whom 
 the New World of Letters sent to the Old," 1 American lit 
 erature takes its place among the literatures of the world. 
 It does not, of course, rank with that of the mother country, 
 or of the leading nations of Europe; but from this time it 
 claimed writers and writings which are received with en 
 thusiasm in the older countries. When Irving received an 
 honorary degree at Oxford, the auditorium rang with shouts 
 of " Geoffrey Crayon ! " Diedrich Knickerbocker ! " Rip 
 Van Winkle!" Emerson, Foe, and Cooper were all ac 
 claimed by England, and the last two by France, as names 
 destined to permanent high places in literature. From the 
 time of the Sketch Book there were several answers to the 
 contemptuous query of Sydney Smith, an English critic, 
 " Who reads an American book ?" 
 
 English literature during the first quarter of the nine 
 teenth century attained an excellence surpassed only by the 
 great Elizabethan age. It was the age of Romanticism, of 
 which the chief characteristics were a revolt against tradi 
 tion, a breaking away from the hard and fast rules of the 
 eighteenth century, an emphasis on individuality. Words- 
 
 1 Thackeray, in Nil Nisi Bonum. 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 71 
 
 worth, the philosopher-poet of Nature; Byron and Shelley, 
 poets of social rebellion ; Scott, the great historical romancer ; 
 Lamb, Hazlitt, DeQnincey, writers of new kinds of essays : 
 these men and many others who made the age great had 
 little in common but " an impatience of routine thinking." 
 This phrase was first used of the so-called " transcendental " 
 movement in America, which was really but a belated mani 
 festation of the English Romantic movement. Some of the 
 American writers show resemblances to these English ones 
 Bryant to Wordsworth, for example, and Cooper to Scott ; 
 but they were American to the bone, and it is a great mis 
 take to lay stress on the resemblances. 
 
 It has been said that American literature even of this 
 period falls below that of England. The fact hardly calls 
 for comment. The best thought of America was concerning 
 itself with " one of the greatest political experiments in the 
 history of the world " ; and in America " literature and the 
 elegant arts [had to] grow up side by side with the coarser 
 plants of daily necessity ; and [had to] depend for their 
 culture on hours and seasons snatched from the pursuit of 
 worldly interests by intelligent and public-spirited individ 
 uals." So wrote Irving in 1819. It is no small cause for 
 pride that with such drawbacks to accomplishment in the 
 fine arts America should, by the middle of the century, have 
 given half a score of names to the roll of the world s great 
 literary figures. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING, 1783-1859 
 
 The " Knickerbocker " Writers. In the early colonial days, 
 as we have seen, New England and Virginia held the undis 
 puted supremacy in such literature as America produced. 
 Near the middle of the eighteenth century the Middle 
 States came into prominence with Franklin, and Phila- 
 
72 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 delphia was the literary center for about fifty years. With 
 Irving the leadership shifts again ; and for a quarter of a 
 century New York City takes the place of Philadelphia. 
 Irving, Bryant, and Cooper were the chief of the " Knicker 
 bocker Writers," whom we must consider before taking up 
 
 the literature of the 
 slavery struggle. The 
 designation applied to 
 this group comes from 
 "Diedrich Knicker 
 bocker," the pretended 
 author of Irving s 
 comic history of New 
 York, to be discussed 
 a few pages later. Says 
 Warner: "This little 
 man in knee-breeches 
 and cocked hat was 
 the germ of the whole 
 1 Knickerbocker leg 
 end/ a fantastic crea 
 tion, which in a man 
 ner took the place of 
 history, and stamped 
 upon the commercial 
 metropolis of the New 
 World the indelible 
 Knickerbocker name 
 and character ; and even now in the city it is an undefined 
 patent of nobility to trace descent from an old Knicker 
 bocker family. " Of the Knickerbockers, Irving was first 
 in point of age and first to appear as author. 
 
 Irving Begins Writing Early. Washington Irving was 
 born in New York, April 3, 1783, nearly eight months be- 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 The " Father of American Literature. 
 
SALMAGUNDI " 73 
 
 fore its evacuation by the British. At the age of sixteen, 
 after a very aimless, unrestricted childhood, he entered a 
 law office, and began reading anything but law, for which 
 he had no taste. Three years afterwards he took a position 
 in the employ of a Mr. Hoffman, whose name we shall hear 
 again. In the same year he began, though he little sus 
 pected it, his literary career, writing for his brother Peter s 
 Morning Chronicle a series of satirical letters on the theaters 
 of the day over the signature " Jonathan Oldstyle." While 
 these compositions are admittedly imitations of Addison, 
 while they fell far short of the excellence of Irving s 
 later works, and while they do not proclaim a new genius, 
 they are clever "take-offs" on the foibles of actors and 
 audiences, and are to-day entertaining reading for their 
 own sake. 
 
 Europe; "Salmagundi." From May, 1804, to February, 
 1806, Irving was in Europe. He spent time enough in each 
 place visited to make the acquaintance of the notable per 
 sonages there, and was well received everywhere. Return 
 ing, he continued his social triumphs, not only in his native 
 New York, but in Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington 
 as well. Shortly after his return, Irving s second literary 
 venture was begun, a semimonthly periodical written in 
 conjunction with his brother William and James K. Pauld- 
 ing, and called Salmagundi, 1 or, The Whimwhams and Opin 
 ions of Launcelot Langstaff, Esq., and Others. Its intention 
 was " simply to instruct the young, reform the old, correct 
 the town, and castigate the age," by presenting " a striking 
 picture of the town." It was a great success, but is rather 
 dull reading to-day. Again imitating the Spectator, Irving 
 is less entertaining than that publication or even than his 
 own Oldstyle, chiefly because his sketches run to too great 
 
 1 A salmagundi was originally an Italian salad. As used by Irving it 
 means a medley or miscellany. 
 
74 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 length. Twenty numbers of Salmagundi were published, 
 after which it was discontinued without a stated reason. 
 
 " Knickerbocker s History." In December, 1809, appeared 
 A History of New York, by Diedrich Knickerbocker, the work 
 which established Irving s position as a writer, and which 
 brought American literature the recognition abroad already 
 referred to (page 70). Planned as a parody on a learned 
 Picture of Netv York, published shortly before, it took shape 
 in the author s mind as an independent work. Irving led 
 up to its publication in an altogether original manner. For 
 some weeks in advance notices were inserted in a New 
 York paper setting forth that "a small elderly gentleman 
 ... by the name of Knickerbocker " had left his lodgings 
 in the city without paying his bill ; that the landlord be 
 lieved the old man "not entirely in his right mind"; that 
 he had left in his room " a very curious kind of a written 
 book," which the landlord intended to sell unless the owner 
 returned and settled his account. 
 
 Although the History begins with the creation of the 
 world, the main portion of it is, in Irving s words, " a comic 
 history of the city " during " the period of the Dutch dom 
 ination"; and the chief object of it was "to embody the 
 traditions of our city in an amusing form; to illustrate its 
 local humors, customs and peculiarities." Thus it will be 
 seen that it was not very different in substance from the 
 Oldstyle Letters or Salmagundi. To give it a more realistic 
 appearance it was dedicated to the New York Historical 
 Society. While some readers were puzzled at first, the real 
 character of the book soon became plain, and it met with 
 immediate and phenomenal success, in England as well as 
 in America, Sir Walter Scott being one of the first great 
 writers across the water to express high appreciation of it. 
 
 Before the Knickerbocker History was published, Irving 
 experienced a great sorrow, from which he never wholly 
 
SECOND TRIP TO EUROPE 75 
 
 recovered. This was the death of his fiancee, Matilda 
 Hoffman, daughter of the attorney in whose office he had 
 been employed for a time. Miss Hoffman was, according to 
 all testimony, a thoroughly attractive and admirable girl, 
 and her marriage with Irving only awaited his choice of a 
 vocation that promised a living. All admired her ; says 
 he: "I idolized her." For a time Irving was inconsolable, 
 seemed more than ever unable to settle on a career ; and 
 even the remarkable success of Knickerbocker did not fix his 
 determination to enter the field of letters. 
 
 Second Trip to Europe. For the ensuing six years he did 
 nothing systematic, remunerative, or likely to increase his 
 reputation. He became a partner with his brothers in 
 business on terms which gave him little work and a living ; 
 he wrote a biographical sketch of the English poet Camp 
 bell ; he edited for a while a magazine in which some of the 
 Sketch Book essays appeared. In May, 1815, he went 
 abroad for a short visit, but remained seventeen years. 
 
 The first five years were spent in England, during which 
 time his firm failed, and his career was settled. Declining 
 several positions on English magazines, he went to London, 
 and began work at his own risk. After the success of the 
 Sketch Book in America (1819), which " almost appalled " 
 him, he brought it out in England, where it sold nearly as 
 well as in his own country. His literary success was fol 
 lowed by the same social success that he had met with else 
 where. Like Lowell at a later period, and unlike Hawthorne, 
 Irving made the acquaintance of great men and women 
 everywhere, and became a general favorite. In Paris, where 
 he went in 1820, his English experience was repeated ; in 
 fact, he felt that there was too much society for literary 
 advancement. 
 
 In 1822 appeared Bracebridge Hall, a collection somewhat 
 similar in plan to the Sketch Book, but not so meritorious 
 
76 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 or making so wide an appeal. The series deals with an old 
 English country place, where the author had previously 
 laid the scenes of his Christmas stories in the Sketch Book. 
 The opening and closing sketches are oimilar to those in 
 the earlier work, 1 and at least two of the stories The Stout 
 Gentleman and Dolph Heyliger are in Irving s best style. 
 Two years later came Tales of a Traveller, a collection con 
 taining some of Irving s most interesting and effective 
 stories. The best of these are in a group called The Money- 
 Diggers, tales " found among the papers of the late Diedrich 
 Knickerbocker," in which he returns to the field and style 
 of Rip Van Winkle. The best in this group, and perhaps 
 the best Irving wrote anywhere, is The Devil and Tom 
 Walker, a tale of a miserly fellow living near Boston, who 
 made a bargain with " Old Scratch." Tom made a fortune 
 by usury, as directed by his master ; but at his mysterious 
 death, it was found that his wealth had been reduced to 
 cinders, chips, and shavings. 
 
 Life and Writings in Spain. In February, 1826, Irving, 
 being drawn to write a life of Columbus, went to Spain to 
 obtain information at first hand, and remained there nearly 
 three years. While in Spain he wrote not only the life of 
 Columbus, but in addition The Conquest of Granada, and 
 The Voyages of the Companions of Columbus. He also 
 gathered material for The Alhambra, a Spanish sketch-book, 
 the record of a stay of some months in the famous old 
 palace of the Moors. The Alhambra has all the qualities 
 of the Sketch Book and Tales of a Traveller that attract 
 young readers. History and legend are skillfully mingled 
 with descriptive sketches and narratives of the author s 
 experiences in this romantic country. 
 
 1 In the Sketch Book the titles are : The Author s Account of Himself 
 and L Envoy ; in Bracebridge Hall : The Author, and The Author s 
 Farewell- 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS IN SPAIN 
 
 77 
 
 FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF IRV ING S LIFE OF COLUMBUS. 
 (Library of Congress.) 
 
78 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 In the latter part of 1829 Irving was offered the position 
 of Secretary of Legation in London, which he accepted 
 somewhat against his will. It is true that before leaving 
 America he had political aspirations for a time ; but he now 
 had various literary projects, and feared that this new 
 employment would interfere with them. His former 
 triumph, literary and social, was repeated, with the addi 
 tion of two great distinctions the award of one of two 
 gold medals of the Royal Society of Literature, and the 
 degree of Doctor of Civil Law from the University of 
 Oxford. 
 
 SUNNYSIDK. 
 
 Irving s home near Tarrytown, now a suburb of New York City. 
 
 Return to America. May, 1832, brought his long foreign 
 sojourn to a close. His reception in America was worthy 
 of a national hero. A public banquet in New York formed 
 part of this reception, and other cities sought opportunity 
 to celebrate his return in the same fashion testimonials 
 
LIFE AT SUNNYSIDE 79 
 
 which the diffident author felt compelled to decline. He 
 wished, however, to get acquainted with more of his native 
 country, and for that purpose made a lengthy tour of the 
 South and West, the literary fruit of which was three books 
 A Tour of the Prairies, Astoria (an account of the attempt 
 to establish a settlement at the mouth of the Columbia 
 River), and The Adventures of Captain Bonneville. On his 
 return East, he purchased a small place on the Hudson near 
 Tarrytown, a short distance from New York City, which he 
 named " Sunny side " ; and there he lived for the next ten 
 years. Other works written at this time are Recollections 
 of Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey (the homes oT Scott and 
 Byron) ; and Legends of the Conquest of Spain, a supplement 
 to The Conquest of Granada. 
 
 Minister to Spain. There came in this happy Sunnyside 
 life a break, which Irving regretted much, but which 
 seemed unavoidable his appointment by President Tyler 
 in 1842 as Minister to Spain. The Senate enthusiastically 
 confirmed the appointment, and it was received with uni 
 versal approval. Irving accepted it because he saw in it 
 an honor, not merely to himself, but to the profession of 
 letters. His previous residence in Spain, and his diplo 
 matic experience in England, fitted him eminently for the 
 position ; and he performed his duties with great credit to 
 himself and to his country. 
 
 Life at Sunnyside. At the end of his term in Madrid 
 (1846) Irving returned to Sunnyside. Here he made a 
 home, not only for himself, but for his two dependent 
 brothers and for a number of nieces; and here he lived 
 most happily for the remainder of his life, which came to a 
 close November 28, 1859, in his seventy-seventh year. The 
 last thirteen years were productive and profitable ones. He 
 wrote Wolfert s Roost (roost meaning "rest"), a collection 
 of miscellaneous essays ; and three biographies Gold- 
 
80 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 smith, Mahomet and his Successors, and Washington. Foi 
 them and the copyright on his previous writings he re 
 ceived nearly $100,000. Of the biographies the Goldsmith 
 is the most entertaining, and naturally ; for the biographer 
 and his subject had many points of resemblance which gave 
 an advantage in interpretation. The Life of Washington, 
 which was not completed until his last year, represents a 
 great amount of careful investigation, and has all the char 
 acteristic charms of the author s other works ; but it is not 
 a great piece of historical research. In other words, it is, 
 as one would expect it to be, popular rather than scholarly. 
 
 Characteristics. The chief element of charm in Irving s 
 writings is the character of the man himself displayed on 
 nearly every page. He was an idealist, like Scott. He 
 had a sympathetic nature, and was devoted to his large 
 circle of friends. " His predominant traits were humor 
 and sentiment " ; and these touched people, places, and in 
 stitutions of the past so as to make them live again. " Of 
 England," says Warner, " whose traditions kindled his sus 
 ceptible fancy, he wrote as Englishmen would like to write 
 about it." And he showed, as a contemporary poet 1 also 
 tried to show, that America presented possibilities of fanci 
 ful treatment to the man who knew where to look for them. 
 
 One other fact should be mentioned before leaving Irving 
 his accomplishment in the field of the short-story. 2 He 
 had not the sense of form possessed by Poe or Hawthorne ; 
 but Rip Van Winkle, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Tlie 
 Devil and Tom Walker, The Bold Dragoon, and many others 
 in his several collections stand as admirable examples of 
 this literary type, especially when compared with the feeble 
 
 1 Drake, in The Culprit Fay ; see page 102. 
 
 2 The coining of this compound is due to Professor Matthews, who 
 wished to differentiate this form sharply from the " novelette." See his 
 Philosophy of the Short-story. 
 
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
 
 81 
 
 efforts which preceded him. Irving may with justice be 
 called the originator of the modern short-story. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, 1794-1878 
 
 Journalist and Poet. More than half of Bryant s life was 
 passed as editor of a great metropolitan newspaper. But 
 the work for which he 
 has a place in Ameri 
 can literature was pro 
 duced in the quiet of a 
 home as far removed 
 as possible from the 
 confusion and noise of 
 the city. Poetry was 
 his avocation, a part 
 of his home life, and 
 quite separate from his 
 business, which he at 
 tended to only in his 
 office. There he kept 
 long hours, and there 
 he exerted an influence 
 that placed his paper 
 in the front rank a 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 position it still holds. 
 
 In view of this very 
 
 real separation of his outward life from his inward, we 
 
 shall first state, the chief facts in his career, and then 
 
 consider his poetic output. 
 
 Early Life in New England. Bryant was born in Cum- 
 mington, Massachusetts, November 3, 1794. On his mother s 
 side he was a descendant, as was Longfellow, of John and 
 Priscilla Ahlen, immortalized in the later poet s Courtship 
 
82 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 of Miles Standish. His father arid grandfather were country 
 doctors. William was a precocious child, being able to 
 read at the age of three ; and his early interest in books 
 was wisely encouraged by his father. After private prepa 
 ration in the homes of neighboring ministers, he entered the 
 sophomore class of Williams College when he was fifteen. 
 Before the year ended Bryant left Williams, and began 
 private study to enter the Junior class at Yale the following 
 year. Financial difficulties of the family prevented the 
 carrying out of this plan, and his academic training ended 
 with the short term at Williams. 
 
 After some hesitation, Bryant took up the study of law, 
 as Irving had done, simply because it offered the best 
 chance for a livelihood to a man of studious tastes. He 
 was admitted to the bar in 1816, and practiced nine years. 
 In 1820 his father died, an event which he commemorated 
 in the latter part of the Hymn to Death. The following 
 summer he married Miss Frances Fairchild, daughter of a 
 neighboring farmer ; and for more than forty years she was 
 " the brightness of his life." 
 
 Residence in New York. The law was exceedingly dis 
 tasteful to him, and there was no living to be got out of his 
 passion for the fields, the flowers, the birds a passion 
 which had manifested itself early in him, and which re 
 ceived further impetus by his reading of Wordsworth. An 
 opportunity that promised well offered itself in 1825, the 
 position of associate editor of a magazine in New York City. 
 He accepted, and from that time made his home in the great 
 city. The magazine failed in less than a year, and Bryant 
 again turned to law. In a few months, however, another 
 editorial position came to him on the staff of the Evening 
 Post. In 1829 he became editor-in-chief, continuing in that 
 capacity until his death forty-nine years later. Through 
 the columns of this paper Bryant exerted great influence on 
 
RESIDENCE IN NEW YORK 
 
 83 
 
 the city, the state, and the nation. It was he who first 
 suggested the creation of Central Park, a proposition re 
 ceived, strange to tell, with bitter opposition by many self- 
 constituted "watch-dogs of the treasury." The Post was 
 independent in politics, supporting good men and measures 
 regardless of their party affiliations or origin. In the presi 
 dential campaign of 1876, Bryant threw the Post s influence 
 
 BRYANT S HOME AT ROSLYN, L.I. 
 A charming retreat from the noise and cares of the city. 
 
 to Hayes because he thought the Republican platform and 
 intentions better than those of the Democrats, although 
 Tilden was a valued personal friend of the editor and much 
 admired by him. Of the influence of Bryant s example, 
 John Bigelow, associate editor of the paper for eleven years, 
 says : " Years after I had retired from the profession, when 
 puzzled about a question of duty or propriety, I would 
 instinctively ask myself, How would Bryant act in this 
 
84 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 case ? I always and promptly received a most satisfactory 
 answer." 
 
 In the years 1834-1836 Bryant made the first of his six 
 tours of Europe. He enjoyed travel, and wrote numerous 
 letters to the paper from abroad and from distant parts of 
 America, which he afterwards collected in two volumes called 
 Letters of a Traveler and Letters from the East. On these 
 journeys he met many distinguished literary figures, in 
 cluding George Eliot, the Brownings, Wordsworth, and his 
 own fellow countrymen, Longfellow and Hawthorne. These 
 famous names, however, do not appear in the letters, 
 Bryant s sense of propriety telling him "to abstain alto 
 gether from that class of topics." The lack of life result 
 ing from this omission cannot be compensated for by any 
 amount of "faultless English and faultless taste." 
 
 Public Service and Honors. Bryant was a vigorous op 
 ponent of slavery, and one of the organizers of the Republi 
 can party in 1856. In 1860 he exerted himself through the 
 Post for the nomination and election of Lincoln, whom he 
 had seen (but of course had not known) nearly thirty years 
 before, leading a company of Illinois volunteers to the 
 Black-Hawk War. In 1864 a great meeting was held in 
 New York in honor of Bryant s seventieth birthday. 
 Poems for the occasion were written by Holmes, Lowell, 
 Bayard Taylor, Julia Ward Howe, and others, and a 
 wonderful address was delivered by Emerson. Numerous 
 and various honors were bestowed upon him in the remain 
 ing fourteen years of his life. Says Bigelow : " He was an 
 honorary member of pretty much every Historical, Phil 
 ological, Antiquarian, and Statistical society ; of every 
 Academy of Artists and Men of Letters, and of every 
 college society in the United States of sufficient consider 
 ation to feel at liberty to proffer the compliment." 
 
 In the summer of 1866 Mrs. Bryant died, after an illness 
 
TRANSLATION OF HOMER 85 
 
 covering about ten years. The family had been living for 
 some time on the old Bryant homestead in Cummington, 
 which the poet had purchased and on which he had built a 
 new house, in the hope that mountain air would do what 
 the physicians of America and Europe had failed to do. 
 Her loss left him, he said in a letter to a friend, " like one cast 
 out of Paradise and wandering in a strange world." The 
 depth of his devotion and sorrow he expressed, seven years 
 after, in a fragment of a poem in which occurs this stanza : 
 
 " And I, whose thoughts go back to happier days, 
 That fled with thee, would gladly now resign 
 All that the world can give of fame and praise, 
 For one sweet look of thine." 
 
 Translation of Homer. Bryant survived his wife twelve 
 years. He, with his daughter, made his sixth and last trip 
 to Europe the autumn following Mrs. Bryant s death ; and 
 here should be mentioned the one poem which is a part of 
 his life rather than a contribution to his fame as a poet. 
 A few years earlier he had published a translation of parts 
 of the Odyssey, which was received with great favor. When 
 his wife died, translation proved an endurable employment, 
 and he undertook to render the Iliad entire into blank verse, 
 the measure in which he attained his greatest success as a 
 metrical artist. 1 He took the Iliad with him on this last 
 journey abroad, determined to translate forty lines a day. 
 After completing it he took up the Odyssey, the last book of 
 which he sent to the printer near the close of 1871. It soon 
 became and has continued to be exceedingly popular. His 
 first volume of poems (1821) brought him less than fifteen 
 dollars in five years ; his Homer brought more than a thou 
 sand a year to his estate for the first fifteen years after 
 publication. 
 
 1 Used in Thanatopsis, A Forest Hymn, The Flood of Years, and many 
 other poems. 
 
86 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 In 1872 he visited Mexico, where he received more distin 
 guished attentions than had been accorded to any other 
 foreigner. With the exception of these two trips Bryant 
 remained in New York, active in the conduct of the Post, 
 and in the public life of the city, enjoying thoroughly his 
 
 evenings and holidays 
 at Roslyn, his Long 
 Island estate. His ex 
 cellent health con 
 tinued to the end ; and 
 when in the city, he 
 still walked the three 
 miles to his office in 
 the morning and the 
 three miles back at 
 noon. None of his 
 family remembered his 
 having any illness save 
 the one of which he 
 died ; and that was 
 caused by an accident. 
 On May 29, 1878, after 
 delivering an oration 
 in Central Park in 
 memory of the Italian 
 patriot Mazzini, Bryant 
 had a fall which caused concussion of the brain. He lingered, 
 most of the time unconcious, for fourteen days, passing 
 away five months before his eighty-fourth birthday. 
 
 National Estimate of Bryant. The memorial addresses, 
 which for months following were spoken in all sorts of 
 assemblies and in all parts of the country, could add little 
 to the evidences of esteem shown him in life. All these 
 tributes were paid, not so much to the poet, the journalist, 
 
 BRYANT IN HIS GROUNDS AT ROSLYN. 
 
 "An old-fashioned mansion, surrounded 
 by shrubberies and grand trees, and com 
 municating by a shelving lawn with one 
 of the prettiest of small fresh-water 
 lakes." (Godwin.) 
 
UNITY OF HIS POETRY 87 
 
 the publicist, as to "the spotless and faithful citizen, the 
 simple and upright man"; to one who was, according to 
 Bigelow, "the most symmetrical man" America had ever 
 known. Another eulogist, George William Curtis, said 
 that " no man [had] more truly and amply illustrated the 
 scope and the fidelity of republican citizenship." 
 
 We have said that poetry was Bryant s avocation. It 
 would be more accurate, perhaps, to say merely that it was 
 not his profession. In this his position was by no means 
 unique in American poetry. Longfellow and Lowell fol 
 lowed the vocation of teaching ; Holmes, that of medicine ; 
 Poe made his meager living by journalistic hack-work of 
 various sorts. 
 
 Unity of his Poetry. Bryant was surely "called" to 
 poetry if ever man was; and with the exception of his 
 first poem, Tlie Embargo, a political satire written when he 
 was eleven years old, the whole body of his verse shows a 
 striking unity. From Thanatopsis (written at eighteen) 
 to The Flood of Years (written at eighty -two) the " tone of 
 calm, elevated, and hopeful contemplation" (Poe) usually 
 contemplation of nature in her calmer moods is consist 
 ently maintained. We find a few excursions into the 
 realm of narrative, including the tender Sella and the fan 
 ciful Little People of the Snow; and a small number of 
 patriotic poems, of which the most noteworthy are Our 
 Country s Call and The Death of Lincoln. But these are 
 exceptional. The themes of the vast majority of Bryant s 
 poems are drawn from nature, of whom he could truly say 
 that he held 
 
 " Communion with her visible forms" 
 
 with the woods and meadows and streams and birds and 
 flowers. And it is seldom the mere view that appeals to 
 him. In the outward forms of nature Bryant, like the 
 
88 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 English poet with whom he is often (unwisely) compared, 
 heard constantly 
 
 "The still, sad music of humanity, 
 Nor harsh nor grating." l 
 
 Thanatopsis is America s first great poem. Originally it 
 consisted of only forty-nine lines, beginning with what is 
 now line 17 (" Yet a few days ") and ending with line 66 
 (" And make their bed with thee"). In this form it lacked 
 the harmonious setting of the first sixteen lines, and the 
 moral exhortation at the end ; hence it fell far short of the 
 full conception in the poet s mind. Yet even in this frag 
 ment the editors of the North American Review saw poetic 
 merit of so high an order that they were unwilling to believe 
 it was written " on this side of the Atlantic " ; and when 
 they published it, they attributed it to Doctor Bryant, the 
 poet s father! It appears to have been written in the 
 author s eighteenth or nineteenth year a phenomenal 
 performance, both in subject and in treatment. It is idle 
 to inquire whether this " view of death " (the literal mean 
 ing of the word thanatopsis) was inspired by Bryant s read 
 ing of the Englishman Henry Kirke White, or the Scotchman 
 Robert Blair, or Bishop Porteus, or William Cowper. Per 
 haps the choice of subject and attitude toward it can be 
 more easily explained by his generations of Puritan ancestry 
 which means men of the type of Edwards, who was 
 almost a monk at ten years, and of the type of Mather, who 
 was at an early age profoundly interested in things beyond 
 the grave. It must be kept in mind that Bryant is one of 
 the " Knickerbocker Writers " by accident only. He wrote 
 in the vicinity of New York City, but his spiritual as well 
 as his physical ancestry is pure New England. 
 
 !The English poet is, of course, Wordsworth. The passage quoted is 
 from Lines Written above Tintern Abbey, 91-92. 
 
A GREAT POET OF NATURE 89 
 
 A Great Poet of Nature. It is agreed by critics that 
 Bryant never surpassed Thanatopsis. He did, however, 
 touch many other chords in nature with almost equal skill. 
 Sometimes it is the might of nature, as in A Forest Hymn : 
 
 "Grandeur, strength, and grace 
 Are here to speak of Thee ; " 
 
 as in The Hurricane : 
 
 "And hark to the crashing, long and loud, 
 Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud." 
 
 Oftener it is the calmer moods, the milder expressions, of 
 nature that we hear ; as in To a Waterfowl, whose " certain 
 flight " the Creator " guides through the boundless sky " ; 
 as in Green River : 
 
 " For in thy lonely and lovely stream 
 An image of that calm life appears 
 That won my heart in my greener years." 
 
 Occasionally there is a note of joy, such as the whole poem 
 The Gladness of Nature, beginning 
 
 " Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 
 
 When our mother Nature laughs around ; 
 When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 
 And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? " 
 
 Another poem that should be mentioned here is the light- 
 hearted, lilting Robert of Lincoln, with its refrain of 
 
 " Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 
 Spink, spank, spink." 
 
 This song illustrates well also the separation of Bryant s 
 two vocations; for it was written in the same year in which 
 the Post and its editor were devoting their best energies to 
 the forming of the antislavery party. 
 
 The tone of quietness, of repose, in the greater part of 
 Bryant s verse has led some readers to call him cold. 
 
90 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Lowell expressed this opinion humorously in his famous 
 " medley," A Fable for Critics : 
 
 " There is Bryant, as quiet, as cool, and as dignified, 
 As a smooth, silent iceberg, that never is ignified. 
 
 If he stir you at all, it is just, on my soul, 
 
 .Like being stirred up with the very North Pole." 
 
 This adverse criticism, say the Bryant enthusiasts, is due to 
 a wrong viewpoint : " stateliness," not coldness, is the 
 
 BRYANT S HOMESTEAD AT CUMMINGTON. 
 
 Where the poet was born and where he lived again in the latter part 
 
 of his life. 
 
 proper term. The truth is that the man Bryant had a great 
 amount (an excessive amount, thought many) of reserve ; 
 he himself considered it remarkable that, being so poor a 
 hand at making friends, he had so many ; and this reserve 
 naturally communicated itself to his writing. We have 
 already noted how it takes the life out of his Letters of a 
 Traveler. 
 

 A FRAIL CLASSIC BUT A ^REAL ONE 91 
 
 One characteristic of these nature poems would seem to 
 show the inappropriateness of calling them ".cold." They 
 are almost never mere nature lyrics ; the trees, the flowers, 
 the winds, are preachers giving the poet messages to man 
 kind that could come through none but a warm heart. He 
 is a lover of his fellow men, and translates for their help 
 and guidance the myriad lessons of the natural world. 
 From the forest we may 
 
 " to the beautiful order of thy works 
 Learn to conform the order of our lives." 
 
 From the contemplation of the waterfowl s flight we may 
 take comfort that the power guiding it will guide our foot 
 steps also. Our neglect of the yellow violet "midst the 
 gorgeous blooms of May " teaches us the wrong of forget 
 ting humble friends when we reach a higher place in the 
 world. The fringed gentian, which even after the frost 
 still lifts its " sweet and quiet eye " to the heavens, inspires 
 us by its example to be hopeful in the face of death. 
 
 A Poet s " Mission." Bryant s conception of his mission 
 in verse, set forth in TJie Poet, is a high one. He looks 
 back over half a century of poetic effort, and from his ex 
 perience thus advises him who would " wear the name of 
 poet " : 
 
 " Deem not the framing of a deathless lay 
 The pastime of a drowsy summer day. 
 ***** 
 
 Let thine own eyes o erflow ; 
 
 Let thy lips quiver with the passionate thrill ; 
 Seize the great thought, ere yet its power be past, 
 And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fast." 
 
 A Frail Classic but a Real One. Bryant wrote no long 
 original poem " he did not believe in long poems," says 
 Bigelow. He seems to have shared Foe s theory that "the 
 
92 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 phrase, <a long poem/ is simply a flat contradiction in 
 terms " ; and it is probable that he, like Foe, was incapable 
 of any sustained effort in verse. His entire output, more 
 over, under 15,000 lines, is less in quantity than that 
 of Byron or Shelley or Keats, all of whom died before the 
 age of forty. His range is narrow, his circle of appeal is 
 limited one wonders whether it would not be even more 
 limited but for the sentimental interest attaching to things 
 learned in childhood. Yet when all is said, it must be 
 realized that Bryant s place is secure that though he is 
 one of " the scantiest and frailest of classics in our poetry," l 
 he is a classic. As the ethical teacher expounding nature 
 in America, in full sympathy with her " visible forms" and 
 interpreting her " various language " in the language of the 
 wayfarer, he occupies a noble place, one which has been 
 approached by no other, and which bids fair to continue 
 Bryant s alone. 
 
 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER, 1789-1851 
 
 An Accidental Author. Cooper became an author by 
 accident. He, a farmer, criticized an English novel, was 
 dared to write a better, and attempted to do so. He was the 
 last to appear cf "that early triumvirate of American 
 literature not less renowned than the great triumvirate of 
 American politics." 2 Moreover, he did not feel his way 
 into literature as did Irving, nor did his first works show 
 any such calling to the profession as we have noted in 
 Bryant. When a man begins his career on a wager that he 
 can surpass another man, we do not expect high accomplish 
 ment. Yet such was Cooper s beginning ; and although he 
 made many failures, he made notable successes in two 
 
 1 Matthew Arnold s phrase used of Gray, author of the Elegy. 
 
 2 George William Curtis. 
 
LIFE AT SEA, AND MARRIAGE 
 
 93 
 
 entirely new fields native American romance, and romance 
 of the sea. 
 
 He was born in Burlington, New Jersey, September 15, 
 1789, the eleventh child of William and Elizabeth (Fenimore) 
 Cooper, both Quakers. The first Cooper had come to 
 America from Stratf ord- 
 on-Avon about a hun 
 dred years earlier, and 
 appears to have been a 
 man of integrity and 
 ability. When James 
 was a year old, his 
 parents moved to 
 Cooperstown, New 
 York, on Otsego Lake, 
 and here the father built 
 Otsego Hall, a fine old 
 mansion afterwards 
 adopted by the son as 
 his permanent home. 
 
 Life at Sea, and Mar 
 riage. Cooper s prepa 
 ration for college was COOPER S BIRTHPLACE. 
 
 obtained as was 
 T, , , ,-, , 
 
 Bryant s in the home 
 
 of a clergyman. At the age of thirteen he entered Yale, from 
 which he was dismissed in his junior year for continued 
 neglect of college duties. The year following he was at sea 
 on a merchant vessel, and learned the ways and language of 
 the trade, which he later used successfully in several stories, 
 notably The Pilot and The Red Rover, and in Ned Myers, 
 the biography of a shipmate. He then entered the navy 
 as a midshipman, serving for two years and a half, during 
 which time he assisted in building a brig on Lake Ontario 
 
 In the next house lived Captain Lawrence, 
 father of the naval hero. 
 
94 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 In May, 1810, he obtained a year s furlough, and in the 
 following January married Miss de Lancey, a young woman 
 of distinguished Huguenot ancestry and fine personality. At 
 the expiration of his furlough, he yielded to her entreaties 
 and resigned from the navy, taking up farming, first in 
 Westchester County at Mrs. Cooper s home, then at Coopers- 
 town for three years, and again in Westchester. 
 
 First Stories. In 1820 came his accidental entrance into 
 literature. After reading a commonplace novel of English 
 life and asserting that he could write a better himself, he 
 accepted Mrs. Cooper s challenge to attempt it, and the 
 result was Precaution, a tiresome, uninteresting story. The 
 author had no first-hand knowledge of his subject; and in a 
 story of this kind he naturally had to introduce a number of 
 women characters, or " females," as he habitually called 
 them, in portraying whom he was wholly successful only in 
 the case of Judith Hutter, the heroine of The Deerslayer. 
 Precaution is a failure, but it was followed by an unqualified 
 success, The Spy, a story of American life, written at the 
 suggestion of friends. He had little confidence in the 
 subject; but this romance of the Revolution passed through 
 three editions in two months, and a dramatization of it was 
 drawing large audiences a month later. 
 
 Two years after The Spy came the first of that great series 
 which constitutes Cooper s chief claim as an author the 
 Leather-Stocking Tales. This was The Pioneers (1823), 
 which Cooper wrote as a labor of love, laying the scenes on 
 his beloved Otsego, and introducing characters belonging to 
 the frontier community, among them the Quaker Judge 
 Temple, thought to be a portrait of his father. In this 
 story appears for the first time Nathaniel (Natty) Bumppo, 
 the woodsman, nicknamed Leather-Stocking here, the unique 
 figure whom we meet in other tales of the series, as Beer- 
 slayer, Hawkeye, Pathfinder, La Longue Carabine, and 
 
FIRST STORIES 95 
 
 finally just "the trapper." The favor with which this second 
 romance of America was received may be judged from the 
 fact that 3500 copies were sold before noon on the day of 
 publication. 
 
 Because of its origin one other story must be mentioned 
 here The Pilot, first of Cooper s sea tales. When Scott s 
 The Pirate appeared in 1822, the author of the Waverley 
 novels was still unidentified by the public. Hearing Scott s 
 authorship of the work called in question because of the 
 thorough and profound knowledge of the sea displayed, 
 Cooper maintained that, on the contrary, it was clearly not 
 written by a seaman that it was accurate in details, but 
 did not have the real flavor of salt water. To prove this to 
 himself, he wrote The Pilot, the hero of which, though un 
 named, is John Paul Jones (" liberty s brave Buccaneer," as 
 the old song calls him), and the story of which was suggested 
 by Jones s cruise in the Hanger. 1 The success of this story 
 was almost as great as that of The Spy, and it still holds a 
 high place in romantic fiction. 
 
 Cooper was now firmly established as a literary man, in 
 a sphere which he may almost be said to have discovered, 
 and which he certainly made peculiarly his own. In 1822, 
 after the death of his father and mother, he moved to New 
 York City, and became associated with the " Knickerbocker 
 Writers." Two years later Columbia University conferred 
 upon him the Master s degree, one of the few honors that 
 fell to him. He was later honored with membership in the 
 American Philosophical Society (1823), the Georgia Histor 
 ical Society (1839), and the Maryland Historical Society 
 (1844). 
 
 In 1823 the author asked the state legislature for legal 
 
 1 The action of The Pilot takes place in 1778. Jones did not take com 
 mand of the Bonhomme Richard until the following year. See Dictionary 
 of National Biography. 
 
96 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 authority to adopt the name Fenimore, in accordance with 
 a request of his mother. He wished to be James Cooper 
 Fenimore ; 1 but, apparently through a misunderstanding, the 
 act made him James Fenimore-Cooper, and he used the 
 hyphenated form for a short time. 
 
 In Europe. During the seven years following, Cooper was 
 in Europe, holding for the first three years the position of 
 consul at Lyons, France. He traveled widely, spent a 
 winter in Rome, four months in London, and nearly four 
 and a half years in and near Paris ; three years of this last 
 period were immediately after the Revolution of 1830. He 
 became intimate with Lafayette, and met frequently other 
 French notables and one great Englishman Sir Walter 
 Scott. It may be remarked here that nowhere has Cooper 
 been more warmly admired than in France, and that by the 
 foremost literary critics, as well as by the general public. 
 G-eorge Sand and Balzac both wrote enthusiastically of his 
 works. 
 
 At War with his Countrymen. Shortly after his return to 
 America he renovated Otsego Hall, the mansion built by his 
 father at Cooperstown forty years before, and took up his res 
 idence there permanently. This year (1834) also marks 
 the beginning of his warfare with his countrymen, which 
 continued almost till his death in 1851. The story of this 
 warfare, a long series of controversial writings and libel suits, 
 is an unfortunate chapter in his life, and will be passed over 
 briefly. The beginning of it was A Letter to his Country 
 men, partly a reply to published criticisms of his works, 
 and partly a wholly unnecessary discussion of a political 
 question at that time agitating the country. The Letter he 
 followed with a satirical novel, The Monikins, and several 
 volumes of travels, in which he repeated and elaborated his 
 criticisms of America. The second quarrel was with his 
 iClymer, page 5. Loimsbury does not so state this. 
 
AT WAR WITH HIS COUNTRYMEN 97 
 
 fellow townsmen, who resented and disputed his assertion of 
 authority over Three Mile Point, a spot on the Cooper estate 
 which had for years been used as a public picnic ground. 
 He proved his right, but at the cost of much of his popular- 
 
 FACSIMILE OF A LETTER OF COOPER. 
 
 ity. His third false step was a series of suits for libel 
 against a number of newspapers which had attacked him 
 vigorously and often viciously for his conduct in the 
 Three Mile Point affair. Cooper won most of the suits, and 
 
98 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 in the end forced a retraction of the offensive statements, 
 but at further cost to his popularity. His last battle was 
 with the New York Commercial Advertiser, which in a 
 review of his History of the United States Navy reflected on 
 his character. Cooper again sued for libel, and was again 
 victorious. At least one other suit was still pending, and 
 had not been settled when Cooper died. 
 
 The seven years fighting embittered him towards the pub 
 lic and the public towards him ; and though later he became 
 " less unpopular," as Professor Lounsbury puts it, he left a 
 death-bed injunction that his family permit no authorized 
 biography of him to be written. He had consideration 
 enough for his children to wish that they might be spared 
 a recital of his troubles. The strength of his feeling in this 
 direction is shown by his regret that he had ever written 
 the Naval History. Said he : " Were the manuscript now 
 lying before me unpublished, I certainly should throw it 
 into the fire as an act of prudence to myself and of justice 
 to my children." 
 
 The five years following the controversies saw the publi 
 cation of Cooper s -two best stories The Pathfinder and 
 Tlie Deerslayer, which completed the Leather-Stocking Tales. 
 Between 1840 and 1850 he wrote fourteen others, none of 
 which are especially notable; but all sold well, and even 
 bitter enemies read and admired most of his romances. 
 According to Professor Lounsbury, Thurlow Weed, editor 
 of the Albany Journal, who had been the defendant in 
 several of Cooper s suits, " was a profound and even bigoted 
 admirer of his adversary s novels ! " 
 
 Cooper spent his last years on his estate, amusing himself 
 and spending his money in farming experiments. This sort 
 of life tended to soften him, and apparently to fix and 
 deepen religious convictions which had been growing in 
 him ; and in July, 1851, he was confirmed in the Episcopal 
 
THE INDIAN TALES 99 
 
 Church. But he was not to enjoy long the peace and con 
 tentment he had at last gained. Already signs of physical 
 weakening had appeared, and as the summer advanced, he 
 grew rapidly worse. On September 14, one day before his 
 sixty-second birthday, he died. On the twenty -fifth of the 
 month friends and admirers made arrangements for a meet 
 ing in his memory, which was held the following February, 
 William Cullen Bryant delivering the principal address. It 
 cannot be said that his death caused very general sorrow ; but 
 the feeling was universal that a great man had passed away, 
 as was shown by the large attendance at the memorial meeting. 
 
 No extended analysis of Cooper s merits and faults as a 
 writer will be made here. Mere mention of some of the 
 characteristics that have given his stories continued favor 
 will suffice. 
 
 The Sea Tales. Scott found in The Red Rover " some 
 thing too much of nautical language," and the average reader 
 will perhaps feel the same objection to other sea tales, 
 The Two Admirals and The Pilot, for example. The famous 
 fifth chapter of the last-named is rather obscure to a lands 
 man, with its " double-reefed topsails," its " weather main- 
 chains," its " after-yards trimmed," its " Let her luff ! " 
 " Square away the yards ! in mainsail ! " But we can 
 pass over all this for the sake of the story and some finely 
 drawn characters, the Pilot himself, and Long Tom Coffin, 
 the brave seaman who is of the same stuff as Natty Bumppo. 
 There is probably in all the literature of adventure no more 
 realistic and thrilling incident than the fight of the Ariel 
 and the Alacrity in chapter eighteen of The Pilot, or the 
 wreck of the Ariel with Long Tom on board, in chapter 
 twenty-four. 
 
 The Indian Tales. The same virtues appear in the Indian 
 tales, which Cooper wrote, says Clymer, " solely because 
 
100 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 stories of adventure were tingling in his blood." The Leather- 
 Stocking Tales, in the order of the events narrated, form a 
 sort of prose epic depicting an altogether new kind of heroic 
 career from young manhood to extreme old age. In The 
 Deerslayer Natty Bumppo, whose first nickname (the title 
 
 L._._ 
 
 PENNS rL VA M/A 
 
 MAP SHOWING SCENES OF THE LEATHER-STOCKING TALES. 
 
 Deerslayer takes place on and around Lake Otsego (called "Glimmer- 
 glass" in the story) ; Last of the Mohicans, in the country between the 
 Mohawk River and Lake George ; Pathfinder, on the Oswego River, and 
 the south shore of Lake Ontario from Fort Niagara to Thousand Islands; 
 Pioneers, around Lake Otsego, chiefly the vicinity of Cooperstown (called 
 " Templeton " in the story) . Drawn by R. L. Burdsall. 
 
 of the story) has come from the wonderful execution of his 
 famous musket Killdeer, sheds human blood for the first 
 time a thing which he was averse to, and which he re 
 sorted to only in self-defense. Through The Last of the 
 Mohicans, The Pathfinder, and The Pioneers, we follow 
 
PORTRAYAL OF INDIAN CHARACTER 101 
 
 the scout s adventures, and observe bis growing hatred of 
 the Mingoes, whom he comes to consider no better than ver 
 min and deserving of no better fate than vermin. In The 
 Prairie the scout s eyesight has become dim at the age of 
 fourscore and seven, and he is a pathetic figure, gaining 
 his subsistence by what seems to him the ignoble method 
 of trapping. In The Pathfinder we find him yielding to 
 the charms of a " female," who consents to marry him, but 
 whom he willingly surrenders to young Jasper Western, 
 the nominal hero of the story and the winner of her affec 
 tion. Pathfinder s love for Mabel Dunham is noble and 
 sincere, and for all women he has a chivalrous feeling that 
 is an exquisite touch. 
 
 Portrayal of Indian Character. A word must be said re 
 garding Cooper s portrayal of Indian life and characters. 
 The former, it is generally agreed, leaves nothing to be 
 desired. Otsego Lake in his boyhood was the frontier, and 
 he saw much of the Indians and was much interested in 
 their mode of life and conduct. Their customs, practices, 
 and racial characteristics he got at first hand, and these he 
 has pictured in his romances better than any real history. 
 There is not such general agreement as to Cooper s indi 
 vidual Indians, particularly the good ones. Chingachgook, 
 Uncas, and Hard-heart are objected to as idealized figures ; 
 for though they have the daring, the cunning, the disre 
 gard of life, that we commonly associate with their race, 
 they have also a fidelity to the cause they espouse and to 
 the individuals they believe in, which some critics seem 
 to think impossible in a red man. The Indian of these 
 romances, however, is unquestionably the real Indian to 
 English readers, and he is, as some one has said, a gain to 
 literature whether he is to truth or not. 
 
 Cooper is distinctly, as the preceding sentence suggests, 
 a novelist of the people, rather than of the critics. Much 
 
102 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 fault may be found with his style, with his minor charac 
 ters, with his humor, with his long and wordy introductions, 
 with the structure (or lack of structure) of his plots. Even 
 these shortcomings, however, may be forgiven in a man who 
 could create a Hawkeye and a Chingachgook, and who 
 could give such life to the romantic early days of our coun 
 try. It is worth while for us to be reminded that the 
 struggle of 1740-1800 was not merely one of cities and 
 legislative halls as recorded in the preceding chapter, but 
 was also carried on in the frontier forests, for homes for 
 the millions coming to work out the great experiment in a 
 new form of government. And for the great mass of the 
 people this story has certainly been more entertainingly 
 and hence more convincingly told by the romancer than by 
 the matter-of-fact historian. 
 
 DRAKE AND HALLECK 
 
 "The Croakers." In 1819 there appeared in the New 
 York Evening Post a series of poems, mostly satires upon 
 current events, signed " Croaker," or " Croaker, Jr." They 
 were the joint production of two close friends, Joseph Rod 
 man Drake and Fitz-Greene Halleck, minor members of the 
 Knickerbocker group, who had considerable fame in their 
 day, and are still remembered for a few poems. 
 
 Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820). Drake, though five 
 years younger than his friend, began writing several years 
 earlier. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a long poem, 
 The Culprit Fay, which for some reason was not published 
 until fifteen years after his death. With something of the 
 Romantic spirit he aimed in this poem to show that Ameri 
 can streams had poetical possibilities as great as any in 
 England or Scotland. Of Drake s Croaker pieces the best 
 known is The American Flag, which is worthy of notice as 
 
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 103 
 
 a patriotic outburst, though the first stanza is burdened with 
 a too elaborate figure. Drake, a New Yorker by birth, was 
 left an orphan when quite young ; and his childhood was a 
 hard struggle with poverty. He studied medicine, gradu 
 ating in 1816, and in the same year married Miss Sarah 
 Eckford, daughter of a wealthy New York shipbuilder. 
 This ended his financial troubles ; but he was a consump 
 tive, and in 1818 went south in search of health. He spent 
 about a year in Louisiana, and returning to New York early 
 in 1820, died there in September. 
 
 Fitz-Greene Halleck (1790-1867) was born in Connecticut, 
 but at an early age adopted New York as his home. After 
 some years in a bank he became confidential clerk to John 
 Jacob Astor ; arid at the latter s death in 1848 received a 
 pension which enabled him to retire to his birthplace for 
 the remainder of his life. Halleck wrote little, and his 
 standing as a poet rests mainly on two poems. The first, 
 On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake, beginning 
 
 " Green be the turf above thee 
 Friend of my better days," 
 
 is universally admired, both by critics and by general 
 readers. It contains only twenty-four lines, but in its direct 
 ness, sincerity, and simplicity says all that the most devoted 
 of friends could say. His other famous poem is Marco 
 Bozzaris, celebrating in stirring lines the self-sacrifice of 
 the Greek patriot in the struggle with Turkey, and contain 
 ing familiar passages, of which the closing apostrophe to 
 the spirit of Bozzaris is most worth quoting : 
 
 " For thou art Freedom s now, and Fame s : 
 One of the few, the immortal names, 
 That were not born to die." 
 
104 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN FOE, 1809-1849 
 
 The two men who, by common consent both at home and 
 abroad, are ranked highest among American writers are 
 Edgar Allan Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne. They are 
 notably individual; they are men of letters and nothing 
 more; they are universally recognized as literary artists. 
 While Poe wrote much criticism and a few poems of the 
 first order, it seems likely that his fame will finally rest 
 
 on his short-stories, a 
 likelihood that may 
 be stated also of Haw 
 thorne. In this diffi 
 cult field they are un 
 surpassed, not only in 
 American, but in the 
 world s, literature. 
 
 A Man of Contradic 
 tions. In 1841 Poe 
 wrote to a friend who 
 was preparing a sketch 
 of his life: "Born, 
 Jan., 1811." In 1849, 
 after the sketch was 
 published, Poe wrote : 
 " You have given my 
 sister s age instead of 
 
 BUST OF POE AT UNIVERSITY OF Vm- mine, I was born in 
 
 Dec., 1813." The truth 
 
 GINIA, BY ZOLNAY. 
 
 Believed to be the best interpretation of 
 the poet. 
 
 is that he was born 
 January 19, 1809, and 
 
 that his sister was two years younger than he. He 
 enlisted in the army at the age of eighteen years, four 
 
EXPLANATIONS 105 
 
 months; minors were then admitted into the service, yet 
 he gave his age as twenty-two. Two years later, when he 
 applied for admission to West Point, he said he was nineteen 
 years and three months old. The title-page of his first 
 volume of poems informs us that the contents are " By a 
 Bostonian." In a letter to a friend fifteen years later he 
 said: "I am a Virginian. ... I have resided all my life 
 until the last few years, in Kichrnond." In fact, he had 
 lived a few months in Boston, five years in England, one 
 year at the University of Virginia, four years in New York 
 City, one year in Baltimore, and two years in army posts. 
 In view of these facts we can hardly accept Poe s statement 
 that he had "an inveterate habit of speaking the truth." 
 We are more likely to agree with Professor Woodberry : 
 " Any unsupported assertion by Poe regarding himself is to 
 be received with great caution." 
 
 Explanations. How can such a state of things be ex 
 plained ? Was Poe intentionally lying ? One searches in 
 vain for motives. Did he make these contradictory state 
 ments under the influence of liquor ? The idea that Poe 
 was an habitual drunkard was long ago exploded. Or were 
 they merely another expression of Poe s tendency to mystify ? 
 A possible explanation may be found in a letter to the poet 
 Lowell: "I have been too deeply conscious of the muta 
 bility and evanescence of temporal things to give any con 
 sistent effort to anything to be consistent in anything. 
 My life has been whim impulse passion a longing 
 for solitude a scorn of all things present, in an earnest 
 desire for the future." Another possible explanation is a 
 caution to Poe from his friend John P. Kennedy : " Your 
 fault is your love of the extravagant. Pray beware of 
 it." This fault we should express now by the popular 
 phrase, " playing to the galleries " His whole life was 
 spectacular. 
 
106 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Early Life in Virginia. Poe was a " Bostonian " by birth, 
 of actor parents who were then playing in the Massachusetts 
 capital. Both parents died before he was three years old, 
 Mrs. Poe while filling an engagement in Richmond, Virginia ; 
 and Edgar was adopted by a Richmond merchant, John 
 Allan, between whose wife and the adopted son a strong 
 affection grew up. When Poe was six years old, Mr. Allan s 
 business took him to England ; and the boy spent the next 
 five years at Dr. Bransby s school in a London suburb, a 
 school of which he has left an account in William Wilson. 
 When they returned to Richmond in 1820, Poe s education 
 was continued in private schools until he entered the recently 
 established University of Virginia in February, 1826. 
 
 Since women filled so large a place in Poe s life, it may 
 be well to mention here two who, in addition to Mrs. Allan, 
 touched his heart while he was still a boy. The first was 
 Mrs. Stanard, mother of a school friend, who welcomed him 
 cordially on his first visit to her home, and exerted a strong 
 influence over him. It is said that after her death he 
 haunted her grave in his apparently incurable sorrow. The 
 other woman was Miss Royster, a neighbor of the Allans, 
 near Poe s age, who evidently returned his affection; but 
 the promising romance was ended by Mr. Royster s inter 
 cepting Poe s letters, which he did, says the lady, solely 
 "because we were too young." That her attraction for him 
 was not superficial is indicated by his renewing his attentions 
 to her in the last year of his life, when again he met her, 
 then a widow, in Richmond. 
 
 In the Army. During his ten months at the University 
 Poe distinguished himself in languages, and read extensively 
 in four or five. Unfortunately he also distinguished him 
 self at gaming, and returned to Mr. Allan with a fine crop 
 of " debts of honor," which that gentleman declined to pay. 
 A disagreement followed, which resulted in Poe s leaving 
 
IN THE ARMY 
 
 107 
 
 Richmond and enlisting in the army under the name of 
 Edgar A. Perry. The next month appeared Tamerlane and 
 Other Poems, By a Bostonian, a collection of ten poems most 
 of which were written, says Poe, before he was fifteen. 
 There are allusions to Mrs. Stanard and Miss Royster, and 
 to his passionate and unhappy life. There are no great- 
 poems here ; but there are clear foretastes of the hauntingly 
 
 WEST RANGE, UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA. 
 The dormitory in which Poe lived. 
 
 musical quality of Poe s best work, which one feels in his 
 prose as well as in his verse. During his term in the army 
 Poe made an excellent record, rising to the position of 
 sergeant major. 
 
 In April, 1829, after two years service, he secured nis 
 discharge from the army, and became reconciled to Mr. 
 Allan, Mrs. Allan having recently died. In July of the 
 following year, Poe, partly through Mr. Allan s efforts, re- 
 
108 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 ceived appointment to the military academy at West Point-, 
 but discipline here proved less congenial than that in the 
 army, Poe neglected duties and broke rules, and was court- 
 martialed and dismissed in less than a year. 
 
 First Literary Success. No trace of Poe s whereabouts 
 has been found from this time, March, 1831, to the summer 
 of 1833, when he made his first " strike " as a writer. This 
 was the winning of a hundred dollar prize given by the 
 Baltimore Visiter for the best story to be published in its 
 columns. Poe submitted six stories, grouped as Tales of the 
 Folio Club, and the judges unanimously awarded the prize 
 to A MS. Found in a Bottle, a thrilling story of shipwreck. 
 A prize of fifty dollars for the best poem might also have 
 gone to Poe, it appears, had not the judges thought it 
 unwise to give both to one contestant. The Visiter for 
 October 12, 1833, which contained the MS., contained also 
 a note advising Poe to publish the whole series of the Folio 
 Club, and concluding : " These tales are eminently distin 
 guished by a wild, vigorous, and poetical imagination, a 
 rich style, a fertile invention, and varied and curious learn 
 ing." Among the number were two other notable tales 
 
 The Assignation, a picturesque and tragic tale of Venice, 
 and A Descent into the Maelstrom, an exciting sea adventure 
 like the MS., but without its fatal ending. 
 
 Disinherited. Poe s foster father married again, and Poe 
 never got into the good graces of the second Mrs. Allan. 
 When Mr. Allan died in March, 1834, a few months after 
 Poe had attained real literary fame, he failed to mention 
 his adopted son in his will. The cause of the estrangement 
 will doubtless never be known, and it is unprofitable to 
 discuss various suggested explanations. It is enough to 
 say that Poe was surprised and bitterly disappointed at 
 being thus cut off, and that from this time he lived by his 
 pen. 
 
DISINHERITED 109 
 
 Shortly after this a license was issued in Baltimore for 
 the marriage of Poe, age twenty-five, and his cousin Vir 
 ginia Clemm, age twelve years and one month ; but there 
 
 KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS, That we 
 
 ^~ 
 
 am told and firmly bound unto /^^^^^^T^^^^, a2^^E5-~~^r Governor^ the 
 ; Commonwealth of Virginia, in the just add full sum of ONE HCNDHED AND FIFTY DOLLARS, to the 
 
 ____ ._ _ _ _____ _______ ., __._ _ _ ..... __ . ______ v . . 
 
 payment whereof, well and truly to be made to the said Governor, or his successors, for the use of 
 
 the said Commonwealth, we bind ourselves and each of us, our and each of our heirs, executors 
 and administrators, jointly and severally, firmly by these presents. Sealed with our seals, and 
 dated this /(& - dty of frltcy 183 < 
 
 THE CONDITION OF THE ABOVE OBLIGATION IS SUCH, That whereas a 
 marriage is shortly intended to be had and solemnized between the above bound G 
 
 of the City of Richmond. Now if there is no lawful cause to obstruct said marriage, then the 
 above obligatioFto be void, ei to remain in full force and virtue. 
 
 CITY OF mCRMOWD, To wit . 
 
 ->- < EMs?^~V5*-<f>ps*-.u3> -;&^&i&x ?t-*>t=- -r,- "afee named, made oath 
 
 before me, as XJ^S^^ZTT^ Clerk of the Court of Hustings for the said City, that 
 
 L/.&i.pz+t Lct^ Q> ^y^gbnsxm^ j g ^ foQ |y{ a^> <rf twenty-one years, and a 
 
 resident of the said City. Given under my hand, this S& day of ??ta^4/ 18.) <a 
 
 POE S MARRIAGE BOND. 
 
 is no record of the performance of a ceremony at this time. 
 A second license was obtained about a year later, and they 
 were married in Richmond. She was, according to all testi- 
 
110 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 mony, a beautiful and intelligent girl, and Poe was constant 
 in his devotion to her till her death in 1847 ; but it does not 
 appear that she had any great influence upon his life, or 
 any influence whatever upon his work, unless she was the 
 inspiration of Annabel Lee. 
 
 In Richmond. The year following his marriage Poe be 
 gan his journalistic career as editor of the Southern Literary 
 Messenger, at a salary of $520 a year, 1 his first occupation 
 assuring a regular income. This was increased to $800 by 
 extra work, and he was promised $1000 the second year. 
 The editor of those days himself wrote most of his maga 
 zine ; and Poe published in the Messenger, not only an 
 enormous amount of critical work, but some of his best tales 
 (for example, Berenice and Mbrella), and a few of his best 
 poems (such as Israfel, and the first To Helen). How well 
 his work was done may be gathered from the fact that the 
 circulation of the magazine increased from seven hundred 
 to five thousand during the year he was connected with it. 
 His surrender of this position after such success is one of 
 many acts of Poe s life not readily explained. His eccen 
 tricities disturbed Mr. White, the matter-of-fact owner of 
 the Messenger ; his sensitive nature was easily hurt by his 
 employer ; and his severe criticisms of many American 
 writers had brought suggestions to White that it would be 
 well to part with his editor at the first opportunity. Any 
 one of these reasons may account for his move. 
 
 In New York. Leaving Richmond in January, 1837, Poe 
 went to New York, where he seems to have had no regular 
 occupation, possibly because of the financial panic. He 
 completed and published in book form the Narrative of 
 Arthur Gordon Pym, a realistic account of Antarctic explo 
 ration which he had begun in the Messenger. Beyond this 
 
 1 The reader should remember that every dollar in 1835 had the pur 
 chasing power of from three to five dollars to-day. 
 
ANALYTICAL TALES 111 
 
 book and a single critical article in the New York Review 
 Poe seems to have published nothing while in New York. 
 
 In Philadelphia. From 1838 to 1844 his home was in 
 Philadelphia, where he wrote for various magazines, and 
 where in January, 1841, he issued a prospectus for one of 
 his own, to be called the Penn Magazine. Ever since his 
 connection with the Southern Literary Messenger Poe had 
 longed to have under his control a periodical which should 
 be independent and fearless, supporting " the general inter 
 ests of the republic of letters, without reference to particular 
 regions." It was to be independent of booksellers and 
 cliques, and to leave nothing to be desired on the mechanical 
 side. The scheme fell through, however, and he became 
 editor of Graham *s Magazine, where he repeated his success 
 with the Messenger, increasing its circulation from 8000 to 
 40,000 in a little more than a year. In 1840 there had 
 appeared Poe s Tales of the Grotesque and the Arabesque, a 
 two-volume collection containing Ligeia, which the author 
 considered his best, and The Fall of the House of Usher, 
 which is ranked first by the critics. The collection did not 
 sell ; and when a year later he offered the same publishers 
 a new edition, with eight new tales added, they declined, 
 saying that the previous venture had not returned them the 
 expense of publication. This fact gives some idea of the 
 literary taste of America in the forties; for Poe s profit 
 from the 1840 Tales was twenty copies for distribution 
 among friends ! 
 
 Analytical Tales. After leaving Graham s and finding no 
 other desirable literary connection, Poe sought a government 
 appointment in Washington, seeing a " disposition in gov 
 ernment to cherish letters." He did not profess any en 
 thusiasm for clerical work, but merely desired a living 
 salary independent of literature. He failed in his efforts, 
 and seems to have had no income for nearly a year except 
 
112 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 
 t/Mi. 
 
 n o 
 
 FACSIMILE OF A LETTEK OF POE. 
 In which he designates Ligeia as his best story. 
 
AGAIN IN NEW YORK 113 
 
 a one hundred dollar prize awarded TJie Gold Bug (1843), 
 probably his best-known tale. A year after its publication 
 Poe asserted that over 300,000 copies had been circulated. 
 " From this tale," says A. Conan Doyle, " all stories of 
 ciphers and treasure are to be dated." To the Philadelphia 
 period belongs also the Murders in the Rue Morgue, one of 
 the greatest of his detective stories. Of Poe s work in this 
 field Doyle, Poe s most distinguished successor, says: "Prob 
 lem and solution must form the theme, and character-draw 
 ing be limited and subordinate. On this narrow path the 
 writer must walk, and he sees the footmarks of Poe always 
 in front of him. He is happy if he ever finds the means of 
 breaking away and striking out on some little side-track of 
 his own." 
 
 In 1843 Poe gave his cordial support to the Pioneer, a 
 magazine started in Boston by Lowell, with much the same 
 aims and ideals as the Penn. This venture failed after the 
 third number, and Poe soon issued another prospectus for 
 an independent journal to be called the Stylus, merely " my 
 old Penn revived and remodeled under better auspices." 
 Lowell returned the compliment of Poe s support of the 
 Pioneer, and had greater hopes for the Stylus ; " for," he 
 wrote to Poe, " I think you understand editing vastly better 
 than I ... and you have more . . . industry than I." 
 But the Stylus never saw the light ; and in April, 1844, Poe 
 removed again to New York. 
 
 Again in New York. After some months of hack-work 
 Poe joined the staff of the Evening Mirror, in which on 
 January 29, 1845, appeared The Raven, the first of the 
 author s poems to attain immediate popular success. The 
 notoriety thus gained brought Poe the offer of a more agree 
 able situation, coeditor of the Broadway Journal, of which 
 he subsequently became editor and proprietor. The Journal 
 failed in less than a year, solely through the proprietor s 
 
114 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 lack of business ability. Judged even by the low standards 
 of the day, Poe never got a fair return for his work, either 
 as his own master or as an employee. 
 
 Death of his Wife. In the early summer of 1846 Poe 
 moved to a cottage in Fordham, then a suburb of New York 
 City, and furnished it (very m eagerly) with money gained 
 in a lawsuit. Here with his child-wife and her mother 
 Poe s " more than mother " he lived in extreme poverty 
 and wretchedness. Their condition was brought to public 
 notice, and this added to Poe s distress; but some relief 
 came through a Mrs. Shew, who collected a small amount of 
 money for the sufferers, and helped them greatly by her 
 company and advice. A grief which neither money nor 
 sympathy could help was, however, not far distant. Vir 
 ginia Poe, who had ruptured a blood-vessel some years 
 previously, showed unmistakable signs of decline soon after 
 the move to Fordham, and grew rapidly worse through the 
 fall, passing away in January, 1847. Poe now suffered, as 
 one biographer puts it, " the exquisite agony of utter loneli 
 ness." So often had he in imagination gone through the 
 misery of seeing her die that her actual death brought a new 
 sort of misery. He was threatened with brain fever, from 
 which Mrs. Shew, who had received medical training, feared 
 he would not recover without the use of stimulants, and 
 these he could not use. 
 
 He did recover, however, and returned to his miscel 
 laneous literary work, writing near the close of the year 
 Ulalume, about which there is probably wider difference of 
 opinion than about any other of his compositions. The 
 haunting music is there, as usual, also the atmosphere of 
 mystery; but the meaning is to most readers very obscure. 
 Professor Woodberry understands it as " the language of a 
 spirit sunk in a blank and moaning despair, and at every 
 move beaten back helplessly upon itself." 
 
LAST MONTHS 115 
 
 In the autumn of 1848 Poe met Mrs. Sarah Helen Whit 
 man, whose verses he had admired and who had greatly 
 admired his. They became engaged; but the engagement 
 was broken by her friends, who with some reason, perhaps, 
 considered him unfit to be her husband. Mrs. Whitman 
 afterwards was very bitter towards these "friends," 
 and was one of the first to defend the poet s memory 
 against the slanders of his first biographer and other 
 scandalmongers. " This tragedy of the heart," said one 
 who knew her well, " colored all the rest of her life." 
 
 Last Months. Poe s affections for women were " intense 
 but fleeting." Within a year after the episode with Mrs. 
 Whitman, while on a visit and lecturing- tour in Virginia, 
 he met Mrs. Shelton (the Miss Royster of his youth), and 
 became engaged to her. The few months of this trip seem 
 to have been the happiest since he reached manhood ; but 
 he was not destined to have them prolonged. In October, 
 1849, he left Richmond for New York, to wind up some 
 business affairs before his marriage to Mrs. Shelton, and 
 traveled by boat to Baltimore, where he met his death 
 how will doubtless never be known. 
 
 He landed in Baltimore on election day, when elections 
 were shamefully (mis)-conducted ; and the most plausible 
 explanation of his death is that advanced by Professor 
 Harrison, that he was caught by a gang and drugged so 
 they might "vote" him all over the city. This is known 
 to have been a common practice at that time with strangers ; 
 and in one of the voting places where these gangs operated 
 Poe was found insensible by Dr. Snodgrass, a friend to 
 whom his whereabouts had been communicated, and who 
 took him to a hospital. All efforts to revive him were un 
 successful, and he died October 7, without regaining con 
 sciousness sufficiently to give any account of his experiences. 
 He was buried in Baltimore. 
 
116 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 An Inexplicable Character. It may be doubted whether 
 one short life has ever been rilled with so many contro 
 versies as Poe s, or has ever given rise to so many contro 
 versies after its close. Nearly every one of his journalistic 
 changes, nearly every one of his love affairs, and a large 
 number of his criticisms, have raised questions that are still 
 unanswered. He was never a hard drinker; but he did 
 
 RESIDENCE OF JOHN ALLAN, POE S FOSTER-FATHER. 
 
 Though not a handsome structure, it was long a notable landmark at the 
 top of one of Richmond s seven hills. 
 
 yield at times to an inherited weakness. He was always 
 in poverty "often abject and always extreme." He was 
 certainly willful and impatient of restraint, and he was con 
 scious of possessing far greater abilities than most of those 
 for whom he worked. Here is sufficient explanation of his 
 difficulty in getting on with people. Moreover, while he 
 was a fearless and usually sincere critic, he had strong prej 
 udices and "hobbies." For an example of the first, he felt 
 himself a Southern writer, and believed that there were 
 
AN INEXPLICABLE CHARACTER 117 
 
 conspiracies among booksellers and other critics to deny any 
 merit to Southern writers. This led him to break a long 
 friendship with Lowell by a quite undeserved attack on the 
 Fable for Critics, in which Poe was the only Southern 
 writer mentioned. For an example of the second, the de 
 tection of plagiarism was almost a mania with him. He 
 especially pursued Longfellow with this last charge, and 
 carried on so lengthy a controversy with that poet s friends 
 that it is known as "the Longfellow war." It is worth 
 noting that Longfellow himself took no part in it, and 
 wished his friends to refrain. His explanation of Poe s 
 attitude towards him is evidence that he did not take the 
 matter to heart. Said he : " The harshness of his criti 
 cisms I have never attributed to anything but the irritation 
 of a sensitive nature, chafed by some indefinite sense of 
 wrong." 
 
 Controversies regarding the facts of Poe s life began al 
 most immediately after his death. A certain Reverend 
 Doctor Griswold published an " authorized " life, which was 
 full of misstateme-nts, some apparently intentional. There 
 had been a disagreement between the two men, and Gris 
 wold seems to have waited till he might take his revenge 
 without fear of a return blow ; but he reckoned without the 
 poet s friends, who immediately rushed to the defense ; and 
 for thirty years the warfare continued. The thorough re 
 searches of the biographers of Poe, and the careful analysis 
 of such writers as Mr. J. M. Robertson 1 may be said to have 
 settled all points in dispute which can be settled in this world. 
 
 Poe s rank as a writer is now not much in dispute. As 
 poet and as short-story writer his place is admittedly at the 
 top, and his critical work no longer calls for apology. 
 
 1 ln New Essays towards a Critical Method. This admirable example 
 of " collective " criticism seems to the present writer the best short study 
 of Poe that has yet appeared. 
 
118 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Poe the Critic. Much of his criticism deals with books 
 of only passing interest, as do our magazines and" Saturday 
 book supplements " to-day. He was inclined to overpraise 
 women writers, and as mentioned above, to charge plagi 
 arism on the discovery of the slightest similarities in works. 
 But he was one of the first to recognize and proclaim the 
 genius of Bryant and Hawthorne in America, and of 
 Tennyson and Mrs. Browning in England. His exposition 
 of " The Short-story " l in his review of Twice Told Tales is 
 a classic definition of a type of literature. On the whole 
 Poe s work as critic was beneficial and creditable. 
 
 The Story-teller. In the field of the short-story he is 
 supreme, though at times he is closely approached by 
 Hawthorne. Both were eminently successful in allegorical 
 and supernatural tales ; but Poe s analytical tales have no 
 parallel in the New England writer, and it is this class to 
 which Conan Doyle gives the high praise quoted above. 
 Poe manages his suspense better than Hawthorne, and the 
 meaning of his allegories is not so evident, or enforced with 
 so great insistence ; his supernatural tales are wholly super 
 natural, and not of divided interest and effect. Hawthorne 
 had, as we shall see, merits denied to Poe, and it is quite 
 unnecessary to tag the writers as first and second. 
 
 The Poet. The range of Poe s poetry is as limited as 
 Bryant s, and his total product smaller even than Bryant s, 
 which we have seen was very small. Only a few subjects 
 are treated in verse by Poe, and his five or six greatest 
 poems treat only one death. Poetry he defines in The 
 Poetic Principle as " the rhythmical creation of beauty " ; 
 and in The Philosophy of Composition, which purports to be 
 an account of how he wrote The Raven, he asserts that " the 
 death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most 
 poetical topic in the world." Hence, we find death the 
 
 1 See page 80, Note 2. 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 119 
 
 subject of The Conqueror Worm, Tlie Haunted Palace, The 
 City in the Sea; and the death of a beautiful woman, of The 
 Raven, Ulalume, Lenore, and Annabel Lee. Some one has 
 called Poe the world s greatest artist of death. 
 
 Perhaps the criticism that Poe himself would have appre 
 ciated most is that of the poet Tennyson in 1885, with which 
 we shall close this sketch. " There is one spot in America, 7 
 said Tennyson, " which I would like to visit, viz., the long- 
 neglected spot in Baltimore l where the greatest American 
 genius lies buried. In my opinion your Bryant, Whittier, 
 etc., are pygmies compared with Poe. He is the literary 
 glory of America. More than thirty-five years have elapsed 
 since his death, and his fame is constantly increasing. 
 That is a true test of genius." 
 
 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 1804-1864 
 
 A Product of New England. While Cooper seems to have 
 had no spiritual or literary ancestry, and while Poe s was a 
 composite the elements of which it is difficult to place, 
 Hawthorne s was, like Bryant s, pure New England. His 
 forefathers were prominent in the life of the colony ; but 
 any pride he felt from this fact was almost destroyed by the 
 recollection that one of them as a judge sanctioned perse 
 cution of witches and Quakers. Endicott s Puritan fol 
 lowers Hawthorne calls " most dismal wretches " ; but the 
 bent of his mind was a direct inheritance from these fore 
 fathers. The life of the soul, the conscience of man, was 
 what interested him ; and whatever he saw, read, or thought 
 gave rise to a moral lesson. Moreover, both his reading 
 and his writing would on the whole have pleased seven 
 teenth century Massachusetts. His boyhood " amusements " 
 
 1 Tennyson was mistaken regarding the neglect. A monument had 
 been erected over Poe s grave in 1875. 
 
120 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 were Pilgrim s Progress and TJie Faerie Queene; and his 
 manhood products were " the most consistently gloomy of 
 English novels of the first rank," and a number of " singu 
 larly dismal compositions. 7 1 The Scarlet Letter is, in the 
 author s own words, " a tale of human frailty and sorrow." 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in Salem, Massachusetts, 
 
 July 4, 1804. Early in 
 life he acquired what 
 he called his "cursed 
 habit of solitude," a 
 habit which was en 
 couraged by irregular 
 schooling under tutors. 
 In 1821 he entered 
 Bowdoin College, 
 Maine, in the class with 
 Longfellow, and with 
 Franklin Pierce, after 
 wards President of the 
 nation. At college, 
 where he was called 
 "Oberon," because of 
 his beauty and his 
 romantic stories, he 
 was not a diligent stu 
 dent, but managed to 
 
 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 
 
 "For many years the obscurest man of 
 
 letters in America." (Preface to Twice 
 
 Told Tales.} 
 
 attain distinction in 
 Latin and in composition. "The best thing Bowdoin 
 College did for him," says Conway, " was to give him three 
 or four friends." 
 
 Beginnings of Authorship. After graduation in 1825 he 
 returned to Salem, and remained there in seclusion twelve 
 
 i Henry James, Life of Hawthorne, referring to The Scarlet Letter, and 
 " the best of the Mosses." 
 
AT BROOK FARM 121 
 
 years. About the time of his return he wrote to his sister: 
 " I shall never make a distinguished figure in the world, 
 and all I hope or wish is to plod along with the multitude." 
 He wrote much during these years, but published little, and 
 that little under assumed names, for example, "Oberon," 
 which we can understand, and " Rev. A. A. Royce," which 
 we cannot. With such methods and such lack of ambition 
 it is no wonder that he could call himself in 1837 "the ob 
 scurest man of letters in America." In 1828 had appeared 
 Fanshawe, a college story which he afterwards suppressed. 
 From 1830 various short-stories and sketches of his found 
 their way into the then popular annuals, the best of which 
 appeared in 1837 as Twice Told Tales, a second volume being 
 added five years later. 
 
 At Brook Farm. In 1841 Hawthorne took " the only ap 
 parently freakish action of his life" joined Brook Farm, 
 a socialistic community just organized in a suburb of Boston 
 (West Roxbury), one of those expressions of Transcenden 
 talism l in which, according to Lowell, " everything was com 
 mon except common sense." Hawthorne lost a thousand 
 dollars in it besides his time, and seems to have regretted 
 the latter more than the former. " Is it a praiseworthy 
 matter," he writes, " that I have spent five golden months 
 in providing food for cows and horses? It is not so." 
 Elsewhere he asserts that any amount of physical labor is 
 incompatible with intellectual. One good result of Haw 
 thorne s experience at Brook Farm was TJie Blithedale Ro 
 mance. While he claimed that this is not a picture of the 
 community, he admitted that he had the community in 
 mind, and " occasionally availed himself of his actual 
 reminiscences." 
 
 In July, 1842, Hawthorne married Miss Sophie Peabody, 
 daughter of a Salem physician, to whom he had been 
 1 See page 160. 
 
122 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 engaged three years ; and they took up their residence at 
 Concord, in the Old Manse, formerly occupied by Emerson. 
 Here they lived a supremely happy and quiet life for several 
 years, until through the influence of friends, Hawthorne 
 was appointed surveyor of the Custom House at Salem. 
 In the same year he published Mosses from an Old Manse, 
 
 THE OLD MANSE. 
 
 a collection of tales and sketches, not all written in Con 
 cord, and some written twelve or fifteen years before. 
 
 " The Scarlet Letter." He produced nothing during his 
 three years in the Custom House; but The Scarlet Letter 
 took shape in his mind, and was published in 1850. This, 
 by common consent his greatest work, is a study of punish 
 ment, with the moral : " Be true ! Be true ! Be true ! Show 
 freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait 
 
"THE SCARLET LETTER" 123 
 
 whereby the worst may be inferred ! " The punishment of 
 the minister, Arthur Dimmesdale, was not the recollection 
 of sin, but the consciousness that, because he was conceal 
 ing a sin, his every moment of life was a lie. Though 
 Julian Hawthorne records that his father " did not think it 
 a natural book for him to write," it seems eminently natural 
 to a student of Hawthorne s work as a whole ; for not only 
 is sin in various forms the theme of many of his short- 
 stories and of his four romances, but two of the Tivice Told 
 Tales are directly connected with The Scarlet Letter. 
 
 In The Minister s Black Veil Rev. Mr. Hooper wears a 
 piece of black crape constantly before his face, typifying the 
 hiding by every man of his secret sins from his neighbors. 
 In Endicott and the Red Cross, in a group of malefactors 
 undergoing punishment, there " was a young woman whose 
 doom it was to wear the letter A on the breast of her 
 gown. . . . Sporting with her infamy, the lost and desper 
 ate creature had embroidered the fatal token in scarlet cloth, 
 with golden thread and the nicest art of needle-work; so 
 that the capital A might have been thought to mean Admi 
 rable, or anything rather than Adulteress." 
 
 It was said that Hawthorne did not know how The Scarlet 
 Letter was going to end ; but his son has told us that the 
 anecdote is connected with the wrong story that it was 
 true of Rappaccinfs Daughter, in the Mosses. And indeed, 
 it is hard to see how the Letter could end otherwise than 
 as it does end. There is no hint of forgiveness, and none 
 is needed ; but the uncovering of the minister s sin and the 
 defeat of the wronged husband s plan for revenge are essen 
 tial to the working out of the theme. 
 
 The Scarlet Letter made Hawthorne s fame secure; but 
 in an introduction called The Custom House he offended 
 his townsmen by holding a number of them up to ridicule. 
 Although in the preface to the second edition he asserted 
 
124 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 that he had written the introduction with perfect good 
 humor, and that he saw no reason to alter it, Salem was 
 unconvinced, and the town ceased from that time to be a 
 congenial abode. Accordingly, in the spring of 1850 he 
 moved to a cottage in the Berkshire Hills, and remained 
 there a year and a half. Finding this location unsuited to 
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. 
 
 his health, he again moved, this time to West Newton, near 
 Boston, where the Peabodys lived. Six months later he 
 purchased " The Wayside," a twenty-acre country residence 
 at Concord, his last home. 
 
 "Seven Gables," and " Blithedale." Two other romances 
 were written during these years of migration The House 
 of the Seven Gables, in the Berkshires, and The Blithedale Ro 
 mance, at West Newton. For most readers the former of 
 
CONSUL AT LIVERPOOL 125 
 
 these is more agreeable reading than Hawthorne s other 
 long stories; for the glimpses of life in Salem are interest 
 ing, and the Pyncheon family, around whom the story 
 centers, are more entertaining than any other group in 
 Hawthorne. The theme, is the visiting of the father s sins 
 upon the children to the third and fourth generation ; but 
 the quality of humor is more prominent here than else 
 where, the author comes nearer than usual to being a real 
 ist, the story ends satisfactorily, and the somber moral is 
 not oppressive. The inspiration of The Blithedale Romance 
 the author s experience at Brook Farm has been men 
 tioned. It is the least interesting of the romances, and 
 such interest as it has is not for young people. In it is 
 found Zenobia, " the high-spirited Woman, bruising herself 
 against the narrow limitations of her sex," whom one biog 
 rapher considers Hawthorne s " only very definite attempt 
 at the representation of a character." There is little action 
 in the story, and the moral is too plain and manifest a 
 criticism Hawthorne himself passed on TJie Great Stone Face. 
 
 " The Marble Faun." It seems well at this point to dis 
 regard the chronological order, and mention The Marble 
 Faun, written during his residence abroad and published in 
 1860. This obscure and mysterious story raised many 
 questions, to all of which the author replied that for those 
 asking such the book is a failure. Its chief interest is as 
 a picture of Rome under its two most striking aspects : as 
 the fountain-head of Roman Catholicism, and as the land 
 of art and the favorite resort for artists. This background 
 seems at times rather overdone ; but it has made the book 
 almost a standard guide for Rome a fact which would 
 have amazed and probably disgusted the author had he lived 
 to know it. 
 
 Consul at Liverpool. The residence abroad just men 
 tioned began when Hawthorne had been only a year at 
 
126 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 " The Wayside, his new Concord home ; and the occasion of 
 it was his appointment by President Pierce, his old college 
 mate, as consul at Liverpool. He held the post the full term 
 of four years, but was by no means a shining success in Eng 
 land. Being of an unsociable, retiring disposition, he met 
 very few literary men of high rank. Instead of living in 
 
 "WAYSIDE," CONCORD. 
 Hawthorne s last home. 
 
 the city of Liverpool, he took a house in a suburb across 
 the Mersey; and to a friend he wrote: "I like the situation 
 all the better because it will render it impossible for me to 
 go to parties, or to give parties myself, and will keep me 
 out of a good deal of nonsense." His volume dealing with 
 England and the English, Our Old Home, is far from sat 
 isfactory and gave great offense to that country, just as 
 
CONSUL AT LIVERPOOL 
 
 127 
 
 The Custom House had to Salem. Its chief defect is that it 
 is based on very limited observation, and that not of repre 
 sentative classes of the people. 
 
 Eetiring from the consulate in the .autumn of 1857, 
 Hawthorne went to the Continent, where he spent a year 
 and a half, mostly in Rome. Here he got the material 
 
 DINING ROOM AT " WAYSIDE." 
 
 for the comprehensible part of The Marble Faun; but the 
 city was not more tolerable to him than Liverpool. Liver 
 pool had been " smoky, noisy, dirty, pestilential " "a 
 most detestable place as a residence " "a black and mis 
 erable hole." Rome he bitterly detested. "In fact," he 
 wrote, "I wish the very site had been obliterated before 
 1 ever saw it." 
 
128 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Return Home, and Death. Hawthorne reached Concord 
 in June, 1860, on the eve of the war, was cordially re 
 ceived by the villagers, and appeared to be more interested 
 in them than formerly. His health showed signs of break 
 ing, and the struggle of his countrymen distressed him 
 greatly. His strange attitude toward it is indicated in 
 a letter to his friend Bridge : " Though I approve of the 
 war as much as any man, I don t quite understand what 
 we are fighting for, or what definite result can be expected. 
 Whatever happens next, I must say that I rejoice that the 
 old Union is smashed. We never were one people, and 
 never really had a country since the constitution was 
 formed." And this man had said New England was as 
 big a spot as he could hold in his heart, yet was allied 
 with the political party whose strength was in the South ! 
 Early in 1864 Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes advised him to 
 take a quiet tour, though neither physician nor patient had 
 any confidence in the outcome. On this tour Hawthorne 
 started with Pierce as companion. The end came in Ply 
 mouth, New Hampshire, where they had stopped for the 
 night. He was buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord. 
 
 The Short-stories. Hawthorne holds a place as writer of 
 short-stories second only (if really second) to Poe, and it is 
 his work in this field that attracts young readers. We have 
 noted that Poe wrote analytical tales which have no parallel 
 in Hawthorne. It should be noted also that Hawthorne 
 wrote of New England colonial history as Poe could have 
 written of no definite time or place. In The Gray 
 Champion, Endicott and the Red Cross, Young Goodman 
 Brown, Roger Malvin s Burial, The Maypole of Merry Mount, 
 Drowne s Wooden Image to mention only a few of the 
 most striking the spirit and times of his forefathers are 
 made to live again for us. While, as we have said, the 
 
BOOKS FOR CHILDREN 129 
 
 bent of his mind was a direct inheritance from these fore 
 fathers, he had no sympathy with their ideals of life. The 
 Maypole of Merry Mount (Twice Told Tales) presents the 
 Puritans in the attitude of their fellows in old England, 
 who opposed bear-baiting, not because it gave pain to the 
 bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators. Endi- 
 cott is here represented as opposing the Maypole dances 
 because the time would be better spent by these youths in 
 making themselves " valiant to fight, and sober to toil, and 
 pious to pray." 
 
 In Drowne s Wooden Image (Mosses) is a mixture of this 
 historical background with an allegory. The scene is 
 Boston "in the good old times"; and the story tells of a 
 wood carver, Drowne, who in one "brief season of excite 
 ment, kindled by love," made a female figure which accord 
 ing to an accepted rumor came to life. Only this one great 
 work did he perform ; but Hawthorne draws the moral that 
 "the very highest state to which a human being can attain, 
 in its loftiest aspirations, is its truest and most natural 
 state." Young Goodman Brown deals, like The Minister s 
 Black Veil and The Scarlet Letter, with the problem of 
 concealed sin. Brown has the real natures of his most 
 honored neighbors revealed to him ; and, seeing them 
 hypocrites, becomes from that time "a stern, a sad, a 
 darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not a desperate man." 
 
 Books for Children. Three of Hawthorne s collections of 
 tales are addressed to even younger readers than are the 
 stories we have just been discussing. These ar=, Grand 
 father s Chair, A Wonder Book, and Tanglewood Tales, 
 the first a group from early New England history, and the 
 others from the field of myth and legend. Grandfather s 
 Chair was written at the instance of his wife s sister ; but 
 the later volumes were the outcome of his own experience 
 as an unusually devoted and companionable father. 
 
130 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 We cannot leave Hawthorne without a mention of his 
 Note-Books of America, England, and France and Italy, which 
 one writer calls the key to his character. They were written 
 without any thought of publication, the American notes 
 
 covering a long space of 
 time. The foreign books 
 are diaries, and contain 
 much material subse 
 quently used in stories. 
 In The Marble Faun, 
 especially, incident after 
 incident is narrated and 
 scene after scene is de 
 scribed just as we find 
 them in the Italian Note- 
 Book. 1 The series shows 
 him to be a careful ob 
 server of people and 
 things, constantly striv 
 ing to make counte 
 nances disclose souls ; 
 a man of prejudices, 
 chiefly those of a patri 
 otic American, with at 
 
 the same time an openness to new influences; a lover of 
 solitude; and the possessor of a keen sense of humor. 
 
 THE LITERATURE OF SLAVERY AND DISUNION 
 
 We have said above that politics, literature, and life in 
 America during this period were dominated by the slavery 
 
 1 Cf., e.g., Chap. VII, conversation between Miriam and Hilda regarding 
 the portrait of Beatrice Cenci, with the entry in the Note-Book for Feb. 20, 
 1858; Chap. XX, description of the Church of the Capuchins and a monk s 
 body lying in state, with Note-Book for Feb. 17. 
 
 HAWTHORNE S "STUDY" IN THE 
 GROUNDS AT CONCORD. 
 
PROGRESS OF ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT 131 
 
 question. Most of the writings have little or no literary 
 merit ; but even the least of them is worthy of note as part 
 of a movement producing Webster s,, Lincoln s, and Cal- 
 houn s speeches, and some of the most truly inspired poems 
 that Timrod, Hayne, and Whittier wrote. 
 
 Early Attacks on Slavery. The struggle did not begin in 
 the nineteenth century. As early as 1700 there appeared in 
 New England a small book protesting against slavery, The 
 Selling of Joseph, by Samuel Sewall, Chief Justice of the 
 Supreme Court of Massachusetts. For nearly half of the 
 century a continuous crusade against slavery was made by 
 John Woolman, discussed in the preceding chapter. In 
 1778 Virginia prohibited the slave trade, and the next year 
 Jefferson advocated, unsuccessfully, of course, emancipation 
 for Virginia. A strong presentation of the abuses of slavery 
 appeared in 1782 in Crevecoeur s Letters of an American 
 Farmer, where an account is given of the death by torture 
 of a slave assassin in the South, and a statement is quoted 
 from a Southerner that such treatment was essential to their 
 very existence. 
 
 Progress of Antislavery Movement. Periodical literature 
 opposed to slavery begins about 1821, with William Good- 
 ell s Investigator in Rhode Island and Benjamin Lundy s 
 Genius of Universal Emancipation in Ohio. Far more in 
 fluential than either of these was the Liberator, edited by , 
 William Lloyd Garrison, who had for a short time -been 
 associated with Lundy s journal. Garrison continued the 
 Liberator from 1831 to 1865, retiring when the fight was 
 won. In the same year with this paper Whittier entered 
 the struggle with a poem addressed to Garrison. Two years 
 later came Webster s reply to Calhoun s nullification speech, 
 which clinched for the New Englander the title of "Defender 
 of the Constitution." Webster was not interested in the 
 abolition of slavery for itself, but was forced into the aboli- 
 
132 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 tionist ranks by his championship of Constitutional govern 
 ment as opposed to state sovereignty. Longfellow wrote 
 seven rather mild poems against slavery in 1842; but the 
 next year came Lowell with his Stanzas on Freedom, and 
 began an abolition campaign in verse which is second only 
 to Whittier s in intensity and vigor. 
 
 The greatest of all the opponents of slavery, however, 
 did not take a prominent place in national affairs until 1856, 
 when he aided in organizing the Republican party, made 
 up of the antislavery element in all the old parties. This 
 was Abraham Lincoln, who, nominated four years later for 
 the presidency " for his availability, that is, because he 
 had no history," says Lowell, is now ranked, as the same 
 writer predicted he would be, "among the most prudent of 
 statesmen and the most successful of rulers." Lincoln, like 
 Webster, did not believe in the right of the government 
 to abolish slavery, but insisted on its right to prohibit the 
 extension of slavery into new territory. 
 
 Of these we select for study in this period Webster and 
 Lincoln, reserving Whittier, Longfellow, and Lowell for the 
 next chapter. 
 
 DANIEL WEBSTER, 1782-1852 
 
 Life to 1830. Webster was born in Salisbury, New 
 .Hampshire, on January 18, 1782. He was educated at 
 Phillips Exeter Academy and Dartmouth College, graduat 
 ing from the last named institution in 1801. He studied 
 law, and in 1807 began to practice in Portsmouth, New 
 Hampshire. In 1816 he removed to Boston, and soon took 
 his place among the leaders in his profession. Two years 
 later he conducted a case for his Alma Mater before the 
 United States Supreme Court, and laid the foundation of 
 his fame as an interpreter of the Constitution. In 1822 he 
 was elected to Congress from Boston, and was twice re- 
 
WEBSTER VERSUS HAYNE 
 
 133 
 
 elected. Three famous nonpolitieal occasional addresses 
 (L e., prepared for special occasions) belong to this period : 
 First Settlement of New England, on the two hundredth 
 anniversary of the landing at Plymouth Rock ; the first 
 Bunker Hill Oration, 
 on laying the corner 
 stone of the monument ; 
 and Adams and Jeffer 
 son, a eulogy on the 
 two ex-presidents, who 
 died on July 4, 1826. 
 
 Webster versus 
 Hayne. From 1827 to 
 1841, and from 1845 
 to 1850, Webster was 
 United States Senator 
 from Massachusetts, 
 serving for two years 
 between these terms 
 as Secretary of State. 
 During the first of 
 these periods he was in 
 the midst of the anti- 
 slavery struggle, and 
 made the two notable 
 
 DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 Looking at this picture, one has little 
 difficulty in believing Webster to be the 
 original of " Old Stony Phiz," in Haw 
 thorne s The Great Stone Face. 
 
 speeches which estab 
 lished his fame. 
 
 The first of these great speeches was the Reply to Hayne 
 in 1830. Robert Y. Hayne, Senator from South Carolina, 
 had spoken at length in defense of his state s decision that 
 she could "judge of the violation of the Constitution by the 
 Federal Government and protect her citizens from the opera 
 tions of unconstitutional laws." The speech was the first 
 outspoken championing of nullification, the parent of seces- 
 
134 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 sion. Webster s reply set forth what he believed to be 
 "the true principles of the Constitution under which we 
 are here assembled." He contended that the Constitution 
 emanates "immediately from the people," and "is not the 
 creature of the state governments." As a consequence no 
 state can pass " on constitutionality or unconstitutionality 
 of the laws " ; this is left to the Supreme Court by an act 
 of the first Congress. On the subject of slavery Webster 
 took the position that it was in the hands of the states, and 
 he would not interfere with it. t( I go for the Constitution 
 as it is, and for the Union as it is." Returning to this in 
 a wonderful and unprepared conclusion, he ended with 
 these words : " Liberty and Union, now and forever, one 
 and inseparable." The speech had a tremendous effect, and 
 in the words of Senator Lodge, one of Webster s biographers, 
 it " marks the highest point attained by Mr. Webster as a 
 public man." 
 
 Webster versus Calhoun. The second great speech re 
 ferred to was the reply three years later to Calhoun, who 
 had taken Hayne s place in the Senate. In this Webster 
 elaborated the doctrine of the Constitution laid down in the 
 Reply to Hayne. Calhoun s theory was that "the Constitu 
 tion is a compact between sovereign states," and that any 
 state can break the compact whenever, in its judgment, 
 Congress has violated the Constitution. Webster denied 
 these propositions, asserting that " by the Constitution, we 
 mean the fundamental law"; that nullification, the South 
 Carolina doctrine, is revolution and anarchy ; that " all 
 power is with the people," not the states, and " they alone 
 are sovereign " ; and finally, that by " the first great prin 
 ciple of all republican liberty . . . the majority must 
 govern." Of Webster s speech G. T. Curtis says : " Who 
 ever would understand that theory of the Constitution of 
 the United States which regards it as the enactment of 3 
 
THE "SEVENTH OF MARCH" SPEECH 135 
 
 fundamental law must go to this speech to find the best and 
 clearest exposition." Of Webster s method of debate Cal- 
 houn, after years of verbal conflict with him, said that 
 Webster stated an opponent s arguments more fairly than 
 anybody he had ever seen. 
 
 The " Seventh of March " Speech. Webster s last notable 
 speech in the Senate was in 1850 in favor of Clay s com 
 promise, which both hoped would give a basis on which the 
 North and the South could remain united. This effort, 
 known as the Seventh of March Speech, was received by 
 many in the North as an act almost of treason. He seemed 
 to give his sanction to slavery ; but it should be remembered 
 that he had never advocated abolition, and that throughout 
 his public career the preservation of the Union had been 
 his controlling motive. Public opinion of his time is well 
 represented by Whittier s lament, Ichabod ; and the change 
 in opinion which time and the return of reason brought, 
 in the same poet s The Lost Occasion, written thirty years 
 afterwards. 
 
 In 1850 Webster left the Senate to become for the second 
 time Secretary of State. He returned to his home in Marsh- 
 field, Massachusetts, in September, 1852, and died there on 
 October 24, after a short illness. The antagonism aroused 
 by his Seventh of March Speech did not long continue ; and 
 most Americans now will probably say with Professor Rich 
 ardson that the maintenance of the Union " was due to the 
 long, patient work of Daniel Webster more than to that of 
 any other American statesman." Surely this is no small 
 accomplishment for the lifetime of even " a parliamentary 
 Hercules," as Thomas Carlyle called him. 
 
136 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 If 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 1809-1865 
 
 Although no account of Lincoln s life is really needed 
 here, we think it will be of interest to quote entire his auto 
 biographical sketch, written in 1859, since it is little known, 
 and gives an excellent insight into his character and his lit 
 erary style. 
 
 Autobiography. "I was born February 12, 1809, in Hardin 
 County, Kentucky. My parents were both born in Virginia, 
 
 of undistinguished 
 families second fam 
 ilies, perhaps I should 
 say. My mother, who 
 died in my tenth year, 
 was of a family of the 
 name of Hanks, some 
 of whom now reside 
 in Adams, and others 
 in Macon County, 
 Illinois. My paternal 
 
 grandfather, Abraham Lincoln, emigrated from Eockingham 
 County, Virginia, to Kentucky about 1781 or 1782, where a 
 year or two later he was killed by the Indians, not in battle, 
 but by stealth, when he was laboring to open a farm in the 
 forest. His ancestors, who were Quakers, went to Virginia 
 from Berks County, Pennsylvania. An effort to identify 
 them with the New England family of the same name 
 ended in nothing more definite than a similarity of Chris 
 tian names in both families, such as Enoch, Levi, Mordecai, 
 Solomon, Abraham, and the like. 
 
 " My father, at the death of his father, was but six years 
 of age, and he grew up literally without education. He 
 removed from Kentucky to what is now Spencer County, 
 Indiana, in my eighth year. We reached our new home 
 
 EARLY HOME OF LINCOLN IN KENTUCKY. 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY 137 
 
 about the same time the State came into the Union. It was 
 a wild region, with many bears and other wild animals still 
 in the woods. There I grew up. There were some schools, 
 so called, but no qualification was ever required of a teacher 
 beyond readin , writin , and cipherin to the rule of three. 
 If a straggler supposed to understand Latin happened to 
 sojourn in the neighborhood he was looked upon as a wizard. 
 There was absolutely nothing to excite ambition for educa 
 tion. Of course, when I came of age I did not know much. 
 Still, somehow, I could read, write, and cipher to the rule of 
 three, but that was all. I have not been to school since. The 
 little advance I now have upon this store of education I have 
 picked up from time to time under the pressure of necessity. 
 " I was raised to farm work, which I continued till I 
 was twenty-two. At twenty -one I came to Illinois, Macon 
 County. Then I got to New Salem, at that time in Sanga- 
 mon, now in Menard County, where I remained a year as a 
 sort of clerk in a store. Then came the Black Hawk War, 
 and I was elected a captain of volunteers, a success which 
 gave me more pleasure than any I have had since. I went 
 the campaign, was elected, ran for the legislature the same 
 year (1832), and was beaten the only time I ever have 
 been beaten by the people. The next and three succeeding 
 biennial elections I was elected to the legislature. I was 
 not a candidate afterward. During this legislative period 
 I had studied law and removed to Springfield to practice it. 
 In 1846 I was once elected to the lower house of Congress. 
 Was not a candidate for reelection. From 1849 to 1854, 
 both inclusive, practiced law more assiduously than ever 
 before. Always a Whig in politics, and generally on the 
 Whig electoral tickets, making active canvasses. I was los 
 ing interest in politics when the repeal of the Missouri Com 
 promise aroused me again. What I have done since then is 
 pretty well known. 
 
138 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 " If any personal description of me is thought desirable 
 it may be said I am, in height, six feet four inches, nearly ; 
 
 lean in flesh, weighing 
 on an average one hun- 
 dred and eighty 
 pounds ; dark com 
 plexion, with coarse 
 black hair and gray 
 eyes. No other marks 
 or brands recollected." 
 Defeat Brings Vic 
 tory. Only one of 
 the things done by 
 Lincoln after 1854 
 need be mentioned. 
 In 1858 he was nomi 
 nated for the United 
 States Senate by the 
 Republicans of 
 Illinois, and was de 
 feated by Senator 
 Douglas after a series 
 of joint debates and a 
 hard campaign which 
 was carried into every 
 village in the state. 
 Lincoln lost the Sen- 
 atorship; but so clear 
 and forcible was his 
 exposition of the prin 
 ciples underlying the contest that he became the logical 
 candidate of the Republican party for President in 1860. 
 His success against the divided Democracy, his magnifi 
 cent performance of his duty as Chief Executive in the 
 
 STATUE OF LINCOLN BY FRENCH. 
 
HIS MASTERPIECES 139 
 
 face of untold difficulties, and his tragic and untimely death 
 are matters of everyday knowledge of the average American 
 schoolboy. 
 
 General Characteristics of His Writings. Lincoln s position 
 in American literature is truly unique. With less than six 
 months schooling, and with nothing in the way of cultured 
 surroundings to make up the deficiency, he was amazed to 
 find himself followed by an eastern college professor, who 
 took notes on his speeches and made them the basis of 
 lectures to classes in English. But this occurrence is not 
 amazing to those who read thoughtfully the letters and 
 addresses which constitute his " literary works." Sincerity, 
 fairness, humor and pathos, high morality, power of con 
 densed utterance these qualities produced a style which 
 the French Academy praised and commended as a model 
 for princes. He could not or would not indulge in 
 oratorical flights like Webster, nor was he carried away by 
 passion as were abolitionists like Garrison. But he had the 
 power of penetrating to the very heart of a question and 
 presenting its life in language which not only might but must 
 be understood. Edward Everett, who delivered the oration 
 of the day at Gettysburg, wrote to Lincoln regarding the 
 latter s brief address : " I should be glad if I could flatter 
 myself that I came as near to the central idea of the occasion 
 in two hours as you did in two minutes." 
 
 His Masterpieces. A number of Lincoln s utterances are 
 universally accepted as classics The Gettysburg Address, 
 the two Inaugurals, the Cooper Institute Address, the Letter 
 to Greeley, the Speech in Independence Hall, the Last Public 
 Address. Eat this is far from an exhaustive list. The Let 
 ter to Mrs. Bixby, a Massachusetts woman who had lost five 
 sons in the war, in a hundred and thirty-one words gets to 
 " the central idea of the occasion" as tenderly and as forcibly 
 as does The Gettysburg Address. His correspondence with 
 
140 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Military Governor Shepley, of Lousiana, sets forth in unmis 
 takable terms his opposition to the proposed " carpet-bag " 
 government which, instituted after his death, produced the 
 evils of Reconstruction, and the long delay in the reconcilia 
 tion of North and South. 
 
 Throughout the debates with Douglas in 1858, Lincoln 
 refused to be led astray by his opponent s ingeniously worded 
 questions and arguments ; and in replying to them, re 
 peatedly attacked Douglas s indifference to the question 
 whether slavery was right or wrong. Douglas said he 
 didn t care whether slavery was " voted up or down " in the 
 territories; to which Lincoln in the last debate replied: 
 " Any man can say that who does not see anything wrong 
 in slavery ; but no man can logically say it who does see a 
 wrong in it; because no man can logically say he don t 1 
 care whether a wrong is voted up or voted down." His 
 sense of humor doubtless did much to sustain him at the 
 most trying times ; as, for example, when telling Kentuck- 
 ians at Cincinnati (in September, 1859) what the Republican 
 party meant to do with them : " We mean to marry your 
 girls when we have a chance the white ones, I mean, and 
 I have the honor to inform you that I once did have a 
 chance that way." 
 
 Lowell on Lincoln. Lowell has well summarized in a few 
 sentences the distinguishing excellences of Lincoln s writ 
 ing. " He forgets himself so entirely in his object as to give 
 his / the sympathetic and persuasive effect of We with 
 the great body of his countrymen. Homely, dispassionate, 
 showing all the rough-edged process of his thought as it goes 
 along, yet arriving at his conclusions with an honest kind of 
 everyday logic, he is so eminently our representative man, 
 
 1 In view of the frequency with which this grammatical error is heard 
 to-day from supposedly educated persons, it is perhaps hardly necessary to 
 apologize for Lincoln. 
 
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN 
 
 141 
 
 that, when he speaks, it seems as if the people were listen 
 ing to their own thinking aloud. The dignity of his thought 
 owes nothing to any ceremonial garb of words, but to the 
 manly movement that comes of settled purpose and an 
 energy of reason that knows not what rhetoric means. 
 . . . He has always addressed the intelligences of men, 
 never their prejudice, their passion, or their ignorance." 
 
 JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN, 1782-1850 
 
 The foremost defender of slavery and state rights in the 
 halls of Congress, and the ablest opponent of Webster, was 
 
 John C. Calhoun, of t i 
 
 South Carolina. He 
 was considered by the 
 poet Whittier " the 
 most powerful intellect 
 of his period." His 
 formal education was 
 begun late at the age 
 of eighteen, when he 
 was tutored by a 
 brother-in-law in prep 
 aration for Yale. Two 
 years later he entered 
 the Junior class in that 
 institution, from which 
 
 he was graduated with 
 
 i * . -n From a painting at Clemson Agricultural 
 
 honors in 1804. Four College. 
 
 years later he was 
 
 elected to the South Carolina legislature, and served one 
 
 term. 
 
 Becomes a National Figure. In 1811 Calhoun entered the 
 arena of national politics, being elected to the House of 
 
 JOHN C. CALHOUN. 
 
142 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Representatives when the clouds of the second war with 
 England were already forming. In his first speech in Con 
 gress he urged preparation for war, admitting that lack of 
 preparation was his only reason for not advocating war at 
 once. After three terms in the House, Calhoun became 
 Secretary of War in Monroe s cabinet, retaining the position 
 to the end of the President s second term. As Secretary he 
 performed a notable service in bringing order and economy 
 into his department, and in greatly increasing the efficiency 
 of the Military Academy at West Point. 
 
 Vice President, Senator, Secretary of State. From 1825 to 
 1832 Calhoun was Vice President. In November of the 
 latter year he resigned in order to become Senator from 
 South Carolina, succeeding Robert Y. Hayne. For eleven 
 years following he was the recognized leader of the party of 
 slavery and state rights. He resigned his seat in the 
 Senate to seek the Democratic nomination for President ; 
 and failing to secure this, accepted the Secretaryship of 
 State under President Tyler. During his occupancy of this 
 post, which lasted only a little more than a year, he per 
 formed two important duties. One was a prominent part in 
 the negotiations which led later to the annexation of Texas ; 
 the other in the settlement of the dispute with Great Britain 
 over Oregon. In 1845 he returned to the Senate, and con 
 tinued a member of that body till his death five years later. 
 
 Champion of State Sovereignty. John C. Calhoun will 
 not be remembered for his connection with Texas, Oregon, 
 or West Point ; he will be remembered as the unfaltering, 
 uncompromising advocate of state sovereignty and its natural 
 sequels, nullification and secession doctrines which he did 
 not originate, but which he analyzed and reduced to logical 
 form. The theory of state sovereignty was set forth by 
 him in three documents : TJie South Carolina Exposition, an 
 essay published in 1828; Address to the People of South 
 
CHAMPION OF STATE SOVEREIGNTY 143 
 
 Carolina, 1831 ; and a letter to Governor Hamilton, of South 
 Carolina, in 1832. Of the last, Calhoun s biographer, von 
 Hoist, says: "This letter to Governor Hamilton of South 
 Carolina is the final and classical exposition of the theory of 
 state sovereignty. Nothing new has ever been added to it." 
 
 CALHOUN MANSION. 
 Now one of the Clemson Agricultural College buildings. 
 
 Six months later, through his speech in the Senate already 
 referred to, the doctrine was laid before the whole country 
 in a close, logical argument on this text: "The people of 
 Carolina believe that the Union is a union of States, and not 
 of individuals ; that it was formed by the States, and that 
 the citizens of the several States were bound to it through 
 the acts of their several States ; that each State ratified the 
 
144 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Constitution for itself, and that it was only by such ratifica 
 tion of a State that any obligation was imposed upon its 
 citizens." So powerful was the effect of the speech in the 
 Senate that the opposition immediately sought Webster as 
 the only man capable of replying. Not once in the seven 
 teen years remaining to him did Calhoun waver in his posi 
 tion; and his last speech, March 4, 1850, contained these 
 words : " I have exerted myself to arrest it [i.e., the agita 
 tion of the slavery question], with the intention of saving 
 the Union, if it could be done ; and if it could not, to save 
 the section where it has pleased Providence to cast my lot, 
 and which I sincerely believe has justice and the Constitu 
 tion on its side." 
 
 The statement in the last clause quoted regarding his 
 belief in the right of his position finds very general accept 
 ance to-day. That Calhoun was in error in his interpreta 
 tion of the Constitution is probably the opinion of the majority 
 of Americans, though an illustrious minority offers strong 
 grounds for a different view. In any case few will question 
 the integrity of his motives, or deny that " he acted under 
 the firm conviction of an imperious duty towards the South 
 and towards the Union." Had he lived, moreover, to see 
 his South go down in defeat, he would have approved the 
 sentiment closing Hayne s Forgotten : 
 
 " Forgotten ! Tho a thousand years should pass, 
 
 Methinks our air will throb with memory s thrills, 
 
 A conscious grief weigh down the faltering grass, 
 A pathos shroud the hills, 
 
 Waves roll lamenting, autumn sunsets yearn 
 For the old time s return ! " 
 
TIMROD AND HAYNE 
 
 145 
 
 TIMROD AND HAYNE 
 
 Two Southern Poets. At this point should be considered 
 two writers of the South who gave expression in verse to 
 sentiments diametrically opposed to those of Whittier and 
 Lowell. Both served _ 
 
 in the Confederate 
 army ; of each may 
 be said what Dr. Mabie 
 says of one : " He 
 touched the two themes 
 which lay deepest in 
 his heart, love of na 
 ture and love of the per 
 sonal and social ideals 
 of the Old South, with 
 perfect sincerity, with 
 deep tenderness, and 
 with lyric sweetness." 
 These two poets are 
 Henry Timrod and 
 Paul Hamilton Hayne, 
 lifelong friends and 
 natives of Charleston, 
 
 South Carolina, then the literary center of the South. The 
 intimate association of these men through life and the 
 virtual identity of their poetic creeds make it desirable to 
 treat them together. 
 
 Henry Timrod (1829-1867). Timrod was of German 
 descent. His father and grandfather had been distin 
 guished citizens, and his father had been known as a poet. 
 Henry studied for a time at the University of Georgia, but 
 because of poverty and ill health was unable to graduate. 
 He then studied law, but like Byrant, Irving, and other 
 
 BUST OF TIMROD. 
 From the monument in Charleston, S.C. 
 
146 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 bom men of letters, found it distasteful, and soon gave his 
 best thought and strength to poetry, supporting himself by 
 private tutoring. He contributed to the Southern Literary 
 Messenger and other magazines, and brought out a volume 
 of poems in Boston in 1860. At the outbreak of the Civil 
 War he enlisted, and during a short term of service wrote 
 
 CONFEDERATE MONUMENT IN MAGNOLIA CEMETERY, CHARLESTON. 
 The scene of Timro^ s finest poem. 
 
 Carolina, TJie Cotton Boll, and other stirring war songs. 
 Compelled by the failure of his health to leave the ranks, 
 he became correspondent of a Charleston paper, and in 1864 
 became editor of the South Carolinian, published in Colum 
 bia. He married happily, but within a year lost everything 
 with the fall of the Confederacy. When asked about him 
 self by his friend Hayne, Timrod wrote : " I can embody 
 
PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 
 
 147 
 
 it all in a few words beggary, starvation, death, bitter 
 grief, utter want of hope." The disease which had long 
 racked him was ag 
 gravated by his men 
 tal suffering, and he 
 died of consumption 
 on October 6, 1867. 
 
 Paul Hamilton 
 Hayne (1830-1886). 
 Hayne was born less 
 than a month after 
 Tim rod. Early in 
 life he lost his father, 
 a lieutenant in the 
 navy, and was reared 
 by his uncle, Governor 
 Robert Y. Hayne, 
 mentioned above as 
 antagonist of Webster 
 in the Senate. As 
 Governor Hayne was 
 wealthy, his nephew 
 enjoyed the best social 
 and educational ad 
 vantages, and was 
 
 graduated from 
 
 STONE MARKING GRAVES OF TIMROD AND 
 
 HIS SON. 
 
 In Trinity Church Cemetery, Columbia, 
 
 Charleston College in S C ^^^^ ***<"" 
 1852. Then, follow 
 ing others of like genius, he studied law a while, but 
 soon yielded to the call of the Muse, and began to write 
 for various periodicals, putting out in 1855 his first col 
 lection of poems, and two other volumes before the open 
 ing of the war. In 1852 he had married a French surgeon r s 
 daughter, Miss Mary Michel, who was "the inspiration, 
 
148 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the stay, the joy of his life." During the war he was 
 on Governor Pickens s staff. Weak physically, as was 
 
 Timrod, Hayne could 
 accomplish little in the 
 field; but, also like his 
 friend, he rendered 
 good service to the 
 cause by his songs of 
 encouragement. After 
 the war he moved to 
 "Copse Hill," not far 
 from Augusta, Georgia, 
 where in " a crazy, 
 wooden shanty, digni 
 fied as a cottage," he 
 and his devoted wife 
 spent the last twenty 
 years of his life. He 
 continued to write in 
 both verse and prose, 
 and his home was the 
 Mecca of many poets 
 and other friends. He 
 died July 6, 1886, going 
 to his reward with a 
 calmness that reminds 
 
 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. 
 From a portrait in possession of the poet s 
 son, William H. Hayne, through whose kind 
 ness this and the two following photographs 
 are reproduced here. 
 
 one of Emerson s Terminus. The Concord poet s song of 
 resignation finds a fit companion in Hayne s In Harbor. 
 
 " I know it is over, over, 
 
 I know it is over at last ! 
 Down sail ! the sheathed anchor uncover, 
 For the stress of the voyage has passed : 
 Life, like a tempest of ocean, 
 
 Hath outbreathed its ultimate blast : 
 
POETS OF THE CONFEDERACY 
 
 149 
 
 There s but a faint sobbing sea-ward, 
 While the calm of the tide deepens lee-ward ; 
 And behold ! like a welcoming quiver 
 Of heart-pulses throbbed thro the river, 
 
 Those lights in the harbor at last, 
 
 The heavenly harbor at last ! " 
 
 Poets of the Confederacy. Lincoln in his Second Inaugural 
 refers to the belief of both North and South in the justice 
 
 " COPSE HILL." 
 
 Hayne s home after the war. Here, says Margaret J. Preston, he 
 "fought the fight of life with uncomplaining bravery, and persisted in 
 being happy." 
 
 of their cause. " Both read the same Bible, and pray to the 
 same God; and each invokes His aid against the other." 
 The men of South Carolina and Virginia and Texas felt 
 that when their states left the Union, true patriotism 
 
150 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 called them to go with their states. The war poems of 
 Timrod and Hayne express this confidence repeatedly. 
 
 " We battle for our Country s right," 
 writes Timrod in A Cry to Arms; and in Ethnogenesis : 
 
 "the very soil, 
 
 And all the generous wealth it gives to toil, 
 And all for which we love our noble land, 
 Shall fight beside, and through us." 
 
 Hayne, in My Mother-land, celebrating South Carolina s 
 leadership in secession, says : 
 
 " our South erect and proud, 
 Fronted the issue, and though lulled too long, 
 Felt her great spirit nerved, her patriot valor strong." 
 
 They shared the general feeling of the South that the 
 struggle was on its part a fight " for cherished home and 
 land," as Hayne wrote in Scene in a Country Hospital; and 
 both celebrated in vigorous lines the part played by Southern 
 women. Thus, Timrod, in The Two Armies: 
 
 " No breeze of battle ever fanned 
 The colors of that tender band ; 
 Its office is beside the bed, 
 Where throbs some sick or wounded head. 
 
 Nor is that army s gentle might 
 Unfelt amid the deadly fight ; 
 It nerves the son s, the husband s hand, 
 It points the lover s fearless brand ; 
 It thrills the languid, warms the cold, 
 Gives even new courage to the bold ; 
 And sometimes lifts the veriest clod 
 To its own lofty trust in God." 
 
 The war, however, left no trace of bitterness in these 
 men. In Hayne s Complete Poems, 1882, the group of war 
 
POETS OF THE CONFEDERACY 
 
 151 
 
 poems is prefaced with this sentence: "These poems are 
 republished with no ill-feeling, nor with the desire to revive 
 
 HAYNE SIDE OF THE COLE MONUMENT, AUGUSTA, GEORGIA. 
 
 The other sides are memorials to three other Southern poets Father 
 Abram J. Ryan, Sidney Lanier, and James R. Randall. 
 
 old issues ; but only as a record and a sacred duty." Our 
 Martyrs closes with these words : 
 
 " Oh, Thou ! that hast charms of healing, 
 
 Descend on a widowed land, 
 And bind o er the wounds of feeling, 
 
 The balms of thy mystic hand ; 
 Till the lives that lament and languish, 
 
 Renewed by a touch divine, 
 From the depths of their mortal anguish, 
 
 May rise to the calm of Thine. 1 
 
 The invocation to peace at the close of Timrod s Christmas 
 is in the same tone : 
 
152 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 "Let every sacred fane 
 Call its sad votaries to the throne of God, 
 And, with the cloister and the tented sod, 
 Join in one solemn strain ! 
 
 Peace on the whirring marts, 
 Peace where the scholar thinks, the hunter roams, 
 Peace, God of Peace ! peace, peace, in all our homes, 
 
 And peace in all our hearts ! " 
 
 ) 
 
 f RUSSELL S \ 
 
 
 
 CHARLESTON,S.C. If 
 
 FACSIMILE OF COVER OF Russell s 
 Magazine. 
 
 The publication of the Charleston group. 
 
 Hayne was editor-in-chief. (New York 
 
 Public Library.) 
 
 Poets of Nature. 
 Besides being remem 
 bered for their war 
 poems, Timrod and 
 Hayne take high rank 
 as writers of nature 
 lyrics, in which the 
 woodland sights and 
 sounds of the South 
 receive worthy praise. 
 Professor Wendell puts 
 Timrod s Cotton Boll 
 in the same class with 
 Whittier s poems on 
 New England land 
 scapes ; and Colonel 
 Higginson thinks 
 Hayne has a "softer, 
 richer, sweeter " note 
 than Bryant. It has 
 been said of Timrod s 
 work in this field: 
 "Passionately fond as 
 he was of Nature, and 
 
 nourished and refreshed by her always, he never wrote a 
 
POETS OF NATURE 153 
 
 line of merely descriptive poetry: Nature is only the 
 symbol, the image, to interpret his spiritual meaning." 
 He believes as strongly as does Wordsworth in a sort of 
 conscious existence in natural objects; note, for example, 
 the opening stanza of Flower-Life: 
 
 "I think that, next to your sweet eyes, 
 And pleasant books, and starry skies, 
 
 I love the world of flowers ; 
 Less for their beauty of a day, 
 Than for the tender things they say, 
 And for a creed I ve held alway, 
 That they are sentient powers." 
 
 The Cotton Boll, The Lily Confidante, and The Rosebuds are 
 among the most charming of Timrod s poems that give con 
 crete evidence of this belief. Hayne s most striking poems 
 of nature are a number dealing with the pines, which he 
 sang as enthusiastically as Lanier sang the marshes. .While 
 flowers and simple things appeal to him at times, he has 
 a constant feeling of devotion to the "majestic pine," the 
 "monarchal pine," the "sacred tree," the "foliaged giants." 
 Every pine has for him a Dryad, an indwelling spirit, which 
 in a beautiful sonnet, The Axe and the Pine, he represents 
 as wailing in distress when the tree is hewn down. In The 
 Dryad of the Pine he shows that he holds a creed similar to 
 Timrod s in Flower-Life : 
 
 " Here lingering long, amid the shadowy gleams, 
 Faintly I catch (yet scarce as one that dreams) 
 Low words of alien music, softly sung, 
 And rhythmic sighs in some sweet unknown tongue. 
 
 " And something rare I cannot clasp or see, 
 Flits vaguely out from this" mysterious tree 
 A viewless glory, an ethereal grace, 
 Which make Elysian all the haunted place ! " 
 
154 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The poems of Timrod and Hayne have been received as 
 enthusiastically by Northern critics as by Southern. Even 
 their fieriest lyrics of the war aroused no antagonisms, and 
 their songs of Southern flowers, trees, streams, and woods 
 are universally admired. Both men fall short of the genius 
 of Poe, and in both we occasionally catch strains that seem 
 to have been influenced by Tennyson, Keats, and Words 
 worth. But they were genuine poets, with a high conceptior 
 of the poet s mission as prophet and teacher ; and they hold 
 a high place in our country s verse a place we may be 
 sure is permanent, and tending higher every day. 
 
 HISTORY WRITING IN AMERICA 
 
 Early American Chroniclers. Not until the second quarter 
 of the nineteenth century was any historical work produced 
 in America which has much merit as literature. The works 
 of Smith, Strachey, Bradford, Winthrop, and Mather have 
 been shown to possess little merit beyond record of con 
 temporary events. Thomas Hutchinson s History of Massa 
 chusetts, Professor Wendell thinks " may perhaps be called 
 the most respectable American book before the Revolution " ; 
 but even Hutchinsori was not a man of letters. Besides 
 their value as narratives of a highly important period in 
 our history, these books also deserve to be remembered as 
 evidence of the interest in great movements which produced 
 some really notable historical writers in the period now 
 under consideration. 
 
 Four Great Historians. The four men who may be called 
 the founders of historical study in America George Ban 
 croft, William Hickling Prescott, John Lothrop Motley, 
 and Francis Parkman were all natives of Massachusetts 
 and graduates of Harvard. Bancroft spent half a century 
 on his History of the United States; Prescott and Parkin an 
 
FOUR GREAT HISTORIANS 
 
 155 
 
 concerned themselves with themes drawn from North Amer 
 ica but not coming down to the time of American inde 
 pendence ; while Motley produced a history which required 
 residence abroad to secure material, and which is related to 
 American life only through the spirit behind the movement 
 treated in its pages. The breadth of view indicated by this 
 
 PARKMAN MEMORIAL, JAMAICA PLAIN, MASS. 
 
 choice of subjects is another sign of the Romantic influence 
 already referred to as dominant in England at this time. 
 We have space to discuss in detail only one of the historians, 
 and choose Motley as being on the whole the best entitled 
 to a position in literature, though many would make that 
 claim for Parkman. 
 
156 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, 1814-1877 
 
 Life. Motley was born in Dorchester, now a part of 
 Boston, April 15, 1814. He prepared for college at Ban 
 croft s school in Northampton, and was graduated from 
 Harvard in 1831. He then studied two years in Germany, 
 where he became an intimate friend of Bismarck. Upon 
 his return to America he took up the study of law, and be 
 gan to practice in 1837. Four years later he was for a 
 short time Secretary of Legation in St. Petersburg, and 
 later served one term in the Massachusetts legislature. As 
 Motley s friends had not been impressed with any enthusi 
 asm for study displayed by him, they were rather surprised 
 when, in 1851, he took his family to Europe to equip him 
 self for writing a history of Holland. He spent five years in 
 " conscientious research " in Holland, France, and Germany, 
 the result of which was three of the greatest histories pro 
 duced by America The Rise of the Dutch Republic, History 
 of the United Netherlands, and The Life and Death of John 
 ofBarneveld. A fourth work, planned to cover the Thirty 
 Years War, he did not live to write. From 1861 to 1865 
 he was United States Minister to Austria, and for part of 
 1869 and 1870, to England, whence he was recalled for 
 reasons not yet considered sufficient. The recall and the 
 death of his wife are together believed to have caused his 
 own death. This took place in England, May 29, 1877, and 
 there he was buried. 
 
 Authorship. Motley began his literary career during his 
 law period with two novels, which were failures. Some 
 what more successful were some essays published between 
 his government service in Russia and his stay in Europe. 
 But he had become interested in the history of Holland, and 
 was convinced that he must write a book on it, even if it 
 should be a failure like his novels. The attraction of the 
 
A STRIKING PORTRAIT 
 
 157 
 
 subject seems to have lain in his patriotism, in a feeling ex 
 pressed in the preface to The Rise of the Dutch Republic : 
 "The maintenance of the right by the little provinces of 
 Holland and Zealand in the sixteenth, by Holland and Eng 
 land united in the seventeenth, and by the United States of 
 America in the eighteenth centuries, forms but a single 
 chapter in the great volume of human fate ; for the so-called 
 revolutions of Holland, 
 England, and America 
 are all links of one 
 chain." And again: 
 "The Dutch Republic 
 originated in the cou 
 rageous resistance of 
 historical and chartered 
 liberty to foreign des 
 potism." This feeling 
 prevents Motley s being 
 altogether impartial 
 his Spaniards are too 
 black and his Dutchmen 
 are too white. In this 
 spirit he paints the 
 Dutch leader as the 
 apostle and champion 
 of human rights, and 
 the King of Spain as the uncompromising and bigoted 
 persecutor of the Dutch. 
 
 A Striking Portrait. William of Orange, called the Silent, 
 is the hero of The Rise of the Dutch Republic. From the 
 age of eleven, when William succeeded to the principality 
 of Orange and went to the Queen Regent s Court at Brussels 
 to be educated, Motley follows his career with a wealth of 
 detail to the end. As soldier and statesman, his person- 
 
 STATUE OF WILLIAM THE SILENT, IN 
 THE HAGUE, HOLLAND. 
 
 His favorite motto, Saevis tranquillus in 
 
 undis (" tranquil among fierce waves "), is 
 
 on the pedestal. 
 
158 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 ality dominates the entire three volumes of Motley s great 
 work. Perhaps the explanation of the superiority of The 
 Rise to the other parts of the Dutch history lies in the uni 
 fying effect of this central figure. As Motley puts it : " The 
 history of the rise of the Netherland Republic has been at 
 the same time the biography of William the Silent." 
 
 William s, however, is not the only striking portrait in 
 the work. Philip of Spain, Cardinal Granvelle and the bloody 
 Duke of Alva, Philip s henchmen ; Margaret of Parma, the 
 "man-minded offset" of Charles the Fifth, appointed by 
 Philip to be regent of the Netherlands, these are only a 
 few of the life-size portraits with which Motley s pages are 
 crowded. The writer belongs to the Carlyle school of his 
 torians, believing that " universal history is at bottom the 
 history of the great men who worked here." 
 
 THE TRANSCENDENTAL MOVEMENT 
 
 An Important Meeting. One of the most important events 
 for literature in America in the nineteenth century was the 
 formation of the so-called "Transcendental Club." It grew 
 out of a meeting of four young Unitarian clergymen 1 after 
 the bicentennial celebration at Harvard in 1836. One mem 
 ber said they called themselves "the club of the like-minded; 
 I suppose because no two of us thought alike." As Cabot 
 says, however, they were " united by a common impatience 
 of routine thinking." Or more specifically, according to 
 Colonel Higginson, the young preachers were displeased 
 with " the narrow tendencies of thought in the churches." 
 
 The inspiration of this group of men was the philosophy 
 of Kant, Schelling, Hegel, and other leaders of thought 
 in Germany. Part of it came directly through Edward 
 
 1 "Mr. Emerson, George Ripley, and myself, with one other." REV. 
 DR. F. H. HEDGE, quoted by Cabot, Memoir of Emerson, I, 244. 
 
THE KEYNOTE 159 
 
 Everett, George Ticknor, and some others, who studied in 
 the German universities ; but a much larger part came by 
 way of the writings of Carlyle and Coleridge. This philos 
 ophy taught, said Eipley, that there is " an order of truths 
 which transcends the sphere of the external senses ; . . . 
 that the truth of religion does not depend on tradition, 
 nor historical facts, but has an unerring witness in the soul." 
 
 Thus it will be seen that this club, which never had a 
 formal organization, began with religion. Soon, however, 
 it concerned itself with society and literature as well ; and 
 within a few years developed into the so-called Transcen 
 dental Movement, in which many of the greatest minds in 
 New England enlisted. 
 
 The Keynote Individuality. As has been said above, 1 it 
 was merely a belated manifestation on Puritan ground of 
 English Romanticism ; and the chief feature of both move 
 ments was the encouragement of every man to follow the 
 bent of his own genius. This belief in the supreme impor 
 tance of the individual is repeatedly set forth by the most 
 eminent writer in the movement, Emerson. "Few and 
 mean as my gifts may be," he writes in Self Reliance, " I 
 actually am, and do not need for my own assurance or the 
 assurance of my fellows any secondary testimony." In 
 Experience he asks : " Shall I preclude my future, by taking 
 a high seat, and kindly adapting my conversation to the 
 shape of heads ? " and answers himself : " When I come to 
 that, the doctors shall buy me for a cent." In Spiritual Laws 
 the same belief is expressed in impersonal and universal 
 form : " Each man has his own vocation. The talent is the 
 call. There is one direction in which all space is open to 
 him. He has faculties silently inviting him thither to end 
 less exertion." 
 
 Men who came together on such a platform were neces- 
 
 i Page 71. 
 
160 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 sarily opposed to each other at many points. Hence, their 
 most remarkable social experiment, Brook Farm, was a fail 
 ure. The objects of this institute " of Agriculture and Edu 
 cation " were " to insure a more natural union between in 
 tellectual and manual 
 labor than now exists ; 
 to combine the thinker 
 and the worker, as far 
 as possible, in the same 
 individual ; to guaran 
 tee the highest mental 
 freedom, by providing 
 all with labor adapted 
 to their tastes and 
 talents, and securing 
 to them the fruits of 
 their industry ; and do 
 away with the neces 
 sity of menial services 
 by opening the bene 
 fits of education and 
 the profits of labor to 
 all ; and thus to pre- 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. pare a society of liberal, 
 
 intelligent, and culti 
 vated persons, whose 
 relations with each 
 other would permit a 
 more wholesome and simple life than can be led amidst the 
 pressure of our competitive institutions. 7 Brook Farm lasted 
 eight years ; and when the land was sold and the mortgages 
 paid, the stockholders received almost nothing for their 
 investment. 
 
 " The Dial." With Transcendentalism from the lit- 
 
 A likeness which seems to speak these 
 lines from The World-Soul: 
 
 " Spring still makes spring in the mind 
 When sixty years are told." 
 
"THE DIAL 
 
 161 
 
 erary point of view only are we here concerned. It 
 is the only distinct " movement " in American literature. 
 The organ of the group was the Dial, a quarterly magazine 
 which was begun the year before Brook Farm was organ 
 ized, and which "expired after four years of precarious 
 life." The following sentence from the prospectus of the 
 Dial will show the intimate connection of the literary as 
 pect of the movement with the social and religious aspects : 
 
 "The pages of this 
 
 journal will be filled 
 by contributors who 
 possess little in com 
 mon but the love of in 
 dividual freedom and 
 the hope of social prog 
 ress ; who are united 
 by sympathy of spirit, 
 not by agreement in 
 speculation; whose 
 faith is in Divine Prov 
 idence, rather than in 
 human prescription, 
 whose hearts are more 
 
 THE "ORCHARD" HOUSE, CONCORD. 
 
 Home for many years of Amos Bronson 
 Alcott, one of the leading Brook Farmers, 
 in the future than in 
 
 the past, and who trust the living soul more than the dead 
 letter." Thus the emancipation of literature is seen to have 
 been one of the chief aims of these innovators. Margaret 
 Fuller, the brilliant woman popularly identified with Haw 
 thorne s Zenobia, 1 edited the Dial for two years, and Em 
 erson was a regular contributor. A. B. Alcott, father of 
 Louisa May Alcott, childhood s favorite writer, contributed 
 Orphic Sayings, of which Professor Goddard says : " It will 
 surely be no exaggeration to say that these, more than all 
 
 1 See page 125. 
 
162 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the other contributions to the Dial combined, served to 
 bring down the ridicule of the community without discrim 
 ination on its pages." 
 
 In an essay on Thoreau, Lowell remarks that besides the 
 comic aspect, which he sets forth at considerable length, 
 Transcendentalism had "a very solid and serious kernel, 
 full of the most deadly explosiveness." This aspect of it 
 is best known to us in the pages of Emerson, philosopher, 
 moralist, and poet; and Thoreau, the revealer of nature and 
 first practitioner of the simple life. We are now to study 
 the lives and works of these two as the expression of the 
 best that this unorganized movement gave to our national 
 life and letters. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON, 1803-1882 
 
 One of the longest, happiest, and most even-tempered of 
 the world s literary lives, and one in which the same sort 
 of unity appears as we have noted in Bryant s life, is that 
 of the great New England philosopher and poet, Emerson. 
 Like Bryant, Hawthorne, and Longfellow, he came of a 
 long line of New England Puritans, with eight generations 
 of preachers behind him, and twelve other preachers and 
 fifty graduates of Harvard in the family connection. 
 
 A Bostonian. Emerson was born in Boston, May 25, 
 1803 ; he died in Concord, " an ideal New England town," 
 twenty miles distant, April 27, 1882 ; and he spent nearly 
 the whole of the intervening seventy-nine years within the 
 limits of what is now called " Greater Boston." His edu 
 cation was carried on in the grammar schools and the famous 
 Latin School of his native city, continued, as a matter of 
 course, in Harvard, from, which he was graduated in 1821. 
 Many of Emerson s school and college friends who became 
 famous have been forced, on being pressed for reminiscences 
 
CAREER IN THE MINISTRY 
 
 163 
 
 of their more famous associate, reluctantly to admit that he 
 did not especially distinguish himself, that he made friends 
 slowly, and that he attracted little attention from teachers 
 or students. At his graduation from Harvard, however, he 
 took second prize in English composition, and was chosen 
 
 EMERSON S HOME AT CONCORD. 
 
 class poet ; but the honor of this appointment is somewhat 
 lessened by the fact that seven others had declined it. 
 
 Career in the Ministry. During the years immediately 
 following, Emerson was occupied with teaching and with 
 the study of theology, until, in March, 1829, he was ordained 
 assistant pastor of the Second Church, Boston, of which, on 
 the resignation of the pastor, Emerson assumed sole charge. 
 Some months later he married the daughter of a Boston 
 merchant, Miss Ellen Tucker, an invalid who died in less 
 
164 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 than three years. Finding some of the duties of his 
 ministerial position distasteful, and feeling a want of sym 
 pathy with the ordinance of the Lord s Supper, he set forth 
 his views in a sermon in September, 1832, and resigned the 
 pastorate. Though Emerson was a preacher to the end of 
 his days, it will be seen that his tenure of a church pulpit 
 was limited to a little over three years. 
 
 Friendship with Carlyle. In 1833 Emerson made his first 
 trip to Europe, of which the most notable experiences 
 were his preaching in Edinburgh, and his meeting with 
 Thomas Carlyle. Upon returning to America he took up 
 his residence in the " Old Manse " of Concord, a house built 
 for Emerson s grandfather, and occupied at the time by Dr. 
 Ezra Ripley, a connection of the family. During the win 
 ter of 1833-1834, having determined on a platform career, 
 he began lecturing ; but a far more important event of the 
 year was a letter to Carlyle, May 14, 1834. Then was 
 begun one of the most remarkable correspondences of the 
 world, which lasted thirty-eight years. In temperament 
 and attitude toward life, the two philosophers were directly 
 opposed ; but each had an admiration and a strong sympathy 
 for the other, and the friendship lasted till death. Emerson 
 rendered a real service to Carlyle in introducing his works 
 to American readers, beginning in 1836 with a preface to 
 Sartor Resartus, which was published in this country before 
 appearing as an independent work in England. (It had 
 been printed in an English magazine the preceding year.) 
 Emerson married in September, 1835, Miss Lydia Jackson, 
 whom he described to Carlyle as " an incarnation of Chris 
 tianity." 
 
 First Writings. The year 1836 marks the entrance of 
 Emerson into literature as poet, with the Concord Hymn, 
 and as philosopher-essayist, with Nature, "a reflective prose- 
 poem." Two lines of the former are familiar to all : 
 
MINUTE-MAN MONUMENT AT CONCORD. 
 
166 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 " Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
 
 And fired the shot heard round the world." 
 
 According to Garnett, Nature is "the most intense and 
 quintessential" of Emerson s writings. In this he proposes 
 to. behold " God and nature face to face," as did " the fore 
 going generations"; to "interrogate the great apparition 
 that shines so peacefully around us " ; to " inquire, to what 
 end is nature ? " He then enumerates the uses of nature. 
 That this little book did not meet with an enthusiastic re 
 ception is indicated by the fact that twelve years were re 
 quired to sell five hundred copies. Over against this may 
 be noted that twenty-four years later only two days were 
 required to sell the entire first edition twenty-five hundred 
 copies of Conduct of Life, evidence of the advance in 
 popularity made by his ideas. 
 
 " The American Scholar." It will be remembered that 1836 
 is the year in which the Transcendental Club was formed. 
 Nature was worthy to be the first forcible expression of the 
 movement, which was further defined the year following in 
 The American Scholar, an oration delivered by Emerson 
 before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard. In this, 
 which Holmes calls " our intellectual Declaration of Inde 
 pendence," Emerson says : " Our long apprenticeship to the 
 learning of other lands draws to a close. . . . We will walk 
 on our own feet; we will work with our own hands ; we will 
 speak our own minds. ... A nation of men will for the 
 first time exist, because each believes himself to be inspired 
 by the Divine Soul which also inspires all men." Here is 
 found the declaration not only of the nation s intellectual 
 independence, but also of the independence of every man, 
 which last has been given as the keynote of the Transcen 
 dental movement. Quoting again from the oration, to 
 bring out more clearly its emphatic stand for individual 
 ism : " Everything that tends to insulate the individual, 
 
"ESSAYS, FIRST SERIES" 167 
 
 to surround him with barriers of natural respect, so that 
 each man shall feel the world is his, and man shall treat 
 with man as a sovereign state with a sovereign state, tends 
 to true union as well as greatness." 
 
 Though such radical ideas did in time gain general 
 acceptance, the process was slow; and for the ten years 
 following Nature and The American Scholar, more hearers, 
 probably, were shocked by Emerson than were stirred to 
 enthusiasm by him. Nothing, however, could turn him from 
 the path he had chosen, and his manner at a certain anti- 
 slavery meeting is typical of his way of receiving criticisms 
 and thrusts of all kinds. At this meeting he was vigorously 
 hissed for some sentiment displeasing to the audience ; but 
 Emerson, we are told, " was as serene as moonlight itself 
 one could think of nothing but dogs baying the moon." 
 
 "Essays, First Series." Nature was incomprehensible to 
 most readers their attitude toward it would have made 
 them thoroughly sympathetic with Lowell s satire on 
 Transcendentalism ; and the darkness was not altogether 
 dispelled by Emerson s Essays, First Series, in 1841. This 
 collection, it is true, contained the admirably clear Compen 
 sation and Self-Reliance ; but it contained also The Over-Soul, 
 in which, says Holmes, he "attempted the impossible," be 
 cause in talking " of the infinite in terms borrowed from the 
 finite" his words become "not symbols, . . . but the 
 shadows of symbols." A single passage will illustrate the 
 difficulty of understanding this essay. " If a man have not 
 found his home in God, his manners, his forms of speech, 
 the turn of his sentences, the build, shall I say, of all his 
 opinions, will involuntarily confess it. let him brave it out 
 how he will. If he have found his centre, the Deity will 
 shine through him, through all the disguises of ignorance, of 
 ungenial temperament, of unfavorable circumstance. The 
 tone of seeking is one, and the tone of having is another." 
 
168 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Other Works. After an interval of three years (1844) 
 came the Essays, Second Series, and after an interval of two 
 years more (1846) the first collection of poems. Emerson s 
 other writings may be listed here without comment: 
 Representative Men, 1850, lectures delivered in England, 
 which it is interesting to compare with Carlyle s Heroes and 
 Hero-Worship ; English Traits, 1856, which, though by no 
 means over-laudatory, is nevertheless much admired by the 
 English; The Conduct of Life, 1860; May-Day and Other 
 Pieces, his second collection of poems, 1867; Society and 
 Solitude, 1870; and Letters and Social Aims, 1876. Very 
 little is gained by reading Emerson s works in chronological 
 order, since for every lecture or essay except English Traits 
 he drew freely arid almost at random from his journal, or 
 "Thought Book," with the result that consecutive sentences 
 in a published work are often the jottings of ten and twenty 
 years previous. A step further in this style of writing is 
 shown in the essay Self-Reliance, which contains material 
 used in four lectures of preceding years Individualism, 
 School, Genius, and Duty. 
 
 Travels, and Honors. Emerson made a second trip to 
 England in 1847, renewing the pleasant acquaintances of 
 his first visit, making many new ones, especially with lit 
 erary men, and delivering the series of lectures referred to 
 above. During the fifties he connected himself with the anti- 
 slavery movement, but was not an abolitionist ; advocating, 
 as did Lincoln, the buying of the slaves by the government. 1 
 In 1872, accompanied by his daughter, he went abroad for 
 the third and last time, traveling as far as Egypt. A few 
 
 1 It is not generally known that as late as February, 1805, Lincoln 
 wished Congress to tender $400,000,000 to the seceded states as reimburse 
 ment for their slaves, provided they would lay down arms. A message 
 recommending this action was drafted by Lincoln, but was not sent to 
 Congress because " unanimously disapproved " by the cabinet. 
 
MENTAL BREAKDOWN, AND DEATH 169 
 
 months earlier he had suffered the loss of his home by fire, 
 and a number of friends made him a gift of $12,000 to re 
 imburse him, which he was with difficulty persuaded to 
 accept. During his absence they supervised the rebuilding 
 of the house in its original form ; and not the least delight 
 ful feature to him of the elaborate reception on his home 
 coming was the discovery of the restored mansion, with 
 every book in its accustomed place. 
 
 In 1874 he was nominated for Lord Rector of the Univer 
 sity of Glasgow, and received five hundred votes to the 
 winner s seven hundred. This vote he counted " as quite the 
 fairest laurel that has ever fallen on me." Two addresses 
 of his last years should be mentioned one at the unveiling 
 of " The Minute-Man " at Concord Bridge, April 19, 1875 ; 
 and one at the University of Virginia in 1876. Though 
 Emerson was, as we have said, not an abolitionist, he was a 
 stanch antislavery man ; and when the war came, he gave 
 voice to strong feeling on the subject, which became actually 
 anti-Southern. Hence when the invitation came to address 
 the literary societies of the Southern institution, he was 
 greatly pleased and felt that he must accept as an aid in the 
 wiping out of sectional feeling. 
 
 Mental Breakdown, and Death. Before the fire of 1872 
 signs of a mental breakdown in Emerson had appeared, the 
 most manifest of which was loss of memory. His failure 
 was gentle and gradual, and he was continually and lovingly 
 watched by friends and kin who wanted to spare him any 
 possible mortification. This was, however, unnecessary, 
 since, conscious of his weakness, he more and more with 
 drew himself from society, and, furthermore, did riot hesitate 
 to jest about his "naughty memory." A most singular 
 instance occurred at Longfellow s funeral, when, after gazing 
 intently on his friend s face, Emerson remarked to some one 
 near him : " That gentleman was a sweet, beautiful soul, but 
 
170 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 I have entirely forgotten his name." This failure of his 
 powers had not been a cause of grief to him, and even his 
 last months were placid and happy in the midst of his loved 
 ones. A little over a month later Emerson himself passed 
 away, as was proper, he had remarked to a friend, " when 
 one s wits begin to fail." 
 
 EMERSON S GRAVE, IN SLEEPY HOLLOW CEMETERY, CONCORD. 
 
 Hawthorne and Thoreau are buried near by. (Photograph copyright by 
 Detroit Publishing Company.) 
 
 Chief Weakness in Emerson s Work. As the starting 
 point for our estimate of Emerson, we may well take the 
 turning-point in Matthew Arnold s famous essay. " We 
 have not in Emerson," says Arnold, trying him by the high 
 est, the world s standards, " a great poet, a great writer, a 
 great philosophy-maker. His relation to us is not that of 
 
CHIEF VIRTUE IN EMERSON S WORK 171 
 
 one of these personages ; yet it is a relation of, I think, even 
 superior importance. ... He is the friend and aider of 
 those who would live in the spirit." The ground upon which 
 Arnold denies Emerson a high place as poet, man of letters, 
 or philosopher is, that Emerson has no sense of, or no care 
 for, structure a fact easily recognized by the student, and 
 not surprising in view of his method of composition, referred 
 to above. Carlyle saw this defect, not only in whole essays, 
 but in paragraphs. " The sentences are very brief," he wrote 
 to Emerson, " and did not ... sometimes rightly stick to 
 their foregoers and their followers ; the paragraph not as a 
 beaten ingot, but as a beautiful square bag of duck-shot held 
 together by canvas ! " And Emerson himself appreciated 
 it, replying thus to Carlyle in explanation of his writing at 
 all : " I am only a sort of lieutenant here in a deplorable 
 absence of captains, and write the laws ill as thinking it a 
 better homage than universal silence." 
 
 Chief Virtue in Emerson s Work. Both this lack of 
 structure, and the inspirational force alluded to by Arnold 
 in calling Emerson "the friend and aider of those who 
 would live in the spirit," are easily perceived if we stop a 
 moment and question ourselves regarding our knowledge of 
 the essays. What do we recall from Self- Reliance ? 
 " Trust thyself : every heart vibrates to that iron string." 
 "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." 
 What from Character 9 " Truth is the summit of being : 
 justice is the application of it to affairs." " We have seen 
 many counterfeits, but we are born believers in great men." 
 What from Politics ? " Ordinarily, our parties are parties 
 of circumstance, and not of principle." " Of all debts, 
 men are least willing to pay the taxes. What a satire is 
 this on government ! Everywhere they think they get 
 their money s worth, except for these." A formal outline 
 of any one of the essays is difficult ; but their value as 
 
172 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 mental and spiritual tonic is, for most readers, beyond 
 question. 
 
 If Emerson could not build an essay or even a paragraph, 
 it is idle to expect a philosophical system from him ; yet 
 the goal of all his teaching is unmistakable. The student 
 might almost express it for himself on the basis of our quo 
 tations in the sketch of Transcendentalism. " Individual- 
 
 FACSIMILE OF EMERSON S MANUSCRIPT. 
 (Library of Congress) 
 
 istic idealism," it has been called ; but by whatever name 
 we call it, it is the same guiding star as that which led the 
 English Romanticists Wordsworth, Keats, Lamb, and the 
 rest and the greatest intellectually of the Victorian 
 writers Arnold, Thackeray, George Meredith, Browning. 
 Emerson s Philosophy. The main ideas in Emerson s 
 philosophy may be found in almost every one of his 
 essays ; in none are they more clearly or more vigorously 
 set forth than in Self-Reliance. What is genius ? " To be- 
 
EMERSON S POETRY: DEFECTS 173 
 
 lieve your own thought, to believe that what is true for you 
 in your own private heart is true for all men that is 
 genius." Believing thus, how shall one act? "If you 
 would be a man, speak what you think to-day in words as 
 hard as cannon-balls, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow 
 thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything 
 you said to-day." When as a result you are charged with 
 inconsistency, remember : " With consistency a great soul 
 has simply nothing to do." And find additional strength in 
 the knowledge that "the highest truth remains unsaid, 
 probably cannot be said ; for all that we say is the far-off 
 remembering of the intuition." Do not be misled into 
 gambling with Fortune ; external events may lead you to 
 "think good days are preparing for you," but: "Do not 
 believe it. It can never be so. Nothing can bring you 
 peace but yourself." 
 
 Though beginning in self and ending in self, Emerson s is 
 not a se\f-ish philosophy, but a self-reliant, self-dependent, 
 self-confident one, based on the belief that within the mind 
 are certain intuitions " conceived of as above experience 
 and independent of it." This brief statement of Emerson s 
 main ideas must be received as merely suggestive; for as 
 Professor Wendell well says : " Emerson s work is so in 
 dividual that you can probably get no true impression of it 
 without reading deeply for yourself." 
 
 Emerson s Poetry : Defects. In view of the great differ 
 ence in opinion as to what constitutes a poet and poetry, it 
 is unwise to speak confidently of verse so individual as 
 Emerson s. Much, if not most, of it lacks the qualities es 
 sential to great lyric poetry, in which class it must be put. 
 It is, in the first place, not musical, in the ordinary sense. 
 There are numerous false rhymes, such as "flower bore," 
 "glowed proud," " solitudes woods," " feeble people," 
 " bear woodpecker." There are frequent needless inver- 
 
174 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 sions, as in the opening lines of T/ie Snow-Storm, and in the 
 first of these lines from Threnody : 
 
 " Step the meek fowls where erst they ranged 
 The wintry garden lies unchanged." 
 
 Besides the lack of music, there is a lack of emotion in 
 Emerson s verse it comes from the intellect, not the heart, 
 
 EMERSON S LIBRARY. 
 
 and it appeals to the intellect only. Even the Concord 
 Hymn, Emerson s most nearly perfect poem, does not move 
 all. A third point to be made against Emerson s poetry is 
 its frequent obscurity, though Poe s supposition that this 
 was intentional, is nothing short of absurd. Brahma and 
 The Sphinx will doubtless continue puzzles to most readers, 
 even with Emerson s explanation of them. 
 
EMERSON S POETY: MERITS 175 
 
 Emerson s Poetry : Merits. We are inclined to say that 
 the chief merit of Emerson s poetry is the same as the chief 
 merit of his essays as expressed by Arnold : the poet, like 
 the prose writer, is " the friend and aider of those who would 
 live in the spirit." Both his prose and his verse lend them 
 selves admirably to quotation, and Emerson is probably as 
 well known in single passages as is any American poet. 
 
 " All are needed by each one ; 
 Nothing is fair or good alone. 
 
 Each and All. 
 
 " When Duty whispers low, Thou must, 
 The youth replies, lean." 
 
 Voluntaries. 
 
 " if eyes were made for seeing, 
 Then Beauty is its own excuse for being." 
 
 The Ehodora. 
 
 " Spring still makes spring in the mind 
 
 When sixty years are told ; 
 Love wakes anew this throbbing heart, 
 And we are never old." 
 
 - The World- Soul. 
 
 " Nature ever faithful is 
 To such as trust her faithfulness." 
 
 Woodnotes. 
 The list might be easily extended. 
 
 The last quotation above brings us to mention of Emer 
 son s nature poetry, a field in which he ranks with Bryant 
 and the two Southern poets we have considered Timrod 
 and Hayne. The range of Emerson s observation of nature 
 is wider than that of the others mentioned, and he succeeds 
 in keeping his eye more steadily on the object in de 
 scribing the object as it is, without being turned aside to 
 enforce moral lessons or bring in collateral matters. The 
 Titmouse and The Snowstorm, The Humble- Bee and the 
 mountain Monadnoc, the rivulet MusJcetaquid and TJie Sea- 
 
176 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 shore, indicate his interest in the whole compass of nature s 
 operations, and the poems are faithful portrayals of the 
 beauty he saw in all external objects. 
 
 Emerson the Man. The most delightful impression one 
 gets from Emerson is, however, that of the man himself, 
 who stands out behind and above all his writing. " It s a 
 very striking and curious spectacle," wrote Carlyle in 1872, 
 " to behold a man in these days so confidently cheerful as 
 Emerson." And perennial cheerfulness despite his recogni 
 tion of the numerous things that are wrong with the world, 
 is his most distinguishing personal characteristic, and the 
 characteristic that drew all to him. "Even the little chil 
 dren knew and loved him," says Holmes, " and babes in 
 arms returned his angelic smile." Even the contemplation 
 of his own approaching end did not disturb this cheerful 
 ness. His Terminus, written in 1867, when his mental 
 decay began to make itself felt, is a worthy companion to 
 Tennyson s Crossing the Bar in the " serene dignity " with 
 which it looks toward death. We cannot close our sketch 
 of Emerson better than by quoting the last lines of this 
 poem. 
 
 " As the bird trims her to the gale, 
 
 I trim myself to the storm of time, 
 
 I man the rudder, reef the sail, 
 
 Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime : 
 
 Lowly faithful, banish fear, 
 
 Right onward drive unharmed ; 
 
 The port, well worth the cruise, is near, 
 
 And every wave is charmed. " 
 
 HENRY DAVID THOREAU, 1817-1862 
 
 " I am a mystic, a Transcendentalist, and a natural philos 
 opher to boot," said Thoreau ; but this formidable array of 
 titles should not prevent any student of literature, life, and 
 
A CONCORD DIARIST 
 
 177 
 
 nature from making his acquaintance. His life is a story 
 of "plain living," and his writings are a record of "high 
 thinking" a combination always assuring interest. Tho- 
 reau has, moreover, grown in popularity as has no other 
 Transcendentalist, an evidence of which is the publication 
 in 1906 of his complete journal just as he left it, making 
 fourteen volumes of over 6000 
 pages. 
 
 A Concord Diarist. Thoreau 
 was born in Concord, the home 
 of many great men but the 
 birthplace of few, July 12, 1817, 
 of French and Scotch ancestry. 
 Though of a poor family, his 
 father was a pencil maker, 
 Henry managed to go through 
 the schools, and with some lit 
 tle help from the University, 
 through Harvard, from which 
 he was graduated in 1837. 
 Among his college themes is 
 one of his sophomore year in 
 which he recommends the keep 
 ing of a journal, the form of all 
 his writings. From 1837 to his death he kept a journal, 
 leaving thirty manuscript volumes. 
 
 Thoreau is usually described as eccentric ; and the first 
 conspicuous sign of this in his biography is his refusal to 
 take his diploma -at the University on the ground that it 
 wasn t worth five dollars ! It is usually intimated that he 
 was not an especially good student ; but when he went to 
 Maine in 1838 seeking a school, he carried with him strong 
 letters of endorsement from Emerson, from Dr. Ripley, pas 
 tor of the Concord Church, and from President Quincy, of 
 
 HENRY DAVID THOREAU. 
 
 Of whom Hawthorne said: 
 " He is as ugly as sin. . . 
 
 Ws 
 
 But 
 
178 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the University. It appears that he was certainly distin 
 guished in Greek and in English composition. After teach 
 ing a while, he took up his father s trade, pencil making; 
 and when he had made a better pencil, he refused to con 
 tinue at it, saying that he would not do the same thing twice. 
 He then, according to Emerson, began those "endless walks 
 and miscellaneous studies," which occupied him the remain 
 der of his life. One of these journeys took him the entire 
 length of Cape Cod ; another into Maine ; still another into 
 Canada. He never showed interest in literary fame, and his 
 reports of these trips were not published until after his 
 death. 
 
 In 1843 an effort was made by Alcott and others to es 
 tablish in Harvard township a community along the general 
 lines of Brook Farm ; and Thoreau seems to have been 
 sought as a member. This " Paradise Regained," called 
 " Fruitlands," he visited, but he had no desire to remain. 
 It was a vegetarian community, in which "the aspiring 
 vegetables, those which grow into the air like the fruits, 
 were allowed, but the baser ones, like potatoes and beets, 
 which grow downward, were forbidden," and it expired 
 painlessly in less than a year. 
 
 The Simple Life, and "Walden." Two years after this 
 Thoreau made a social experiment of his own, which is the 
 most familiar episode of his life. He had then become an 
 important factor in Concord life, being in constant demand 
 as lecturer before the Athenaeum, and as a skillful surveyor, 
 gardener, and carpenter. But he wished " to transact some 
 private business with the fewest obstacles " ; and so, in the 
 year we have now reached (1845) he borrowed an ax from 
 Alcott, 1 and a piece of land on Walden Pond from Emerson, 
 and built himself a hut. Here for a little over two years, 
 with his flute, spyglass, and transit as companions, he lived 
 1 See page 161. 
 
OTHER WRITINGS 179 
 
 the simple life at a total expense of less than seventy dollars, 
 and kept a minute record of his observations " on man, on 
 nature, and on human life." 
 
 This record, the book Walden, he published in 1854, one of 
 the two books from his pen that appeared during his life. 
 Though much of what it contains the philosophical por 
 tions might as well have been written in the heart of 
 civilization, the better and greater part of it arose out of his 
 closeness to nature. In the second chapter, What I Lived 
 For, he says : " I went to the woods because I wished to live 
 deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see 
 if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I 
 came to die, discover that I had not lived." One thing he 
 believed he had already learned that the institution of 
 human slavery was morally wrong; and he took extreme 
 ground in opposition to it. An experience of the Walden 
 period shows how strongly he felt on the subject. Going 
 into the village one afternoon he was arrested and jailed, 
 " because I did not pay a tax to, or recognize the authority 
 of, the state which buys and sells men, women, and children, 
 like cattle at the door of its senate house." 
 
 The great virtue of the book, however, is to be found not 
 in its meditations on Solitude and Higher Laws, or in its 
 attacks on slavery and other human institutions, but in its 
 accounts of how " the whippoorwills chanted their vespers 
 for half an hour," of the changing colors of Walden water, 
 and of " seeing the spring come in." It has opened and still 
 opens the eyes of readers to the beauty and grandeur of the 
 great out-of-doors, and has given rise to an illustrious school 
 of nature writers, of whom John Burroughs is perhaps the 
 greatest. 
 
 Other Writings. Before Walden Thoreau had published 
 (1849) A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers, the 
 record of a trip made with his brother in a boat of their own 
 
180 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 construction. The Week did not meet a long-felt want, and 
 seven hundred of the thousand copies printed were returned 
 to the writer. This fact was the occasion of Thoreau s 
 humorous remark that he had a library of nine hundred 
 volumes, over seven hundred of which he himself had written. 
 The titles of works published after his death, all compiled 
 from his journals, are: Excursions, 1863 ; Maine Woods, 1864; 
 Cape Cod, 1865 ; A Yankee in Canada, 1866 ; Spring, 1881 ; 
 Summer, 1884 ; Winter, 1887 ; Autumn, 1892 ; and Notes on 
 New England Birds, 1910. He did publish, however, chiefly 
 through the friendly assistance of Horace Greeley, politician 
 and editor of the New York Tribune, a number of articles in 
 magazines, for which he received the paltry remuneration 
 usual at the time. 
 
 Death, and Character. Thoreau continued his outdoor 
 life in all weathers, and is believed to have developed by 
 exposure the consumption that brought about his death, 
 which took place May 6, 1862. All who knew him were 
 strongly attracted to him as a beautiful character, and noth 
 ing in his life better justified their attraction than some 
 sentiments expressed in his last weeks, when he knew death 
 was at hand. " When I was a very little boy," he said to 
 one, " I learned that I must die, and I set that down, so, of 
 course, I am not disappointed now." To Alcott he said : " I 
 shall leave the world without a regret," though to few men 
 had " the mere living " been more delightful. To a young 
 friend he wrote : " I suppose that I have not many months 
 to live ; but, of course, I know nothing about it. I may 
 add, that I am enjoying existence as much as ever, and re 
 gret nothing." Emerson tells us that Thoreau never went 
 to church, and in the eyes of many he was an irreligious 
 man ; but the sentences just quoted from the last weeks of a 
 long and painful illness show a faith to which not all 
 Christians attain. 
 
DEATH, AND CHARACTER 
 
 181 
 
 Thoreau is often spoken of as an imitator or a mere echo 
 of Emerson, but a greater mistake could hardly be made. 
 Although their theories of life touched at many points, both 
 
 THOREAU CAIRN ON THE SHORE OF WALDEN POND. 
 
 Every " pilgrim " adds a stone to the pile. (Photograph copyright by 
 
 Detroit Publishing Company.) 
 
 are extremely individual, Thoreau even more so than his 
 predecessor. He represents admirably the unsocial aspect 
 of Transcendentalism, practicing what he preached. "So 
 ciety is always diseased," he asserts in Natural History of 
 
182 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Massachusetts, 1 " and the best is the most so. There is no 
 scent in it so wholesome as that of the pines, nor any fra 
 grance so penetrating and restorative as the life-everlasting 
 in high pastures." Three years we find him in his retreat 
 at Walden, endeavoring to avoid contact with this "dis 
 eased " institution. Again, " Hope and the future for me," 
 he says in an essay on Walking, " are not in towns and 
 cities, but in the impervious and quaking swamps." Emer 
 son saw as plainly as did Thoreau the imperfections in so 
 ciety, in government, in fact, in all human institutions; 
 but he never set about improving matters by withdrawing 
 himself from the crowd and committing his protests to the 
 pages of a journal. 
 
 Style and the Man. Thoreau s mode of composition nat 
 urally resulted in disconnected, somewhat incoherent writ 
 ing. Between a brief description of the hyla in March and 
 a brief rhapsody on the joys of early rising in spring, we 
 find the following : " Life is a battle in which you are to 
 show your pluck, and woe be to the coward. Whether 
 passed on a bed of sickness or a tented field, it is ever the 
 same fair play, and admits no foolish distinction." Between 
 a humorous story of an ignoramus s experience with bees 
 and a quiet comment on shadows observed in bubbling 
 water, we read : " A wise man will not go out of his way 
 for information. He might as well go out of nature or 
 commit suicide." And one speculates in vain as to the 
 origin of such a note as this of March 27, 1840 : " Think 
 how finite, after all, the known world is. Money coined at 
 Philadelphia is a legal tender over how much of it ? You 
 may carry ship-biscuit, beef, and pork quite round to the 
 place you set out from. England sends her felons to the 
 other side for safe-keeping and convenience." 
 
 This aimlessness, desultoriness, is not, however, altogether 
 1 Iii the volume Excursions. 
 
STYLE AND THE MAN 
 
 183 
 
 a defect; it shows us the man himself as no amount of 
 methodical, studied writing with publication in view could 
 show him. Nothing in Thoreau, indeed, seems studied un 
 less it be the disregard of literary fame already referred to ; 
 and he believed literature at least, American literature 
 to be suffering from too much regard for the public. In the 
 
 THOREAU S HOME IN CONCORD. 
 
 volume from which the quotations in this paragraph are 
 drawn * he writes : " Look at our literature ; what a poor, 
 puny, social thing, seeking sympathy ! The author trou 
 bles himself about his readers, would fain have one before 
 he dies. He stands too near his printer, he corrects the 
 proofs. 7 Our rejection of such exaggerated statements 
 
 1 Early Spring in Massachusetts, made up by bringing together pas 
 sages from the same days in successive years. 
 
184 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 does not prevent our admiring the independent mind be 
 hind them. 
 
 Although this independence may have been pushed too far, 
 "almost to a point of anarchy," Thoreau s service to his 
 own and succeeding generations in America is great enough 
 to justify pardoning even anarchy, especially when it is "of 
 a harmless variety." This service has already been suffi 
 ciently indicated. He was the first of a long and illustrious 
 line of presenters and interpreters of every-day nature to 
 the less favored among his fellow-men. Doubtless much 
 of the modern enthusiasm for nature study and the simple 
 life is, as Lowell calls it, " sentimentalism " and " a mark of 
 disease general liver-complaint." But this is not Thoreau s 
 enthusiasm it is a perversion of that; nor should he be 
 held responsible for it. What he did was to set forth in a 
 notably pure style the things to be observed in the habits 
 and actions of the woodpecker, chickadee, song sparrow, 
 bluebird, goldfinch, wild duck, red squirrel, hyla, muskrat ; 
 and the benefits to be got from a patient, loving, firsthand 
 study of all God s creatures. Of his method of observation 
 Emerson says: "He knew how to sit immovable, a part of 
 the rock he rested on, until the bird, the reptile, the fish which 
 had retired from him, should come back and resume its 
 habits, nay, moved by curiosity, should come to him and 
 watch him." And of his equipment for this, his life work : 
 "His power of observation seemed to indicate additional 
 senses; he saw as with microscope, heard as with ear- 
 trumpet, and his memory was a photographic register of all 
 he saw and heard." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 FROM THE CLOSE OF THE CIVIL WAR TO THE 
 DEATHS OF WHITMAN AND WHITTIER 
 
 Introduction. The literature of 1865-1892 1 is without 
 doubt inferior to that of 1809-1865 the "golden age." 
 The second half of the century can claim hardly a literary 
 artist to rank with Poe and Hawthorne, or a master of a 
 pure and simple style like Lincoln, or a single poem to be 
 placed beside Thanatopsis or The Raven. The average writer 
 of this period was perhaps superior to the average in the 
 period preceding; but there were a conspicuously smaller 
 number who rose above the average. 
 
 It is not uninteresting to observe that, great though it is, 
 the poetry of the Victorian Age in England is also of a 
 lower order than that of its predecessor, the so-called Age 
 of Romanticism. Tennyson, Browning, Arnold, Swinburne, 
 Morris each had a following among the people as well as 
 among the critics, and the acceptance of Tennyson was well- 
 nigh universal ; but they have generally been regarded as 
 inferior to Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, and 
 Keats. In criticism there are among the Victorians many 
 
 1 The dividing line between Chapters III and IV is obviously arbitrary. 
 Four of the writers already considered lived and wrote for some years 
 after the war ; six of the eight treated in the present chapter were known 
 before the war. Nothing, however, written after 1865 by the first group 
 (except Bryant s Homer) added to their reputations. The six of the 
 second group have been assigned to this chapter chiefly, it should be said, 
 because they seem nearer our time. 
 
 185 
 
186 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 names that promise to hold a permanently high place ; but 
 with the possible exception of Arnold their work does not 
 equal in quality that of Lamb, Hazlitt, DeQuincey, and 
 Coleridge. Only in the field of prose fiction does the later 
 nineteenth century certainly surpass the earlier. 
 
 Possibly the same explanations will serve for the decline 
 in both England and America, beginning to show itself, say, 
 in the sixties, and becoming a striking fact in the year 1892, 
 which marked the close of an epoch in both countries. The 
 age was (and still is) intensely practical, a characteristic 
 utterly opposed to the imaginative. It is, therefore, a busy 
 age : men and women have no time for writings that require 
 much thought, unless the matter be in some way related to 
 their business. Outside of business the chief interests seem 
 to be politics and sport neither of which can be expected 
 to inspire literature of a high order. All literatures, more 
 over, show ebbs and flows in the course of a century or 
 more; and it was but normal that in both England and 
 America the high accomplishment of about three quarters 
 of the nineteenth century should be succeeded by something 
 inferior. The assumption of the inferiority of literature 
 since 1892 is, it should be acknowledged, subject to a quali 
 fication mentioned in our concluding section. 1 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 1807-1882 
 
 A Much-Loved Poet. While few would make the claim 
 that Longfellow is America s greatest poet, fewer still 
 would question his being the best known and best loved. 
 His fame, moreover, and the affection in which he is held 
 by readers, do not stop with the bounds of the United 
 States, but extend to every modern civilized country. His 
 complete works have been translated into ten languages, 
 
 1 Page 261. 
 
A MUCH-LOVED POET 
 
 187 
 
 and single poems into many others. Of Evangeline, an in 
 tensely American poem, there are ten versions in -German, 
 four in French, three 
 in Swedish, two each 
 in . Italian, Spanish, 
 Portuguese, Danish, 
 and Polish, and one 
 each in Dutch and 
 Bohemian. The suc 
 cess of Hiawatha is 
 quite as notable, since 
 the subject and treat 
 ment are even more 
 local than Evangeline. 
 
 What is the basis 
 of this wide appeal ? 
 it is natural to ask. 
 The answer may be 
 given somewhat in 
 the words of the poet 
 himself : 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 "Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, 
 Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman s devotion, 
 List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest ; 
 List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy." 
 
 Such is the theme of Evangeline, a theme finding an at 
 tentive ear in Dane and German, Pole and Spaniard, as well 
 as in American. To whom is Hiawatha addressed ? 
 
 "Ye . . . 
 
 Who have faith in God and Nature, 
 Who believe that in all ages 
 Every human heart is human, 
 That in even savage bosoms 
 
188 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 There are longings, yearnings, strivings 
 For the good they comprehend not, 
 That the feeble hands and helpless, 
 Groping blindly in the darkness, 
 Touch God s right hand in that darkness, 
 And are lifted up and strengthened ; 
 Listen to this simple story, 
 To this song of Hiawatha." 
 
 And so with many others. Longfellow was a wonderful 
 story-teller, and all men enjoy good stories ; his stories deal 
 with themes which, like those in Bacon s essays, " come 
 home to men s business and bosoms." 
 
 One other point lends effectiveness and popularity to 
 Longfellow s poetry. Like Bryant, Milton, Tennyson, and 
 many other poets, he felt himself called to write verse 
 felt himself impelled to it by a power beyond and above 
 himself. In The Poet and His Songs he tells us : " As the 
 birds come in the spring, ... As the stars come at eve 
 ning, ... As the rain comes from the cloud, ... As the 
 grape comes to the vine, 
 
 " So come to the poet his songs, 
 
 All hitherward blown 
 From the misty realm, that belongs 
 To the vast unknown. 
 
 " For voices pursue him by day, 
 
 And haunt him by night, 
 And he listens, and needs must obey, 
 When the angel says, Write ! " 
 
 Poe was a greater genius, a greater artist ; but with him 
 poetry was " a passion," not a mission, and he utterly re 
 jected the idea that a poet might be a teacher. He will 
 continue to hold a higher place than Longfellow in the 
 realm of art ; but he will never make the host of friends 
 
DISTINGUISHED ANCESTRY 189 
 
 made by the New Englander, nor exert the latter s uplifting 
 influence. 
 
 Distinguished Ancestry. Henry Wads worth Longfellow 
 was born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807, while the 
 state was still a portion of Massachusetts. On his mother s 
 side he was descended from the John Alden and Priscilla 
 Mullins whose romance he celebrated in Miles Standish ; on 
 his father s, from an old English family of which the first 
 American representative settled in Newbury, Massachu 
 setts, about 1676. The poet s father and great-grandfather 
 were graduates of Harvard, and held various positions of 
 trust in the colony and state ; his grandfather was legislator 
 and judge. His maternal grandfather, Peleg Wadsworth, 
 was an eminent general during the Revolution, and repre 
 sented the Portland district in Congress for fourteen years. 
 If the Wise Man was right in saying that " a good name is 
 rather to be chosen than great riches," Longfellow was truly 
 blessed in his inheritance. 
 
 His boyhood appears to have been uneventful, but happy. 
 In the pious, cultured New England household he followed 
 the routine of church and school, with some attention to the 
 arts, and abundant playtime. At the age of fourteen, he 
 passed the examinations for entrance to Bowdoin College, 
 at Brunswick, Maine, of which his father was a trustee ; but 
 his first year s work was done at home, perhaps because of 
 his youth, and he entered Bowdoin in the sophomore year. 
 In a rather notable class Longfellow, not a very communi 
 cative or " clubbable " fellow, found no bosom friends ; but 
 in after years he developed a strong and lasting affection 
 for one who rivaled him as the most distinguished son of 
 Bowdoin Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
 
 Throughout his college course Longfellow was a faithful 
 and capable student, religiously attending required lectures 
 on chemistry and anatomy when he longed for leisure to 
 
190 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 read. Determined to " be eminent in something," and having 
 " a very strong predilection for literary pursuits," he never 
 theless gave to every college exercise the time and energy 
 necessary for success ; and he was graduated fourth in a 
 class of thirty-eight, in which, we are told, "there was a 
 large amount of ambition and an intense struggle for rank 
 in scholarship." 
 
 BOWDOIN COLLEGE. 
 
 About the time of Longfellow s and Hawthorne s student days. From an 
 
 old print. 
 
 Beginning of a Literary Life. Toward the middle of his 
 second year in college, and eighteen months before his 
 graduation, Longfellow wrote to his father of his wish to 
 be a man of letters rather than a follower of one of the 
 learned professions. In order that he might better fit him 
 self for this occupation he desired to spend a year at Har 
 vard after leaving Bowdoin and before attaching himself to 
 " some literary periodical." To the proposal of literature as 
 a life work his father demurred on the ground that America 
 would not at that time support " merely literary men " ; but 
 to the wish for a year at Harvard he gave approval. Other 
 
BEGINNING OF A LITERARY LIFE 
 
 191 
 
 powers than the student or his father, however, were to 
 have a hand in determining his career. At Commencement, 
 1825, the trustees of Bowdoin voted to establish a professor 
 ship of modern languages, and offered the position to Long 
 fellow, an eighteen-year-old graduate, on condition that he 
 would spend some time in Europe to fit himself for the 
 work. Eagerly he accepted the offer, and sailed for France 
 
 THE CRAIGIB HOUSE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 Which, though it has other interesting associations, is now remembered 
 chiefly as Longfellow s home. 
 
 on May 15, 1826, the long delay being caused by the neces 
 sity of awaiting a favorable season for the voyage. 
 
 The prospective professor spent three years in Europe 
 one in Italy, and about eight months each in France, Spain, 
 and Germany. French, Spanish, and Italian he mastered, 
 acquiring an excellent speaking knowledge and reading 
 extensively. He also traveled much and went much into 
 
192 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 society, having letters from Washington Irving and from 
 Professor Ticknor of Harvard to social and literary leaders 
 everywhere. Of the countries he visited the deepest im 
 pression was made by Spain the romantic, medieval at 
 mosphere of which charmed him greatly. With German he 
 was less successful at this time, though on a subsequent visit 
 he mastered this also, as well as two kindred languages 
 Dutch and Swedish. 
 
 Only two untoward events marred his residence abroad. 
 The first was an illness fever contracted by remaining in 
 Rome till July, which "completely shattered 7 him for a 
 time. The second, which occurred shortly after his recov 
 ery, was news from America that the Bowdoin trustees had 
 reconsidered their offer, and were willing to make him only 
 a tutor, instead of a professor. This news, he wrote his 
 father, "was very jarring to his feelings "; and he ex 
 pressed considerable and quite justifiable indignation at 
 their saying that he was too young. He must, he said, de 
 cline the minor appointment; and while he hoped not to 
 pain his father by this action, he felt " no kind of anxiety 
 for his future prospects. 
 
 When Longfellow reached New York again in August, 
 1829, he had no definite employment in mind, but a multi 
 tude of plans for writing and lecturing. On the first of the 
 following month, however, the trustees reconsidered their 
 reconsideration, and elected him professor of modern lan 
 guages and librarian ! The second position appears to have 
 been given him as an excuse for adding a hundred dollars to 
 his salary. He held the chair at Bowdoin for six years, 
 attaining from the outset great popularity with both faculty 
 and students, and making a great name as a teacher. So 
 little progress had the teaching of modern languages made 
 that he was forced to write his own textbooks in French 
 and Spanish. At the beginning of his third year as profes- 
 
PROFESSOR AT HARVARD 193 
 
 sor, Longfellow married Miss May Potter, a childhood 
 schoolmate in Portland and daughter of a friend and neigh 
 bor of his family. The happy union lasted only four years, 
 being broken by Mrs. Longfellow s death in November, 1835. 
 Professor at Harvard. So great was Longfellow s success 
 at Bowdoin that, when Ticknor expressed his intention to 
 
 LONGFELLOW IN HIS STUDY. 
 
 resign the professorship of modern languages at Harvard, 
 President Quincy offered Longfellow the position. The 
 last paragraph of the letter making the offer gave permission 
 to spend a year in Germany, which Longfellow recognized 
 as a request to do so. He accepted, and in April, 1835, 
 sailed- a second time for Europe, this time by way of England. 
 Returning to America in the autumn of 1836, he took 
 up his duties at Harvard in December, and continued to 
 perform them for eighteen years. The letters of his first 
 
194 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 few years at Cambridge complain occasionally of the time 
 required for lecturing, and oftener of the trouble his foreign 
 assistants gave him " outlandish animals," he calls them. 
 On the whole, however, he realized that he had considerable 
 leisure; and he began to use it in writing poetry. His first 
 volume of verse, Voices of the Night, appeared in December, 
 1839, and met with an immediate and extraordinary success. 
 From this time up to the ninth day before his death (when 
 he wrote the last stanza of The Bells of /San Bias) his ear 
 was constantly hearing the " Angel " say " Write ! " and his 
 heart as constantly prompted him to obey. 
 
 After six years teaching and writing at Harvard, Long 
 fellow s health showed signs of failing ; and on the recom 
 mendation of his physician he made his third trip to Europe, 
 to try the effect of the sea trip and of the water cure at 
 Marienberg. The events of importance in this six months 
 vacation were the meeting of the German poet, Freiligrath, 
 and the writing of eight anti slavery poems on the voyage 
 home. The acquaintance with Freiligrath ripened into a 
 deep and lasting friendship ; and much of Longfellow s 
 popularity in Germany is due to this friend, who translated 
 Hiawatha into his native tongue, and in various ways ad 
 vanced his friend s interest. The poems on slavery seem, 
 when compared with Whittier s and Lowell s, very luke 
 warm, and the author subsequently suppressed them. There 
 is, however, no doubt of his strong feeling on the subject ; 
 his refusal to take a prominent place among the Abolition 
 ists, and his omission of this group of poems from his first 
 collected edition, were due merely to an innate dislike of 
 all controversy. 
 
 To most of Longfellow s acquaintances it doubtless ap 
 peared that he was leading an ideal existence, with a dis 
 tinguished position in America s greatest university, a 
 rapidly growing reputation as poet, a beautiful spot to live 
 
TEACHING HINDERS WRITING 195 
 
 in, and a large and devoted circle of friends. But it was 
 not ideal : his life was " too lonely and restless " ; he " needed 
 the soothing influences of a home." Thus he wrote to his 
 sister-in-law, Miss Eliza Potter, in May, 1843, with the 
 announcement that he was to be married again. His second 
 wife, Miss Frances Appleton, daughter of a wealthy Boston 
 gentleman, he had met seven years previously in Europe ; 
 and it is believed that the resemblance of Mary Ashburton 
 in Hyperion (his prose romance) to her is evidence of the 
 strong impression she then made upon him. In the letter 
 to Miss Potter just referred to he said that Miss Appleton 
 possessed " in a high degree those virtues and excellent 
 traits of character which so distinguished " his first wife. 
 She was certainly a comfort and inspiration to him ; and no 
 more touching poetic record of devotion can be found than 
 his ?onnet, The Cross of Snow, written eighteen years after 
 her tragic death. 
 
 Teaching Hinders Writing. Longfellow s work at the 
 University grew harder year by year. He was extremely 
 conscientious ; and besides the time required for actual 
 teaching, he gave more time and much thought and energy 
 to the thorough organization of his department, a difficult 
 matter, since there were no models and no traditions con 
 nected with collegiate instruction in modern languages. 
 He became wearied of the routine work, and grieved that it 
 left him no strength for poetry. At the end of 1853 he re 
 cords in his journal that the year has been "absolutely 
 barren " of either poetic or prose production " there has 
 been nothing but the college work." In the seventeen years 
 since he came to Cambridge he had written two prose works, 
 Hyperion and Kavanagh, four slender volumes of short 
 poems, and three longer poems The Spanish /Student, a 
 drama; Evangeline; and The Golden Legend, a picture of 
 religious and monastic life in the Middle Ages. The last- 
 
196 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 /A*4~- * ^Aml-A^ ; **7. Xv.<au*^ u 
 
 FACSIMILE OF MANUSCRIPT OF LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Telling how he came into possession of the story of Evangeline. 
 
 (Library of Congress.) 
 
THE FREED PEN 197 
 
 mentioned poem appeared in. late autumn, 1851 ; and be 
 tween this date and December 31, 1853, no other composition 
 came from his pen. 
 
 With the "Voices" still pursuing, he decided to give up 
 his professorship, and offered his resignation to take effect 
 in the spring of 1854, or as soon thereafter as possible. The 
 entry in his journal for April 19 of that year reads : " At 
 eleven o clock, in No. 6 University Hall, I delivered my 
 last lecture, the last I shall ever deliver here or any 
 where." At the beginning of his forty-eighth year, then, 
 the pcet found himself at liberty to map out a course of life 
 for himself, unhampered by distasteful routine work. "I 
 am not, however," he writes to Freiligrath, " very sanguine 
 about the results." 
 
 The Freed Pen. As shown by the dates given above, 
 Longfellow had written no poetry during the two years pre 
 ceding his determination to stop teaching. Within a month 
 after his last lecture he was again writing ; in another month 
 he has "hit upon a plan for a poem on the American In 
 dians." Kepeated entries in his journal show that Hiawatha 
 was much in his mind ; and at the end of his first year of 
 freedom he could write to Freiligrath that he had two vol 
 umes of poems " ready for the press " the first flight of 
 Birds of Passage, and Hiawatlia. 
 
 From then till his death the Muse never left him for any 
 great length of time. Miles Standish was published in 
 1858; Tales of a Wayside Inn in 1863, 1872, and 1874; a 
 translation of Dante in 1870; New England Tragedies in 
 1868 ; Christus in 1872. Besides these major works, the last 
 three of which are hardly more than names to the majority 
 of the poet s admirers, there appeared in various periodicals, 
 and subsequently in collections, a number of his greatest 
 poems. Among the notable short poems of this last period 
 are : My Lost Youth, a " memory of Portland " ; The Hang- 
 
198 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 ing of the Cram, "the story of life, tlie sweet and pathetic 
 poem of the fireside"; Morituri tialutamus, written for the 
 fiftieth anniversary of his class at Bowdoin ; Herons of Elm- 
 tvood, a "friendly greeting" to Lowell, his successor at 
 Harvard; and a number of sonnets to which critics have 
 given a high rank in that difficult field. Longfellow is the 
 
 THE WAYSIDE INN AT SUDBURY, MASS. 
 Which Longfellow made the scene of his Tales of a Wayside Inn. 
 
 only American to obtain general recognition in England as 
 a sonnet writer. 
 
 The Atlantic Monthly. A notable event in American 
 letters was the establishment in Boston in 1857 of the 
 Atlantic Monthly. Lowell, Holmes, Emerson, were prime 
 movers in the enterprise, and Longfellow, though not "so 
 eager as the rest," was interested, and a contributor. In 
 
HONORS OF LONGFELLOW S LAST YEARS 199 
 
 1861 occurred tlie death of his wife, already referred to. 
 Her dress caught fire from a match dropped on the floor, 
 and she was so severely burned that she died next day. 
 The poet, in his efforts to save her, was badly injured also, 
 and was unable to leave his bed to attend the funeral. 
 
 Honors of Longfellow s Last Years. Only one more epi 
 sode in. Longfellow s life need be chronicled. In May, 
 1868, with a family party of ten, he made his fourth and 
 last trip to Europe a pleasure trip ; and the old and ex 
 perienced traveler found as much of interest as did the 
 young and inexperienced ones. Besides the sight-seeing, 
 the distinguished poet had to accept overwhelming atten 
 tions in London (including requested visits to the Queen 
 and the Prince of Wales), and received honorary degrees 
 from both Oxford and Cambridge. In 1879 a delightful 
 experience came to him the presentation of an armchair 
 by Cambridge (Massachusetts) children ; and the year fol 
 lowing he was honored and highly pleased by a celebration 
 of his birthday in the schools of Cincinnati. The rapid 
 passing of his life-long friends, however, Hawthorne, 
 Charles Sumner, Professors Felton and Agassiz, and others, 
 caused him much grief ; and neither the honors paid him 
 by his own countrymen nor those paid by numerous distin 
 guished foreigners could make him altogether happy. His 
 death occurred in March, 1882, after a short illness. Of the 
 many evidences of the esteem in which Longfellow was held 
 none is more notable than the placing of a bust of him in 
 Westminster Abbey^ the cost defrayed by several hundred 
 English admirers. The bust was unveiled less than two years 
 after the poet s death, one of the addresses on the occasion 
 being delivered by his devoted friend and fellow poet, 
 Lowell, then Minister to England. 
 
 As was stated at the beginning of this sketch, Long 
 fellow is not the greatest American poet, but he is the 
 
200 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 best known and best loved. The poet of the home, the poet 
 of childhood, the poet of American history, the poet of 
 brotherhood, the poet of old-time love, the poet of the ele 
 mental emotions these are some of the designations ap 
 plied to him and explaining the high place he holds in the 
 people s hearts. There is no reason to suppose that he will 
 ever lose this place. The poems that have at some time 
 appealed to every reader will continue to appeal to succeed 
 ing generations, so simple, so true, and so universal are the 
 feelings they touch. 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 1819-1891 
 
 What is Lowell ? In much the same situation as Zekle, 
 who 
 
 " stood a spell on one foot fust, 
 Then stood a spell on t other," l 
 
 the writer finds himself who would adequately characterize 
 James Russell Lowell. Literary critic, political scientist, 
 familiar essayist, poet, teacher, scholar, diplomat, humor 
 ist, in all these fields Lowell made a distinguished name 
 for himself; in the first, he is generally admitted to have 
 attained the highest place in America; and in the last, if 
 not the highest, then only one short of the highest. To the 
 vast majority of readers he is chiefly a poet ; to a somewhat 
 smaller number he is the author of T7ie Vision of Sir Launfal. 
 To the serious student of our literature, however, Lowell s 
 chief claims to distinction are to be found in such literary 
 essays as Thoreau and Don Quixote , in such humorous ones 
 as My Garden Acquaintance and On a Certain Condescension 
 in Foreigners ; in the character of Hosea Biglow, probably 
 Lowell s most original performance; and in the lecture, 
 1 Lowell s " The Courtin ," in Biglow Papers, Second Series. 
 
A LIFELONG CAMBRTDGIAN 
 
 201 
 
 Democracy, still regarded as an admirable exposition of the 
 American theory of government. 
 
 A Lifelong Cambridgian. Lowell was born in Cambridge, 
 Massachusetts, February 22, 1819; he died there August 
 12, 1891 ; and he lived there almost continuously for the 
 first sixty years of his 
 life. Like Emerson, 
 Hawthorne, Longfel 
 low, he was on both 
 sides descended from 
 long lines of illustrious 
 New Englanders. He 
 was the fourth of the 
 family to be graduated 
 from Harvard, but the 
 first to be distinguished 
 by election as class 
 poet. In order to get 
 his poem before his 
 classmates, the author 
 had to print it ; for 
 during his last term he 
 indulged in a prank 
 which resulted in his 
 
 being suspended till after class day. After graduation in 
 arts Lowell took up the study of law, receiving his degree 
 in that subject in 1840. Law was not to him a "calling" 
 it was a suitable occupation for a man of literary tastes, 
 and of insufficient income to gratify them. The same rea 
 son, as we have seen, sent Irving to the law, and Lowell 
 made as great a success as did his predecessor there is no 
 record of his having a first client. The leisure that came 
 to him while awaiting professional business he used in verse 
 making, an occasional occupation of his college days. 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
202 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 First Poems. Lowell s formal entrance into literature 
 came with the publication, in 1841, of A Year s Life, a col 
 lection of thirty-five sonnets and thirty-two other poems, 
 many of which had appeared in various newspapers and 
 magazines. Very few of them were subsequently reprinted 
 by the author ; and it is probable that most of them would 
 never have been collected at all if they had had to await 
 his inclination. The inspirer of the volume was Maria 
 White, sister of a classmate of the poet. Lowell became 
 acquainted with her late in 1839, and became engaged to 
 her about a year after. "I shall print my volume," he 
 writes to a friend in November, 1840. " Maria wishes me 
 to do it, and that is enough." She was a remarkably strong 
 character ; and though she lived before women generally 
 took part in public movements, she was active in the causes 
 of temperance and abolition. A Year s Life is hardly more 
 than a series of portraits of her and a record of the growth 
 of the poet s devotion to her; but at least one poem not 
 belonging in these fields is notable the Ode, beginning 
 
 " In the old days of awe and keen-eyed wonder." 
 
 The high conception of a poet s equipment and mission set 
 forth here will bear comparison with those of Bryant and 
 Longfellow among our own writers, and with those of 
 Tennyson, Browning, and others of Britain s great names. 
 
 Lowell married Miss White in December, 1844. He had 
 110 assured income and she had no dowry ; but they wanted 
 neither of these things preferred to be " apostles of pov 
 erty." During the winter, which was spent in Philadelphia 
 among Quakers and abolitionists, Lowell joined himself to 
 the abolition cause ; and he continued active in it until the 
 country was divided, and, after four years of conflict, re 
 united. 
 
FIRST POEMS 203 
 
 FACSIMILE or A LOWELL LETTER. 
 Interesting for its contents as well as for the excellent handwriting. 
 
204 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 First Great Works. The following summer found the 
 Lowells back at Elmwood, the family home in Cambridge, 
 where they remained six years. During this period Lowell 
 published A Fable for Critics, The Biglow Papers, and The 
 Vision of Sir Launfal, of which the first two made manifest 
 his strength as critic and humorist, and the last showed 
 not a little power in the higher realms of poetry. The 
 Fable is a satire on American authors, giving keen but never 
 biting characterizations of leading writers of the day. Foe 
 is said to be 
 
 "Three-fifths of him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge." 
 Of Whittier we read : 
 
 "And his failures arise (though he seems not to know it) 
 From the very same cause that has made him a poet, 
 A fervor of mind which knows no separation 
 
 . Twixt simple excitement and pure inspiration." 
 
 He hits off himself quite as readily and as fairly as any 
 other : 
 
 " There s Lowell, who s striving Parnassus to climb 
 With a whole bale of isms tied together with rhyme." 
 
 The Biglow Papers, written in opposition to the Mexican 
 War, which Lowell believed was undertaken solely to aid 
 in the extension of slavery, is a series of poems in Yankee 
 dialect, purporting to be by Hosea Biglow, an uneducated 
 rustic and "a detestable speller." Of the Vision of Sir 
 Launfal it is hardly necessary to speak, since it is universally 
 known and admired. 
 
 Visit to Europe. In 1851 the Lowells went to Europe for 
 a holiday, which lasted fifteen months. When Longfellow 
 resigned his chair at Harvard in 1855, Lowell was chosen 
 for the position, and again went to Europe, this time for 
 serious study. On receiving the appointment he wrote to a 
 
EDITORIAL WORK 205 
 
 friend : " My first thought was a sad one, for the heart that 
 would have beat warmest is still." The still heart was that 
 of Mrs. Lowell, who had died in October, 1853, making the 
 fourth death in his family in six years three of his four 
 children having preceded their mother. Naturally of a 
 buoyant disposition, Lowell did not brood long over these 
 losses, deeply as he felt them ; and his year abroad was 
 most successful, socially as well as scholastically. 
 
 Successor to Longfellow. Returning to America, he took 
 up his work at Harvard, delivering "two courses of lectures 
 in a year on pretty much any subject I choose." The 
 subject on which he chose to exert himself most and for 
 which he is chiefly remembered in the University, is Dante. 
 His teaching seems to have been almost ridiculously in 
 formal, frequently dealing with " things in general," while 
 he walked up and down before his class " looking at nothing 
 in particular." The key to his attitude toward all literature, 
 and the secret of the inspiration he conveyed to the thought 
 ful among his students, may be found in his essay on Don 
 Quixote, the Spanish masterpiece: 
 
 " He reads most wisely who thinks everything into a book that 
 it is capable of holding, and it is the stamp and token of a great 
 book so to incorporate itself with our own being, so to quicken our 
 insight and stimulate our thought, as to make us feel as if we 
 helped to create it while we read. Whatever we can find in a 
 book that aids us in the conduct of life, or to a truer interpretation 
 of it, or to a franker reconcilement with it, we may with a good 
 conscience believe is not there by accident, but that the author 
 meant that we should find it there." 
 
 With a single year s intermission, he taught at Harvard 
 for twenty years. 
 
 Editorial Work. Two events of importance in Lowell s 
 life must be recorded for 1857, the second year of his 
 teaching his marriage with Miss Frances Dunlap, who 
 
206 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 i 
 
 ATLANTIC MONTHLY, 
 
 had for several years been governess to his little girl, and 
 his selection as first editor in-chief of the Atlantic Monthly. 
 The editorship he held for four years along with his pro 
 fessorship, a combina 
 tion which was doubt 
 less of value as prepa 
 ration for future work, 
 but which seems al 
 most to have stopped 
 his writing of poetry. 
 His great success with 
 the Atlantic caused him 
 to be invited in 1863 
 to assume charge of 
 the North American 
 Review, to which he 
 had been an occasional 
 contributor. Because 
 of the opportunity it 
 would give him to deal 
 with public questions, 
 he accepted; and be- 
 
 Devoted to Literature, Ar 
 
 COVER OF FIRST VOLUME OF THE 
 ATLANTIC MONTHLY. 
 
 (New York Public Library.) 
 
 cause of his unwilling 
 ness to undertake again 
 the drudgery of the 
 editorial chair, he stip 
 ulated that his friend 
 Charles Eliot Norton should be "active editor." In the 
 Atlantic Lowell took a firm stand against slaver} 7 ; he did 
 not believe the Southern states would secede. When, how 
 ever, secession became certain, slavery occupied a less prom 
 inent place in his thought and writing, and the preservation 
 of the Union became his chief object. During the Recon 
 struction Period, he advocated through the North American 
 
MINISTER TO SPAIN 207 
 
 Review suffrage for the negroes and liberal treatment of the 
 Confederates. The climax of Lowell s writings on slavery 
 and dissension was reached in 1865, in the Ode for the Har 
 vard Commemoration, which contains one of the finest trib 
 utes to Lincoln, concluding, 
 
 " New birth of our new soil, the first American." 
 
 In the summer of 1871 Lowell sold enough of Elmwood 
 to give him a comfortable income ; and a year later resigned 
 from Harvard and went abroad with Mrs. Lowell for two 
 years. Evidence of his being more widely and favorably 
 known than on his previous trips is found in the more gen 
 eral reception accorded him, in England especially. The 
 seal of English national approval was placed on him by 
 honorary degrees from the two great universities D. C. L. 
 from Oxford, in 1873, and LL.D. from Cambridge the fol 
 lowing year. 
 
 Minister to Spain. The years 1874-1877 were spent in 
 the United States, where he did a little teaching and a little 
 politics. His political activity led to his appointment as 
 Minister to Spain, which he felt bound to accept, though he 
 had already refused to go to Austria or Germany, and had 
 " no desire to go abroad at all." Before sailing he got some 
 amusement out of his fellow townsmen, who acted "as if I 
 had drawn a prize in a lottery and was somebody at last. 
 ... I dare say I shall enjoy it after I get there, but at 
 present it is altogether a bore to be honorabled at every 
 turn." The difficulties of his position he thus expressed in 
 a letter after he had been four months in Madrid : " Fancy 
 a shy man, without experience, suddenly plumped down 
 among a lot of utter strangers, unable to speak their language 
 (though knowing more of it than almost any of them), and 
 with a secretary wholly ignorant both of Spanish and 
 French." While he was often burdened with the business 
 
208 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 of the embassy, and bored with the amount of ceremony in 
 official life, he was thoroughly interested in studying at 
 first hand the national character, with which he was already 
 familiar through a wide knowledge of Spanish literature. 
 
 To England. Though Lowell found some of his duties 
 distasteful, the life in Spain became exceedingly pleasant, 
 and his career there was eminently successful. So satis 
 factory indeed was he to his government that in January, 
 1880, after two and a half years in Spain, he was appointed 
 Minister to Great Britain, the highest post in the foreign 
 service. During the five years of his residence in England, 
 he handled with great skill some difficult diplomatic prob 
 lems, and greatly increased the cordial feeling between the 
 two countries, which had not been without friction since the 
 Civil War. Though he was well received everywhere, and 
 in great demand for all sorts of public appearances, he acted 
 on the assumption that he was asked as the representative 
 of a great nation, and not on personal grounds. Even in 
 country homes, where he was more frequently a guest than 
 any other American who ever lived, he always, says a 
 friend, " let fall some good American seed." 
 
 During his official residence in Spain and England Lowell 
 wrote very little, and wrote no poem or literary essay which 
 takes high rank. The essay on Democracy, referred to 
 above, belongs to his last year in England ; but this is of 
 course not literary. What are very generally considered 
 Lowell s most artistic productions were written two years 
 before his going to Spain the Ode at the Concord Centen 
 nial, and Under the Old Elm. The first of these, while quite 
 as great as the subject demanded, falls short of the vigor 
 and beauty of Emerson s simple ode of forty years before. 
 
 The second, however, the occasion of which was the hun 
 dredth anniversary of Washington s taking command of the 
 army, ranks second only to the Commemoration Ode among 
 
TO ENGLAND 
 
 209 
 
 THE OLD ELM. 
 
 Just off the Cambridge Common, under which Washington took command 
 of the troops. (See Lowell s poem.) 
 
210 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 American patriotic poems. The author considered it the 
 best of his memorial poems, "mainly because it was com 
 posed after my college duties were over." After drawing 
 pictures of Washington and his army "a motley rout" 
 and paying suitable homage to Washington, he concludes 
 with a noble tribute to the hero s native state : 
 
 " Virginia gave us this imperial man ; 
 
 ***** 
 She gave us this unblemished gentleman. 
 What shall we give her back but love and praise 
 As in the dear old unestranged days 
 Before the inevitable wrong began ? " 
 
 " I took advantage of the occasion," Lowell wrote, " to hold 
 out a hand of kindly reconciliation to Virginia." 
 
 Lowell s foreign service came to an end in June, 1885, 
 with the return to power of the Democratic party. " I am 
 on the whole glad to be rid of my official trappings," he 
 wrote to one friend ; and to another : " I shall see you 
 again in June one of the greatest favors I have to thank 
 President .Cleveland for." Yet he had a few months earlier 
 expressed his willingness to stay and had admitted his 
 regret at leaving "certain friendships I have formed here, 
 and the climate." His recall was very generally lamented 
 in England, and has been often taken as a text for an attack 
 on the American method of filling such positions. 
 
 Last Years. Shortly before Lowell s departure from 
 England, Mrs. Lowell died. Unwilling to return then to 
 Elmwood, he went to live with his daughter at South- 
 borough, not far from Boston, which was his home for 
 four years. They were busy years ; for the poet, diplomat, 
 critic, popular lecturer, essayist, was in great demand. He 
 spoke on matters of national interest before many organiza 
 tions, gave readings from his poems, wrote a few new poems 
 and published a collection of his old ones, and undertook 
 
LAST YEARS 
 
 211 
 
 various literary commissions. The incentive to work, how 
 ever, was gone, and he had to beg to be let off from several 
 promises. He was very happy with his large library and 
 his children and grandchildren, and lived a quiet life inter 
 rupted only by annual vacations in England, where he re- 
 
 ".ELMWOOD." 
 Lowell s home in Cambridge. 
 
 newed the old friendships, and visited the old familiar 
 scenes. 
 
 On his return from the last of these trips, in the autumn 
 of 1889, he found the Southborough household transferred 
 to the old home in Cambridge his only home, he had said, 
 and the place where he hoped to die. During the following 
 
212 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 winter he prepared a final edition of his writings ; and he 
 was naturally proud of the ten uniform volumes which soon 
 afterward graced his shelves. Plans for other literary work 
 were interrupted by an illness in the spring of 1890 ; and 
 from that time till his death eighteen months later he was 
 never a well man. His malady caused him great and almost 
 constant pain ; but he complained little, and till the very 
 end wrote long letters full of thankfulness and enlivened 
 with jests on his condition. " My handwriting will run 
 down hill. I suppose because / am in spite of continued 
 watchfulness on my part," this in his last letter to his 
 daughter, written a few weeks before death. 
 
 Personality. Lowell is probably the most attractive 
 personality among our literary men. He made friends 
 readily, and rarely lost one. He was an indefatigable letter 
 writer ; and the publication of his letters has very greatly 
 added to his fame a rare circumstance. In these the most 
 striking feature is the humor, which is present in some de 
 gree in nearly every letter. In an early one he says : " I am 
 a kind of twins myself, divided between grave and gay " ; 
 and he might truthfully have added that by far the greater 
 part of him was in the "gay" division. Elsewhere he 
 complains that he can t " write anything serious," which 
 the reader need qualify only by a " wholly " before " serious." 
 In his seventy-first year he wrote to a literary friend : 
 " Thank God, I am as young as ever. There is an exhaust- 
 less fund of inexperience somewhere about me." Of his 
 fondness for punning, which comes out in almost every 
 letter, the following, written when he was starting fcr Europe 
 in 1851, is typical. "We are going to traVel on our own 
 land. That is, we shall spend at the rate of about ten acres 
 a year, selling our birthrights as we go along for messes of 
 European pottage. Well, Raphael and the rest of them are 
 worth it. My plan is to sit down in Florence till I have 
 
LOWELL THE ESSAYIST 213 
 
 cut my eye(talian) teeth. Tuscany must be a good place 
 for that." 
 
 Lowell the Essayist. Now, charming as this tone is in 
 personal letters and in some kinds of literature, there are 
 places where it seems inappropriate. In a serious essay on 
 Keats, for example which, by the way, contains some 
 magnificent paragraphs it is a bit jarring to be held up 
 suddenly by : "A biographer is hardly called upon to show 
 how ill his biographee could do anything." (Italics are 
 Lowell s; he probably thought the word was of his own 
 coining.) The reader often resents the intrusion of the 
 humorous in such places it suggests bad taste. Yet, after 
 thoughtful reading of a number of Lowell s purely literary 
 essays one comes to apply to him a remark he makes in a 
 study of Carlyle : " Keal fame depends rather on the sum 
 of an author s powers than on any brilliancy of special parts." 
 The English must have formed their judgment of him on 
 somewhat the same basis; for honors were given him by 
 them that would surely not have been given either to the 
 diplomat or to the mere humorist. During his term as 
 Minister to England he was elected Rector of the University 
 of Saint Andrews, President of the Wordsworth Society, 
 and Professor of English at Oxford. 
 
 Discussion has often been indulged in whether Lowell 
 would have done work of a higher grade if he had limited 
 himself to fewer fields. Had he so limited himself, he 
 would have been of less consequence to us, no matter what 
 rank he reached. His breadth, versatility, almost contra 
 dictious variety of gifts, made him one of the greatest figures 
 in our national literature and life. 
 
214 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER, 1842-1881 
 
 Sidney Larder s short life was a struggle with adverse 
 circumstances war, poverty, ill health. What he might 
 have accomplished with such opportunities and environment 
 
 , , as Longfellow and 
 
 Lowell had, can only be 
 conjectured. What he 
 did accomplish shows 
 him to be of heroic 
 mold, a really great 
 soul. Twelve or fif 
 teen poems taking 
 place beside the best 
 in our literature, and 
 many others just fall 
 ing short of these ; a 
 few essays showing 
 thorough and appreci 
 ative study of early 
 English writers ; a 
 study of the technique 
 of verse, which, though 
 resting on a probably 
 erroneous theory, is 
 admitted to be the best 
 work yet written in 
 the field, all this he 
 accomplished in a space 
 of somewhat less then ten years, 1 during which he was in 
 terrupted by frequent illnesses, and forced to play in an 
 orchestra to support his family. 
 
 KEYSER BUST OF LANIER. 
 In the Johns Hopkins University. 
 
 1 Lanier s literary working life is properly dated from his move to 
 Baltimore in 1873. 
 
ANCESTRY, AND EARLY LIFE 215 
 
 A Genuinely American Poet. Though Lanier s prose has 
 considerable merit, his poetry is of a far higher order, and 
 it is as poet that he seems likely to hold permanently a high 
 place. Many critics have emphasized the distinctly Southern 
 character of his poetry, some going so far as to assert that 
 only in the South could his work have been produced. 
 Certainly by temperament as well as by the accident of 
 birth Lanier is Southern ; and his nature poems, upon which 
 much of his fame will rest, give faithful pictures of Southern 
 scenes. His exquisite ballad, however, The Revenge of 
 Hamish, showing the penalty for human tyranny over a 
 fellow being ; that unique composition, The Symphony, set 
 ting forth the need of relief from the tyranny of the com 
 mercial spirit in American life ; and a number of short 
 lyrics on divers themes such, for example, as The Stirrup- 
 Cup, expressing readiness for death whenever it may come : 
 these all exhibit a man too large to be the spokesman of 
 any section or time. Lanier will be found on examination 
 to be thoroughly American in the broadest sense. 
 
 Ancestry, and Early Life. He was the eldest of three 
 children. On his father s side he was of Huguenot extrac 
 tion, though the earliest ancestor to be traced was attached 
 to the court of the English Elizabeth. On his mother s 
 side he was Scotch-Irish. The Laniers were settled near 
 Richmond, Virginia, soon after 1700 ; the branch of the 
 family from which Sidney was descended emigrated to 
 North Carolina and later to Georgia. In the city of Macon, 
 February 3, 1842, the poet was born. 
 
 He attended private schools until he reached the age of 
 fourteen, when he entered Oglethorpe College in the sopho 
 more class. The notable facts of his early life are his 
 affection for his brother Clifford, and his musical talent. 
 Music and Poetry is the title of a volume of his essays ; and 
 to the two arts in the title he may be said to have conse- 
 
216 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 crated his life. The musical gift was an inherited one 
 even when a boy he could play any instrument he tried. 
 His favorite was the violin ; but so wearing was it on his 
 sensitive nature that, yielding to his father s request, he gave 
 it up, and devoted himself to the flute. Without instruction 
 he mastered this instrument, and later attained great dis- 
 
 OGLETHORPE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 Lanier s Alma Mater, which did not survive the war. A new institution 
 bearing this name, and to have a " Lanier Professorship of English Litera 
 ture," is in course of erection (1915) near Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 tinction as first flutist in the Peabody Orchestra of Balti 
 more. 
 
 The War Period. -*- Immediately on graduation from college 
 with first honors, he received an appointment as tutor, 
 which position he held for nearly a year, resigning to enlist 
 in the Confederate army in April, 1861. He went through 
 the war as a private, declining several offers of promotion 
 because he was unwilling to be separated from his brother. 
 About a year before the war closed, however, the two were 
 
WANDERINGS 
 
 217 
 
 separated by being detailed each as a signal officer on board 
 a blockade runner. While in this service Sidney was cap 
 tured, and imprisoned for five months. During the war the 
 first signs of con.su mp- _^___^__^______^_ 
 
 tion appeared ; and the 
 poet attributed the de 
 velopment and fatal 
 outcome of the disease 
 to confinement in the 
 wretched prison at 
 Point Lookout, North 
 Carolina. On release 
 from prison in Feb 
 ruary, 1865, he walked 
 home to Georgia, where, 
 as is not surprising, 
 he immediately went 
 through a severe illness 
 of six weeks. Just 
 as he recovered, his 
 mother died of the 
 dread disease. 
 
 Wanderings. Un 
 able even to think of 
 an artistic career while 
 the public mind was in 
 such a distracted state, 
 and when poverty had 
 engulfed the Lanier 
 family as well as thousands of others, he took the first oc 
 cupation that offered a clerkship in a Montgomery, Ala 
 bama, hotel and retained it for something more than a 
 year. In May, 1867, we find him in New York arranging 
 for the publication of his Tiger Lilies, a novel of the war. 
 
 "CEDARCROFT." 
 
 Bayard Taylor s home near Kennett 
 
 Square, Pa., where Lanier was frequently 
 
 a guest. 
 
218 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The following September he became principal of a school in 
 Prattsville, Alabama, and three months later married Miss 
 Mary Day, of Macon. This proved to be one of those ideal 
 unions all ,too rare with geniuses ; and from Lanier s devo 
 tion to his wife came some charming lyrics, best known of 
 which is My Springs. 
 
 About a month after marriage Lanier is found again in 
 Macon, in a wretched state of health. For some unknown 
 reason he took up the study of law with his father, and 
 later practiced, remaining in this connection four years. 
 A short trip to New York for treatment was followed by one 
 to San Antonio, Texas, the climate of which he thought 
 might make it a suitable home. Disappointed after a four 
 months trial, realizing that the end of his life was not far 
 off, he returned to Georgia, determined to make possible the 
 expression of himself in music and verse which he had for 
 so long craved. 
 
 Musician and Poet Recognized. In December, 1873, he 
 began his musical career in the Baltimore orchestra, and 
 fourteen months later published the poem which first at 
 tracted widespread attention to his literary gift. This 
 poem, called forth by the sight of a broad Georgia landscape 
 at midsummer, was Corn, in the first section of which occurs a 
 description probably never surpassed by Lanier. It begins : 
 
 " To-day the woods are trembling through and through 
 With shimmering forms that flash before my view, 
 Then melt in green, as day-stars melt in blue." 
 
 Among the friendships dating from the publication of 
 Corn is that with Bayard Taylor, the distinguished Pennsyl 
 vania man of letters, who procured for Lanier appointment 
 to write a cantata for the Philadelphia Centennial of 1876. 
 Taylor and his beautiful home, " Cedarcroft," near Kennett 
 Square, figure largely in the poet s life. 
 
THE END 219 
 
 "There, O my Friend, beneath the chestnut bough, 
 Gazing on thee immerged in modern strife, 
 I framed a prayer of fervency that thou, 
 
 " In soul and stature larger than thy kind, 
 
 Still more to this strong Form might st liken thee, 
 Till thy whole Self in every fibre find 
 
 The tranquil lordship of thy chestnut tree." 
 
 The years remaining to Lanier were spent in a vain 
 search for a climate in which he might live without suffer 
 ing. West Chester and Chadd s Ford, Pennsylvania (both 
 near Philadelphia) ; Tampa, Florida ; the mountains of 
 North Carolina; Brunswick, on the coast of Georgia, all 
 these he tried without lasting benefit, returning to Balti 
 more for long periods of orchestra work. Usually his de 
 voted wife, and not infrequently his father and brother, 
 accompanied him on these fruitless travels, and exerted 
 themselves to lighten both his physical and his mental pain. 
 
 Study and Teaching. One real delight of Lanier s 
 last years was study, particularly of the older English 
 writers, made possible by his nearness to the Peabody 
 Library in Baltimore. He had been, as we have seen, a 
 faithful student in college ; and he had hoped to continue 
 his studies abroad. War and disease, however, having 
 destroyed such a hope, he eagerly seized the opportunity 
 now offered. In response to invitation he delivered a 
 series of lectures on Elizabethan poetry to a private class 
 of ladies in the spring of 1878. Following this came a 
 series on Shakespeare in Peabody Institute ; and in 1879 
 1881 he was lecturer on English literature in the Johns 
 Hopkins University. These lectures were published with 
 the titles : The Science of English Verse, The English Novel, 
 and Shakspere and his Forerunners. 
 
 The End. During the second year of his lecturing at the 
 University it was plain that death could not be held off much 
 
220 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 longer. We are told that oftentimes the students wondered 
 whether the speaker s breath would last through the hour. 
 Soon after the close of his course Lanier was advised to try, 
 as a last resort, outdoor life in a high altitude. Accordingly, 
 
 FACSIMILE OF CONCLUDING LINES OF LANIER S Commemoration Ode. 
 
 For the Johns Hopkins University s fourth anniversary. Lanier changed 
 the first line above to 
 
 " Bring Faith that sees with unassembling eyes," 
 and the last line to 
 
 " The world has bloomed again, at Baltimore!" 
 (MS. reproduced by courtesy of the Trustees of the University.) 
 
 in the spring of 1881, accompanied by his wife, he camped 
 in the vicinity of Asheville, North Carolina, where he died 
 in September. Mrs. Lanier s oft-quoted account of this long- 
 expected event must be quoted once more : 
 
 " We are left alone with one another. On the last night of the 
 summer comes a change. His love and immortal will hold off the 
 destroyer of our summer one more week, until the forenoon of 
 September 7, and then falls the frost, and that unfaltering will 
 renders its supreme submission to the adored will of God." 
 
"THE SYMPHONY" 221 
 
 A True Artist. " Whatever turn I have for art," wrote 
 Lanier in May, 1873, " is purely musical ; poetry being with 
 me a mere tangent into which I shoot sometimes." This 
 may have been true at the time it was written ; but before 
 long a change came. Six mouths later he wrote to Mrs. 
 Lanier as one reason for accepting the position in the 
 orchestra : " It will give me a foothold, which I can likely 
 step from to something better, for the Peabody is a literary 
 as well as a musical institution." It has been implied 
 above that the two arts shared almost equally his devotion. 
 While, however, he wrote for the flute some compositions 
 which attracted attention, he lacked in music the creative 
 power which he possessed in literature. 
 
 His musical talent, nevertheless, contributed much to his 
 poetic success. In that field of poetry called the " onomato- 
 poetic " Lanier takes a high place, with a number of poems 
 in which sound and movement have helped much to bring 
 out and enforce the meaning. Of this class the best known 
 is the Song of the Chattahoochee, with its haunting "hills of 
 Habersham " and " valleys of Hall." More wonderful than 
 any other poem of this class, however, is TJie Symphony, 
 which by many is considered the author s masterpiece. 
 
 " The Symphony." In this poem, says Lanier, " I per 
 sonify each instrument in the orchestra, and make them dis 
 cuss various deep social questions of the times, in the 
 progress of the music. It is now nearly finished; and I 
 shall be rejoiced thereat, for it verily racks all the bones of 
 my spirit." The theme of the poem is given in the first two 
 lines : 
 
 "0 Trade ! Trade I would thou wert dead ! 
 The time needs heart tis tired of head." 
 
 That is, the time needs love to take the place of the avari 
 cious spirit of commercial life. These opening lines begin 
 
222 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the outcry of the violins, which speak for the poor. Next 
 comes (felicitous combination) the flute, speaking for the 
 voices of nature, her " utmost depths and heights." Then 
 follow the clarinet, representing the Lady who longs for the 
 
 LIBRARY AT CEDARCROFT. 
 
 restoration of love as the only ground for marriage; the 
 horn, representing the knight of the days of chivalry, who 
 believes that the Lady s wish will be granted ; the hautboy, 
 calling for the simplicity and purity of childhood. The 
 harmony is completed by the " ancient, wise bassoons," and 
 we hear the voices together sing that only love can " solve 
 the discords true." 
 
 Lanier the man, Lanier the musician, Lanier the poet 
 the three are almost equally inspiring studies; and they 
 can scarcely be studied separately. The concluding lines of 
 
HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 
 
 223 
 
 his Life and Song express an ideal which, he himself closely 
 approached, if he did not actually reach : 
 
 " His song was only living aloud, 
 
 His work, a singing with his hand 1 " 
 
 HENRY WOODFIN GRADY, 1850-1889 
 
 A Tragically Short Life. The lives of three Southern 
 writers treated in these pages were tragic in their shortness. 
 Lanier s had another 
 element of tragedy 
 the long struggle with 
 incurable disease; 
 Poe s had several other 
 elements a tempera 
 mental unfitness to 
 look out for himself, 
 an extreme sensitive 
 ness to criticism, a 
 weakness for drink. 
 The life of the writer 
 whom we are now to 
 study was tragic only 
 in its early ending. 
 On the day of Grady s 
 death, in an address 
 before the New Eng- HENRY WoODFIN GBADY> 
 
 land Society of New "Journalist, Orator, Patriot." 
 
 York, Chauncey M. 
 
 Depew said: "His death in the meridian of his powers and 
 the hopefulness of his mission, at the critical period of the 
 removal forever of all misunderstandings and differences be 
 tween all sections of the republic, is a national calamity." 
 Three years earlier, at the annual meeting of the same 
 
224 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 society, Grady had delivered a noteworthy address on The 
 New South. His life, indeed, was devoted to the upbuilding 
 of his native section, and to the interpretation of it to the 
 North. The new South, said he, " is enamored of her work. 
 Her soul is stirred with the breath of a new life." But 
 " she believes that the late struggle . . . was war and not 
 rebellion ; . . . and that her convictions were as honest as 
 yours. . . . The South has nothing to take back." 
 
 Henry Woodfin Grady was born in Athens, Georgia, 
 May 24, 1850. 1 His father, William Grady, was an Irish 
 man who settled in North Carolina, made money, moved to 
 Georgia, and married a Georgia woman of good family and 
 strong character, Miss Ann E. Gartrell. Henry was not a 
 hard student either at school or college ; but he read exten 
 sively always, and as a boy took great interest in athletics. 
 When he was ten years old the war came. William Grady 
 entered as captain of cavalry, was promoted to a colonelcy, 
 and was killed at Petersburg in 1864. The story of his 
 widow s successful effort to raise three children in the 
 troubled days of Reconstruction is that of thousands of 
 Southern homes. 
 
 * Journalistic Career. Grady was graduated from the Uni 
 versity of Georgia in 1868, and from the University of 
 Virginia two years later. Before leaving the Virginia insti 
 tution he was distinguished as an orator, and by a clever 
 letter to an Atlanta paper had discovered his calling 
 journalism. For ten years he had a checkered career. From 
 the university he went to Atlanta, but after a few months 
 moved to Rome, Georgia, as editor of the Courier. A dis 
 agreement with the proprietor led to Grady s purchasing 
 and combining the city s other two papers, the Daily and 
 
 1 The author has found no less than six different dates in print for 
 Grady s birth. That given above is taken from the monument in Atlanta. 
 
ORATORICAL CAREER 
 
 225 
 
 the Commercial. He was very irregular in his editorial 
 labors, and the paper failed. Returning to Atlanta, Grady 
 and two associates founded the Herald. Too vigorous busi 
 ness rivalry brought about the failure of this paper also, 
 whereupon Grady became correspondent of the New York 
 Herald, and soon began to contribute regularly to the Atlanta 
 Constitution. In 1880 he purchased a large interest in the 
 last-named paper, be 
 came its managing 
 editor, and for the 
 remainder of his life 
 devoted himself to im 
 proving the paper and 
 extending its useful 
 ness. He died Decem 
 ber 23, 1889, of pneu 
 monia, developed from 
 a cold contracted while 
 speaking in Boston. 
 
 Oratorical Career. 
 Grady s complete 
 " works " consist of 
 eight orations deliv 
 ered in the last three 
 years of his life before 
 varied audiences from 
 Dallas, Texas, to Bos 
 ton. Of these one is 
 concerned with prohi 
 bition, one with a problem of government, one with a national 
 economic problem; the remaining five with distinctively 
 Southern problems. Before the literary societies of his 
 Alma Mater he spoke of his life as " busy beyond its capac 
 ities." Had the case been different, or had that busy life 
 
 GRADY MONUMENT, ATLANTA. 
 
 Unveiled October 21, 1891. The cost (over 
 $ 20,000) was contributed from all parts of 
 the country. 
 
226 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 been spared longer, we should have a larger amount of writ 
 ing as a basis for placing him in a history of our literature. 
 His style is what is generally called "highly colored," 
 which means marked by an overabundance of figurative, 
 imaginative language. Its most striking quality, however, 
 is the native wit, which always flows freely and which con 
 tributes much to the effectiveness of the orator s efforts. 
 So impressed, however, was the speaker with the matter of 
 his addresses, and so impressive did he make it to his audi 
 ences that they gave little thought to the manner of them. 
 He found it difficult, he said, addressing the Boston Mer 
 chants Association, to "discuss the problem of the races 
 in the home of [Wendell] Phillips and [Charles] Sumner. 
 But," he continued, " if a purpose to speak in perfect frank 
 ness and sincerity ; if earnest understanding of the vast in 
 terests involved ; if a consecrating sense of what disaster 
 may follow further misunderstanding and estrangement, if 
 these may be counted to steady undisciplined speech and to 
 strengthen an untried arm then, sir, I find the courage 
 to proceed." It was by this attitude and tone that, accord 
 ing to Depew, Grady "commanded the attention of the 
 country and won universal fame." 
 
 A Union veteran s widow, after reading Grady s speeches 
 on Southern problems, remarked with feeling that the taking 
 away of such a character in his prime was a dispensation of 
 Providence hard to understand. Henry Watterson, the dis 
 tinguished editor and publicist, had no such difficulty. In 
 an oration on Grady, he said : " Short as his life was, its 
 heaven-born mission was fulfilled; the dream of his child 
 hood was realized; for he had been appointed by God to 
 carry a message of peace on earth, good-will to men, and, 
 this done, he vanished from the sight of mortal eyes, even 
 as the dove from the ark." 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 227 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS, 1824-1892 
 
 An Influential Figure. The importance of George William 
 Curtis in our literature is due rather to his influence than 
 to his visible accomplishment. That influence, moreover, 
 was exerted by deliberate choice in the field of morals much 
 more than in the field of pure literature. Literature as an 
 end in itself was nothing to him. His strength was in 
 appreciation rather than in creation or in scientific criti 
 cism ; and he appreciated nothing that did not in some way 
 contribute to the upbuilding of humanity. From his first 
 "Easy Chair" essays in Harper s Magazine in 1853 to his 
 death thirty-nine years later the wish nearest his heart was 
 the betterment of his country; and the slight present-day 
 interest in his writings is largely due to his having con 
 cerned himself with current needs. More than one eminent 
 critic of to-day, however, ranks Curtis s essays only a little 
 below Lowell s. 
 
 George William Curtis was born in Providence, Rhode 
 Island, February 24, 1824. The first American Curtis ar 
 rived in 1635, and settled in Watertown, Massachusetts ; 
 and the family continued in that vicinrty till George 
 William s father moved to the adjoining state. His mother 
 died when he was only two years old ; but his father s 
 second wife, who came into the home nine years afterward, 
 was as devoted to him as a mother could be. A strong in 
 fluence upon the boy, which continued till he was well on 
 into manhood, was that of his elder brother Burrill. The 
 two attended school at Jamaica Plain (then a suburb of 
 Boston) and at Providence until George was fifteen years 
 old; following which, upon his father s removal to New 
 York City, came three years of private tutors. Then, in 
 stead of going to college, the two boys became "boarders 
 and boarders only " at Brook Farm, the socialistic com- 
 
228 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 munity spoken of above. 1 Here they came in contact with 
 the great minds of that establishment, and must have been 
 influenced by it, though Curtis s biographer, Edward Gary, 
 is inclined to think this influence usually overestimated. 
 
 Interest in Public Affairs. His letters from New England 
 to his father furnish striking evidence of his early interest 
 
 in public affairs, of his 
 firm stand for a higher 
 citizenship, and of his 
 foresight. He foresaw 
 and this was in 
 1845, when he was 
 barely twenty-one 
 that the nation would be 
 divided by the slavery 
 question; though six 
 teen years later, 
 Lincoln, at the age of 
 fifty-two, believed dis 
 union could be pre 
 vented. In one letter 
 he expresses to his pro 
 tectionist father strong 
 disapproval of a pro 
 tective tariff, but on 
 grounds very different 
 from those on which 
 disapproval to-day is 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 
 
 based. " I have no right to protect American labor at the 
 expense of foreign. ... I see no necessity that American 
 manufacturers should flourish if they cannot do so without 
 thrusting our neighbor out of the market." 
 
 The winter of 1845-1846 Curtis spent at his home in New 
 
 1 See page 160. 
 
THE POLITICIAN 229 
 
 York, and in the August following sailed for Europe, expect 
 ing to travel two years. He was gone four years instead, 
 spending about a year each in Italy, Germany, France, and 
 Egypt and Palestine. Throughout the trip he was what 
 we should call " special correspondent" of New York 
 papers, recording regularly his impressions of great men 
 and movements. 
 
 Curtis the Author. In the spring of 1851, a few months 
 after his return from Europe, Curtis published Nile Notes 
 of a Howadji. ("Howadji" is Arabic for "traveler.") 
 This book, composed of transcripts from his Egyptian diary, 
 marks the author s entrance into the field of literature. 
 The following year appeared Howadji in Syria, which 
 utilized, as its title implies, more of his notes of travel. 
 The other books published by him are : Lotus-Eating, 1852, 
 letters reporting a tour of New York and New England ? 
 Potiphar Papers, 1853, satires on New York society ; Prue 
 and I, 1857, a series of sketches of an obscure couple ; and 
 Trumps, 1861, a novel that failed utterly. The four last 
 named had previously appeared in New York papers and 
 magazines. 
 
 The Politician. Curtis s literary career was short, and his 
 political career was begun before the other was ended. 
 From the position of " utility man " on the staff of the New 
 York Tribune he passed to editorial work for the Harpers, 
 in whose Magazine in 1853 he originated the department 
 still known as " The Easy Chair." Two years later, before 
 the students of Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connect 
 icut, Curtis made his first political address, on The Duty of 
 the American Scholar to Politics and the Times, concluding 
 with an appeal to his hearers to oppose the planting of 
 slavery in Kansas. In the autumn of this year (1856) a 
 new party, called the Republican, and made up of the anti- 
 slavery elements of all the old parties, confronted the 
 
230 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Democrats. As was natural, Curtis joined heartily this new 
 party, and labored throughout the campaign for its candidate, 
 John C. Fremont. The end of this year was important in 
 Curtis s career for his marriage to Miss Anna Shaw, daughter 
 of Francis G. Shaw, of Staten Island. Her family were 
 strong abolitionists; and the connection was an incentive to 
 him to continue the fight begun under Fremont. Mrs. 
 Curtis was a woman of high ideals, and was always an in 
 spiration to him. From the campaign of 1856 till the sur 
 render at Appomattox, Curtis s pen and voice were exerted 
 in behalf of emancipation, the success of which he never 
 doubted. 
 
 In the spring of 1857 the publishers of Putnam s Monthly, 
 in which Curtis was interested on the business side as well 
 as on the editorial, failed. Though he was not legally re 
 sponsible for a cent of the firm s indebtedness, he felt 
 morally responsible for the whole, and undertook to pay it 
 off. This required eighteen years, and the accumulation of a 
 fortune that he would not have thought of accumulating for 
 himself. His income from writing he added to by entering 
 the lyceum field, where he became immensely popular, shar 
 ing first place with Emerson and Henry Ward Beecher. 
 
 In the same year as the Putnam 1 s failure Curtis began to 
 write for Harper s Weekly, of which six years later he be 
 came editor-in-chief. In the conduct of the Weekly he had 
 absolute freedom, which he used to advance four chief 
 causes abolition, woman suffrage, civil service reform, and 
 independence in politics. In 1871 he saw the first sign of 
 success of his civil service labors, when a commission was 
 appointed to recommend changes in the requirements for 
 admission to the public service. Curtis was made chairman; 
 and the commission worked out a system which in substance 
 became law twelve years after. To his labors more than 
 to any other influence is civil service reform due. 
 
HIS POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY 231 
 
 From its formation in 1856 he was a prominent figure in 
 the Republican party for thirty years. He was a delegate 
 to the national conventions of 1860, 1864, 1876, and 1884 ; 
 to the New York state constitutional convention of 1866 ; 
 was presidential elector in 1868 ; nominated for Secretary of 
 State in New York in 1869 ; and received from President 
 Hayes in 1876 offer of any foreign mission he might choose. 
 The two honors last named he declined. 
 
 His Political Philosophy. Curtis, like Lowell, went to the 
 convention of 1876 chiefly to oppose the nomination of James 
 G. Elaine for president; and there is no doubt that, had 
 Elaine been nominated, he would not have been supported 
 by Harper s Weekly and its editor. About a year after this 
 convention Curtis delivered his best-known address, The 
 Public Duty of Educated Men; and in it he took a vigorous 
 stand for independence in politics. As was the case with 
 his first notable oration this was delivered to college men 
 the graduating class at Union College. " A practical and 
 active interest in politics," said he, " will lead you to party 
 association and cooperation. . . . But in this tendency, use 
 ful in the state as the fire upon the household hearth, lurks, 
 as in that fire, the deadliest peril. . . . Our safety lies alone 
 in cool self-possession. . . . The first object of concerted 
 political action is the highest welfare of the country. . . . 
 Perfect party discipline is the most dangerous weapon of 
 party spirit, for it is the abdication of the individual judg 
 ment." This oration summarizes his political philosophy ; 
 and it was this philosophy that directed his whole life. 
 
 Curtis was in constant demand as orator for all sorts of 
 special occasions, and seldom failed to respond. Of his 
 addresses on purely literary subjects the memorials on 
 Bryant (1878) and Lowell (1892) are the most notable. 
 Though not a college graduate he received seven honorary 
 degrees from five institutions Brown, Colgate, Rochester, 
 
232 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Harvard, and Columbia; and two years before his death 
 was elected Chancellor of the University of New York. 
 His last public appearance was a second delivery of the 
 Lowell eulogy. In a few weeks he became ill; and after 
 three months of great pain he died August 31, 1892. 
 
 Literary Style. "I should not find it easy," says How- 
 ells 1 of Curtis, " to speak of him as a man of letters only, 
 for ... he turned from the fairest career in literature to 
 tread the thorny path of politics because he believed that 
 duty led the way, and that good citizens were needed more 
 than good romancers." To this it may be added that his 
 influence as a citizen was in large measure due to power 
 gained through his training in literature. All his orations, 
 indeed, show the care in expression that is found in the 
 works of great orators. His books show, too, the oratorical 
 style, with its " splendid architecture," wealth of orna 
 mentation/ "gorgeous colors" phrases used by Carl 
 Schurz in an appreciative essay on The Friend of the Re 
 public. These qualities, though in cold type they do not 
 well stand scrutiny, are just such as carry weight in ora 
 tions and addresses delivered by a powerful and charming 
 personality 
 
 Prue and I is the author s one memorable contribution to 
 pure literature. It records the thoughts and experiences of 
 an old bookkeeper and his wife, who live a monotonous life 
 in the city and are contented to live so. Prue is a rather 
 matter-of-fact home-body, while "I" is rather imaginative; 
 and the variations from the daily routine come from the old 
 man s visits to his "castles in Spain," and from his trips in 
 the " Flying Dutchman " and other mysterious conveyances. 
 "From the windows of those castles look the beautiful 
 women whom I have never seen, whose portraits the poets 
 
 1 In Literary Friends and Acquaintance. 
 
LITERARY STYLE 
 
 233 
 
 u^. 
 
 FACSIMILE OF A LETTER OF CURTIS. 
 (New York Public Library.) 
 
234 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 have painted. They wait for me there, and chiefly the 
 fair-haired child, lost to my eyes so long ago, now bloomed 
 into an impossible beauty. The lights that never shone 
 glance at evening in the vaulted halls upon banquets that 
 never were spread. The bands I have never collected play 
 all night long, and enchant into silence the brilliant com 
 pany that was never assembled. In the long summer morn 
 ings the children that I never had play in the gardens that 
 I never planted." "If the chances of life have moored me 
 fast to a bookkeeper s desk, they have left all the lands I 
 longed to see fairer and fresher in my mind than they could 
 ever be in ray memory." A quite uninspired philosophy, 
 one will say; yet is it surely better than the pessimistic 
 and discontented philosophy which darkens and embitters 
 the lives of so many average men. Says Prue s husband : 
 " I keep books by day, but by night books keep me. They 
 leave me to dreams and reveries" such reveries as make 
 for a beautiful inner life even in sordid surroundings. Prue 
 and I is one of that small and select number of books that 
 grow better with every re-reading, and come in time to be 
 old friends. 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, 1807-1892 
 
 When Lowell, in 1857, accepted Skipper Ireson s Ride for 
 publication in the Atlantic, he wrote to the author : " I shall 
 not let you rest till I have got a New England pastoral out 
 of you." Whittier was then in his fiftieth year, an age at 
 which a man may be supposed to have done all the kinds of 
 work of which he is capable ; and Whittier had then written 
 no New England pastoral. Lowell, however, was keen 
 enough to see that the best of Whittier the poet was not to 
 be found in Massachusetts to Virginia, The Christian Slave, 
 or even in Ichabod; but rather in The Merrimac, Hampton 
 
A QUAKER FARMER 
 
 235 
 
 Beach, and TJie Huskers. A thoughtful reading of these six 
 poems will convince any reader that the first three belong 
 to the "episodical" class, while the last three are closely 
 
 associated with " the 
 
 real object and aim " 
 of the poet s life, and 
 give promise of the 
 pastoral Lowell had set 
 his heart on. Snow- 
 Bound, the answer to 
 the Atlantic editor, was 
 too long for use in the 
 magazine ; but in its 
 pages many shorter 
 idyls from the same 
 source appeared for the 
 first time. 
 
 Besides the episodi 
 cal poems written in 
 behalf of abolition, and 
 the poems of New 
 England life, another 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEB. 
 
 " The Quaker Laureate of Puritanism." 
 (W. C. Lawton.) 
 
 group of Whittier s 
 poems are notable the religious poems. The devout 
 Quaker gave frequent voice to the things of the spirit, and 
 struck a responsive chord in the hearts of multitudes. 
 Whittier is well represented in the hymn books of every 
 Christian denomination, though he was himself ignorant of 
 music, and agreed with his sect in its objection to music in 
 religious services. 
 
 A Quaker Farmer. John Greenleaf Whittier was born 
 December 17, 1807, near Haverhill, Massachusetts, some 
 thirty miles from Boston. Almost his entire life of eighty- 
 five years was spent within a limited territory around his 
 
236 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 birthplace, though he traveled a great deal " by proxy," as 
 he wrote to Bayard Taylor. Whittier came of substantial, 
 but not illustrious, stock on both sides. Most of his ances 
 tors were dissenters, arid many of them were Quakers, in 
 cluding the poet s father and mother, to whose faith he 
 adhered through life. The home in which he grew up was 
 that of a poor farmer, and Whittier, like the other members 
 
 WHITTIEB S BIRTHPLACE, NEAR HAVERHILL, MASS. 
 
 of the family, had a share of the work assigned to him. The 
 life of this household, including a sketch of every one belong 
 ing to it, is immortalized in the ever popular pastoral idyl, 
 Snow-Bound. 
 
 Education and Home Reading. Unlike the other New 
 England poets, Whittier did not receive a college education, 
 nor did his home contain much of a library for him to 
 " tumble about " in. The opportunities afforded by the dis 
 trict school were supplemented by two half-years in the 
 
INCLINATION TO POLITICS 237 
 
 Haverhill Academy. As the poet s father was unable to pay 
 any portion of the Academy expenses, Whittier made money 
 for the first term by a winter of shoemaking. A brief ex 
 perience of teaching provided funds to begin his second term, 
 which a little bookkeeping for a town merchant enabled 
 him to complete. The home library of twenty-five or thirty 
 volumes consisted of the Bible and the lives and journals of 
 Penn, Fox, and other famous Quakers. The only other 
 books which seem to have come in Whittier s way are Burns, 
 lent him by the schoolmaster ; Shakespeare, bought secretly 
 on a trip to Boston ; and a Waverley novel, title unknown, 
 as is its source. Burns was a revelation to the man who be 
 came the unrivaled interpreter of New England common 
 life ; and Whittier s first reading of the Scotch poet aroused 
 an enthusiasm that lasted through life. 
 
 That this poor farmer s son had even the one year at 
 Haverhill Academy was due to a force outside the family. 
 Some verses called The Exile s Departure, written in 1825, 
 were sent by his sister the next year to William Lloyd 
 Garrison, then editor of a weekly paper in a near-by town. 
 Not only were the verses published : the editor sought the 
 youthful author, and urged upon the family the necessity of 
 giving him a better education. This was the beginning of 
 the lifelong friendship of the two reformers one the 
 
 " Champion of those who groan beneath 
 Oppression s iron hand " ; 
 
 the other a man who stood 
 
 " For reform and whatever they call human rights." 
 
 Inclination to Politics. During the two years that 
 Whittier attended the Academy he published about a hun 
 dred poems, which were well received rather overpraised, 
 in fact by Garrison and a few others. Yet he showed no 
 literary ambition he inclined to a political career. This 
 
238 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 inclination had perhaps some weight in leading him to 
 accept the editorship of The American Manufacturer, a 
 Boston weekly. In this paper he took a strong stand for 
 temperance, the first reform he advocated ; and wrote vig 
 orously in favor of a protective tariff, a surprising fact 
 one would expect to find him preaching free trade on 
 grounds similar to those set forth by George William Curtis. 
 In less than a year his father s illness called him to Haver- 
 hill, where in addition to running the farm he edited the 
 Gazette. Soon after the death of his father in the summer 
 of 1830, Whittier accepted the editorship of The New Eng 
 land Review, the leading organ of the Connecticut protec 
 tionists, to which he had contributed while conducting the 
 Gazette. 
 
 After about a year and a half in Hartford, ill health com 
 pelled Whittier to give up his position with the Review; 
 and he returned to the Haverhill farm and his mother. 
 His political writing for various journals had given him 
 some popularity which seemed to promise political advance 
 ment. He had, moreover, become convinced that great 
 poetry was beyond his power. Shortly after returning to 
 Haverhill he wrote to a literary friend : " The truth is, I 
 love poetry, with a love as warm, as fervent, as sincere, as 
 any of the more gifted worshipers at the temple of the 
 Muses. . . . But I feel and know that 
 
 " To other chords than mine belong 
 The breathing of immortal song. " 
 
 Joins the Abolitionists. Desire for literary success gave 
 way to desire for political success, and this in turn, and 
 very shortly, gave way to absorption in a great cause. 
 Garrison, who, as we have seen, admired Whittier s early 
 poems and urged his securing a better education, set before 
 the poet in 1833 the needs of the cause of abolition. He 
 
JOINS THE ABOLITIONISTS 239 
 
 j% g q -Jl/jr~ 
 
 /.- 
 
 t -t A ( * y /* / / 
 
 94* QL4-UrtL4&k 
 
 -IjOsUMd 
 
 ^4*f ,-/v^jw-uL V?ic6 u<s 
 &ftiu J aiv^j erf tfu, a 
 
 ^xy l 5^b4uLl 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 "^t^ / ^ I A J> -4-^ I . I// * L 
 .LA S^L frlLjLeJL^Jf- tu^XCnt^^ 
 
 j ^ . _ .rf ^ v //. 
 
 a^l t-t t<^*c_ 
 f fti, jjj^n^ 
 
 .I/ "* 
 
 FACSIMILE OF WHITTIER MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 The shaded portions are due to the poet s unique mode of revising 
 
 writing his changes on odd scraps of paper, and pasting these over the 
 
 portions revised. (New York Public Library.) 
 
240 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 thought it over and a few months later indicated his 
 decision by a pamphlet, Justice and Expediency, which he 
 published at his own expense. From this time till the end 
 of the war Whittier s heart and pen were devoted solely to 
 the movement in behalf of the black man. It was an un 
 popular movement; poems supporting it brought little or 
 no remuneration ; and Whittier had neither time nor health 
 to make the farm pay. The farm was sold in 1836, and 
 with his mother and sister he moved to the near-by town of 
 Amesbury, purchasing a cottage which was their home for 
 the remainder of their lives. 
 
 Whittier served one term in the Massachusetts legislature, 
 but was prevented by poor health from serving a second 
 term for which he was reflected. He continued to write 
 antislavery articles for the Haverhill Gazette, and in person 
 to urge the members of the legislature to show sympathy 
 for the cause. In March, 1838, he became editor of The 
 Pennsylvania Freeman, in Philadelphia ; but two months 
 later the building in which the paper was published was 
 burned by a mob. Other journals called for his services, and 
 he was never idle. Much time was also used in attendance 
 on conventions, and in personal interviews with leaders of 
 abolition parties and societies throughout the East. 
 
 New England s "Pastoral" Poet. During all these busy 
 years Whittier s income was very small. From the publica 
 tion of Snow-Bound, however, in the summer of 1865, he was 
 enabled to live in considerable comfort. Mr. Pickard tells us 
 that the poet received $10,000 from the first edition of this 
 his most famous poem. From this time also the character 
 of his work changes. " Up to a comparatively recent 
 period," he writes in 1867, " my writings have been simply 
 episodical, something apart from the real object and aim of 
 my life." Now he could devote himself to expression of 
 his real self, undisturbed by agitation outside of that self. 
 
LAST YEARS 
 
 241 
 
 As a result we have a series of well-nigh perfect pictures of 
 humble life in New England, and a series of noble outpour 
 ings of his profoundly religious character. 
 
 Last Years. The change in reputation and fortune did 
 not make him unqualifiedly happy; for the mother and 
 sister who would have taken such pride in his success had 
 passed away the former in 1857, the latter in 1864. For 
 
 WHITTIER S HOME AT AMESBURY. 
 
 the next twelve years his niece Elizabeth looked after his 
 home in Amesbury ; after her marriage in 1876, Whittier, 
 though he kept his legal residence in Amesbury, spent most 
 of his time in long visits to various friends and relatives in 
 New Hampshire, Maine, and eastern Massachusetts. Among 
 notable honors that he received may be mentioned election 
 as overseer of Harvard ard as trustee of Brown, the con- 
 
242 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 ferring of the degrees of A.M. and LL.D. by Harvard, and 
 the dinner given by the Atlantic Monthly on his seventieth 
 birthday. The dinner brought together some fifty or sixty 
 leading American writers, who in verse and speech paid 
 tribute to the modest Quaker poet. Though never strong, 
 Whittier lived longer than any of his long-lived ancestors, 
 passing away in September, 1892, just before completing his 
 eighty-fifth year. 
 
 "And now, what can I say of Whittier s power, 
 Why should he see great visions, and dream dreams, 
 And voice them in undying melodies ? 
 O friends, I know he saw, and felt, and sang, 
 Because he ever kept one pure ideal, 
 One starry gleam, before him all his days. 
 He dwelt with Beauty, and he loved her well ; 
 With Goodness, and he followed her behest." 
 
 In these lines from John Russell Hayes s In Memory of 
 Whittier lies the explanation of Whittier s lasting influence. 
 Colonel Higginson says that " Whittier during his whole 
 life rarely lost a friend." The character of him who loved 
 Beauty and followed the behest of Goodness attracted all 
 who came in contact with it in the flesh, and has a per 
 manent charm for those who can know it only in the written 
 record. While recognizing that the language of his anti- 
 slavery poems "at times seems severe and harsh," he was 
 proud to say that he was one of the first to recognize the 
 merit of Henry Timrod, and was an intimate friend of Paul 
 H. Hayne, "though both wrote fiery lyrics against the 
 North." With the adoption of the constitutional amend 
 ment abolishing slavery, Whittier sang his Laus Deo, con 
 cluding, 
 
 " With a sound of broken chains 
 Tell the nations that He reigns, 
 Who alone is Lord and God ! " 
 
LAST YEARS 
 
 243 
 
 IS 
 
 and To the Thirty-Ninth Congress 
 
 "Then buried be the dreadful past, 
 Its common slain be mourned, and let 
 All memories soften to regret." 
 
 He then, in his own language, set himself " with kina words 
 and deprecation of harsh retaliation, to welcome back the 
 revolted states." 
 
 Besides the appeal of Whittier s character, there 
 an even wider appeal 
 in his poems of New 
 England familiar life. 
 He was inferior to 
 Lowell, Longfellow, 
 and Holmes in tech 
 nical art, and his work 
 sometimes suffers, as 
 does Hawthorne s, be 
 cause of the excess of 
 the moral element. 
 Many have felt, for 
 example, that In 
 School-Days would be 
 greater if the last two 
 stanzas had not been 
 written. But the " one 
 pure ideal, one starry 
 gleam" which he 
 "kept before him all 
 his days " gives a touch to his landscapes and everyday 
 scenes and incidents that makes for enduring fame. 
 
 HOUSE IN MARBLEHEAD IN WHICH LIVED 
 " SKIPPER IRESON." 
 
 Celebrated in Whittier s poem, 
 
244 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 WALT WHITMAN, 1819-1892 
 
 A Unique Writer. Though Whitman has been dead 
 twenty years, his place in poetry is far from fixed. Every 
 reader must have an opinion; but whatever that opinion 
 may be, he will find himself in good company. "I look 
 upon Whitman," says John Burroughs, " as the one moun 
 tain thus far in our literary landscape." " Whitman," says 
 Sidney Lanier, "is poetry s butcher. Huge raw collops 
 slashed from the rump of poetry, and never mind gristle 
 is what Whitman feeds our souls with." He was an inno 
 vator who has had few followers and not a throng of 
 admirers. He called himself the people s poet ; but he has 
 utterly failed to reach the people, and his eulogists are in 
 variably found among the most highly cultured. He aspired 
 to be America s poet, the interpreter of American democ 
 racy to the Old World ; but even his intensest partisans do 
 not claim that the interpretation is altogether accurate. A 
 single poem of three lines, To Foreign Lands, setting forth 
 the aspiration just mentioned, will give the reader an idea 
 of the main problem in reading Whitman : 
 
 " I heard that you ask d for something to prove 
 
 this puzzle the New World, 
 And to define America, her athletic Democracy, 
 Therefore I send you my poems that you beho.ci 
 
 in them what you wanted." 
 
 The first question that naturally arises when one reads this 
 sort of writing is, Is it poetry ? The main facts of his life 
 give not a little aid in an attempt to answer this and other 
 questions regarding his writings. 
 
 He was born May 31, 1819, on Long Island, where 
 Whitmans had lived and farmed for nearly two centuries. 
 Named Walter, he was called Walt to distinguish him from 
 
AN IMPORTANT JOURNEY 
 
 245 
 
 his father. Besides being a farmer, Walter Whitman was a 
 carpenter ; and when his son was four years old, he moved 
 to Brooklyn. Thanks to grandmothers who did not move, 
 Walt spent considerable time in the country. He had only 
 a few years in the pub 
 lic schools of Brooklyn, 
 and at the age of twelve 
 began to help support 
 the family by working 
 as an errand boy. He 
 learned typesetting, 
 and worked at the trade 
 off and on for a good 
 many years. At- in 
 tervals he taught school 
 
 as to what subjects 
 or how he taught them, 
 little is known. 
 
 An Important Journey. 
 
 Along with his 
 typesetting he did vari 
 ous kinds of journal 
 istic work, which led 
 in 1848 to his obtain 
 ing a place on the staff of a New Orleans paper. His con 
 nection with the paper lasted only a few months, and was 
 in no way notable. What was, however, notable in the ex 
 perience was the journey to and from the Louisiana city. 
 Accompanied by a younger brother he made his way in 
 leisurely style, walking much of the distance, and sailing 
 down the Ohio and the Mississippi. The return was made 
 mostly by boat, via Saint Louis, Chicago, the Great Lakes, 
 and Buffalo. The 8000-mile trip, covering so great a portion 
 of what was then the United States, could net but impress 
 
 WALT WHITMAN. 
 The " Sage of Camden." 
 
246 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 any man with the physical, material greatness of the coun 
 try, of which Whitman so constantly wrote. 
 
 First Volume. Back in Brooklyn he joined his father in 
 the contracting business, which promised large financial 
 returns. He soon, however, retired from the connection, 
 without explanation. If he had explained that he had a 
 message for mankind, which he was to deliver in his pecul 
 iar unrhymed, unmetrical verse, the family would not have 
 understood. One of his brothers, when the volume Leaves 
 of Grass appeared in 1855, "didn t read it at all didn t 
 think it worth reading." The mother could make nothing 
 of it. The book for a time found almost no readers except 
 the critics, and they with few exceptions condemned it un 
 hesitatingly. Whitman went off to think it over, and came 
 back to Brooklyn determined "to go on with my poetic 
 enterprise in my own way and finish it as well as I could." 
 The following year he brought out an enlarged edition of 
 Leaves of Grass, a title retained for subsequent issues of 
 his poems down to 1889. 
 
 A Nurse in War Time. When the Civil War came, 
 George Whitman, Walt s younger brother, enlisted, but 
 Walt did not, and it appears that he never thought seriously 
 of doing so. " It is inconceivable," says Professor Perry, 
 " that he could have made an effective soldier. The requi 
 site obedience, swiftness of action, effacement of personal 
 conviction, were not in him." Whitman doubtless realized 
 this ; but he could not foresee that a work quite as essential 
 as fighting was to be his. Late in the second year of the 
 war, news came to the family in Brooklyn that Captain 
 George Whitman had been seriously wounded at Fredericks- 
 burg. 
 
 Walt immediately set out to attend his brother, found 
 him already out of danger, and, stopping to see something 
 of camp life, became interested in the sick and wounded. 
 
PATRIOTIC VERSE 247 
 
 From this time until the close of the war he gave himself 
 to nursing in the army hospitals of Washington. That the 
 visits of this self-sacrificing volunteer to the bedsides of the 
 suffering were most welcome and helpful is shown by 
 numerous testimonies. " His theory," says Carpenter, " was 
 that personal affection played a large part in therapeutics " ; 
 and the smiling face and quiet manner of this giant nurse 
 contributed to many recoveries. Though Whitman was 
 appreciated by so many individual soldiers, there is no evi 
 dence of appreciation or even of recognition of his work in 
 official circles. His nursing undermined his own health, 
 and the last twenty years of his life he was a semi-invalid, 
 with a meager income, which was never supplemented by a 
 government generally regarded as almost criminally free in 
 distributing pensions. 
 
 Patriotic Verse. During the first year and a half of the 
 war Whitman wrote a number of poems expressing the 
 spirit of the North, which were published in 1865 under the 
 title, Drum-Taps. While the volume was in press, Lincoln 
 was assassinated, on hearing of which event Whitman com 
 posed two poems, published shortly after as Sequel to Drum- 
 Taps. The first of these Lincoln laments Captain ! 
 my Captain I is one of the author s few poems in rhymed 
 stanzas, and is universally admired ; while the other 
 When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed is only a little 
 less popular. 
 
 For the next eight years (1865-1873) the poet was a 
 government clerk in Washington, where he became a well- 
 known figure, with intimate friends among society people, car 
 conductors, and wagon drivers. As preparation for singing 
 the " athletic Democracy " of America, he had from his young 
 manhood cultivated acquaintance with all classes, especially 
 the less cultivated and less refined, since these constitute so 
 much the majority. Early in 1873 he was stricken with 
 
248 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 paralysis, but recovered and after about two months returned 
 to his desk. This Washington life, however, was soon to 
 terminate forever. In May Whitman s mother became ill at 
 her son George s home in Cainden, New Jersey ; and after 
 her death Walt had a second and more severe paralytic 
 stroke, from which he never wholly recovered. 
 
 THE WHITMAN VAULT IN HARLEIGH CEMETERY, CAMDEN. 
 "The best house he ever lived in," said a fellow-townsman. 
 
 Life in Camden, and Death. During the last nineteen 
 years of his life he lived in Camden, sometimes with his 
 brother, sometimes with friends, and from 1884 in a house 
 of his own. He suffered a number of illnesses, in the inter 
 vals of which he traveled much, often lecturing on Lincoln, 
 and covering most of the country from Boston to the Rocky 
 
HIS WORK AVOWEDLY EXPERIMENTAL 249 
 
 Mountains. His house became the Mecca for his hosts of 
 admirers, who regarded him as a sort of oracle. He lived 
 to hear that he was considered a great poet by many dis 
 criminating foreign critics, and to receive a fair income 
 from the sale of his works in America. He died March 26, 
 1892, and was buried four days later in a costly tomb pur 
 chased by himself the previous year. 
 
 Whitman s Critics Now Less Severe. While it is true that 
 two widely separated views of Whitman are current, it is 
 equally true that the view of Lanier quoted above is less fre 
 quently heard now than formerly. Dissenters have come to 
 look more closely for the merits attributed to him. Many of 
 the criticisms once generally heard are heard no longer, since 
 a better understanding of the poet and his aims prevails. 
 The complaint of his excessive egotism, the over-prevalence 
 of the " I" and " myself," is now recognized as unfair, since 
 it is seen that " I " is not Walt Whitman, but "a simple sep 
 arate person," or humanity, of which he believed himself to 
 be a typical specimen. The complaint of his vulgarity, not 
 infrequently called indecency, which has led an occasional 
 library to exclude his poems from the shelves, is now felt 
 as honest plain speaking, by one supremely conscious 
 
 " Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, 
 Cheerful, for freest action form d under the laws divine." 
 
 His "catalogue" method of composition, by which he 
 strings out long lists of words and phrases with apparently 
 an entire disregard of their fitness in poetry, is seen as an 
 attempt to express his large conceptions of life, democracy, 
 friendship, patriotism. 
 
 His Work Avowedly Experimental. On the other liand, 
 many of the dissenters have come to admit that Whitman 
 appreciated the elements of greatness in our national lift 1 ; 
 and ideals, and voiced them in noteworthy form, even if, 
 
250 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 as they say, inadequately. They see also that "the institu 
 tion of the dear love of comrades," which he said he would 
 "establish" everywhere, is an institution much needed in 
 this selfish age, and well worthy the poet s song. As a last 
 point appealing to the non-Whitmanites may be mentioned 
 the frank statements frequent in Whitman that he regarded 
 his work, not as a last word, but merely as an experiment. 
 " The word I myself put primarily for the description of 
 them " (i.e. Leaves of Grass) " as they stand at last, is the 
 word Suggestiveness. I round and finish little, if anything ; 
 and could not, consistently with my scheme. The reader 
 will always have his or her part to do, just as much as I 
 have had mine." So speaks the poet in an essay written a 
 few years before his death, A Backward Glance o er Travel d 
 Roads, which is an excellent preparation for reading his 
 poetry. " The volume " (still referring to Leaves) " is a 
 sortie whether to prove triumphant, and conquer its field 
 of aim and escape and construction, nothing less than a 
 hundred years from now can fully answer." And again: 
 "My volume is a candidate for the future." The experi 
 mental and suggestive character of his work is plainly and 
 forcibly avowed in one of his poems, which we quote entire : 
 
 " Poets to come ! orators, singers, musicians to come ! 
 Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for, 
 But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater .than be 
 fore known, 
 Arouse ! for you must justify me. 
 
 " I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, 
 I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the dark 
 ness. 
 
 "I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a 
 
 casual look upon you and then averts his face, 
 Leaving it to you to prove and define it, 
 Expecting the main things from you." 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 251 
 
 More than any other figure in American literature, Whit 
 man defies a sure estimate. He seems, says Professor Trent, 
 a conservative critic, " too large a man and poet for adequate 
 comprehension at present." In the case of no other writer 
 in our literary history is it so necessary to await a day 
 which will throw him into a just perspective. 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 1809-1894 
 
 A Versatile Writer. The last writer coming within our 
 
 survey wished to be 
 
 remembered by one 
 poem, The Chambered 
 Nautilus; and it seems 
 truly, as Whittier said, 
 to be " booked for im 
 mortality." It is too 
 much to expect, how 
 ever, that a single poem 
 of thirty-five lines will 
 confer immortality on 
 its author. Holmes is 
 far from holding to a 
 place in our literature 
 by so slight a thread. 
 Of his many claims 
 to remembrance the 
 humor and philosophy 
 of The Autocrat of the 
 Breakfast Table consti 
 tute the strongest. 
 Lowell got to the core 
 of Holmes s excellence 
 Seventy-Fifth Birthday : 
 
 A PORTRAIT OF HOLMES. 
 
 Which suggests the Doctor or the Professor, 
 rather than the Poet or the Autocrat. 
 
 in his poem, To Holmes on his 
 
252 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 You with the classic few belong 
 
 Who tempered wisdom with a smile ." 
 
 Holmes also wrote novels, biographies, literary and scientific 
 essays, and humorous poems ; and the question has been 
 asked of him as of Lowell whether, with his attention and 
 interest more restricted, he would not have reached a higher 
 place. The question is an idle one men like Holmes and 
 Lowell cannot be shut up in any one small field. 
 
 Not an Active Abolitionist. One striking difference be 
 tween Holmes and his fellow poets of New England should 
 be mentioned. Though believing slavery to be "a dreadful 
 business," he declined to affiliate with abolition societies or 
 to use his pen in behalf of this or other reforms. Chidden 
 in 1846 for this apparent indifference or lack of sympathy 
 by Lowell, Holmes wrote a reply of some length, justifying 
 himself and indirectly reproving the younger poet for his 
 immature judgment. " I shall always be pleased rather to 
 show what is beautiful in the life around me than to be pitch 
 ing into giant vices, against which the acrid pulpit and the 
 corrosive newspaper will always anticipate the gentle poet. 
 Each of us has his theory of life, of art, of his own existence 
 and relations. It is too much to ask of you to enter fully 
 into mine, but be very well assured that it exists, that it 
 has its axioms, its intuitions, its connected beliefs as well 
 as your own. Let me try to improve and please my fellow- 
 men after my own fashion at present." The general verdict 
 is that the Autocrat s fashion was quite as good as his critic s, 
 as the critic himself came to realize. 
 
 Early Life and Education. Holmes was born in Cambridge, 
 August 29, 1809. On both sides he "came of the best New 
 England stock," tracing his ancestry to a Holmes who settled 
 in Connecticut in 1686, and to a Bradstreet and a Dudley 
 who were early governors of Massachusetts Bay. It may 
 
EARLY LIFE AND EDUCATION 
 
 253 
 
 be mentioned that this Bradstreet was the husband of Anne, 
 the poet discussed above. In another line on his mother s 
 side he was descended from a Dutch Wendell, who came to 
 Albany, New York, about 1640, and whose grandson Jacob, 
 removed to Boston early in the next century. Dr. Holmes 
 
 
 HOLMES S BIRTHPLACE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 The "house with a gambrel roof," as it is called in Parson Turell s 
 Legacy. 
 
 thought well of families who had been prominent for four 
 or five generations; but he liked also, he said, "to see 
 worthless rich people have to yield their places to deserving 
 poor ones." 
 
 Holmes s father was pastor in Cambridge r and had some 
 reputation as an historian. In his father s large library young 
 Oliver " tumbled about," an occupation which he believed 
 to be of distinct value to any child. Up to the age of fif- 
 
254 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 teen he had an ordinary school training in Cambridge, after 
 which he was sent to Phillips- Andover Academy. The only 
 events of his boyhood that his biographers have been able 
 to unearth are a lasting friendship with one Phineas Barnes 
 and an undeserved thrashing, both of the Andover period. 
 His whole life, indeed, was remarkably uneventful. From 
 Andover, Holmes proceeded to Harvard, and was graduated, 
 ;ifter an inconspicuous career, in the famous class of J 29, of 
 which he was poet. He then took up the study of law, but 
 after a year gave it up for medicine. This year of 1830 
 was made notable in Holmes s life by his writing of Old 
 Ironsides, the stirring lyric of successful protest against the 
 destruction of the famous old vessel. " This is probably the 
 only case," says Professor Page, "in which a government 
 policy was changed by the verses of a college student." 
 
 " Professor " Holmes. After a short period of study in 
 a private medical school, Holmes went abroad for two and 
 a half years, spending most of the time in the hospitals of 
 Paris. Returning to America, he received the degree of 
 M.D. from Harvard in 1836, and published a volume of 
 poems, mostly humorous. It appears that being a wit and 
 a poet distinctly hindered his progress as a practicing phy 
 sician ; but in the professor s chair he was an unquestioned 
 success. Two years after graduation he was appointed 
 Professor of Anatomy at Dartmouth College and nine years 
 later he came to the same position at Harvard. For thirty- 
 five years he occupied this chair, which he called a settee, in 
 allusion to the number of subjects he was expected to teach. 
 The best evidence of his power in the classroom is the fact 
 that his lecture hour was always one o clock, because no 
 other teacher could hold the attention of students who had 
 already listened to four lectures on other subjects. In 1840 
 he had married Miss Amelia Jackson, "an ideal wife, 
 a comrade most delightful, a helpmate the most useful." 
 
THE "AUTOCRAT" 255 
 
 For ten years after his joining the Harvard Medical Fac 
 ulty Holmes s prose was on professional subjects. His 
 poems were mostly local and " occasional " ; that is, they 
 dealt with matters of New England or merely Bostonian 
 or Harvard interest, and were usually composed for special 
 occasions birthdays, class reunions, and the like. He 
 wrote a poem for every reunion of the class of 29 from 
 1851 to 1889, a series which still holds first rank in its 
 kind. Of these thirty-nine class productions probably the 
 best known is The Boys, beginning : 
 
 " Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys ? 
 If there has, take him out, without making a noise." 
 
 The " Autocrat." It was in the year 1857, when Holmes 
 was forty-eight years old, that he " found himself." A new 
 magazine to be started in Boston Lowell agreed to edit, if 
 Holmes would agree to contribute. Holmes suggested the 
 name, The Atlantic Monthly, and wrote in serial form for 
 the first twelve numbers The Autocrat of the Breakfast 
 Table. From this time his reputation was as a prose writer, 
 and he is usually spoken of as the "Autocrat." In this 
 book is recorded the conversation of a supposedly typical 
 Boston boarding house, in which the Autocrat himself takes 
 a leading part. Several of the characters are sketched 
 rather interestingly, and the little touch of romance is 
 pleasant. But " Please to remember," says the Autocrat 
 in his third number, " this is talk ; just as easy and just as 
 formal as I choose to make it." It is the " talk " of the 
 narrator that carries the book ; and this talk is, naturally, 
 rambling and varied. It deals with authors and cats, 
 Shakespeare and Franklin and Aristophanes, intemperance, 
 the privilege of misquoting, and almost as many more top 
 ics as the book has pages. Some of the author s best 
 poems for example, The Chambered Nautilus and The 
 
256 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 One-Hoss Shay appeared here for the first time. At the 
 other extreme Holmes indulged to the full his fondness for 
 punning, of which the following is a fair specimen : " The 
 Atlantic, by the way, is not so called because it is a notion" 
 
 The Autocrat was followed by The Professor at the Break 
 fast Table (1860), and The Poet at the Breakfast Table 
 (1872), and the same free and loose style of composition 
 was used in Over the Teacups (1890). These fall below the 
 Autocrat only as imitations and sequels usually fall below 
 originals, with, in Over the Teacups, the additional weakness 
 of old age. 
 
 The Novelist. In the Autocrat Holmes expressed his 
 belief " that every articulately speaking human being has in 
 him stuff for one novel." His actions indicate that he 
 thought himself equipped above the average, for he wrote 
 three novels Elsie Venner (1861), TJie Guardian Angel 
 (1867), and A Mortal Antipathy (1885). They are not great 
 works, and add nothing to the author s fame. In addition 
 to the shortcoming that he was not a good story-teller, 
 Holmes wrote these works from the professional rather than 
 the artistic point of view. They are three studies in hered 
 ity; and while they hold the reader s attention, they also 
 justify the epithet given them by an old lady " medicated 
 novels." 
 
 The Biographer. Two biographies written by Holmes are 
 hardly more successful than the novels. That of John 
 Lothrop Motley (1878) was written too soon after the subject s 
 death, while the controversy over his recall as Minister 
 to England was still fresh in people s minds. 1 Holmes s 
 Motley must be called special pleading or even apology for a 
 close friend. The biography of Emerson (1884) is according 
 to almost universal opinion " delightful " ; but the critical 
 reader will be disappointed. Only on its religious side was 
 1 See page 156. 
 
THE BIOGRAPHER 
 
 257 
 
 FACSIMILE OF HOLMES S PREFACE TO Elsie Venner. 
 One of his "medicated novels." 
 
258 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Holmes sympathetic with Transcendentalism, and it was 
 impossible for him to set forth perhaps impossible for him 
 to comprehend sufficiently the "Sage of Concord." As 
 an intimate picture of a neighbor and friend who was one 
 of the most lovable of men, the Emerson is altogether 
 admirable. 
 
 In 1882, at the age of seventy-three, Holmes resigned his 
 active duties as professor to devote himself wholly to liter 
 ature. Fo ir years later he made his second visit to Europe, 
 spending most of his time in England, where he was en 
 thusiastically received. Three British universities conferred 
 honorary degrees on him. The notes of this trip he published 
 on his return with the title, Our Hundred Days in Europe. 
 
 Last Years. Holmes reached his three-score-and -ten 
 without suffering any great loss or other cause of personal 
 grief. It would have been almost beyond possibility, how 
 ever, for him to finish out fifteen years more in the same 
 way. The first break came in 1884, when his son Edward 
 died, followed four years later by his classmate and devoted 
 friend, James Freeman Clarke. In the same year came the 
 greatest sorrow of all, the death of his wife, who had for 
 forty -five years " smoothed his way for him, removed annoy 
 ances from his path, [done] for him with her easy executive 
 capacity a thousand things, which otherwise he would have 
 missed or have done with difficulty for himself" (Morse). 
 
 Hardly more than a year after his wife s death, his daughter, 
 Mrs. Sargent, who had closed a beautiful home in Boston in 
 order to keep her father s house in Cambridge, passed away 
 also. Holmes s letters referring to these losses, while ad 
 mitting that they were heavy blows, show no repining and 
 are full of gratitude for even the smallest consolation he 
 finds. He was not, however, destined to spend his last years 
 alone. Almost immediately after Mrs. Sargent s death, 
 Holmes s daughter-in-law, Mrs. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., 
 
AN ATTRACTIVE PERSONALITY 
 
 259 
 
 whom he described as 
 " a very helpful, hope 
 ful, powerful, as well 
 as brilliant woman," 
 came to him ; and she 
 and her husband, now 
 Justice Holmes, of the 
 United States Supreme 
 Court, made his home 
 theirs until his death. 
 This event occurred 
 October 7, 1894. He 
 had outlived all his 
 noted contemporaries, 
 and was indeed 
 
 "The last leaf upon the 
 tree." 
 
 An Attractive Person 
 ality. Of Holmes 
 Thackeray said, when 
 the Autocrat was fresh : 
 "No man in England 
 can write with his 
 charming mixture of 
 wit, pathos, and imagi 
 nation." Mr. Morse 
 tells us that out of over 
 three thousand news 
 paper clippings col 
 lected after Holmes s 
 death not more than 
 fifty failed to call him 
 
 CARTOON OF HOLMES. 
 
 Which appeared in Vanity Fair, a London 
 
 periodical, and highly amused and pleased 
 
 him. 
 
 either " genial " or " kindly." Those who know his writings 
 know him it has often been remarked that a lengthy 
 
260 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 autobiography could add little or nothing to our understand 
 ing of this delightful personality. He is a Bostonian of 
 Bostonians ; witness his Autocrat : " Boston State House is 
 the hub of the Solar System. You couldn t pry that out of 
 a Boston man if you had the tire of all creation straightened 
 out for a crowbar." This is said in jest by a more or less 
 fictitious personage ; but it is an important clause in the 
 author s own creed. Equally strong is his affection for and 
 pride in his Alma Mater ; witness the long list of class re 
 union poems already referred to, and the verses for various 
 university occasions. 
 
 Above all the attractive elements in his make-up is -his 
 gift of humor, with that of its complement, pathos. The 
 combination of these two gifts is shown excellently, if not 
 better than anywhere else, in one of his earliest lyrics, The 
 Last Leaf, giving a picture of an out-of-date old man who 
 is reported to have been a fine young man. Of purely 
 humorous poems there is a long and glorious list, from TJie 
 Height of the Ridiculous, written when the poet was twenty- 
 one, to The Broomstick Train, sixty years later. In the 
 former he tells how a humorous composition of his sent hit 
 man servant into fits, since when, he says, 
 
 " I never dare to write 
 As funny as I can." 
 
 In the latter he asserts that the trolley cars, then a very re 
 cent invention, are run by the witches who did so much 
 mischief in early times. In this, in TJie One-Hoss Shay, 
 and in Parson TarelVs Legacy, he appears to have forgotten 
 the implied promise of the lines just quoted from the 
 early poem. To say that these humorous poems are 
 " booked for immortality " as is the Nautilus, would be rash ; 
 but they have a vigor and charm which will give them a 
 tenacious hold on life, certainly as long as the personality 
 and career of their author form so interesting a study. 
 
CONCLUSION 261 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 We have said that the year 1892 closed an epoch in both 
 England and America. We have also assumed that litera 
 ture in English produced since 1892 is inferior to that pro 
 duced in the period then finished. Such is not, however, 
 the explanation of the choice of date to end our survey. 
 This we can best give in the language of Matthew Arnold : 
 " No man can trust himself to speak of his own time and 
 his own contemporaries with the same sureness of judgment 
 and the same proportion as of times and men gone by " ; 
 and in a book like this " we should avoid, as far as we can, 
 all hindrances to sureness of judgment and proportion. 7 
 
 Professor Trent is inclined to put this limitation on criti 
 cism of most of the writers covered by our fourth chapter. 
 " It is impossible," says he, " to treat otherwise than tenta 
 tively, and to a certain extent in impressionistic fashion 
 authors who have seemed almost a part of our own genera 
 tion." That this feeling is widespread among critics is 
 shown by the frequency of the word "seems" in the esti 
 mates of men as far removed from us as Longfellow and 
 Emerson, or even Poe and Hawthorne. In this book we 
 have attempted a minimum of critical judgment; and in 
 cases where large differences of opinion are still found, 
 have attempted a fair presentation of both sides. 
 
 Books of this character sometimes adopt another method 
 of restricting the authors treated, drawing the line between 
 the living and the dead. This method makes anything like 
 judicial criticism even more difficult than does the choice of 
 a year somewhat removed. If no living writers were 
 treated in a history of English literature written in this 
 year (1914), we should have to exclude Thomas Hardy and 
 Kipling while including George Meredith and Swinburne. 
 Yet the four were almost equally prominent in the literary 
 
262 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 world twenty years ago. In American literature we should 
 feel it necessary to discuss Eugene Field, Marion Crawford, 
 Mark Twain, while we should be prohibited from discuss 
 ing James Whitcomb Riley or William Dean Howells. 
 Yet the two groups represent almost equally the spirit and 
 tendencies of the past quarter of a century. 
 
 The failure to treat living or recent writers, and the 
 expression of a belief that American literature since 1892 is 
 inferior to what preceded, do not signify that we consider 
 current literature without merit or the future as dark. 
 Outside of the newspapers, the majority of people to-day 
 may be said to limit their reading to the popular magazines. 
 Of the contents of these publications the most notable 
 portions are the short-stories, which in many cases reach a 
 high degree of excellence. Going a step farther, we may 
 say that the most successful of these short-stories usually 
 set forth and interpret some characteristic bits of American 
 life a New England village, or a Western mining camp, 
 or a fashionable section in a large city, or a remote and 
 backward mountain community. A healthy humor is gen 
 erally found in these stories. In the higher class of maga 
 zines critical articles of great merit constantly appear, 
 showing thorough study and careful presentation of topics 
 of great interest and of vital importance, in literature, 
 history, economics, social science, biology in fact, in every 
 subject which an aggressive and progressive people find of 
 probable use in their development. In the fields covered 
 by our numerous and varied magazines, it seems likely that 
 a vigorous native literature may arise, which will be able to 
 hold its own even beside the great output of the half century 
 centering about 1850. 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY LIST OF AUTHORS NOT TREATED IN 
 THE BODY OF THE HISTORY 
 
 Chapters I-II (1608-1809) 
 
 BRACKENRIDGE, HUGH HENRY (1748-1816). Born in Scotland. 
 Carae to Pennsylvania in youth. Lawyer, and for the last fifteen 
 years of his life Judge of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania. Chief 
 work, Modern Chivalry, a burlesque novel. Died in Pennsylvania. 
 
 BYRD, WILLIAM (1674-1744). A native Virginian of wealth and 
 position. Educated in England and on the Continent. Member of 
 the commission that fixed the boundary between Virginia and North 
 Carolina. Of his works, which he left in manuscript, the best is the 
 History of the Dividing Line, an account of the commission s work. 
 Died in Virginia. 
 
 COTTON, JOHN (1585-1652). Born in England. New England 
 preacher, and author of fifty books. Very influential in his own day, 
 but now chiefly remembered because of a controversy with Roger 
 Williams, and because he was Cotton Mather s grandfather. Died in 
 Boston. 
 
 SEWALL, SAMUEL (1652-1730). Born in England. Chief Justice 
 of the Massachusetts Supreme Court, and sat in the witchcraft trials. 
 His Diary is a valuable record of the life of the colony from 1673 to 
 1729. His Selling of Joseph is mentioned above (page 131). Being 
 convinced of the error of his decisions in the witchcraft trials, he per 
 formed penance in public for many years. Died in Boston. 
 
 WILLIAMS, ROGER (about 1600-1683). Born in London. Apostle 
 of religious toleration, and founder of Rhode Island. Died in Rhode 
 Island. 
 
 Chapter III (1809-1865) 
 
 KENNEDY, JOHN PENDLETON (1795-1870). Born in Baltimore. 
 Served in War of 1812. Member of Congress. Secretary of the 
 Navy. Wrote novels, of which the best are Swallow Barn, a tale 
 of colonial Virginia ; and Horse-Shoe Robinson, a tale of Revolu 
 tionary days. Died in Newport, Rhode Island. 
 
 263 
 
264 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 PAULDING, JAMES KIRKE (1779-1860). Born in New York 
 Kinsman of Irving, and associated with him in early literary work. 
 Secretary of the Navy under Van Buren. Wrote novels that en 
 joyed a certain amount of popularity in their day, but can hardly 
 be said to have " survived." Died in New York. 
 
 PRESCOTT, WILLIAM HICKLING (1796-1859). Born in Salem, 
 Massachusetts. His sight was almost destroyed by an accident 
 while in college ; but he found means to get hold of the informa 
 tion he needed for historical writing, and produced a great series 
 of histories The Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, The Conquest 
 of Mexico, The Conquest of Peru, The Reign of Philip II. Died 
 in Salem. 
 
 READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN ( 1822-1872) . Born in Chester County, 
 Pennsylvania. Led a wandering life in Philadelphia, Cincin 
 nati, Boston, New York, Europe. Engaged in various occupations 
 tailor, cigar-maker, sculptor, sign and portrait painter, verse-maker. 
 Remembered chiefly for a few lyrics, best-known of which is 
 Sheridan s Ride. Died in New York City. 
 
 SIMMS, WILLIAM GILMORE (1806-1870). Born in Charleston, 
 South Carolina. Generally called the most important man of 
 letters in the South before the War. Wrote poems, novels, and 
 journalistic work of various kinds, amounting in all to nearly one 
 hundred volumes. His novels are better than his verse ; and of 
 them the best deal with Colonial and Revolutionary times in the 
 South The Yemassee and The Partisan. Died in Charleston. 
 
 STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER (1811-1896). Born in Litchfield, 
 Connecticut. Sister of the distinguished pulpit orator, Henry Ward 
 Beecher. Made famous by a single story Uncle Tom s Cabin, 
 which aims to set forth the abuses of slavery. Later works, like 
 The Minister s Wooing and Oldtown Folks, tales of New England 
 life, entitled Mrs. Stowe to a higher place in literature than does 
 the better known book. After the War she lived in Florida, and 
 devoted herself to the cause of the Southern people, well knowing 
 the un fitness of either the negro or the " carpet-bagger" to restore 
 order out of the chaos left by the great conflict. Died in Hartford, 
 Connecticut. 
 
 TAYLOR, BAYARD (1825-1878). Born at Kennett Square, Chester 
 County, Pennsylvania. First became known as a writer by his 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY LIST OF AUTHORS 265 
 
 Views Afoot, an account of two years travel in Europe. Wrote 
 poems, well received, but little regarded to-day ; and novels, which 
 also have lost much of their early fame. His translation of Goethe s 
 Faust, however, still holds a high place, and seems likely TO con 
 stitute his chief claim to distinction. Of his poems the Bedouin 
 Love Song is best known, partly, perhaps, for its musical setting by 
 Pinsuti. The Story of Kennett is his best novel. Died in Germany, 
 soon after reaching that country as United States Minister. 
 
 WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER (1806-1867). Born in Portland, 
 Maine. An influential figure in his day, his career belongs rather 
 to the history of New York City journalism, though he produced 
 some successful specimens of what is now called "society verse." 
 Died in New York. 
 
 Chapter IV (1865-1892) and After 
 
 ALCOTT, LOUISA MAY (1832-1888). Born in Philadelphia. 
 Very successful writer of children s stories Little Women, Little 
 Men, Jo s Boys, Eight Cousins, Rose in Bloom, Jack and Jill. 
 Died in Boston. 
 
 ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY (1836-1907). Born in Portsmouth, 
 New Hampshire. Lived for some time in the South in boyhood, 
 then a few years in New York City. From about 1860 Aldrich be 
 longed to the Boston literary group. Editor Atlantic Monthly, 
 1881-1890. Wrote some poems, but is best known for his stories, of 
 which the most famous are Marjorie Daw and The Story of a Bad 
 Boy, Died in Boston. 
 
 ALLEN, JAMES LANE (1849). Born near Lexington, Kentucky. 
 Novelist. Stories : A Kentucky Cardinal, Aftermath (sequel to the 
 preceding), The Choir Invisible, The Reign of Law. Living in 
 New York City. 
 
 BURROUGHS, JOHN (1837). Born in New York. Naturalist and 
 literary essayist. Has published many collections of essays, such 
 as Fresh Fields, Indoor Studies. Since 1874 he " has lived on a 
 farm [West Park, near Poughkeepsif. New York], devotinar his 
 time to literature and fruit culture." His cottage bears the pictur 
 esque name " Slabsides." 
 
 CABLE, GEORGE WASHINGTON (1844). Born in New Orleans. 
 Served in the Confederate army. After the War entered journalism. 
 Wrote stories of the Creoles of Louisiana, first collected in 1879 in 
 
266 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Old Creole Days. Since this volume Cable has written a number 
 of novels, of which the most successful are The Grandissimes, 
 and John March, Southerner. Living in Northampton, Massa 
 chusetts. 
 
 CHURCHILL, WINSTON (1871). Born in Saint Louis. Novelist. 
 Best known novels : Richard Carvel, The Crisis, The Crossing, 
 The Inside of the Cup. Living at Cornish, New Hampshire. 
 
 CLEMENS, SAMUEL LANGHORNE (1835-1910), better known as 
 " Mark Twain." Born in Missouri. Printer, and steamboat pilot 
 on the Mississippi. Moving west, became journalist in Nevada and 
 California. At age of thirty-two went East, and began his career 
 as humorist. Innocents Abroad, Roughing It, and Following the 
 Equator are unevenly humorous books of travel. Wrote a number 
 of excellent short stories, such as The Million Pound Bank Note, 
 A Double-Barreled Detective Story, and the Jumping Frog. The 
 Prince and the Pauper is a delightful child s story. Twain s 
 generally admitted masterpieces, however, are two stories of the 
 life he had seen in the Mississippi valley, Tom Sawyer, and Huckle 
 berry Finn. Died in Connecticut. 
 
 CRAWFORD, FRANCIS MARION (1854-1909). Born in Italy. 
 Partly educated in America, but spent comparatively little time in 
 this country, and made his permanent home in Italy after 1883. 
 Most of his stories are Italian in setting and characters, the best 
 being a trilogy dealing with three generations of a family, Sara- 
 cinesca, Sanf Ilario, and Don Orsino. Held very decided views 
 as to the function of fiction, set forth in essay, The Novel : What 
 It Is. Died in Italy. 
 
 FIELD, EUGENE (1850-1895). Born in Saint Louis. Life spent 
 in journalism in the Middle West. Best known for his poems of 
 childhood, like Little Boy Blue, Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, 
 Seem" 1 Things, and Jest fore Christmas. Died in Chicago. 
 
 FORD, PAUL LEICESTER (1865-1902). Born in Brooklyn, New 
 York. Historian and novelist. Best novel The Honorable Peter 
 Stirling, based to some extent on the life of President Cleveland. 
 In the field of history, where he seems likely to be rated higher 
 than in the field of pure literature, some of his important works 
 are: The Many-Sided Franklin, The True George Washington, 
 The Works of Thomas Jefferson (editor), Essays on the Constitu 
 tion (editor). Died in New York. 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY LIST OF AUTHORS 267 
 
 FREEMAN, MARY E. WILKINS (1862). Born in Massachusetts. 
 Has written many sketches of New England village life, with good 
 character studies: A New England Nun, The Heart s Highway, 
 Understudies, and others. Living in Metuchen, New Jersey. 
 
 HALE, EDWARD EVERETT (1822-1909). Born in Boston. 
 Preacher and man of letters. Chaplain, United States Senate, from 
 1903 until death. Best-known story, The Man without a Country. 
 Died in Boston. 
 
 HARRIS, JOEL CHANDLER (1848-1908). Born in Eatonton, 
 Georgia. Editor, the Atlanta Constitution; and creator of "Uncle 
 Remus," the type of the old Georgia darkey "befo de war." 
 Died in Atlanta. 
 
 HARTE, FRANCIS BRET (1839-1902) . Born in Albany, New York. 
 Like Field, Twain, Harris, a journalist. Spent about twenty years 
 from 1854 in California, the life of whose mining towns he depicted 
 in verse and in prose tale. Only one poem of Harte s is widely 
 known to-day Plain Language from Truthful James (also called 
 The Heathen Chinee). Many tales still widely read and ranked 
 high by critics, among them The Luck of Roaring Camp, The Out 
 casts of Poker Flat, Tennessee s Partner, How Santa Glaus Came 
 to Simpson s Bar. Died in England. 
 
 HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT (1819-1881). Born in Massachusetts. 
 Editor, first of Springfield Republican, and later, of The Century 
 Magazine. Wrote satirical essays under the name of " Timothy 
 Titcomb" ; poems; and novels, which were very popular in their 
 day, but are now recognized as very commonplace. Poems 
 Katrina, Bitter Sweet; novels Seven Oaks, Arthur Bonnicastle. 
 Died in New York City. 
 
 Ho WELLS, WILLIAM DEAN (1837). Born in Ohio, but his literary 
 activity is connected chiefly with New York City, where he has 
 been associated with various magazines. Although he has produced 
 many kinds of literary work, he is notably at his best in realistic 
 fiction. Commonly caUed the "Dean of American Writers." A 
 fair knowledge of Howells can be got from Their Wedding Journey, 
 A Modern Instance, and The Rise of Silas Lapham. Living in 
 New York City. 
 
 JAMES, HENRY (1849). Born in New York. Except for the 
 accident of birth, James has small title to inclusion among American 
 
268 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 writers. He was educated in Europe, and has lived in England 
 since the age of twenty. Attitude towards things American is foi 
 the most part either patronizing or mildly contemptuous. Most 
 important works are novels, of which The Portrait of a Lady and 
 The Princess Casamassima are representative. 
 
 JEWETT, SARAH ORNE (1849-1909). Born in South Berwick, 
 Maine. Wrote many tales of New England life, including Deep- 
 haven, The Country of the Pointed Firs, and A Native of Winby, 
 and Other Tales. Died in the house in which she was born, a 
 colonial mansion a hundred and fifty years old. 
 
 MIFFUN, LLOYD (1846). Born and still lives in Columbia, Penn 
 sylvania. Has devoted his literary efforts chiefly to sonnet-writing, 
 
 MILLER, JOAQUIN (1841-1913). Born in Indiana. " The Poet of 
 the Sierras." Treats in verse better than Harte s the same sort of 
 subjects Harte treated. Also farmer, miner, lawyer, judge, editor. 
 Died in Oakland, California. 
 
 MITCHELL, SILAS WEIR (1839-1914). Born in Philadelphia. 
 Physician and novelist. After becoming widely known as a special 
 ist in nervous diseases, and acquiring financial independence, turned 
 to the occupation he had always longed for literature. Attained 
 great success in his chosen line. Best novel, perhaps, is Hugh 
 Wynne, a story of the Revolution. Died in Philadelphia. 
 
 MURFREE, MART NOAILLES (1850); pen-name, "Charles Egbert 
 Craddock." Born in Murfreesboro, near Nashville, Tennessee. 
 Has succeeded in portraying in vivid fashion the life arid characters 
 of the Tennessee mountains. Some titles: In the " Stranger- 
 People s" Country, The Mystery of Witch-Face Mountain, and Other 
 Stories, The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, The Despot 
 of Broomsedge Cove. Still living in Murfreesboro. 
 
 PAGE, THOMAS NELSON (1853). Born Hanover County, Virginia. 
 Lawyer. Began literary career with stories of ante-toellum days in 
 Virginia, collected under the title, In Ole Virginia. A longer story, 
 for children, Two Little Confederates. Has also written novels, of 
 which the most noteworthy is Red Rock, dealing with the Recon 
 struction period, Author of some works not fiction The Negro : 
 The Southerner s Problem; Robert E. Lee, The Southerner; and 
 Robert E. Lee Man and Soldier. Appointed Ambassador to Italy, 
 1913. Residence in Washington, D.C., for many years past. 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY LIST OF AUTHORS 269 
 
 PARKMAN, FRANCIS (1823-1893). Born in Boston. After gradu 
 ation from Harvard, made a tour of exploration through the far 
 West, the result of which was The Oregon Trail. A different sort 
 of result was seriously impaired health, which proved as great a 
 handicap as Prescott s accident proved to him. Like Prescott, 
 however, Parkman triumphed over his weakness, and produced a 
 notable series of historical works usually referred to by the general 
 title, France and England in North America. Beginning with The 
 Conspiracy of Pontiac (1851), Parkman was occupied with the 
 theme for forty years, concluding with A Half-Century of Conflict 
 the year before his death. Died at Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts. 
 
 KILEY, JAMES WHITCOMB (1853). Born in Indiana. Widely 
 known and loved as the " Hoosier " poet. Poems mostly in dialect, 
 and with a strong appeal to young readers. First collected volume, 
 The Old Swimmiri-Hole, and Leven More Poems. Other favorite 
 works are : Poems Here at Home, The Lockerbie Book, Eaggedy 
 Man, When the Frost is on the Punkin, and Other Poems, An Old 
 Sweetheart of Mine. A biographical edition of his complete works 
 was published in 1913. Living in Indianapolis. 
 
 STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE (1833-1908). Born in Connecti 
 cut. Poet and critic. Of most value for his longer critical works 
 Poets of America, and Victorian Poets ; and for the anthologies 
 covering these fields. Died in New York City. 
 
 VAN DYKE, HENRY (1852). Born in Germantown, Philadelphia. 
 Pastor in New York City ; Professor in Princeton University ; Min 
 ister to The Netherlands, 1913. Poems, essays, and one story that 
 has attained world-wide fame The Story of the Other Wise Man. 
 Essays collected under the titles Fisherman s Luck, Little Rivers, 
 The Ruling Passion, The Blue Flower. Home, Princeton, New 
 Jersey. 
 
SELECTED LIST OF BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL WORKS 
 
 Works specifically referred to in the history are followed in each 
 case by the page on which the reference occurs, and are listed under 
 the names of the biographers and critics. Other standard works not 
 so referred to, but to which the present writer in common with all 
 who enter the field is largely indebted, are listed under the names of 
 the authors with whom they deal. The list pretends to be only a 
 selection. Abbreviations : A. M. L., American Men of Letters, 
 Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston; E. M. L., English Men of Letters, 
 The Macmillan Co., New York ; Beacon, Beacon Biographies, Small, 
 Maynard & Co., Boston; G. W. S., Great Writers Series, Walter 
 Scott, London. 
 
 ARNOLD, MATTHEW (pp. 41, 170 ff.) Emerson. (Discourses in 
 
 America, London, 1885. Macmillan.) 
 
 ARNOLD, MATTHEW (p. 92 n.) On the Study of Poetry. (Essays 
 
 in Criticism, Second Series, London, 1888. Macmillan.) 
 ARNOLD, MATTHEW (p. 261) A Guide to English Literature. 
 
 (Mixed Essays, London, 1879. Macmillan.) 
 BIGELOW, JOHN (pp. 83 ff.) Bryant. (A. M. L., 1890.) 
 BURROUGHS, JOHN (p. 244) Whitman: A Study. (Boston, 1896. 
 
 Houghton.) 
 
 Bryant. By W. A. BRADLEY. (E. M. L., 1905.) 
 CABOT, J. E. (pp. 158 ff.) Memoir of Emerson. (The standard 
 
 biography. 2 vols. Boston, 1887. Houghton.) 
 
 CARPENTER, G. R. (p. 247) Whitman. (A. M. L., 1903.) 
 GARY, EDWARD (p. 228) Curtis. (A. M. L., 1894.) 
 CLYMER, W. S. B. (pp. 96 ff.) Cooper. (Beacon, 1901.) 
 CONWAY, M. D. (p. 120 ) Hawthorne. (G. W. S., 1890.) 
 CURTIS, GEO. TICKNOR (p. 134) Webster. (2 vols. New York, 
 
 1870. Appleton.) 
 
 CURTIS, GEO. WILLIAM (pp. 87, 92) Bryant. (Orations and Ad 
 dresses, Vol. III. New York, 1894. Harpers.) 
 
 GARNETT, R. (p. 166) Emerson. (G. W. S., 1888.) 
 
 270 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL WORKS 271 
 
 GODDARD, H. C. (p. 161) Studies in New England Transcen 
 dentalism. (New York, 1908. Columbia University Press.) 
 
 GODWIN, PARKE (p. 86) Bryant. (The standard. 2 vols. New 
 York, 1883. Appleton.) 
 
 HARRISON, J. A. (p. 115) Life and Letters of Poe. (2 vols. New 
 York, 1902. Crowell.) 
 
 HAWTHORNE, JULIAN (p. 123) Nathaniel Hawthorne and His 
 Wife. (2 vols. Boston, 1885. Houghton.) 
 
 Hawthorne. By G. E. WOODBERRY. (A. M. L., 1903.) 
 
 HOLMES, 0. W. (pp. 167 ff.) Emerson. (A. M. L., 1884.) 
 
 Irving : Life and Letters. By PIERRE M. IRVING. (The stand 
 ard. 3 vols. New York, 1869. Putnams.) 
 
 LANIER, SIDNEY (pp. 221, 244) Letters. (New York, 1899. 
 Scribners.) 
 
 Lanier. By EDWIN MIMS. (Boston, 1905. Houghton.) 
 
 Lanier : A Memorial. By W. H. WARD. (In Complete Poems of 
 Sidney Lanier, New York, 1884. Scribners.) 
 
 Lincoln. By NICOLAY and HAY, the President s secretaries. (The 
 standard. 2 vols. New York, 1894. The Century Co.) 
 
 LODGE, H. C. (p. 134) Webster. (American Statesmen Series, 
 Boston, 1883. Houghton.) 
 
 Longfellow : Life and Letters. By SAMUEL L. LONGFELLOW. 
 (The standard. 3 vols. Boston, 1891. Houghton.) 
 
 LOUNSBURY, T. R. (pp. 96 ff.) Cooper. (A. M. L., 1882.) 
 
 LOWELL, J. R. (pp. 202 8.) Letters, edited by Charles Eliot 
 Norton. (New York, 1894. Scribners.) 
 
 Lowell: A Biography. By H. E. SCUDDER. (The standard. 2 
 vols. Boston, 1901. Houghton.) 
 
 Lowell and His Friends. By E. E. HALE. (Boston, 1901. 
 Houghton.) 
 
 MATTHEWS, BRANDER (p. 69) Introduction to S. L. Whitcomb s 
 Chronological Outlines of American Literature. (New York, 1894. 
 Macmillan.) 
 
 MATTHEWS, BRANDER (p. 69) American Literature. (New 
 York, 1896. American Book Co.) 
 
 MORSE, J. T., Jr. (pp. 258 ff.) Holmes : Life and Letters. (The 
 standard. 2 vols. Boston, 1896. Houghton.) 
 
 Motley. By 0. W. HOLMES. (A. M. L., 1878.) 
 
 PAGE, C. H., editor (p. 254) The Chief American Poets. (Boston, 
 1905. Houghton.) 
 
272 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 PERRY, BLISS (p. 246) Whitman. (Boston, 1906. Houghton.) 
 
 PICKARD, S. T. (p. 240) Life and Letters of Whittier. (The 
 standard. 2 vols. Boston, 1895. Houghton.) 
 
 Poe. By JOHN MAC Y. (Beacon, 1907.) 
 
 KICHARDSON, C. F. (p. 135) American Literature. (2 vols. 
 New York, 1886-8. Putnams.) 
 
 SMYTH, A. H., editor (p. 39) Works of Franklin. (10 vols. 
 New York, 1905. Macmillan.) 
 
 Thoreau. By PI. S. SALT. (G. W. S., 1896.) 
 
 Thoreau. By F. B. SANBORN. (A. M. L., 1882.) 
 
 TRENT, W. P. (pp. 251, 261) American Literature. (New York, 
 1903. Appleton.) 
 
 TYLER, M. C. (p. 9) American Literature, 1607-1765. (New 
 York, 1878. Putnams.) 
 
 TYLER, M. C. (pp. 47, 64) The Literary History of the American 
 Revolution. (2 vols. New York, 1897. Putnams.) 
 
 VON HOLST, H. (p. 143) Calhoun. (American Statesmen Series, 
 Boston, 1882. Houghton.) 
 
 WARNER, C. D. (pp. 72 ft.) Irving. (A. M. L., 1881.) 
 
 WENDELL, B. (pp. 152, 173) A Literary History of America. 
 (New York, 1900. Scribners.) 
 
 WILSON, WOODROW (p. 47) A History of the American People. 
 (5 vols. New York, 1902. Harpers.) 
 
 WOODBERRY, G. E. (pp. 105, 114) Poe. (A. M. L., 1885; re 
 vised and enlarged, 2 vols. Boston, 1909. Houghton.) 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abbotsford, Recollections of, 79. 
 ADAMS, JOHN, 28, 41, 45, 52, 60. 
 ADAMS, SAMUEL, 41. 
 Adams and Jefferson, 133. 
 ADDISON, JOSEPH, 35, 73. 
 Admirals, The Two, 99. 
 ALCOTT, AMOS B., 161, 178 ff. 
 ALCOTT, LOUISA M., 161, 265. 
 ALDBICH, THOMAS BAILEY, 265. 
 Alhambra, The, 76. 
 ALLAN, JOHN, 106. 
 ALLEN, JAMES LANE, 265. 
 Almanac, Poor Richard s, 36. 
 American Flag, The, 102. 
 American Magazine, The (Colonial 
 
 Period), 28. 
 
 American Manufacturer, The, 238. 
 American Scholar, The, 166. 
 Annabel Lee, 110, 119. 
 ARNOLD, MATTHEW, 41, 92 n., 170, 
 
 172, 185, 261. 
 Arthur Mervyn, 65. 
 Assignation, The, 108. 
 Astoria, 79. 
 Atlantic Monthly, 198, 206, 234, 242, 
 
 255. 
 Autobiography of Franklin, 31, 34 n., 
 
 35. 
 Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, 
 
 The, 251, 255, 259. 
 Autumn (Thoreau s), 180. 
 Axe and the Pine, The, 153. 
 
 BACON, FRANCIS, 2, 188. 
 Backward Glance o er Travel d 
 
 Roads, A, 250. 
 Baltimore Visiter, 108. 
 BALZAC (Honore de), 96. 
 BANCROFT, GEORGE, 154. 
 BARLOW, JOEL, 59, 61-62. 
 
 Barneveld, John of, Life and Death 
 
 of, 156. 
 
 Battle of the Kegs, 56. 
 Bay Psalm Book, The, 12-14, 16. 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, 2. 
 Bells of San Bias, 194 
 Beowulf, 5. 
 Berenice, 110. 
 
 BERKELEY, SIR WILLIAM, 25. 
 Biglow Papers, 200, 204. 
 Birds of Passage, 197. 
 BLAIR, ROBERT, 88. 
 Blithedale Romance, 121, 124. 
 Bonneville, Adventures of Captain, 
 
 79. 
 
 Boston News-Letter, 28. 
 Bowdoin College, 120, 189. 
 Boijs, The, 255. 
 Bracebridge Hall, 75. 
 BRACKENRIDGE, HUGH HENRY, 263. 
 BRADFORD, WILLIAM, 10-11, 18, 
 
 154. 
 
 BRADSTREET, ANNE, 15-16, 253. 
 Brahm,a, 174. 
 
 Brainless, Adventures of Tom, 59. 
 BRILLON, MADAME, 40. 
 Broadway Journal, 113. 
 Brook Farm, 121, 160, 178, 227. 
 Broomstick Train, 260. 
 BROWN, CHARLES BROCKDEN, 31, 
 
 63, 65-68. 
 
 BROWNING, MRS. E. B., 84, 118. 
 BROWNING, ROBERT, 84, 172, 185, 
 
 202. 
 BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN, 69, 71, 
 
 72, 81-92, 93, 99, 118, 119, 145, 152, 
 
 162, 175, 188, 202. 
 Bunker Hill Oration, 133. 
 BURNS, ROBERT, 59, 237. 
 BURROUGHS, JOHN, 179, 244, 265. 
 
 273 
 
274 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Busy -Body, 36. 
 BYBD, WILLIAM, 263. 
 BYRON, LORD, 71, 92, 185. 
 
 CABLE, GEORGE W., 265. 
 
 CALHOUN, JOHN C., 131, 134, 141- 
 144. 
 
 Cambridge University (England), 
 27, 199, 207. 
 
 CAMPBELL, THOMAS, 75. 
 
 Gape Cod, 180. 
 
 CARLYLE, THOMAS, 135, 158, 159, 
 164 ff., 213. 
 
 Carolina, 146. 
 
 Caty-did, To a, 58. 
 
 Causes of the American Discon 
 tents before 1768, 39. 
 
 Cavalier Poets, 65. 
 
 Chambered Nautilus, The, 251, 255, 
 260. 
 
 Character, 171. 
 
 Charleston College, 147. 
 
 Chattahoochee, Song of the, 221. 
 
 CHAUCER, 2, 5, 64. 
 
 Christian Slave, The, 234. 
 
 Christmas, 151. 
 
 Christus, 197. 
 
 CHURCHILL, WINSTON, 266. 
 
 City in the Sea, The, 119. 
 
 Clara Howard, 65. 
 
 CLARKE, JAMES FREEMAN, 258. 
 
 CLAY, HENRY, 135. 
 
 CLEMENS, SAMUEL L. (" Mark 
 Twain"), 262, 266. 
 
 CLEMM, VIRGINIA, 109. 
 
 CLYMER, W. B. S., 96 ff. 
 
 COLERIDGE, SAMUEL T., 59, 159, 
 185, 186. 
 
 Columbiad, The, 61. 
 
 Columbia University, 27, 95. 
 
 Columbus, Vision of, 61. 
 
 Columbus, Voyages of the Com 
 panions of, 76. 
 
 Commemoration Ode (Lanier s), 220. 
 
 Commemoration Ode (Lowell s), 207. 
 
 Commercial, Rome (Ga.) , 224. 
 
 Commercial Advertiser, 98. 
 
 Common Sense, 45. 
 
 Compensation, 167. 
 Composition, Philosophy of, 118. 
 Concord Centennial, Ode at the, 208. 
 Concord Hymn, 164, 174. 
 Condescension in Foreigners, On a 
 
 Certain, 200. 
 
 Conduct of Life, 166, 168. 
 Congress, To the Thirty-Ninth, 243 
 Conqueror Worm, The, 119. 
 Conquest of Granada, 76, 79. 
 Constitution (Atlanta), 225. 
 Contemplations, 16. 
 Continentalist, The, 53. 
 Cooper Institute Address, 139. 
 COOPER, JAMES FENIMORE, 68, 69, 
 
 71, 72, 92-102, 119. 
 Corn, 218. 
 
 Cotton Boll, The, 146, 152, 153. 
 COTTON, JOHN, 263. 
 Courant, New England, 28. 
 Courier, Rome (Ga.) , 224. 
 Courtship of Miles Standish, The, 
 
 81, 189. 
 
 COWPER, WILLIAM, 88. 
 " CRADDOCK, CHARLES EGBERT" 
 
 (Mary Noailles Murfree), 268. 
 CRAWFORD, F. MARION, 262, 266. 
 CREVECOJ:UR (J. Hector St. John), 
 
 131. 
 
 Crisis, The, 46, 60, 69. 
 " Croakers," The, 102-103. 
 Crossing the Bar, 176. 
 Cross of Snow, The, 195. 
 Cry to Arms, A, 150. 
 Culprit Fay, The, 102. 
 CURTIS, GEORGE TICKNOR, 134. 
 CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIAM, 87, 92 n., 
 
 227-234, 238. 
 Custom House, The, 123, 127. 
 
 Daily, Rome (Ga.), 224. 
 
 Dante (Longfellow s translation), 
 
 197. 
 
 Dartmouth College, 132. 
 Day of Doom, The, 14. 
 Deacon s Masterpiece, The ; or, The 
 
 Wonderful One Hoss Shay, 256, 
 
 260. 
 
INDEX 
 
 275 
 
 Death of Lincoln, The, 87. 
 
 Declaration of Independence, 69. 
 
 Deerslayer, The, 94, 98. 
 
 Democracy, 201, 208. 
 
 DE QUINCEY, 71, 186. 
 
 Descent into the Maelstrom, A, 108. 
 
 Devil and Tom Walker, The, 76, 80. 
 
 Dial, The, 161. 
 
 Dogood Papers, 35. 
 
 Dolph Heyliger, 76. 
 
 Don Quixote, 200, 205. 
 
 DOUGLAS, STEPHEN A., 138, 140. 
 
 DOYLE, SIR A. CONAN, 113, 118. 
 
 Dragoon, The Bold, 80. 
 
 DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN, 80 n., 102- 
 
 103. 
 
 Drake, On the Death of, 103. 
 DRAYTON, CHIEF JUSTICE, 43. 
 Drowne s Wooden Image, 128, 129. 
 Drum-Taps, 247. 
 Drum-Taps, Sequel to, 247. 
 Dryad of the Pine, The, 153. 
 DRYDEN, JOHN, 55. 
 Dutch Republic, The Rise of the, 156. 
 Duty of the American Scholar to 
 
 Politics and the Times, 229. 
 DWIGHT, TIMOTHY, 59, 60. 
 
 Each and All, 175. 
 
 Edgar Huntly, 65 ff. 
 
 Edict of the King of Prussia, 39. 
 
 EDWARDS, JONATHAN, 17, 20-23, 29, 
 88. 
 
 ELIOT, GEORGE, 84. 
 
 ELIOT, JOHN, 12, 14. 
 
 Elsie Venner, 256. 
 
 Emancipation from British Depend 
 ence ("A Political Litany"), 55, 
 58. 
 
 Embargo, The, 87. 
 
 Emerson (life by Holmes), 256. 
 
 EMERSON, RALPH WALDO, 41, 70, 
 84, 122, 158 n., 159, 162-176, 177 ff., 
 198,201, 230,261. 
 
 Endicott and the Red Cross, 123, 128. 
 
 English Novel, The (Lanier), 219. 
 
 English Traits, 168. 
 
 Essays (Emerson s), 167-168. 
 
 Essays to Do Good, 18, 35. 
 Ethnogenesis, 150. 
 Eutaw Springs, 58. 
 Evangeline, 187, 195. 
 EVERETT, EDWARD, 139, 159. 
 Excursions, 180. 
 Exile s Departure, The, 237. 
 Experience, 159. 
 
 Fable for Critics, A, 70, 90, 117, 204. 
 
 Faerie Queene, The, 120. 
 
 Fall of the House of Usher, 111. 
 
 Fanshawe, 121. 
 
 Farewell Address, 47. 
 
 Federalist, The, 53, 69. 
 
 FIELD, EUGENE, 262, 266. 
 
 First Settlement of New England, 
 
 133. 
 
 Flood of Years, The, 85 n., 87. 
 Flower-Life, 153. 
 FORD, PAUL LEICESTER, 266. 
 Foreign Lajids, To, 244. 
 Forest Hymn, A, 85 n., 89. 
 FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN, 18, 29, 31-41, 
 
 50, 55, 62, 63, 65, 71. 
 Freedom of the Will, 21. 
 FREEMAN, MARY E. WILKINS, 267. 
 Freeman, Pennsylvania, 240. 
 FREILIGRATH (Ferdinand) , 194 ff . 
 FRENEAU, PHILIP, 31, 54, 56^59. 
 FULLER, MARGARET, 161. 
 
 GARRISON, WILLIAM LLOYD, 131, 
 
 139, 237. 
 
 GAY (John) , 55. 
 Gazette, Boston, 28. 
 Gazette, Haverhill, 238. 
 Gazette, New York, 28. 
 Gazette, Pennsylvania, 33. 
 General Magazine, 28. 
 Genius of Universal Emancipation 
 
 131. 
 
 Georgia, University of, 145, 224. 
 Gettysburg Address, 139. 
 Gladness of Nature, 89. 
 Glasgow, University of, 169. 
 GODFREY, THOMAS, 31, 63-65. 
 Gold Bug, 113. 
 
276 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Golden Legend, 195. 
 GOLDSMITH, OLIVER, 79. 
 
 GOODELL, WlLLAM, 131. 
 
 GRADY, HENRY WOODFIN, 223-226. 
 
 Graham s Magazine, 111. 
 
 Granada, Conquest of, 76, 79. 
 
 Grandfather s Chair, 129. 
 
 GRAY (Thomas), 92 n. 
 
 Gray Champion, The, 128. 
 
 Great Stone Face, The, 125, 133. 
 
 GREELEY, HORACE, 180. 
 
 Green River, 89. 
 
 GRISWOLD, RUFUS WILMOT, 117. 
 
 Guardian Angel, The, 256. 
 
 HALE, EDWARD EVERETT, 267. 
 
 HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE, 192-103. 
 
 HAMILTON, ALEXANDER, 30, 53, 69, 
 70. 
 
 Hamilton, Calhoun s Letter to Gov 
 ernor, 143. 
 
 Hdmpton Beach, 234. 
 
 HANCOCK, JOHN, 41. 
 
 Hanging of the Crane, 198. 
 
 HARDY, THOMAS, 261. 
 
 Harper s Magazine, 227, 229. 
 
 Harper s Weekly, 230. 
 
 HARRIS, JOEL CHANDLER, 267. 
 
 [[ARTE, FRANCIS BRET, 267. 
 
 Hartford Wits, 59. 
 
 Harvard College, 14, 27, 41, 156, 158, 
 162, 177, 189, 201, 204, 242, 254. 
 
 Haunted Palace, 119. 
 
 HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL, 68, 69, 
 70, 75, 80, 84, 104, 118, 119-130, 161, 
 162, 185, 189, 199, 201, 243, 261. 
 
 HAYES, JOHN RUSSELL, 242. 
 
 HAYNE, PAUL HAMILTON, 131, 145- 
 154. 
 
 HAYNE, ROBERT Y., 133, 142, 147. 
 
 HAZLITT, WILLIAM, 71, 186. 
 
 Height of the Ridiculous, 260. 
 
 Helen, To, 110. 
 
 HENRY, PATRICK, 30, 43-45, 47, 50, 
 52. 
 
 Herald, Atlanta, 224. 
 
 Herald, New York, 225. 
 
 Heroes and Hero- Worship, 168. 
 
 Herons of Elmwood, 198. 
 HERRICK, ROBERT, 65. 
 Hiawatha, 187, 194, 197. 
 History of New England, 11. 
 History of Plymouth Plantation, 
 
 10. 
 History of the United Netherlands, 
 
 156. 
 
 History of the United States, 154. 
 History of Travaile into Virginia 
 
 Britannia, 8. 
 
 HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT, 267. 
 HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL, 84, 87, 
 
 176, 198, 243, 251-260. 
 Holmes, To, on his Seventy-fifth 
 
 Birthday, 251. 
 
 HOMER (Bryant s translation), 85. 
 Honey Bee, On a, 58. 
 HOPKINSON, FRANCIS, 56, 59, 65. 
 House of the Seven Gables, 124. 
 Howadji, Nile Notes of a, 229. 
 Howadji in Syria, 229. 
 HOWE, JULIA WARD, 84. 
 HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN, 232, 262, 
 
 267. 
 
 Humble Bee, 175. 
 HUME (David), 54. 
 Hurricane, The, 89. 
 Huskers, The, 235. 
 HUTCHINSON, THOMAS, 154. 
 Hymn to Death, 82. 
 Hyperion, 195. 
 
 Ichabod, 135, 234. 
 
 Iliad (Bryant s translation), 85. 
 
 Inaugural (Washington s), 47. 
 
 Inaugurals (Lincoln s), 139. 
 
 Independence Hall, Speech in (Lin 
 coln s), 139. 
 
 Independent Reflector, 28. 
 
 Infidelity, Triumph of, 60. 
 
 In Harbor, 148. 
 
 In School-Days, 243. 
 
 Investigator, 131. 
 
 IRVING, WASHINGTON, 69, 70, 71-81 
 82, 92, 145, 192, 201. 
 
 IRVING, WILLIAM, 73. 
 
 Iqrafel, 110. 
 
INDEX 
 
 277 
 
 JAMES, HENRY, 120 n., 267. 
 
 Jane Talbot, 65. 
 
 JAY, JOHN, 53. 
 
 JEFFERSON, THOMAS, 50-52, 54, 57 
 
 69, 131. 
 
 JEWETT, SARAH ORNE, 268. 
 Johns Hopkins University, The, 219 
 JOHNSON, SAMUEL, 54, 55, 61. 
 JONSON, BEN, 2. 
 Journal, Albany, 98. 
 Journal, Broadway, 113. 
 Journal (Woolman s), 62. 
 Justice and Expediency, 240. 
 
 Kavanagh, 195. 
 
 KEATS, JOHN, 92, 154, 172, 185, 213. 
 KENNEDY, JOHN P., 105, 263. 
 KIPLING, RUDYARD, 261 . 
 Knickerbocker History, 69, 74. 
 Knickerbocker Writers, 71, 88, 95, 
 102. 
 
 LAMB, CHARLES, 71, 172, 186. 
 
 LANIER, SIDNEY, 214-223, 244, 249. 
 
 Last Leaf, The, 260. 
 
 Last of the Mohicans, The, 100. 
 
 Launfal, Vision of Sir, The, 200, 
 204. 
 
 Laus Deo, 242. 
 
 Leather-Stocking Tales, The, 94, 98, 
 100. 
 
 Leaves of Grass, 246, 250. 
 
 LEE, RICHARD HENRY, 43. 
 
 Legacy (Washington s), 47. 
 
 Lenore, 119. 
 
 Letter to Greeley (Lincoln s), 139. 
 
 Letter to his Countrymen (Coo 
 per s), 96. 
 
 Letter to Mrs. Bixby (Lincoln s), 
 139. 
 
 Letters and Social Aims, 168. 
 
 Letters from the East, 84. 
 
 Letters of an American Farmer, 131. 
 
 Letters of a Traveler, 84, 90. 
 
 Liberator, The, 131. 
 
 Liberty or Death, 69. 
 
 Life and Song, 223. 
 
 Life of Columbus, 76 
 
 Life of Washington (Irviug s), 80. 
 
 Ligeia, 111. 
 
 Lily Confidante, The, 153. 
 
 LINCOLN, ABRAHAM, 69, 84, 87, 131, 
 132, 136-141, 185, 207, 228. 
 
 Literary Friends and Acquaint 
 ances, 232 n. 
 
 Little People of the Snow, The, 87. 
 
 LODGE, H. C. (Webster), 134. 
 
 LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADS- 
 WORTH, 81. 84, 87, 117, 120, 132, 
 162, 186-200, 201, 202, 204, 214, 243, 
 261. 
 
 Lost Occasion, The, 135. 
 
 Lost Youth, My, 197. 
 
 Lotus-Eating, 229. 
 
 LOUNSBURY, T. R. (Cooper), 96 if. 
 
 LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL, 36, 70, 
 75, 84, 87, 105, 113, 117, 121, 132, 
 140, 145, 162, 167, 184, 194, 198, 
 199, 200-213, 214, 231, 251, 252. 
 
 LUNDY, BENJAMIN, 131. 
 
 Lyrical Ballads, 59. 
 
 MABIE, HAMILTON WRIGHT, 145. 
 McFingal, 60. 
 MADISON, JAMES, 35, 53, 57. 
 Maelstrom, A Descent into the, 108. 
 Magnolia Christi Americana, 18. 
 Maine Woods, 180. 
 MALORY, SIR THOMAS, 2. 
 Marble Faun, The, 125, 127, 130. 
 Marco Bozzaris, 103. 
 MARLOWE (Christopher), 2. 
 Massachusetts to Virginia, 234. 
 MATHER, COTTON, 14, 17-19, 29, 88, 
 
 154. 
 
 VIATHER, INCREASE, 14. 
 VIATHER, RICHARD, 12, 14. 
 MATHER, SAMUEL, 20. 
 MATTHEWS, BRANDER, 69, 80 n. 
 May-Day and Other Pieces, 168. 
 Maypole of Merry Mount, 11 n., 128 
 Mercury, American Weekly, 28. 
 MEREDITH, GEORGE, 172, 261. 
 Merrimac, The, 234. 
 Messenger, Southern Literary, 110. 
 MIFFLIN, LLOYD, 268. 
 
278 
 
 INDEX 
 
 MILLER, CINCINNATUS, H. ("Joa- 
 
 quin"), 268. 
 MILTON, JOHN, 54, 188. 
 Minister s Black Veil, 123, 129. 
 Mirror, New York Evening, 113. 
 MITCHELL, SILAS WEIR, 268. 
 Monadnoc, 175. 
 Monikins, The, 96. 
 Morella, 110. 
 Morituri Salutamus, 198. 
 MORRIS, WILLIAM, 185, 
 Mortal Antipathy, A, 256. 
 Mosses from an Old Manse, 123, 
 
 129. 
 
 Mother-Land, My, 150. 
 MOTLEY, JOHN LOTHROP, 154, 156- 
 
 158. 
 
 Motley (life by Holmes) , 256. 
 MS. Found in a Bottle, 108. 
 Murders in the Rue Morgue, 113. 
 MURFREE, MARY N. (" Charles 
 
 Egbert Craddock"), 268. 
 Music and Poetry, 215. 
 Musketaquid, 175. 
 My Garden Acquaintance, 200. 
 My Springs, 218. 
 
 Natural History of Massachusetts, 
 
 181. 
 
 Nature (Emerson s), 164. 
 Navy, History of the United States, 
 
 98. 
 
 Ned Myers, 93. 
 New England Birds, Notes on, 
 
 180. 
 
 New England Review, 238. 
 New England Tragedies, 197. 
 News-Letter, Boston, 28. 
 New South, The, 224. 
 Newstead Abbey, Abbotsford and, 
 
 79. 
 
 Nile Notes of a Howadji, 229. 
 North American Review, 88, 206. 
 NORTON, CHARLES ELIOT, 206. 
 Note-Books (Hawthorne s), 130. 
 
 Captain 1 my Captain, 247. 
 Ode (Lowell s) , 202. 
 
 Odyssey (Bryant s translation), 85, 
 Oglethorpe College, 215. 
 Old Ironsides, 254. 
 " OLDSTYLE, JONATHAN," 73, 74. 
 On a Honey Bee, 58. 
 One-Hoss Shay, 256, 260. 
 Ormond, 65, 66. 
 Orphic Sayings, 161. 
 OSSOLI, MARGARET FULLER, 161. 
 OTIS, JAMES, 30, 41-43, 46, 50. 
 Our Hundred Days in Europe, 258 
 Our Martyrs, 151. 
 Our Old Home, 126. 
 Over-Soul, The, 167. 
 Over the Teacups, 256. 
 Oxford (University, England), 27 
 70, 78, 199, 207, 213. 
 
 PAGE, THOMAS NELSON, 268. 
 PAINE, THOMAS, 30, 45-47,50, 60, 65. 
 PARKMAN, FRANCIS, 154, 155, 269. 
 Parson TureWs Legacy, 260. 
 Pathfinder, The, 98, 100, 101. 
 PAULDING, JAMES K., 73, 264. 
 Penn Magazine, 111. 
 Pennsylvania Freeman, 240. 
 Pennsylvania, University of, 27, 33. 
 PERRY, BLISS, 246. 
 "PERRY, EDGAR A.," 107. 
 PHILLIPS, WENDELL, 226. 
 Philosophical Society, American, 
 
 33, 95. 
 
 Philosophy of Composition, 118. 
 PIERCE, FRANKLIN, 120. 
 Pilgrim s Progress, The, 120. 
 Pilot, The, 93, 95, 99. 
 Pioneer, The, 113. 
 Pioneers, The, 94, 100. 
 Pirate, The, 95. 
 POE, EDGAR ALLAN, 68, 69, 70, 80, 
 
 87, 91, 104-119, 128, 154, 174, 185, 
 
 188, 204, 223, 261. 
 Poet, The (Bryant s), 91. 
 Poet and His Songs, The, 188. 
 Poet at the Breakfast Table, The, 
 
 256. 
 
 Poetic Principle, The, 118. 
 Politics, 171. 
 
INDEX 
 
 279 
 
 Poor Richard s Almanac, 36. 
 
 POPE, ALEXANDER, 55, 64. 
 
 Post, Boston Evening, 28. 
 
 Post, Evening (N. Y.), 82, 102. 
 
 Potiphar Papers, 229. 
 
 Prairie, The, 101. 
 
 Prairies, Tour of the, 79. 
 
 Precaution, 94. 
 
 PRESCOTT, WILLIAM HICKLINO, 
 
 154, 264. 
 
 Pretty Story, A, 56. 
 Prince of Parthia, 64. 
 Princeton College, 21, 27, 57. 
 P-ofessor at the Breakfast Table, 
 
 The, 256. 
 
 Prue and I, 229, 232-234. 
 Public Duty of Educated Men, The, 
 
 231. 
 
 Pub lick Occurrences, 27. 
 Putnam s Monthly, 230. 
 Pym, Narrative of Arthur Gordon, 
 
 110. 
 
 QUINCY, JOSIAH, 41. 
 
 RANDOLPH, EDMUND, 43. 
 
 Rappaccini s Daughter, 123. 
 
 Raven, The, 113, 118, 119, 185. 
 
 READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN, 264. 
 
 Reconstruction, 140, 206, 224. 
 
 Red Rover, The, 93, 99. 
 
 Reply to Hayne, 133, 134. 
 
 Representative Men, 168. 
 
 Revenge of Hamish, The, 215. 
 
 Revieio, New England, 238. 
 
 Review, New York, 111. 
 
 Rhodora, The, 175. 
 
 RILEY, JAMES WHITOOMB, 262, 269. 
 
 RIPLEY, GEORGE, 158 n., 159. 
 
 Rip Van Winkle, 76, 80. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln, 89. 
 
 Roger Malvin s Burial, 128. 
 
 Romanticism, 70, 159. 
 
 Roost, Wolfert s, 79. 
 
 Rosebuds, The, 153. 
 
 Rue Morgue, Murders in the, 113. 
 
 Russell s Magazine, 152. 
 
 RYAN, ABRAM J., 151. 
 
 Salmagundi Papers, 73, 74. 
 
 SAND, GEORGE, 96. 
 
 Sartor Resartus, 164. 
 
 Scarlet Letter, The, 120, 122-123, 129, 
 
 Scene in a Country Hospital, 150. 
 
 School-Days, In, 243. 
 
 Science of English Verse, The, 219. 
 
 SCOTT, SIR WALTER, 68, 71, 74, 80, 
 
 95,96. 
 
 Seashore, The, 175. 
 Self -Reliance, 159, 167, 168, 171, 172. 
 Sella, 87. 
 
 Selling of Joseph, The, 131. 
 Seventh of March Speech, 135. 
 SEWALL, SAMUEL, 131, 263. 
 SHAKSPERE, WILLIAM, 2, 237. 
 Shakspere and his Forerunners 
 
 (Lanier s) , 219. 
 SHELLEY, PSRCY BYSSHE, 68, 71, 92, 
 
 185. 
 
 Short-story, Philosophy of the, 80 n. 
 SIMMS, WILLIAM GILMORP:, 264. 
 Sinners in the Hands of an Angry 
 
 God, 22. 
 
 Sketch Book, The, 70, 75. 
 Skipper Ireson s Ride, 234. 
 Sleep of Plants, On the, 58. 
 Sleepy Hollow, Legend of, 80. 
 SMITH, CAPTAIN JOHN, 5-8, 10, 11, 
 
 154. 
 
 SMITH, SYDNEY, 70. 
 Snoiv-Bound, 235, 236, 240. 
 Snow-Storm, The, 174. 
 Society and Solitude, 168. 
 South Carolina, Address to the 
 
 People of, 142. 
 
 South Carolina Exposition, The, 142. 
 South Carolinian, 146. 
 Southern Literary Messenger, 110, 
 
 146. 
 Spain, Legends of the Conquest of. 
 
 79, 
 
 Spanish Student, The, 195. 
 Spectator (Addison s), 35, 73. 
 SPENSER, EDMUND, 2. . 
 Sphinx, The, 174. 
 Spiritual Laws, 159. 
 Spring (Thoreau s), 180. 
 
280 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Spy, The, 94, 95. 
 
 Standish, Miles, Courtship of, 81, 
 
 189, 197. 
 
 Stanzas on Freedom, 132. 
 STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE, 269. 
 Stirrup Cup, The, 215. 
 Stout Gentleman, The, 76. 
 STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER, 264. 
 STRACHEY, WILLIAM, 8-9, 10, Jl, 
 
 154. 
 
 Stylus, The, 113. 
 Summary View of the Rights of 
 
 British America, A, 52. 
 Summer (Thoreau s), 180. 
 SWIFT, JONATHAN, 55. 
 SWINBURNE (Algernon C.), 185, 261. 
 Symphony, The, 215, 221. 
 
 Tales of a Traveller, 76. 
 Tales of a Wayside Inn, 197. 
 Tales of the Folio Club, 108. 
 Tales of the Grotesque and Ara 
 besque, 111. 
 
 Tamerlane and Other Poems, 107. 
 Tanglewood Tales, 129. 
 TAYLOR, BAYARD, 84, 218, 236, 264. 
 Tempest, The, 9. 
 TENNYSON, ALFRED, 118, 119, 154, 
 
 176, 185, 188, 202. 
 Tenth Muse, The, 15. 
 Terminus, 148, 176. 
 THACKERAY (William M.), 70 n., 
 
 172, 259. 
 
 Thanatopsis, 85 n., 87, 88, 89, 185. 
 THOREAU, HENRY DAVID, 162, 176- 
 
 184. 
 
 Thoreau (Lowell s essay), 162, 200. 
 Threnody, 174. 
 Tiger Lilies, 217. 
 TIMROD, HENRY, 131, 145-154, 175, 
 
 242. 
 
 Tintern Abbey, 88 n. 
 Titmouse, The, 175. 
 To a Waterfowl, 89. 
 Transcendental Movement, 158-162, 
 
 166. 
 Transcendentalists, 59, 71, 121, 176, 
 
 258. 
 
 Tribune, New York, 229. 
 
 Triumph of Infidelity, The, 60. 
 
 True Relation, A, 6. 
 
 TRUMBULL, JOHN, 59. 
 
 Trumps, 229. 
 
 "TWAIN, MARK" (S. L. Clemens), 
 
 262, 266. 
 
 Twice-Told Tales, 118, 121, 123, 129. 
 Two Armies, The, 150. 
 TYLER, ROYALL, 55. 
 
 Ulalume, 114, 119. 
 
 Under the Old Elm, 208. 
 
 United Netherlands, History of the, 
 
 156. 
 Usher, The Fall of the House of, 111. 
 
 VAN DYKE, HENRY, 269. 
 
 Virginia, University of, 51, 105, 106. 
 
 Vision of Columbus, 61. 
 
 Vision of Sir Laun/al, The, 200, 
 
 204. 
 
 Visiter, Baltimore, 108. 
 Voices of the Night, 194. 
 Voluntaries, 175. 
 
 Walden, 178-179. 
 WARREN, JOSEPH, 41, 55. 
 WASHINGTON, GEORGE, 47-50. 
 Washington (Irving s Life of), 80, 
 Waterfowl, To a, 89. 
 Way to Wealth, The, 29. 
 WEARE, MESHECH, 55. 
 WEBSTER, DANIEL, 69, 131, 132- 
 
 135, 139, 144. 
 WEED, THURLOW, 98. 
 Week on the Concord and Merrimac 
 
 Rivers, 179. 
 When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard 
 
 Bloomed, 247. 
 Whistle, The, 40. 
 WHITMAN, SARAH HELEN, 115. 
 WHITMAN, WALT, 244-251: 
 Whittier, In Memory of, 242. 
 WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF, 119, 
 
 131, 135, 141, 145, 152, 194, 204, 
 
 234-243. 
 Wieland, 65, 66, 67. 
 
INDEX 
 
 281 
 
 WlGGLESWORTH, MlCHAEL, 14-15, 
 16. 
 
 Wild Honeysuckle, The, 58. 
 William and Mary College, 27, 50. 
 WILLIAMS, ROGER, 263. 
 WILLIAM THE SILENT, 157. 
 William Wilson, 106. 
 WILLIS, NATHANIEL P., 265. 
 Winter (Thoreau s) , 180. 
 WINTHROP, JOHN, 10, 11-12, 18,154. 
 Wish, The, 64. 
 WITHER, GEORGE, 65. 
 
 Wolfert s Roost, 79. 
 Wonder Book, A, 129. 
 Woodnotes, 175. 
 WOOLMAN, JOHN, 62, 131. 
 WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM, 59, 70, 71, 
 
 82, 84, 88 n., 153, 172, 185. 
 World-Soul, The, 175. 
 
 Yale University, 27, 59, 60, 93, 141. 
 Yankee in Canada, A, 180. 
 Tear s Life, A, 202. 
 Young Goodman Brown, 128, 129. 
 
READINGS 
 
 IN 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 CHOSEN AND EDITED BY 
 
 ROY BENNETT PACE 
 
 ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH 
 SWARTHMORE COLLEGE 
 
 ALLYN AND BACON 
 
 Boston RfEfo gorfc 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY 
 ROY BENNETT PACE 
 
 AAN 
 
 J. S. Gushing & Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THIS volume is designed to accompany the editor s Ameri 
 can Literature, and the selections were made to represent 
 the authors there treated. While it is intended that the 
 history and the Readings be used together, the latter have 
 been compiled in accordance with suggestions from many 
 sources ; and the editor believes that they will prove useful 
 with any history of American literature. 
 
 No effort has been made to include college entrance 
 requirements, most of which are available in cheap and 
 attractive editions. On the other hand, more space than is 
 usual in a book of this kind is given to literature produced 
 before 1800. This has been done because the material is 
 quaint and interesting, and is less accessible to high school 
 students than nineteenth century writings. The editor 
 feels confident that results will repay a generous expenditure 
 of time on the early writers. 
 
 In preparing the Readings, the best texts accessible have 
 been used ; but it has not seemed necessary in a high school 
 book to indicate the editions, unless required by the copy 
 right provisions of the authorized publishers. 
 
 ROY BENNETT PACE. 
 
 SWARTHMORE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA, 
 
 January 1, 1915. 
 
 iii 
 
READINGS 
 
 From John Smith to Benjamin Franklin 
 Adventure with Opechancanough 
 Account of a Tempest . . " . , . 
 The Twenty-third Psalm . ... 
 The Judgment of Infants 
 
 Contemplations ?!i 
 
 Life at Merry Mount . . . 
 The " Little Speech " on Liberty 
 Character of Governor Bradford . . i 
 Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God 
 (extracts) . . . > 
 
 (1608-1758) : 
 
 John Smith . 
 William Strachey 
 The Bay Psalm Book 
 Michael Wigglesworth 
 Anne Bradstreet . 
 William Bradford 
 John Winthrop . 
 Cotton Mather 
 
 Jonathan Edwards 
 
 From Franklin to Irving (1758-1809) 
 
 " Silence Dogood" on Drunkenness 
 Growth of Ill-humor in America . 
 Britain s Dealings with her Colonies Imitated 
 The Whistle . 
 
 Benjamin Franklin 
 
 Liberty or Death . . ... 
 
 On the Writs of Assistance (extract) . 
 " Times that Try Men s Souls " .. 
 First Inaugural (extract) 
 Summary View of the Rights of British 
 
 America (extract) . 
 The Union as a Safeguard . 
 An Anti-Slavery Mission 
 The Battle of the Kegs . 
 Paul Jones ...... 
 
 The Riflemen s Song at Bennington . 
 Columbia . . . .* . 
 
 McFingal s Sentence .... 
 
 Me FingaPs Flight . . 
 Washington to His Troops . 
 Song: " For Chloris " . 
 
 ToCelia 
 
 The Prince of Parthia (Act V, scene I) 
 
 v 
 
 Patrick Henry 
 James Otis . 
 Thomas Paine 
 George Washington 
 
 Thomas Jefferson 
 Alexander Hamilton 
 John Woolman . 
 Francis Hopkinson 
 Anonymous . 
 Anonymous . 
 Timothy Dwight . 
 John Trumbull . 
 
 Joel Barlow 
 Thomas Godfrey , 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 9 
 
 9 
 
 12 
 
 15 
 
 17 
 
 19 
 
 21 
 
 24 
 27 
 31 
 34 
 36 
 38 
 40 
 42 
 
 44 
 
 46 
 49 
 53 
 56 
 57 
 58 
 59 
 60 
 61 
 63 
 63 
 64 
 
VI 
 
 READINGS 
 
 A Mysterious Voice . . 
 
 A Political Litany . - . / < 
 
 Eutaw Springs . . "". . 
 
 The Wild Honey Suckle 
 
 Death Song of a Cherokee Indian 
 
 May to April . . . H 
 
 Charles Brockden Brown 
 Philip Freneau . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 66 
 
 68 
 69 
 70 
 71 
 
 72 
 
 From Irving to the Close of the War (1809-1865) : 
 
 Character of Peter Stuyvesant 
 
 The Devil and Tom Walker 
 
 Thanatopsis . . . . . 
 
 To a Waterfowl .... 
 
 A Forest Hymn .... 
 
 The Death of the Flowers . 
 
 To the Fringed Gentian 
 
 The Gladness of Nature 
 
 Robert of Lincoln 
 
 The Hurricane . . 
 
 The Fight of the Ariel and the 
 Alacrity . 
 
 On the Death of Joseph Rodman 
 Drake . . . . . 
 
 Marco Bozzaris . 
 
 The American Flag . v. 
 
 The Real Character of the Union 
 
 The Language of Calhoun s Reso 
 lutions ..... 
 
 " Showing His Hand " 
 
 Speech on Leaving Springfield in 
 1861 
 
 Shortest Speech , 
 
 First Inaugural (extract) 
 
 Gettysburg Address 
 
 Letter to Mrs. Bixby . 
 
 A Cry to Arms .... 
 
 Ode at Magnolia Cemetery . 
 
 Flower-life ..... 
 
 Why Silent 
 
 Washington Irving 
 William Cullen Bryant 
 
 James Fenimore Cooper 
 Fitz-Greene Halleck . 
 
 Joseph Rodman Drake 
 John Caldwell Calhoun 
 
 Daniel Webster . 
 Abraham Lincoln 
 
 Henry Timrod 
 
 72 
 75 
 90 
 92 
 93 
 97 
 
 99 
 101 
 
 103 
 
 112 
 112 
 116 
 118 
 
 120 
 
 125 
 
 126 
 127 
 127 
 127 
 128 
 129 
 130 
 131 
 132 
 
READINGS vii 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Beauregard s Appeal . . Paul Hamilton Hayne . . 133 
 
 Forgotten 134 
 
 The Axe and the Pine . 136 
 
 Aspects of the Pines 136 
 
 Poets 137 
 
 To Helen .... Edgar Allan Foe . . . 137 
 
 Israfel , - .138 
 
 The Haunted Palace . . . .140 
 
 The Raven 141 
 
 Ulalume . . . .145 
 
 Annabel Lee . . . 147 
 
 Morella 149 
 
 The Short-story 155 
 
 The Maypole of Merry Mount Nathaniel Hawthorne . . . 169 
 
 Browne s Wooden Image 172 
 
 Tour of William the Silent . John Lothrop Motley . . . 187 
 
 The Rhodora . . . Ralph Waldo Emersop . . 191 
 
 The Apology 192 
 
 Concord Hymn .... . . . . . . 192 
 
 The Humble-Bee . . , . .193 
 
 Terminus . 195 
 
 The Nature of Government 
 
 (from Politics) . 196 
 
 The Coming of the Birds 
 
 (from Spring} . . Henry David Thoreau . . 200 
 
 Maimed Nature (from Spring) ........ 202 
 
 From the Close of the War to the Deaths of Whitman and 
 
 Whittier (1865-1892) : 
 
 The Beleaguered City . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 204 
 
 The Building of the Ship 205 
 
 Hiawatha s Wooing 216 
 
 The Birds of Killingworth 224 
 
 The Hanging of the Crane ........ 231 
 
 The Cross of Snow 237 
 
 My Love .... James Russell Lowell . . . 238 
 
 Stanzas on Freedom 239 
 
 Commemoration Ode (extracts) 240 
 
 Under the Old Elm (extracts) 248 
 
Vlll 
 
 READINGS 
 
 Emerson and His Audience (from 
 Emerson tfie Lecturer) . 
 
 White s "Selborne" (from My 
 Garden Acquaintance) . 
 
 The True Nature of Democracy 
 (from Democracy) 
 
 My Springs . . . 
 
 Song of the Chattahooch ee . % , 
 
 The New South . . 
 
 Advantages of Not Traveling 
 (from Prue and I) 
 
 Evils of Party Spirit (from The 
 Public Duty of Educated Men) 
 
 To William Lloyd Garrison . 
 
 Proem . . . 
 
 Ichabod 
 
 Skipper Ireson s Ride . 
 
 My Playmate .... 
 
 Laus Deo 
 
 In School-Days .... 
 
 The Lost Occasior 
 
 A Child s Question . . 
 
 Mannahatta . . ; . . % 
 
 O Captain ! my Captain.! 
 
 When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard 
 Bloomed (extracts) 
 
 Come, said my Soul 
 
 The Height of the Ridiculous 
 
 The Last Leaf . . . . 
 
 The Chambered Nautilus 
 
 The Deacon s Masterpiece . 
 
 Parson Turell s Legacy 
 
 All Here 
 
 The Broomstick Train . 
 
 The Episode of the Pie (from The 
 Autocrat) .... 
 
 My Last Walk with the School 
 mistress (from The Autocrat) 
 
 NOTES . . . . 
 
 Sidney Lanier . . 
 Henry Woodfin Grady 
 George William Curtis 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier 
 
 Walt Whitman 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes 
 
 PAGE 
 
 252 
 
 258 
 
 263 
 269 
 271 
 
 272 
 
 282 
 
 286 
 291 
 292 
 293 
 295 
 298 
 300 
 302 
 303 
 306 
 307 
 308 
 
 309 
 315 
 315 
 316 
 318 
 319 
 322 
 327 
 329 
 
 333 
 
 335 
 
 339 
 
READINGS IN AMERICAN 
 LITERATURE 
 
 JOHN SMITH 
 
 Adventure with Opechancanough 
 (From A True Relation) 
 
 Having 2 Indians for my guide and 2 of our own com 
 pany, I set forward, leaving 7 in the barge : Having dis 
 covered 20 miles further in this desart, the river stil kept 
 his depth and bredth, but much more combred with trees : 
 Here we went ashore (being some 12 miles higher then the 5 
 barge had bene) to refresh our selves, during the boyling 
 of our vituals : One of the Indians I tooke with me, to see 
 the nature of the soile, and to crosse the boughts of the 
 river : the other Indian I left with Maister Robbinson and 
 Thomas Emry, with their matches light, and order to dis- 10 
 charge 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 15 
 hand in a garter, with my pistoll ready bent 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 2 Indians drawing their bowes, which 1 20 
 prevented in discharging a french pistoll : By that I had 
 charged againe, 3 or 4 more did the like : for the first fell 
 downe and fled : At my discharge, they did the like. My 
 
 1 
 
2 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 hinde I made my barricade, who offered not to strive. 20. 
 
 25 or 30. arrowes were shot at me but short. 3 or 4 times I had 
 discharged my pistoll ere the king of Pamaunck called 
 Opeckankenough with 200 men, invironed me, cache drawing 
 their bowe : which done they laid them upon the ground, 
 yet without shot : My hinde treated betwixt them and me 
 
 30 of conditions of peace ; he discovered me to be the Captaine : 
 my request was to retire to the boate : they demanded my 
 armes, the rest they saide were slaine, onely me they would 
 reserve: The Indian importuned me not to shoot. In re 
 tiring being in the midst of a low quagmire, and minding 
 
 35 them more then my steps, I stept fast into the quagmire, 
 and also the Indian in drawing me forth : 
 
 Thus surprised, I resolved to trie their mercies : my 
 armes I caste from me, till which none durst approch me. 
 Being ceazed on me, they drew me out and led me to the 
 
 40 King. I presented him with a compasse diall, describing 
 by my best meanes the use therof : 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. With kinde speeches and bread he 
 
 45 requited me, conducting me where the Canow lay and John 
 Robbinson slaine, with 20 or 30. 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 
 
 50 they used me with what kindnes they could: Approaching 
 their Towne, which was within 6 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, 
 
 55 the King well guarded with 20 bowmen 5 flanck and rear, 
 and each flanck before him a sword and a peece, and after 
 him the like, then a bowman, then I on each hand a bowe- 
 
JOHN SMITH 3 
 
 man, the rest in file in the reare, which reare led foorth 
 amongst the trees in a bishion, cache his bowe and a hand- 
 full of arrowes, a quiver at his back grimly painted : on 60 
 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 65 
 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 3. women 
 presented me three great platters of fine bread, more venison 
 then ten men could devour I had : my gowne, points and 70 
 garters, my compas and my tablet they gave me again. 
 Though 8 ordinarily guarded me, I wanted not what they 
 could devise to content me : and still our longer acquaint 
 ance increased our better affection : 
 
 Much they threatned to assault our forte, as they were 75 
 solicited by the King of Paspahegh: who shewed at our 
 fort great signes of sorrow for this mischance. The King 
 tooke great delight in understanding the manner of our 
 ships, and sayling the seas, the earth and skies, and of our 
 God : what he knew of the dominions he spared not to ac- 80 
 quaint me with, as of certaine men cloathed at a place 
 called Ocanahonan, cloathed like me : the course of our 
 river, and that within 4 or 5 daies journey of the falles, 
 was a great turning of salt water : I desired he would send 
 a messenger to Paspahegh, with a letter I would write, by 85 
 which they shold understand how kindly they used me, and 
 that I was well, least they should revenge my death. This 
 he granted and sent three men, in such weather as in reason 
 were unpossible by any naked to be indured. Their cruell 
 mindes towards the fort I had deverted, in describing the 90 
 ordinance and the mines in the fields, as also the revenge 
 
4 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Captain Newport would take of them at his returne. Then 
 intent, I incerted the fort, the people of Ocanahonum and 
 the back sea : this report they after found divers Indians 
 
 95 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 intercepted, with a bowe and arrow he offred to have 
 effected his purpose : the cause I knew not, till the King 
 
 100 understanding thereof came and told me of a man a dying, 
 wounded with my pistoll : he tould me also of another I 
 had slayne, yet the most concealed they had any hurte : 
 This was the father of him I had slayne, whose fury to pre 
 vent, the King presently conducted me to another King- 
 
 105 dome, upon the top of the next northerly river, called 
 Youghtanan. Having feasted me, he further led me to 
 another branch of the river, called Mattapament; to two 
 other hunting townes they led me : and to each of these 
 Countries, a house of the great Emperour of Pewhakan, 
 
 110 whom as yet I supposed to bee at the Fals; to him I tolde 
 him I must goe, and so returne to Paspahegh. After this 
 foure or five dayes marsh, we returned to Rasa wrack, the 
 first towne they brought me too : where binding the Mats 
 in bundels, they marched two dayes journey, and crossed 
 
 115 the River of Youghtanan, where it was as broad as Thames : 
 so conducting me to a place called Menapacute in Pamaunke, 
 where the King inhabited. 
 
 WILLIAM STRACHEY 
 Account of a Tempest 
 (From A True Repertory ) 
 
 When on S. James his day, July 24. being Monday (pre 
 paring for no lesse all the blacke night before) the cloudes 
 gathering thicke upon us, and the windes singing, and 
 
WILLIAM STRACHEY 5 
 
 whistling most unusually, which made us to cast off our 
 Pinnace, towing the saine untill then asterne, a dreadfull 5 
 storme and hideous began to blow from out the North-east, 
 which swelling, and roaring as it were by fits, some houres 
 with more violence then others, at length did beate all light 
 from heaven ; which like an hell of darkuesse turned blacke 
 upon us, so much the more fuller of horror, as in such cases 10 
 horror and feare use to overrunne the troubled, and over 
 mastered sences of all, which (taken up with amazement) 
 the eares lay so sensible to the terrible cries, and murmurs 
 of the windes, and distraction of our Company, as who was 
 most armed, and best prepared, was not a little shaken. 15 
 
 ###=*=*# 
 For foure and twenty houres the storme in a restlesse 
 tumult, had blowne so exceedingly, as we could not appre 
 hend in our imaginations any possibility of greater violence, 
 yet did wee still finde it, not onely more terrible, but more 
 constant, fury added to fury, and one storme urging a second 20 
 more outragious then the former; whether it so wrought 
 upon our feares, or indeede met with new forces : Some 
 times strikes in our Ship amongst women, and passengers, 
 not used to such hurly and discomforts, made us looke one 
 upon the other with troubled hearts, and panting bosomes : 25 
 our clamours dround in the windes, and the windes in thun 
 der. * * * Our sailes wound up lay without their use, 
 and if at any time wee bore but a Hollocke, or halfe fore- 
 course, to guide her before the Sea, six and sometimes eight 
 men were not inough to hold the whipstaffe in the steerage, 30 
 and the tiller below in the Gunner roome, by which may be 
 imagined the strength of the storme : In which, the Sea 
 swelled above the Clouds, and gave battell unto Heaven. It 
 could not be said to raine, the waters like whole Rivers did 
 flood in the ay re. And this I did still observe, that wheras 35 
 upon the Land, when a storme hath powred it selfe forth 
 
6 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 once in drifts of raine, the winde as beaten downe, and van 
 quished therewith, not long after indureth : here the glut of 
 water (as if throatling the winde ere while) was no sooner a 
 
 40 little emptied and qualified, but instantly the windes (as 
 having gotten their mouthes now free, and at liberty) spake 
 more loud, and grew more tumultuous, and malignant. 
 
 ****** 
 Howbeit this was not all; It pleased God to bring a 
 greater affliction yet upon us; for in the beginning of the 
 
 45 storme we had received likewise a mighty leake. And the 
 Ship in every joynt almost, having spued out her Oakam, 
 before we were aware (a casualty more desperate then any 
 other that a Voyage by Sea draweth with it) was growne five 
 foote suddenly deepe with water above her ballast, and we 
 
 50 almost drowned within, whilst we sat looking when to perish 
 from above. This imparting no lesse terrour then danger, 
 ranne through the whole Ship with much fright and amaze 
 ment, startled and turned the bloud, "and tooke downe the 
 braves of the most hardy Marriner of them all, insomuch as 
 
 55 he that before happily felt not the sorrow of others, now 
 began to sorrow for himselfe, when he saw such a pond of 
 water so suddenly broken in, and which he knew could not 
 (without present avoiding) but instantly sinke him. So as 
 joyning (onely for his owne sake, not yet worth the saving) 
 
 60 in the publique safety ; there might be seene Master, Mas 
 ters Mate, Boateswaine, Quarter Master, Coopers, Carpenters, 
 and who not, with candels in their hands, creeping along the 
 ribs viewing the sides, searching every corner, and listening 
 in every place, if they could heare the water runne. Many 
 
 65 a weeping leake was this way found, arid hastily stopt, and at 
 length one in the Gunner roome made up with I know hot 
 how many peeces of Beefe: but all was to no purpose, the 
 Leake (if it were but one) which drunk e in our greatest Seas, 
 and tooke in our destruction fastest, could not then be found, 
 
WILLIAM STRACHEY 7 
 
 nor ever was, by any labour, counsell, or search. The waters 70 
 still increasing, and the Pumpes going, which at length 
 choaked with bringing up whole and continuall Bisket (and 
 indeede all we had, tenne thousand weight) it was conceived, 
 as most likely, that the Leake might be sprung in the Bread- 
 roome, whereupon the Carpenter went downe, and ript up all 75 
 the roome, but could not finde it so. 
 
 * ***** 
 
 Our Governour, upon the tuesday morning (at what time, by 
 such who had bin below in the hold, the Leake was first dis 
 covered) had caused the whole Company, about one hundred 
 and forty, besides women, to be equally divided into three 80 
 parts, and opening the Ship in three places (under the fore 
 castle, in the waste, and hard by the Bitacke) appointed 
 each man where to attend ; and thereunto every man came 
 duely upon his watch, tooke the Bucket, or Pumpe for one 
 houre, and rested another. Then men might be seene to 85 
 labour, I may well say, for life, and the better sort, even 
 our Governour, and Admirall themselves, not refusing their 
 turne, and to spell each the other, to give example to other. 
 The common sort stripped naked, as men in Gallies, the 
 easier both to hold out, and to shrinke from under the salt 90 
 water, which continually leapt in among them, kept their 
 eyes waking, and their thoughts and hands working, with 
 tyred bodies, and wasted spirits, three dayes and foure 
 nights destitute of outward comfort, and desperate of any 
 deliverance, testifying how mutually willing they were, yet 95 
 by labour to keepe each other from drowning, albeit each 
 one drowned whilest he laboured. 
 
 Once, so huge a Sea brake upon the poope and quarter 
 upon us, as it covered our Shippe from stearne to stemme, 
 like a garment or a vast cloude, it filled her brim me full 100 
 for a while within, from the hatches up to the sparre decke. 
 This source or confluence of water was so violent, as it rusht 
 
8 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 and carried the Helm-man from the Helme, and wrested the 
 Whip-staffe out of his hand, which so flew from side to side, 
 
 105 that when he would have ceased the same againe, it so 
 tossed him from Star-boord to Lar-boord, as it was Gods 
 mercy it had not split him : It so beat him from his hold, 
 and so bruised him, as a fresh man hazarding in by chance 
 fell faire with it, and by maine strength bearing somewhat 
 
 110 up, made good his place, and with much clamour incouraged 
 and called upon others ; who gave her now up, rent in pieces 
 and absolutely lost. Our Governour was at this time below 
 at the Capstone, both by his speech and authoritie hearten 
 ing every man unto his labour. It strooke him from the 
 
 115 place where hee sate, and groveled him, and all us about 
 him on our faces, beating together with our breaths all 
 thoughts from our bosomes, else, then that wee were now 
 sinking. * * * It so stun d the ship in her full pace, 
 that shee stirred no more, then if shee had beene caught in 
 
 120 a net, or then, as if the fabulous Remora had stucke to her 
 fore-castle. Yet without bearing one inch of saile, even 
 then shee was making her way nine or ten leagues in a 
 watch. One thing, it is not without his wonder (whether 
 it were the feare of death in so great a storme, or that it 
 
 125 pleased God to be gracious unto us) there was not a passen 
 ger, gentleman, or other, after hee beganne to stirre and 
 labour, but was able to relieve his fellow, and make good 
 his course : And it is most true, such as in all their life 
 times had never done houres worke before (their mindes now 
 
 130 helping their bodies) were able twice fortie eight houres to 
 gether to toile with the best. 
 
MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH 9 
 
 BAY PSALM BOOK 
 23 A Psalme of David 
 
 The Lord to mee a shepheard is, 
 want therefore shall not I. 
 
 2 Hee in the folds of tender-grasse, 
 
 doth cause mee downe to lie : 
 To waters calme me gently leads 5 
 
 3 Restore my soule doth hee : 
 he doth in paths of righteousnes 
 
 for his names sake leade mee. 
 
 4 Yea though in valley of deaths shade 
 
 I walk, none ill I le feare : 10 
 
 because thou art with mee, thy rod, 
 and staff e my comfort are. 
 
 5 For mee a table thou hast spread, 
 
 in presence of my foes : 
 
 thou dost annoynt my head with oyle, 15 
 
 my cup it over-flowes. 
 
 6 Goodnes & mercy surely shall 
 
 all my dayes follow mee : 
 and in the Lords house I shall dwell 
 
 so long as dayes shall bee. 20 
 
 MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH 
 
 The Judgment of Infants 
 
 (From The Day of Doom) 
 
 CLXVI 
 
 Then to the Bar all they drew near 
 
 Who died in infancy, 
 And never had or good or bad 
 
 effected pers nally; 
 But from the womb unto the tomb 6 
 
 were straightway carried, 
 (Or at the least ere they transgress d) 
 
 Who thus began to plead : 
 
10 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 CLXVII 
 
 " If for our own transgressi-on, 
 10 or disobedience, 
 
 We here did stand at thy left hand, 
 
 just were the Recompense ; 
 But Adam s guilt our souls hath spilt, 
 
 his fault is charg d upon us ; 
 
 15 And that alone hath overthrown 
 
 and utterly undone us. 
 
 CLXVIII 
 
 "Not we, but he ate of the Tree, 
 
 Whose fruit was interdicted; 
 Yet on us all of his sad Fall 
 20 the punishment s inflicted. 
 
 How could we sin that had not been, 
 
 or how is his sin our, 
 Without consent, which to prevent 
 we never had the pow r? 
 
 CLXIX 
 
 25 " O great Creator why was our Nature 
 
 depraved and forlorn ? 
 Why so defil d, and made so vil d, 
 
 whilst we were yet unborn? 
 If it be just, and needs we must 
 30 transgressors reckon d be, 
 
 Thy Mercy, Lord, to us afford, 
 which sinners hath set free. 
 
 CLXX 
 
 " Behold we see Adam set free, 
 
 and sav d from his trespass, 
 
 35 Whose sinful Fall hath split us all, 
 
 and brought us to this pass. 
 
MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH 11 
 
 Canst thou deny us once to try, 
 
 or Grace to us to tender, 
 When he finds grace before thy face, 
 
 who was the chief offender?" 40 
 
 CLXXI 
 
 Then answered the Judge most dread : 
 
 " God doth such doom forbid, 
 That men should die eternally 
 
 for what they never did. 
 But what you call old Adam s Fall, 45 
 
 and only his Trespass, 
 You call arniss to call it his, 
 
 both his and yours it was. 
 
 CLXXII 
 
 " He was design d of all Mankind 
 
 to be a public Head ; 50 
 
 A common Root, whence all should shoot, 
 
 and stood in all their stead. 
 He stood and fell, did ill or well, 
 
 not for himself alone, 
 But for you all, who now his Fall 55 
 
 and trespass would disown. 
 
 CLXXX 
 
 " You sinners are, and such a share 
 
 as sinners, may expect ; 
 Such you shall have, for I do save 
 
 none but mine own Elect. 
 Yet to compare your sin with their 
 
 who liv d a longer time, 
 I do confess yours is much less, 
 
 though every sin s a crime. 
 
12 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 CLXXXI 
 
 65 " A crime it is, therefore in bliss 
 
 you may not hope to dwell; 
 But unto you I shall allow 
 
 the easiest room in Hell." 
 The glorious King thus answering, 
 
 they cease, and plead no longer; 
 Their Consciences must needs confess 
 
 his Reasons are the stronger. 
 
 ANNE BRADSTREET 
 
 The Glories of Nature 
 
 (From Contemplations) 
 
 Some time now past in the Autumnal Tide, 
 When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed, 
 The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride, 
 Where gilded o re by his rich golden head. 
 5 Their leaves & fruits seem d painted, but was true 
 Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew, 
 Rapt were my sences at this delectable view. 
 
 I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I, 
 If so much excellence abide below ; 
 10 How excellent is he that dwells on high ? 
 
 Whose power arid beauty by his works we know. 
 
 Sure he is goodness, wisdome, glory, light, 
 
 That hath this under world so richly dight: 
 
 More Heaven then Earth was here no winter & no night. 
 
 15 Then on a stately Oak I cast mine Eye, 
 
 Whose ruffling top the Clouds seem d to aspire; 
 How long since thou wast in thine Infancy? 
 Thy strength, and stature, more thy years admire, 
 
ANNE BRADSTREET 13 
 
 Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born ? 
 
 Or thousand since thou brakest thy shell of horn, 20 
 
 If so, all these as nought, Eternity doth scorn. 
 
 Then higher on the glistering Sun I gaz d, 
 
 Whose beams was shaded by the leavie Tree, 
 
 The more I look d, the more I grew amaz d, 
 
 And softly said, what glory s like to thee ? 25 
 
 Soul of this world, this Universes Eye, 
 
 No wonder, some made thee a Deity : 
 
 Had I not better known, (alas) the same had I. 
 
 Thou as a Bridegroom from thy Chamber rushes, 
 
 And as a strong man, joyes to run a race, 30 
 
 The morn doth usher thee, with smiles & blushes, 
 
 The Earth reflects her glances in thy face. 
 
 Birds, insects, Animals with Vegative, 
 
 Thy heart from death and dulness doth revive : 
 
 And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive. 35 
 
 Thy swift Annual, and diurnal Course, 
 
 Thy daily streight, and yearly oblique path, 
 
 Thy pleasing fervor, and thy scorching force, 
 
 All mortals here the feeling knowledg hath. 
 
 Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night, 40 
 
 Quaternal Season caused by thy might : 
 
 Hail Creature, full of sweetness, beauty & delight. 
 
 Art thou so full of glory, that no Eye 
 
 Hath strength, thy shining Rayes once to behold r 
 
 And is thy splendid Throne erect so high ? 45 
 
 As to approach it, can no earthly mould. 
 
14 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 How full of glory then must thy Creator be ? 
 Who gave this bright light luster unto thee : 
 Admir d, ador d for ever, be that Majesty. 
 
 8 
 
 50 Silent alone, where none or saw, or heard, 
 In pathless paths I lead my wandring feet, 
 My humble Eyes to lofty Skyes I rear d 
 To sing some Song, my mazed Muse thought meet 
 My great Creator I would magnifie, 
 
 55 That nature had, thus decked liberally : 
 But Ah, and Ah, again, my imbecility! 
 
 9 
 
 I heard the merry grashopper then sing, 
 The black clad Cricket, bear a second part, 
 They kept one tune, and plaid on the same string, 
 60 Seeming to glory in their little Art. 
 
 Shall Creatures abject, thus their voices raise ? 
 And in their kind resound their makers praise : 
 Whilst I as mute, can warble forth no higher layes. 
 
 26 
 
 While musing thus with contemplation fed, 
 G5 And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain, 
 
 The sweet-tongu d Philomel percht ore my head, 
 And chanted forth a most melodious strain 
 Which rapt me so with wonder and delight, 
 I judg d my hearing better then my sight, 
 70 And wisht me wings with her a while to take my flight. 
 
 27 
 
 O merry Bird (said I) that fears no snares, 
 That neither toyles nor hoards up in thy barn, 
 Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares 
 To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm 
 
WILLIAM BRADFORD 15 
 
 Thy cloaths ne re wear, thy meat is every where, 75 
 
 Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water cleer, 
 
 Reminds not what is past, nor whats to come dost fear. 
 
 28 
 
 The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, 
 
 Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, 
 
 So each one tunes his pretty instrument, 80 
 
 And warbling out the old, begin anew, 
 
 And thus they pass their youth in summer season, 
 
 Then follow thee into a better Region, 
 
 Where winter s never felt by that sweet airy legion. 
 
 WILLIAM BRADFORD 
 
 Life at Merry Mount 
 
 (From History of Plymouth Plantation) 
 
 Aboute some 3. or 4. years before this time, ther came 
 over one Captaine Wolastone, (a man of pretie parts,) and 
 with him 3. or 4. more of some eminencie, who brought 
 with them a great many servants, with provissions & other 
 irnplments for to begine a plantation ; and pitched them 5 
 selves in a place within the Massachusets, which they called, 
 after their Captains name, Mount-Wollaston. Amongst 
 whom was one Mr. Morton, who, it should seeme, had some 
 small adventure (of his owne or other mens) amongst them ; 
 but had litle respecte amongst them and was sleghted by 10 
 the meanest servants. Haveing continued ther some time, 
 and not finding things to answer their expectations, nor 
 profite to arise as they looked for, Captaine Wollaston 
 takes a great part of the sarvents, and transports them 
 to Virginia, wher he puts them of at good rates, selling 15 
 their time to other men ; and writs back to one Mr. Rass- 
 dall, one of his cheefe partners, and accounted their mar- 
 
16 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 chant, to bring another parte of them to Verginia likewise, 
 intending to put them of there as he had done the rest. 
 
 20 And he, with the consente of the said Rasdall, ap- 
 poynted one Fitcher to be his Livetenante, and governe the 
 remaines of the plantation, till he or Rasdall returned to 
 take further order theraboute. But this Morton abovesaid, 
 haveing more craft than honestie, (who had been a kind of 
 
 25 petiefogger, of Furnefells Inne,) in the others absence, 
 watches an oppertunitie, (commons being but hard amongst 
 them,) and gott some strong drinck and other junkats, & 
 made them a feast ; and after they were merie, he begane to 
 tell them, he would give them good coimsell. You see 
 
 30 (saith he) that many of your fellows are carried to Virginia; 
 and if you stay till this Rasdall returne, you will also be 
 carried away and sould for slaves with the rest. Therfore 
 I would advise you to thrust out this Levetenant Fitcher ; 
 and I, having a parte in the plantation, will receive you as 
 
 35 my partners and consociats ; so may you be free from ser 
 vice, and we will converse, trad, plante, & live togeather as 
 equalls, & supporte & protecte one another, or to like effecte. 
 This counsell was easily received; so they tooke opper 
 tunitie, and thrust Levetenante Fitcher out a dores, and 
 
 40 would suffer him to come no more amongst them, but forct 
 him to seeke bread to eate, and other releefe from his 
 neigbours, till he could gett passages for England. After 
 this they fell to great licenciousness, and led a dissolute 
 life, powering out them selves into all profanenes. And 
 
 45 Morton became lord of misrule, and maintained (as it were) 
 a schoole of Athisme. And after they had gott some good 
 into their hands, and gott much by trading with the Indeans, 
 they spent it as vainly, in quaffing & and drinking both 
 wine & strong waters in great exsess, and, as some reported 
 
 60lO. worth in a morning. They allso set up a May-pole, 
 drinking and dancing aboute it many days togeather, invit- 
 
JOHN WINTHROP 17 
 
 ing the Indean women, for their consorts, dancing and 
 frisking togither, (like so many fairies, or furies rather,) 
 and worse practises. As if they had anew revived & cele 
 brated the feasts of the Roman Goddes Flora, or the beasly 55 
 practieses of the madd Bacchinalians. Morton likwise (to 
 shew his poetrie) composed sundry rimes & verses, some 
 tending to lasciviousries, and others to the detraction & 
 scandall of some persons, which he affixed to this idle or 
 idoll May-polle. They chainged allso the name of their 60 
 place, and in stead of calling it Mounte Wollaston, they call 
 it Merie-mounte, as if this joylity would have lasted ever. 
 But this continued not long, for after Morton was sent for 
 England, (as follows to be declared,) shortly after came over 
 that worthy gentlman, Mr. John Indecott, who brought 65 
 over a patent under the broad seall, for the governmente of 
 the Massachusets, who visiting those parts caused that 
 May-polle to be cutt downe, and rebuked them for their 
 profannes, and admonished them to looke ther should be 
 better walking ; so they now, or others, changed the name 70 
 of their place againe, and called it Mounte-Dagon. 
 
 JOHN WINTHROP 
 The "Little Speech" on Liberty 
 (From The History of New England) 
 
 There is a twofold liberty, natural (I mean as our nature 
 is now corrupt) and civil or federal. The first is common 
 to man with beasts and other creatures. By this, man, as 
 he stands in relation to man simply, hath liberty to do 
 what he lists ; it is a liberty to evil as well as to good. 5 
 This liberty is incompatible and inconsistent with authority, 
 and cannot endure the least restraint of the most just 
 authority. The exercise and maintaining of this liberty 
 
18 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 makes men grow more evil, and in time to be worse than 
 
 10 brute beasts: omnes sumus licentia deteriores. This is 
 that great enemy of truth and peace, that wild beast, which 
 all the ordinances of God are bent against, to restrain and 
 subdue it. The other kind of liberty I call civil or federal, 
 it may also be termed moral, in reference to the covenant 
 
 15 between God and man, in the moral law, and the politic 
 covenants and constitutions, amongst men themselves. This 
 liberty is the proper end and object of authority, and can 
 not subsist without it; and it is a liberty to that only 
 which is good, just, and honest. This liberty you are to 
 
 20 stand for, with the hazard (not only of your goods, but) of 
 your lives, if need be. Whatsoever crosseth this, is not 
 authority, but a distemper thereof. This liberty is main 
 tained and exercised in a way of subjection to authority ; 
 it is of the same kind of liberty wherewith Christ hath 
 
 25 made us free. The woman s own choice makes such a man 
 her husband ; yet being so chosen, he is her lord, and she is 
 to be subject to him, yet in a way of liberty, not of bondage; 
 and a true wife accounts her subjection her honor and free 
 dom, and would not think her condition safe and free, but 
 
 30 in her subjection to her husband s authority. Such is the 
 liberty of the church under the authority of Christ, her 
 king and husband ; his yoke is so easy and sweet to her as 
 a bride s ornaments ; and if through frowardness or wanton 
 ness, etc., she shake it off, at any time, she is at no rest in 
 
 35 her spirit, until she take it up again ; and whether her lord 
 smiles upon her, and embraceth her in his arms, or whether 
 he frowns, or rebukes, or smites her, she apprehends the 
 sweetness of his love in all, and is refreshed, supported, 
 and instructed by every such dispensation of his authority 
 
 40 over her. On the other side, ye know who they are that 
 complain of this yoke and say, let us break their bands, etc., 
 we will not have this man to rule over us. Even so, breth- 
 
COTTON MATHER 19 
 
 ren, it will be between you and your magistrates. If you 
 stand for your natural corrupt liberties, and will do what is 
 good in your own eyes, you will not endure the least weight 45 
 of authority, but will murmur, and oppose, and be always 
 striving to shake off that yoke ; but if you will be satisfied 
 to enjoy such civil and lawful liberties, such as Christ 
 allows you, then will you quietly and cheerfully submit 
 unto that authority which is set over you, in all the admin- 50 
 istrations of it, for your good. Wherein, if we fail at any 
 time, we hope we shall be willing (by God s assistance) to 
 hearken to good advice from any of yon, or in any other 
 way of God; so shall your liberties be preserved, in up 
 holding the honor and power of authority amongst you. 55 
 
 COTTON MATHER 
 
 Character of Governor Bradford 
 
 {From Magnalia) 
 
 The leader of a people in a wilderness had need to be a 
 Moses ; and if a Moses had not led the people of Plymouth 
 Colony, when this worthy person was their governour, the 
 people had never with so much unanimity and importunity 
 still called him to lead them. Among many instances 5 
 thereof, let this one piece of self-denial be told for a memo 
 rial of him, wheresoever this History shall be considered : 
 The Patent of the Colony was taken in his name, running 
 in these terms ; "To William Bradford, his heirs, associates, 
 and assigns." But when the number of the freemen was 10 
 much increased, and many new townships erected, the Gen 
 eral Court there desired of Mr. Bradford, that he would 
 make a surrender of the same into their hands, which he 
 willingly and presently assented unto, and confirmed it 
 according to their desire by his hand and seal, reserving no 15 
 
20 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 more for himself than was his proportion with others, by 
 agreement. But as he found the providence of Heaven 
 many ways recompensing his many acts of self-denial, so 
 he gave this testimony to the faithfulness of the divine 
 
 20 promises : " That he had forsaken friends, houses and lands 
 for the sake of the gospel, and the Lord gave them him 
 again." Here he prospered in his estate; and besides a 
 worthy son w.hich he had by a former wife, he had also two 
 sons and a daughter by another, whom he married in this 
 
 25 land. 
 
 He was a person for study as well as action ; and hence, 
 notwithstanding the difficulties through which he passed in 
 his youth, he attained unto a notable skill in languages : the 
 Dutch tongue was become almost as vernacular to him as 
 
 30 the English ; the French tongue he could also manage ; the 
 Latin and the Greek he had mastered ; but the Hebrew he 
 most of all studied, " Because," he said, " he would see with 
 his own eyes the ancient oracles of God in their native 
 beauty." He was also well skilled in History, and 
 
 35 Antiquity, and in Philosophy ; and for Theology he became 
 so versed in it, that he was an irrefragable disputant against 
 the errors, especially those of Anabaptism, which with 
 trouble he saw rising in his colony; wherefore he wrote 
 some significant things for the confutation of those errors. 
 
 40 But the crown of all was his holy, prayerful, watchful, and 
 fruitful walk with God, wherein he was very exemplary. 
 
 At length he fell into an indisposition of body, which 
 rendered him unhealthy for a whole winter; and as the 
 spring advanced, his health yet more declined ; yet he felt 
 
 45 himself not what he counted sick, till one day; in the 
 night after which, the God of heaven so filled his mind with 
 ineffable consolations, that he seemed little short of Paul, 
 rapt up into the unutterable entertainments of Paradise. 
 The next morning he told his friends, "That the good 
 
JONATHAN EDWARDS 21 
 
 Spirit of God had given him a pledge of his happiness 50 
 in another world, and the first fruits of his eternal glory ; " 
 and on the day following he died, May 9, 1657, in the 69th 
 year of his age lamented by all the colonies of New 
 England, as a common blessing and father to them all. 
 
 mihi si Similis Contingat Clausula Vitce ! 55 
 
 Plato s brief description of a governour, is all that I will 
 now leave as his character, in an EPITAPH. 
 
 No/xevs Tpoc^os dyeArys dv0p(07rii>i/s. 
 
 MEN are but FLOCKS : BRADFORD beheld their need, 
 And long did them at once both rule and feed. 60 
 
 JONATHAN EDWARDS 
 
 (From Sinners in the Hands of an Angry Go.d) 
 Deuteronomy xxxii. 35. "Their foot shall slide in due time." 
 
 ###=*:*# 
 
 The observation from the words that I would now insist 
 upon is this, 
 
 There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment 
 out of hell, but the mere pleasure of God. 
 
 By the mere pleasure of God, I mean his sovereign pleas- 5 
 ure, his arbitrary will, restrained by no obligation, hindered 
 by no manner of difficulty, any more than if nothing else 
 but God s mere will had in the least degree or in any respect 
 whatsoever any hand in the preservation of wicked men one 
 moment. 10 
 
 The truth of this observation may appear by the follow 
 ing considerations. 
 
 1. There is no want of power in God to cast wicked 
 men into hell at any moment. * * * 
 
 2. They deserve to be cast into hell; so that divine 15 
 
22 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 justice never stands in the way, it makes no objection 
 against God s using his power at any moment to destroy 
 them. * * * 
 
 3. They are already under a sentence of condemnation 
 20 to hell. * * * 
 
 4. They are now the subjects of that very same anger 
 and wrath of God, that is expressed in the torments of 
 hell. * * * 
 
 5. The devil stands ready to fall upon them, and seize 
 25 them as his own, at what moment God shall permit 
 
 him. * * * 
 
 6. There are in the souls of wicked men those hellish 
 principles reigning, that would presently kindle and flame 
 out into hell-fire, if it were not for God s restraints. * * * 
 
 30 7. It is no security to wicked men for one moment, that 
 there are no visible means of death at hand. * * * 
 
 8. Natural men s prudence and care to preserve their 
 own lives, or the care of others to preserve them, don t 
 secure em a moment. * * * 
 
 35 9. All wicked men s pains and contrivance they use to 
 escape hell, while they continue to reject Christ, and so re 
 main wicked men, don t secure em from hell one moment. 
 
 # # =* 
 
 10. God has laid himself under no obligation, by any 
 promise, to keep any natural man out of hell one moment. 
 
 * * * 
 
 40 So that thus it is, that natural men are held in the hand 
 of God over the pit of hell ; they have deserved the fiery 
 pit, and are already sentenced to it ; and God is dreadfully 
 provoked, his anger is as great towards them as to those 
 that are actually suffering the executions of the fierceness 
 
 45 of his wrath in hell, and they have done nothing in the least 
 to appease or abate that anger, neither is God in the least 
 bound by any promise to hold em up one moment ; the devil 
 
JONATHAN EDWARDS 23 
 
 is waiting for them, the flames gather and flash about them, 
 and would fain lay hold on them and swallow them up ; the 
 fire pent up in their own hearts is struggling to break out ; 50 
 and they have no interest in any Mediator, there are no 
 means within reach that can be any security to them. In 
 short they have no refuge, nothing to take hold of ; all that 
 preserves them every moment is the mere arbitrary will, 
 and uncovenanted, unobliged forbearance of an incensed 55 
 God. * * * 
 
 And let every one that is yet out of Christ and hanging 
 over the pit of hell, whether they be old men and women 
 or middle-aged or young people or little children, now 
 hearken to the loud calls of God s word and providence. 60 
 This acceptable year of the Lord that is a day of such great 
 favor to some will doubtless be a day of as remarkable ven 
 geance to others. Men s hearts harden and their guilt in 
 creases apace at such a day as this, if they neglect their 
 souls. And never was there so great danger of such persons 65 
 being given up to hardness of heart and blindness of mind. 
 God seems now to be hastily gathering his elect in all parts 
 of the land ; and probably the bigger part of adult persons 
 that ever shall be saved will be brought in now in a little 
 time, and that it will be as it was on that great outpouring 70 
 of the Spirit upon the Jews in the Apostles days, the elec 
 tion will obtain and the rest will be blinded. If this should 
 be the case with you, you will eternally curse this day, and 
 will curse the day that ever you was born to see such a sea 
 son of the pouring out of God s Spirit, and will wish that 75 
 you had died and gone to hell before you had seen it. Now 
 undoubtedly it is as it was in the days of John the Baptist, 
 the axe is in an extraordinary manner laid at the root of the 
 trees, that every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit may 
 be hewn down and cast into the fire. 80 
 
 Therefore let everyone that is out of Christ now awake 
 
24 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 and fly from the wrath to come. The wrath of Almighty 
 God is now undoubtedly hanging over a great part of this 
 congregation. Let every one fly out of Sodom. " Haste and 
 S5 escape for your lives, look not behind you, escape to the moun 
 tains, lest ye be consumed" 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 On Drunkenness 
 (Dogood Papers, No. 12) 
 Quod est in corde sobrii, est in ore ebrii. 
 To THE AUTHOR OF THE NEW-ENGLAND COURANT. 
 SIR, 
 
 IT is no unprofitable tho unpleasant Pursuit, diligently to 
 
 5 inspect and consider the Manners & Conversation of Men, 
 who insensible of the greatest Enjoyments of humane Life, 
 abandon themselves to Vice from a false Notion of Pleasure 
 and good Fellowship. A true and natural Representation of 
 any Enormity, is often the best Argument against it and 
 
 10 Means of removing it, when the most severe Reprehensions 
 alone, are found ineffectual. 
 
 I WOULD in this Letter improve the little Observation I 
 have made on the Vice of Drunkenness, the better to reclaim 
 the good Fellows who usually pay the Devotions of the 
 
 15 Evening to Bacchus. 
 
 I DOUBT not but moderate Drinking has been improv d 
 for the Diffusion of Knowledge among the ingenious Part of 
 Mankind, who want the Talent of a ready Utterance, in 
 order to discover the Conceptions of their Minds in an enter- 
 
 20taining and intelligible Manner. Tis true, drinking does 
 not improve our Faculties, but it enables us to use them ; 
 and therefore I conclude, that much Study and experience, 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 25 
 
 and a little Liquor, are of absolute Necessity for some Tem 
 pers, in order to make them accomplished orators. Die. Ponder 
 discovers an excellent Judgment when he is inspir d with a 25 
 glass or two of Claret, but he passes for a Fool among those 
 of small Observation, who never saw him the better for 
 Drink. And here it will not be improper to observe, That 
 the moderate Use of Liquor, and a well placed and well reg 
 ulated Anger, often produce this same Effect ; and some who 30 
 cannot ordinarily talk but in broken Sentences and false 
 Grammar, do in the Heat of Passion express themselves 
 with as much Eloquence as Warmth. Hence it is that my 
 own Sex are generally the most eloquent, because the most 
 passionate. " It has been said in the Praise of some Men," 35 
 (says an ingenious Author,) " that they could talk whole 
 Hours together upon any thing; but it must be owned to 
 the Honour of the other Sex, that there are many among 
 them who can talk whole Hours together upon Nothing. I 
 have known a Woman branch out into a long extempore Dis- 40 
 sertation on the Edging of a Petticoat, and chide her Servant 
 for breaking a China Cup, in all the Figures of Rhetorick." 
 
 BUT after all it must be consider d, that no Pleasure can 
 give Satisfaction or prove advantageous to a reasonable Mind, 
 which is not attended with the Restraints of Reason. Enjoy- 45 
 merit is not to be found by Excess in any sensual Gratifica 
 tion ; but on the contrary, the immoderate Cravings of the 
 Voluptuary, are always succeeded with Loathing and a 
 palled Appetite. What Pleasure can the Drunkard have 
 in the Reflection, that while in his Cups, he retain d only 50 
 the Shape of a Man, and acted the Part of a Beast ; or that 
 from reasonable Discourse a few Minutes before, he descended 
 to Impertinence and Nonsense ? 
 
 I CANNOT pretend to account for the different Effects of 
 Liquor on Persons of different Dispositions, who are guilty 55 
 of Excess in the Use of it. Tis strange to see Men of a 
 
26 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 regular Conversation become rakish and profane when intoxi 
 cated with Drink, and yet more surprizing to observe, that 
 some who appear to be the most profligate Wretches when 
 
 60 sober, become mighty religious in their Cups, and will then, 
 and at no other Time address their Maker, but when they 
 are destitute of Reason, and actually affronting him. Some 
 shrink in the Wetting, and others swell to such an unusual 
 Bulk in their Imaginations, that they can in an Instant 
 
 65 understand all Arts and Sciences, by the liberal Education 
 of a little vivyfying Punch, or a sufficient Quantity of other 
 exhilerating Liquor. 
 
 AND as the Effects of Liquor are various, so are the Char 
 acters given to its Devourers. It argues some Shame in the 
 
 70 Drunkards themselves, in that they have invented numberless 
 Words and Phrases to cover their Folly, whose proper Signi 
 fications are harmless, or have no Signification at all. They 
 are seldom known to be drunk, tho they are very often boozey, 
 cogey, tipsey,fox d, merry, mellow, fuddVd, groatable, Confound- 
 
 75 edly cut, See two Moons, are Among the Philistines, In a very 
 good Humour, See the Sun, or, The Sun has shone upon them ; 
 they Clip the King s English, are Almost froze, Feavourish, In 
 their Altitudes, Pretty well enter d, &c. In short, every Day 
 produces some new Word or Phrase which might be added 
 
 80 to the Vocabulary of the Tiplers: But I have chose to 
 mention these few, because if at any Time a Man of Sobriety 
 and Temperance happens to cut himself confoundedly, or is 
 almost froze, or feavourish, or accidently sees the Sun, &c. he 
 may escape the Imputation of being drunk, when his Mis- 
 
 85 fortune comes to be related. 
 
 I am SIR, 
 
 Your Humble Servant, 
 
 SILENCE DOGOOD. 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 27 
 
 Growth of Ill-Humor in America 
 (From Causes of the American Discontents) 
 
 The Waves never rise but when the Winds blow. PROV. 
 Sill, 
 
 As the cause of the present ill-humour in America, and 
 of the resolutions taken there to purchase less of our manu 
 factures, does not seem to be generally understood, it may 5 
 afford some satisfaction to your Readers, if you give them 
 the following short historical state of facts. 
 
 From the time that the Colonies were first considered as 
 capable of granting aids to the Crown, down to the end of 
 the last war, it is said, that the constant mode of obtaining 10 
 those aids was by Requisition made from the Crown through 
 its Governors to the several Assemblies, in circular letters 
 from the Secretary of State in his Majesty s name, setting 
 forth the occasion, requiring them to take the matter into 
 consideration ; and expressing a reliance on their prudence, 15 
 duty and affection to his Majesty s Government, that they 
 would grant such sums, or raise such numbers of men, as 
 wefe suitable to their respective circumstances. 
 
 The Colonies, being accustomed to this method, have 
 from time to time granted money to the Crown, or raised 20 
 troops for its service, in proportion to their abilities ; and 
 during the last war beyond their abilities, so that consider 
 able sums were returned them yearly by Parliament, as 
 they had exceeded their proportion. 
 
 Had this happy method of Requisition been continued; 25 
 (a method that left the King s subjects in those remote 
 countries the pleasure of showing their zeal and loyalty, 
 and of imagining that they recommended themselves to 
 their Sovereign by the liberality of their voluntary grants) 
 there is no doubt but all the money that could reasonably 30 
 be expected to be raised from them in any manner, might 
 
28 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 have been obtained, without the least heart-burning, of 
 fence, or breach of the harmony, of affections and interests, 
 that so long subsisted between the two countries. 
 
 35 It has been thought wisdom in a Government exercising 
 sovereignty over different kinds of people, to have some re 
 gard to prevailing and established opinions among the 
 people to be governed, wherever such opinions might, in 
 their effects obstruct or promote public measures. If they 
 
 40 tend to obstruct public service, they are to be changed, if 
 possible, before we attempt to act against them ; and they 
 can only be changed by reason and persuasion. But if pub 
 lic business can be carried on without thwarting those 
 opinions, if they can be, on the contrary, made subservient 
 
 45 to it, they are not unnecessarily to be thwarted, how absurd 
 so ever such popular opinions may be in their nature. 
 
 This had been the wisdom of our Government with re 
 spect to raising money in the colonies. It was well known, 
 that the Colonists universally were of opinion, that no 
 
 50 money could be levied from English subjects, but by their 
 own consent given by themselves or their chosen Repre 
 sentatives : That therefore, whatever money was to* be 
 raised from the people in the Colonies, must first be granted 
 by their Assemblies, as the money raised in Britain is first 
 
 55 to be granted by the House of Commons : That this right 
 of granting their own money, was essential to English 
 liberty : And that if any man, or body of men, in which 
 they had no Representative of their choosing, could tax 
 them at pleasure, they could not be said to have any prop- 
 
 eoerty, any thing they could call their own. But as these 
 opinions did not hinder their granting money voluntarily 
 and amply whenever the Crown by its servants came into 
 their Assemblies (as it does into its Parliaments of Britain 
 or Ireland) and demanded aids ; therefore that method was 
 
 65 chosen rather than the hateful one of arbitrary taxes. 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 29 
 
 I do not undertake here to support those opinions of the 
 Americans; they have been .refuted by a late Act of Parlia 
 ment, declaring its own power; which very Parliament, 
 , however, shewed wisely so much tender regard to those in 
 veterate prejudices, as to repeal a tax that had militated 70 
 against them. And those prejudices are still so fixed and 
 rooted in the Americans, that, it has been supposed, not a 
 single man among them has been convinced of his error, 
 even by that Act of Parliament. 
 
 They reflected how lightly the interest of all America had 75 
 been estimated here, when the interests of a few of the in 
 habitants of Great Britain happened to have the smallest 
 competition with it. That thus the whole American people 
 was forbidden the advantage of a direct importation of wine, 
 oil, and fruit, from Portugal, but must take them loaded 80 
 with all the expences of a voyage 1000 leagues round about, 
 being to be landed first in England, to be re-shipped for 
 America; expences amounting, in war time, at least to 30 
 per cent, more than otherwise they would have been charged 
 with, and all this merely that a few Portugal merchants in 85 
 London may gain a commission on those goods passing 
 through their hands, Portugal merchants, by the by, that 
 can complain loudly of the smallest hardships laid on their 
 trade by foreignersj and yet even in the last year could 
 oppose with all their influence the giving ease to their fel- 90 
 low subjects labouring under so heavy an oppression ! That 
 on a slight complaint of a few Virginia merchants, nine 
 colonies had been restrained from making paper money, 
 become absolutely necessary to their internal commerce 
 from the constant remittance of their gold and silver to 95 
 Britain. 
 
 But not only the interest of a particular body of mer 
 chants, the interest of any small body of British tradesmen 
 or artificers, has been found, they say, to outweigh that of 
 
30 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 100 all the King s subjects in the colonies. There can not be a 
 stroDg<?r natural right than that of a man s making the best 
 profit he can of the natural produce of his lands, provided 
 he does not thereby hurt the state in general. Iron is to be 
 found everywhere in America, and beaver furs are the 
 
 105 natural produce of that country : hats, and nails, and steel 
 are wanted there as well as here. It is of no importance to 
 the common welfare of the empire, whether a subject of 
 the King s gets his living by making hats on this or that side 
 of the water. Yet the Hatters of England have prevailed 
 
 110 to obtain an Act in their own favour, restraining that man 
 ufacture in America, in order to oblige the Americans to 
 send their beaver to England to be manufactured, and 
 purchase back the hats, loaded with the charges of a double 
 transportation. In the same manner have a few Nail- 
 
 115 makers, and a still smaller body of Steel-makers (perhaps 
 there are not half a dozen of these in England) prevailed 
 totally to forbid by an Act of Parliament the erecting of 
 slitting-mills or steel-furnaces in America; that the Ameri 
 cans may be obliged to take all the nails for their buildings, 
 
 120 and steel for their tools, from these artificers, under the 
 same disadvantages. 
 
 Added to these, the Americans remembered the Act au 
 thorizing the most cruel insult that perhaps was ever offered 
 by one people to another, that of emptying our gaols into 
 
 125 their settlements : Scotland too having within these two 
 years obtained the privelege it had not before, of sending 
 its rogues and villains also to the plantations. I say, re 
 flecting on these things, they said one to another (their 
 newspapers are full of such discourses) these people are not 
 
 130 content with making a monopoly of us, forbidding us to 
 trade with any other country of Europe, and compelling us 
 to buy everything of them, though in many articles we 
 could furnish ourselves 10, 20, and even to 50 per cent 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 31 
 
 cheaper elsewhere ; but now they have as good as declared 
 they have a right to tax us ad libitum internally and ex- 135 
 ternally, and that our constitutions and liberties shall all 
 be taken away, if we do not submit to that claim. 
 
 These are the wild ravings of the at present half dis 
 tracted Americans. To be sure, no reasonable man in Eng 
 land can approve of such sentiments, and, as I said before, I do 140 
 not pretend to support or justify them : But I sincerely wish, 
 for the sake of the manufactures and commerce of Great 
 Britain, and for the sake of the strength which a firm union 
 with our growing colonies would give us, that these people 
 had never been thus needlessly driven out of their senses. 145 
 I am, yours, &c. 
 
 F + S. 
 
 Britain s Dealings With Her Colonies Imitated 
 (From An Edict by the King of Prussia) 
 
 We have long wondered here at the supineness of the 
 English nation, under the Prussian impositions upon its 
 trade entering our port. We did not, till lately, know the 
 claims, ancient and modern, that hang over that nation ; and 
 therefore could not suspect that it might submit to those 
 impositions from a sense of duty or from principles of 5 
 equity. The following Edict, just made publick, may, if 
 serious, throw some light upon this matter. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 " Whereas it is well known to all the world, that the first 
 German settlements made in the Island of Britain, were by 10 
 colonies of people, subject to our renowned ducal ancestors, 
 and drawn from their dominions, under the conduct of Hen- 
 gist, Horsa, Hella, TJff, Cerdicus, Ida, and others ; and that 
 the said colonies have flourished under the protection of our 
 august house for ages past ; have never been emancipated 15 
 
32 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 therefrom ; and yet have hitherto yielded little profit to the 
 same : And whereas we ourself have in the last war fought 
 for and defended the said colonies, against the power of 
 France, and thereby enabled them to make conquests from 
 
 20 the said power in America, for which we have not yet re 
 ceived adequate compensation : And whereas it is just and 
 expedient that a revenue should be raised from the said 
 colonies in Britain, towards our indemnification; and that 
 those who are descendants of our ancient subjects, and 
 
 25 thence still owe us due obedience, should contribute to the 
 replenishing of our royal coffers as they must have done, 
 had their ancestors remained in the territories now to us 
 appertaining : We do therefore hereby ordain and command, 
 that, from and after the date of these presents, there shall 
 
 30 be levied and paid to our officers of the customs, on all goods, 
 wares, and merchandizes, and on all grain and other produce 
 of the earth, exported from the said Island of Britain, and 
 on all goods of whatever kind imported into the same, a 
 duty of four and a half per cent ad valorem, for the use of 
 
 35 us and our successors. And that the said duty may more 
 effectually be collected, we do hereby ordain, that all ships 
 or vessels bound from Great Britain to any other part of the 
 world, or from any other part of the world to Great Britain, 
 shall in their respective voyages touch at our port of 
 
 40 Koningsberg, there to be unladen, searched, and charged 
 with the said duties. 
 
 ****** 
 "And, lastly, being willing farther to favour our said 
 colonies in Britain, we do hereby also ordain and command, 
 that all the thieves, highway and street robbers, house- 
 
 45 breakers, f orgerers, murderers, and villains of every denom 
 ination, who have forfeited their lives to the law in Prussia; 
 but whom we, in our great clemency, do not think fit here 
 to hang, shall be emptied out of our gaols into the said 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 33 
 
 island of Great Britain, for the better peopling of that 
 country. 50 
 
 "We flatter ourselves, that these our royal regulations 
 and commands will be thought just and reasonable by our 
 much- favoured colonists in England; the said regulations 
 being copied from their statutes of 10 and 11 William, c. 10, 
 5 Geo. II. c. 22, 23, Geo. II. c. 29, 4 Geo. I. c. 11, and from 55 
 other equitable laws made by their parliaments ; or from 
 instructions given by their Princes ; or from resolutions of 
 both Houses, entered into for the good government of their 
 own colonies in Ireland and America. 
 
 " And all persons in the said island are hereby cautioned 60 
 not to oppose in any wise the execution of this our Edict, or 
 any part thereof, such opposition being high treason; of 
 which all who are suspected shall be transported in fetters 
 from Britain to Prussia, there to be tried and executed 
 according to the Prussian law. 65 
 
 " Such is our pleasure. 
 
 " Given at Potsdam, this twenty-fifth day of the month 
 of August, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-three, 
 and in the thirty-third year of our reign. 
 
 " By the King, in his Council. 70 
 
 " RECHTMAESSIG, Sec" 
 
 Some take this Edict to be merely one of the King s Jeux 
 d Esprit: others suppose it serious, and that he means a 
 quarrel with England; but all here think the assertion it 
 concludes with, " that these regulations are copied from acts 75 
 of the English parliament respecting their colonies," a very 
 injurious one ; it being impossible to believe, that a people 
 distinguished for their love of liberty, a nation so wise, so 
 liberal in its sentiments, so just and equitable towards its 
 neighbors, should, from mean and injudicious views of petty 80 
 
34 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 immediate profit, treat its own children in a manner so arbi 
 trary and tyrannical ! 
 
 The Whistle 
 (A Letter to Madame Brillon) 
 
 I received my dear friend s two letters, one for Wednes 
 day and one for Saturday. This is again Wednesday. 1 
 do not deserve one for to-day, because I have not answered 
 the former. But, indolent as I am, and averse to writing, 
 6 the fear of having no more of your pleasing epistles, if I do 
 not contribute to the correspondence, obliges me to take up 
 my pen ; and as Mr. B. has kindly sent me word, that he 
 sets out to-morrow to see you, instead of spending this 
 Wednesday evening as I have done its namesakes, in your 
 
 10 delightful company, I sit down to spend it in thinking of 
 you, in writing to you, and in reading over and over again 
 your letters. 
 
 I am charmed with your description of Paradise, and 
 with your plan of living there; and I approve much of 
 
 15 your conclusion, that, in the mean time, we should draw all 
 the good we can from this world. In my opinion, we might 
 all draw more good from it than we do, and suffer less evil, 
 if we would take care not to give too much for whistles. 
 For to me it seems, that most of the unhappy people we 
 
 20 meet with, are become so by neglect of that caution. 
 
 You ask what I mean ? You love stories, and will ex 
 cuse my telling one of myself. 
 
 When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, on a 
 holiday, filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly 
 
 25 to a shop where they sold toys for children; and being 
 charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met by the way 
 in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 35 
 
 all my money for one. I then came home, and went whist 
 ling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but 
 disturbing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and 30 
 cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I 
 had given four times as much for it as it was worth ; put 
 me in mind what good things I might have bought with the 
 rest of my money; and laughed at me so much for my 
 folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection gave 35 
 me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure. 
 
 This however was afterwards of use to me, the impres 
 sion continuing on my mind; so that often, when I was 
 tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, 
 Don t give too much for the whistle; and I saved my money. 40 
 
 As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the 
 actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who 
 gave too much for the whistle. 
 
 When I saw one too ambitious of court favour, sacrificing 
 his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his 45 
 virtue, and perhaps his friends to attain it, I have said to 
 myself, This man gives too much for his whistle. 
 
 When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly em 
 ploying himself in political bustles, neglecting his own 
 affairs, and ruining them by that neglect, He pays, indeed, 50 
 said I, too much for his whistle. 
 
 If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfort 
 able living, all the pleasure of doing good to othe:;. all thf 
 esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of bt.^evolent 
 friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth, Poor man, 55 
 said I, you pay too much for your whistle. 
 
 When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing every 
 laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere 
 corporeal sensations, and ruining his health in their pursuit, 
 Mistaken man, said I, you are providing pain for yourself, 60 
 instead of pleasure; you give too much for yow ivhistle. 
 
36 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine 
 houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, 
 for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in a prison, 
 65 Alas ! say I, he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle. 
 
 When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to 
 an ill-natured brute of a husband, What a pity, say I, that 
 she should pay so much for a whistle! 
 
 In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of 
 70 mankind are brought upon them by the false estimates 
 they have made of the value of things, and by their giving 
 too much for their whistles. 
 
 Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy people, 
 
 when I consider, that, with all this wisdom of which I am 
 
 75 boasting, there are certain things in the world so tempting 
 
 for example, the apples of King John, which happily are 
 
 not to be bought ; for if they were put to sale by auction 
 
 I might very easily be led to ruin myself in the purchase. 
 
 and find that I had once more given too much for the 
 
 80 whistle. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me ever yours very 
 sincerely and with unalterable affection, 
 
 B. FRANKLIN. 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 
 (From Liberty or Death) 
 
 Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. 
 Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, to avert 
 the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned 
 we have remonstrated we have supplicated we have 
 5 prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored 
 its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the minis 
 try and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted ; our 
 remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult ; 
 
PATRICK HENRY 37 
 
 our supplications have been disregarded ; and we have been 
 spurned with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In 10 
 vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of 
 peace and reconciliation. Tliere is no longer any room for 
 hope. If we wish to be free if we mean to preserve in 
 violate those inestimable privileges for which we have been 
 so long contending if we mean not basely to abandon the 15 
 noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and 
 which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until 
 the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained we 
 must fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to 
 arms and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 20 
 
 They tell us, sir, that we are weak unable to cope with 
 so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger ? 
 Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be 
 when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard 
 shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we gather 25 
 strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire 
 the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our 
 backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our 
 enemies shall have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are 
 not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the 30 
 God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of 
 people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a 
 country as that which we possess, are invincible by any 
 force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, 
 we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God 35 
 who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will 
 raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, 
 is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the 
 brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base 
 enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the con- 40 
 test. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! 
 Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on 
 
38 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable and let it 
 come ! ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! ! ! 
 
 45 It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may 
 cry, peace, peace, but there is no peace. The war is 
 actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north 
 will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our 
 brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle ? 
 
 50 What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? 
 Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the 
 price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Almighty God ! 
 I know not what course others may take; but as for me, 
 give me liberty, or give me death ! 
 
 JAMES OTIS 
 
 (From On the Writs of Assistance) 
 
 One of the most essential branches of English liberty is 
 the freedom of one s house. A man s house is his castle ; 
 and whilst he is quiet, he is as well guarded as a prince in 
 his castle. This writ, if it should be declared legal, would 
 5 totally annihilate this privilege. Custom-house officers may 
 enter our houses when they please ; we are commanded to 
 permit their entry. Their menial servants may enter, may 
 break locks, bars, and everything in their way ; and whether 
 they break through malice or revenge, no man, no court can 
 
 10 inquire. Bare suspicion without oath is sufficient. This 
 wanton exercise of this power is not a chimerical suggestion 
 of a heate.d brain. I will mention some facts. Mr. Pew 
 had one of these writs, and when Mr. Ware succeeded him, 
 he endorsed this writ over to Mr. Ware, so that these writs 
 
 15 are negotiable from one officer to another; and so your 
 Honours have no opportunity of judging the persons to 
 whom this vast power is delegated. Another instance is 
 this: Mr. Justice Walley had called this same Mr. Ware 
 
JAMES OTIS 39 
 
 before him, by a constable, for a breach of the Sabbath-day 
 Acts, or that of profane swearing. As soon as he had 20 
 finished, Mr. Ware asked him if he had done. He replied, 
 " Yes." " Well then," said Mr. Ware, " I will show you a 
 little of my power. I command you to permit me to search 
 your house for uncustomed goods," and went on to search 
 the house from garret to cellar; and then served the con- 25 
 stable in the same manner ! But to show another absurdity 
 in this writ, if it should be established, I insist upon it 
 every person, by the 14 Charles II., has this power as well 
 as the Custom-house officers. The words are, "it shall be 
 lawful for any person or persons authorized, etc." What a 30 
 scene does this open! Every man prompted by revenge, 
 ill-humour or wantonness to inspect the inside of his neigh 
 bor s house, may get a writ of assistance. Others will ask 
 it from self-defense; one arbitrary exertion will provoke 
 another, until society be involved in tumult and in blood ! 35 
 
 Again, these writs are not returned. Writs, in their 
 nature, are temporary things. When the purposes for 
 which they are issued are answered, they exist no more; 
 but these live forever; no one can be called to account. 
 Thus reason and the constitution are both against this writ. 40 
 Let us see what authority there is for it. Not more than 
 one instance can be found of it in all our law-books ; and 
 that was in the zenith of arbitrary power, namely, in the 
 reign of Charles II., when star-chamber powers were pushed 
 to extremity by some ignorant clerk of the exchequer. But 45 
 had this writ been in any book whatever, it would have been 
 illegal. All precedents are under the control of the princi 
 ples of law. Lord Talbot says it is better to observe these 
 than any precedents, though in the House of Lords the last 
 resort of the subject. No Acts of Parliament can establish 50 
 such a writ ; though it should be made in the very words of 
 the petition, it would be void. But this proves no more 
 
40 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 than what I before observed, that special writs may be 
 granted on oath and probable suspicion. The act of 7 and 8 
 
 55 William III. that the officers of the plantations shall have 
 the same powers, etc., is confined to this sense; that an 
 officer should show probable ground ; should take his oath 
 of it: should do this before a magistrate; and that such 
 magistrate, if he think proper, should issue a special war- 
 
 60 rant to a constable to search the places. That of 6 Anne 
 can prove no more. 
 
 THOMAS PAINE 
 
 Times that Try Men s Souls 
 
 (From The Crisis, No. 1) 
 
 These are the times that try men s souls. The summer 
 soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink 
 from the service of their country ; but he that stands it now, 
 deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, 
 5 like hell, is not easily conquered ; yet we have this conso 
 lation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious 
 the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too 
 lightly : it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. 
 Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods ; 
 
 10 and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as 
 freedom should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army 
 to enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right 
 (not only to tax) but " TO BIND us in ALL CASES WHATSOEVER," 
 and if being bound in that manner, is not slavery, then there 
 
 15 is not such a thing as slavery upon earth. Even the ex 
 pression is impious ; for so unlimited a power can belong 
 only to God. 
 
 Whether the independence of the continent was declared 
 too soon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as 
 
THOMAS PAINE * 41 
 
 an argument ; my own simple opinion is, that had it been 20 
 eight months earlier, it would have been much better. We 
 did not make a proper use of last winter, neither could we, 
 while we were in a dependent state. .However, the fault, 
 if it were one, was all our own: *we have none to blame 
 but ourselves. But no great deal is lost yet. All that 25 
 Howe has been doing this month past, is rather a ravage 
 than a conquest, which the spirit of the Jerseys, a year ago, 
 would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a little 
 resolution will soon recover. 
 
 I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but 30 
 my secret opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Al 
 mighty will not give up a people to military destruction, or 
 leave them unsupportedly to perish, who have so earnestly 
 and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities of war, by 
 every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither 35 
 have I so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He 
 has relinquished the government of the world, and given us 
 up to the care of devils ; and as I do not, I cannot see on 
 what grounds the king of Britain can look up to heaven for 
 help against us : a common murderer, a highwayman, or a 40 
 house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he. 
 
 Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes 
 run through a country. All nations and ages have been 
 subject to them: Britain has trembled like an ague at the 
 report of a French fleet of flat bottomed boats ; and in the 45 
 fourteenth century the whole English army, after ravaging 
 the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified 
 with fear ; and this brave exploit was performed by a few 
 
 1 The present winter is worth an age, if rightly employed ; but if lost or 
 neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil; and there is no 
 punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or where he 
 will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious and useful. 
 Author s note, a citation from his Common Sense. 
 
42 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 broken forces collected and headed by a woman, Joan of 
 50 Arc. Would that heaven might inspire some Jersey maid 
 to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow suffer 
 ers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panics, in some 
 cases, have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. 
 Their duration is always short; the mind grows through 
 55 them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their 
 peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstones of sin 
 cerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, 
 which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In 
 fact, they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an 
 60 imaginary apparition would have upon a private murderer. 
 They sift out the hidden thoughts of man, and hold them 
 up in public to the world. Many a disguised tory has lately 
 shown his head, that shall penitentially solemnize with 
 curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware. 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 (From his First Inaugural) 
 
 FELLOW-CITIZENS OF THE SENATE AND HOUSE OF REPRE 
 SENTATIVES : 
 
 Among the vicissitudes incident to life, no event could 
 have filled me with greater anxieties, than that of which 
 the notification was transmitted by your order, and received 
 on the 14th day of the present month. On the one hand, I 
 5 was summoned by my country, whose voice I can never 
 hear but with veneration and love, from a retreat which I 
 had chosen with the fondest predilection, and, in my flatter 
 ing hopes, with an immutable decision, as the asylum of my 
 declining years; a retreat which was rendered every day 
 .10 more necessary as well as more dear to me, by the addition 
 of habit to inclination, and of frequent interruptions in my 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 43 
 
 health to the gradual waste committed on it by time. On 
 the other hand, the magnitude and difficulty of the trust, to 
 which the voice of my country called me, being sufficient to 
 awaken in the wisest and most experienced of her citizens 15 
 a distrustful scrutiny into his qualifications, could not but 
 overwhelm with despondence one, who, inheriting inferior 
 endowments from nature, and unpracticed in the duties of 
 civil administration, ought to be peculiarly conscious of his 
 own deficiencies. In this conflict of emotions, all I dare 20 
 aver is, that it has been my faithful study to collect my 
 duty from a just appreciation of every circumstance by 
 which it might be affected. All I dare hope is, that, if in 
 executing this task, I have been too much swayed by a 
 grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an affec-25 
 tionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the con 
 fidence of my fellow-citizens; and have hence too little 
 consulted my incapacity as well as disinclination for the 
 weighty and untried cares before me ; my error will be pal 
 liated by the motives which misled me, and its consequences 30 
 be judged by my country with some share of the partiality 
 in which they originated. 
 
 * # =* #= # * * 
 
 To the preceding observations I have one to add, which 
 will be most properly addressed to the House of Representa 
 tives. It concerns myself, and will therefore be as brief 35 
 as possible. When I was first honored with a call into the 
 service of my country, then on the eve of an arduous strug 
 gle for its liberties, the light in which I contemplated my 
 duty, required that I should renounce every pecuniary com 
 pensation. From this resolution I have in no instance de- 40 
 parted. And being still under the impressions which 
 produced it, I must decline as inapplicable to myself any 
 share in the personal emoluments, which may be indispen 
 sably included in a permanent provision for the executive 
 
44 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 45 department ; and must accordingly pray, that the pecuniary 
 estimates for the station in which I am placed may, during 
 my continuance in it, be limited to such actual expenditures 
 as the public good may be thought to require. 
 
 Having thus imparted to you my sentiments, as they have 
 
 50 been awakened by the occasion which brings us together, I 
 shall take my present leave ; but not without resorting once 
 more to the benign Parent of the human race, in humble 
 supplication, that, since he has been pleased to favor the 
 American people with opportunities for deliberating in per- 
 
 55 feet tranquillity, and dispositions for deciding with unpar 
 alleled unanimity on a form of government for the security 
 of their union and the advancement of their happiness; so 
 his divine blessing may be equally conspicuous in the en 
 larged views, the temperate consultations, and the wise 
 
 60 measures, on which the success of this government must 
 depend. 
 
 THOMAS JEFFERSON 
 
 (From A Summary View of the Rights of British America) 
 
 That these are our grievances, which we have thus laid 
 before his majesty, with that freedom of language and sen 
 timent which becomes a free people claiming their rights, 
 as derived from the laws of nature, and not as the gift of 
 5 their chief magistrate : let those flatter who fear ; it is not, 
 an American art. To give praise which is not due, might 
 be well from the venal, but would ill beseem those who are 
 asserting the rights of human nature. They know, and will 
 therefore say, that kings are the servants, not the proprie- 
 10 tors of the people. Open your breast, Sire, to liberal and 
 expanding thought. Let not the name of George the Third 
 be a blot in the page of history. You are surrounded by 
 British counsellors, but remember that they are parties. 
 
THOMAS JEFFERSON 45 
 
 You have no ministers for American affairs, because you 
 have none taken from among us, nor amenable to the laws 15 
 on which they are to give advice. It behoves you, there 
 fore, to think and to act for yourself and your people. The 
 great principles of right and wrong are legible to every 
 reader ; to pursue them, requires not the aid of many coun 
 sellors. The whole art of government consists in the art of 20 
 being honest. Only aim to do your duty, and mankind will 
 give you credit where you fail. No longer persevere in 
 sacrificing the rights of one part of the empire to the inor 
 dinate desires of another ; but deal out to all equal and im 
 partial right. Let no act be passed by any one legislature, 25 
 which may infringe on the rights and liberties of another. 
 This is the important post in which fortune has placed you, 
 holding the balance of a great, if a well poised empire. This, 
 Sire, is the advice of your great American council, on the 
 observance of which may, perhaps, depend your felicity and 30 
 future fame, and the preservation of that harmony, which 
 alone can continue both to Great Britain and America, the 
 reciprocal advantages of their connection. It is neither our 
 wish, nor our interest to separate from her. We are will 
 ing, on our part, to sacrifice every thing which reason can 35 
 ask, to the restoration of that tranquility for which all must 
 wish. On their part, let them be ready to establish union 
 and a generous plan. Let them name their terms, but let 
 them be just. Accept of every commercial preference it is 
 in our power to give for such things as we can raise for their 40 
 use, or they make for ours. But let them not think to ex 
 clude us from going to other markets to dispose of those 
 commodities which they cannot use, or to supply those 
 wants which they cannot supply. Still less, let it be pro 
 posed that our properties within our own territories, shall 45 
 be taxed or regulated by any power on earth but our own. 
 The God who gave us life, gave us liberty at the same time ; 
 
46 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the hand of force may destroy, but cannot disjoin them. 
 This, Sire, is our last, our determined resolution ; and that 
 
 50 you will be pleased to interpose with that efficacy which 
 your earnest endeavours may ensure to procure redress of 
 these our great grievances, to quiet the minds of your sub 
 jects in British America, against any apprehensions of fu 
 ture encroachment, to establish fraternal love and harmony 
 
 55 through the whole empire, and that these may continue to 
 the latest ages of time, is the fervent prayer of all British 
 America ! 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 The Union as a Safeguard Against Domestic Faction and 
 Insurrection 
 
 (From The Federalist, No. IX) 
 
 To THE PEOPLE OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK: 
 
 A firm Union will be of the utmost moment to the peace 
 and liberty of the States, as a barrier against domestic fac 
 tion and insurrection. It is impossible to read the history 
 5 of the petty republics of Greece and Italy without feeling 
 sensations of horror and disgust at the distractions with, 
 which they were continually agitated, and at the rapid sue 
 cession of revolutions by which they were kept in a state of 
 perpetual vibration between the extremes of tyranny and 
 
 10 anarchy. If they exhibit occasional calms, these only serve 
 as short-lived contrasts to the furious storms that are to 
 succeed. If now and then intervals open to view, we be 
 hold them with a mixture of regret, arising from the reflec 
 tion that the pleasing scenes before us are soon to be over- 
 
 15 whelmed by the tempestuous waves of sedition and party 
 rage. If momentary rays of glory break forth from the 
 gloom, while they dazzle us with a transient and fleeting 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 47 
 
 brilliancy, they at the same time admonish us to lament 
 that the vices of government should pervert the direction 
 and tarnish the lustre of those bright talents and exalted 20 
 endowments for which the favored souls that produced 
 them have been so justly celebrated. 
 
 From the disorders that disfigure the annals of those 
 republics the advocates of despotism have drawn arguments, 
 not only against the forms of republican government, but 25 
 against the very principles of civil liberty. They have 
 decried all free government as inconsistent with the order 
 of society, and have indulged themselves in malicious exul 
 tation over its friends and partisans. Happily for man 
 kind, stupendous fabrics reared on the basis of liberty, 30 
 which have flourished for ages, have, in a few glorious in 
 stances, refuted their gloomy sophisms. And, I trust, 
 America will be the broad and solid foundation of other 
 edifices, not less magnificent, which will be equally perma 
 nent monuments of their errors. 35 
 
 But it is not to be denied that the portraits they have 
 sketched of republican government were too just copies of 
 the originals from which they were taken. If it had been 
 found impracticable to have devised models of a more per 
 fect structure, the enlightened friends to liberty would have 40 
 been obliged to abandon the cause of that species of govern 
 ment as indefensible. The science of politics, however, like 
 most other sciences, has received great improvement. The 
 efficacy of various principles is now well understood, which 
 were either not known at all, or imperfectly known to the 45 
 ancients. The regular distribution of power into distinct 
 departments; the institution of courts composed of judges 
 holding their offices during good behaviour ; the representa 
 tion of the people in the legislature by deputies of their 
 own election: these are wholly new discoveries, or have 50 
 made their principal progress towards perfection in modern 
 
48 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 times. They are means, and powerful means, by which the 
 excellences of republican government may be retained and 
 its imperfections lessened or avoided. To this catalogue of 
 
 55 circumstances that tend to the amelioration of popular sys 
 tems of civil government, I shall venture, however it may 
 appear to some, to add one more, on a principle which has 
 been made the foundation of an objection to the new Con 
 stitution ; I mean the ENLARGEMENT of the ORBIT within 
 
 60 which such systems are to revolve, either in respect to the 
 dimensions of a single State, or to the consolidation of sev 
 eral smaller States into one great Confederacy. The latter 
 is that which immediately concerns the object under consid 
 eration. It will, however, be of use to examine the princi- 
 
 65 pie in its application to a single State, which shall be 
 attended to in another place. 
 
 The utility of a Confederacy as well to suppress fac 
 tion and to guard the internal tranquillity of states, as to 
 increase their external force and security, is in reality not a 
 
 70 new idea. It has been practised upon in different countries 
 and ages, and has received the sanction of the most ap 
 proved writers on the subject of politics. The opponents 
 of the plan proposed have, with great assiduity, cited and 
 circulated the observations of Montesquieu on the necessity 
 
 75 of contracted territory for a republican government. But 
 they seem not to have been apprised of the sentiments of 
 that great man expressed in another part of his work, nor 
 to Have adverted to the consequences of the principle to 
 which they subscribe with such ready acquiescence. 
 
 80 When Montesquieu recommends a small extent for re 
 publics, the standards he had in view were of dimensions 
 far short of the limits of almost every one of these States. 
 Neither Virginia, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New York, 
 North Carolina, nor Georgia can by any means be coin- 
 
 85 pared with the models from which he reasoned and to 
 
JOHN WOOLMAN 49 
 
 which the terms of his description apply. If we therefore 
 take his ideas on this point as the criterion of truth, we 
 shall be driven to the alternative either of taking refuge at 
 once in the arms of monarchy, or of splitting ourselves into 
 an infinity of little, jealous, clashing, tumultuous common- 90 
 wealths, the wretched nurseries of unceasing discord, and 
 the miserable objects of universal pity or contempt. Some 
 of the writers who have come forward on the other side of 
 the question seem to have been aware of the dilemma ; and 
 have even been bold enough to hint at the division of the 95 
 larger States as a desirable thing. Such an infatuated 
 policy, such a desperate expedient, might, by the multipli 
 cation of petty officers, answer the views of men who 
 possess not qualifications to extend their influence beyond 
 the narrow circles of personal intrigue, but it could never 100 
 promote the greatness or happiness of the people of 
 America. 
 
 JOHN WOOLMAN 
 An Anti-slavery Mission 
 
 (From his Journal) 
 
 As the people in this and the southern provinces live 
 much on the labor of slaves, many of whom are used 
 hardly, my concern was, that I might attend with singleness 
 of heart to the voice of the true Shepherd, and be so 
 supported as to remain unmoved at the faces of men. 5 
 
 As it is common for Friends on such a visit to have enter 
 tainment free of cost, a difficulty arose in my mind with 
 respect to saving my money by kindness received, which to 
 me appeared to be the gain of oppression. 
 
 Keceiving a gift, considered as a gift, brings the receiver 10 
 under obligations to the benefactor, and has a natural ten 
 dency to draw the obliged into a party with the giver. To 
 
50 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 prevent difficulties of this kind, and to preserve the minds 
 of judges from any bias, was that Divine prohibition; 
 
 15 " Thou shalt not receive any gift ; for a gift blindeth the 
 wise, and perverteth the words of the righteous." As the 
 disciples were sent forth without any provision for their 
 journey, and our Lord said the workman is worthy of his 
 meat, their labor in the Gospel was considered as a reward 
 
 20 for their entertainment, and therefore not received as a 
 gift ; yet, in regard to my present journey, I could not see 
 my way clear in that respect. The difference appeared 
 thus : The entertainment the disciples met with, was from 
 such whose hearts God had opened to receive them, from a 
 
 25 love to them, and the truth they published. But we, con 
 sidered as members of the same religious Society, look upon 
 it as a piece of civility to receive each other in such visits ; 
 and such reception, at times, is partly in regard to reputa 
 tion, and not from an inward unity of heart and spirit. 
 
 30 Conduct is more convincing than language ; and where 
 people, by their actions, manifest that the slave-trade is 
 not so disagreeable to their principles but that it may be 
 encouraged, there is not a sound uniting with some Friends 
 who visit them. 
 
 35 The prospect of so weighty a work, and being so distin 
 guished from many whom I esteemed before myself, brought 
 me very low ; and such were the conflicts of my soul, that 
 I had a near sympathy with the prophet, in the time of his 
 weakness, when he said, " If thou deal thus with me, kill 
 
 40 me, I pray thee, if I have found favor in thy sight " ; but I 
 soon saw that this proceeded from the want of a full resig 
 nation to the Divine will. Many were the afflictions which 
 attended me ; and in great abasement, with many tears, my 
 cries were to the Almighty, for his gracious and fatherly 
 
 45 assistance ; and then, after a time of deep trial, I was 
 favored to understand the state mentioned by the Psalmist, 
 
JOHN WOOLMAN 51 
 
 more clearly than ever I had before ; to wit : " My soul is 
 even as a weaned child. 77 Being thus helped to sink down 
 into resignation, I felt a deliverance from that tempest in 
 which I had been sorely exercised, and in calmness of mind 50 
 went forward, trusting that the Lord Jesus Christ, as I 
 faithfully attended to him, would be a counsellor to me in 
 all difficulties ; and that by his strength I should be enabled 
 even to leave money with the members of Society where I 
 had entertainment, when I found that omitting it would ob- 55 
 struct that work to which I believed he had called me. 
 And as I copy this after my return, I may add, that often 
 times I did so, under a sense of duty. The way in which I 
 did it was this ; when I expected soon to leave a Friend s 
 house where I had had entertainment, if I believed that 1 60 
 should not keep clear from the gains of oppression without 
 leaving money, I spoke to one of the heads of the family 
 privately, and desired him to accept of some pieces of silver, 
 and give them to such of the negroes as he believed would 
 make the best use of them ; and at other times I gave them 65 
 to the negroes myself, as the way looked clearest to me. 
 As I expected this before I came out, I had provided a large 
 number of small pieces; and thus offering them to some 
 who appeared to be wealthy people, was a trial both to me 
 and them : but the fear of the Lord so covered me at times, 70 
 that my way was made easier than I expected; and few, if 
 any, manifested any resentment at the offer, and most of 
 them, after some talk, accepted of them. 
 
 The 7th day of the fifth month, in the year 1757, 1 lodged 
 at a Friend s house, who putting us a little on our way, 1 75 
 had conversation with him in the fear of the Lord, concern 
 ing his slaves; in which my heart was tender, and I used 
 much plainness of speech with him, which he appeared to 
 take kindly. We pursued our journey without appointing 
 meetings, being pressed in my mind to be at the Yearly 80 
 
52 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Meeting in Virginia. In my travelling on the road, I often 
 felt a cry rising from the center of my mind, Lord, I am 
 a stranger on the earth, hide not thy face from me. On the 
 llth day of the fifth month, we crossed the rivers Potomac 
 85 and Rappahannock, and lodged at Port Royal : and on the 
 way we happening in company with a colonel of the militia, 
 who appeared to be a thoughtful man, I took occasion to 
 remark on the difference in general between a people used 
 to labor moderately for their living, training up their chil- 
 90 dren in frugality and business, and those who live on the 
 labor of slaves; the former, in my view, being the most 
 happy life: with which he concurred, and mentioned the 
 trouble arising from the untoward, slothful disposition of 
 the negroes ; adding, that one of our laborers would do as 
 95 much in a day as two of their slaves. I replied, that free 
 men, whose minds were properly on their business, found 
 a satisfaction in improving, cultivating, and providing for 
 their families ; but negroes, laboring to support others, who 
 claim them as their property, and expecting nothing but 
 
 100 slavery during life, had not the like inducement to be in 
 dustrious. 
 
 After some further conversation, I said that men having 
 power, too often misapplied it ; that though we made slaves 
 of the negroes, and the Turks made slaves of the Christians, 
 
 105 1 believed that liberty was the natural right of all men 
 equally ; which he did not deny ; but said the lives of the 
 negroes were so wretched in their own country, that many 
 of them lived better here than there. I only said there is 
 great odds in regard to us, on what principle we act ; and 
 
 110 so the conversation on that subject ended. I may here add, 
 that another person, some time afterward, mentioned the 
 wretchedness of the negroes, occasioned by their intestine 
 wars, as an argument in favor of our fetching them away 
 as slaves ; to which I then replied, if compassion on the 
 
FRANCIS HOPKINSON 53 
 
 Africans, in regard to their domestic troubles, were the 115 
 real motives of our purchasing them, that spirit of tender 
 ness being attended to, would incite us to use them kindly, 
 that as strangers brought out of affliction, their lives might 
 be happy among us ; and as they are human creatures, 
 whose souls are as precious as ours, and who may receive 120 
 the same help and comfort from the holy Scriptures as we 
 do, we could not omit suitable endeavors to instruct them 
 therein. But while we manifest by our conduct, that our 
 views in purchasing them are to advance ourselves; and 
 while our buying captives taken in war, animates those 125 
 parties to push on that war, and increase desolation amongst 
 them ; to say they live unhappily in Africa, is far from 
 being an argument in our favor. I further said, the present 
 circumstances of these provinces to me appear difficult; the 
 slaves look like a burthensome stone to such who burthen 130 
 themselves with them, and that if the white people retain a 
 resolution to prefer their outward prospects of gain to all 
 other considerations, and do not act conscientiously toward 
 them as fellow-creatures, I believe that burthen will grow 
 heavier and heavier, until times change in a way disagree- 135 
 able to us. At this the person appeared very serious, and 
 owned, that in considering their condition, and the manner 
 of their treatment in these provinces, he had sometimes 
 thought it might be just in the Almighty so to order it. 
 
 FRANCIS HOPKINSON 
 (From The Battle of the Kegs) 
 
 Gallants attend and hear a friend 
 Trill forth harmonious ditty, 
 
 Strange things I ll tell which late befell 
 In Philadelphia city. 
 
54 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 6 Twas early day, as poets say, 
 
 Just when the sun was rising, 
 
 A soldier stood on a log of wood, 
 
 And saw a thing surprising. 
 
 As in amaze he stood to gaze, 
 10 The truth can t be denied, sir, 
 
 He spied a score of kegs or more 
 Come floating down the tide, sir. 
 
 A sailor too in jerkin blue, 
 
 This strange appearance viewing, 
 
 !5 First damn d his eyes, in great surprise, 
 
 Then said some mischief s brewing. 
 
 These kegs, I m told, the rebels bold, 
 
 Pack d up like pickling herring ; 
 And they re come down t attack the town, 
 20 In this new way of ferrying. 
 
 The soldier flew, the sailor too, 
 And scar d almost to death, sir, 
 
 Wore out their shoes, to spread the news, 
 And ran till out of breath, sir. 
 
 25 Now up and down throughout the town, 
 
 Most frantic scenes were acted; 
 And some ran here, and others there, 
 Like men almost distracted. 
 ***** 
 " Arise, arise," sir Erskine cries, 
 30 " The rebels more s the pity, 
 
 Without a boat are all afloat, 
 And rang d before the city. 
 
 " The motley crew, in vessels new, 
 With Satan for their guide, sir, 
 
 35 Pack d up in bags, or wooden kegs, 
 
 Come driving down the tide, sir. 
 
FRANCIS HOPKINSON 55 
 
 " Therefore prepare for bloody war, 
 
 These kegs must all be routed, 
 Or surely we despised shall be, 
 
 And British courage doubted." 40 
 
 The royal band, now ready stand 
 
 All rang d in dread array, sir, 
 With stomach stout to see it out, 
 
 And make a bloody day, sir. 
 
 The cannons roar from shore to shore, 45 
 
 The small arms make a rattle ; 
 Since wars began I m sure nc man 
 
 E er saw so strange a battle. 
 
 The rebel dales, the rebel vales, 
 
 With rebel trees surrounded ; 50 
 
 The distant wood, the hills and floods, 
 
 With rebel echoes sounded. 
 
 The fish below swam to arid fro, 
 
 Attack d from ev ry quarter; 
 Why sure, thought they, the devil s to pay, 55 
 
 Mongst folks above the water. 
 
 The kegs, tis said, tho strongly made, 
 
 Of rebel staves and hoops, sir, 
 Could not oppose their powerful foes, 
 
 The conqu ring British troops, sir. 60 
 
 From morn to night these men of might 
 
 Display d amazing courage ; 
 And when the sun was fairly down, 
 
 Retir d to sup their porrage. 
 
 An hundred men with each a pen, 55 
 
 Or more upon my word, sir, 
 It is most true would be too few, 
 
 Their valour to record, sir. 
 
56 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Such feats did they perform that day, 
 70 Against these wick d kegs, sir, 
 
 That years to come, if they get home, 
 They ll make their boasts and brags, sir. 
 
 ANONYMOUS REVOLUTIONARY SONGS 
 Paul Jones 
 
 A song unto Liberty s brave Buccaneer, 
 
 Ever bright be the fame of the patriot Rover, 
 For our rights he first fought in his "black privateer," 
 
 And faced the proud foe ere our sea they cross d over, 
 5 In their channel and coast, 
 
 He scattered their host, 
 
 And proud Britain robbed of her sea-ruling boast, 
 And her rich merchants barks shunned the ocean in fear 
 Of Paul Jones, fair Liberty s brave Buccaneer. 
 
 10 In the first fleet that sailed in defence of our laud, 
 
 Paul Jones forward stood to defend freedom s arbor, 
 He led the bold Alfred at Hopkins command, 
 
 And drove the fierce foeman from Providence harbor, 
 
 Twas his hand that raised 
 15 The first flag that blazed, 
 
 And his deeds iieath the " Pine tree " all ocean amaz d, 
 
 For hundreds of foes met a watery bier 
 
 From Paul Jones, fair Liberty s brave Buccaneer. 
 
 His arm crushed the Tory and mutinous crew 
 20 That strove to have freemen inhumanly butchered; 
 Remembered his valor at proud Flamborough, 
 
 When he made the bold Serapis strike to the Richard; 
 Oh ! he robbed of their store 
 The vessels sent o er 
 25 To feed all the Tories and foes on our shore, 
 
 He gave freemen the spoils and long may they revere 
 The name of fair Liberty s brave Buccaneer. 
 
ANONYMOUS REVOLUTIONARY SONGS 57 
 
 The Riflemen s Song at Bennington 
 
 Why come ye hither, stranger? 
 
 Your mind what madness fills? 
 In our valleys there is danger, 
 
 And danger on our hills ! 
 Hear ye not the singing 6 
 
 Of the bugle, wild and free ? 
 Full soon ye ll know the ringing 
 
 Of the rifle from the tree ! 
 The rifle, the sharp rifle ! 
 In our hands it is no trifle ! 10 
 
 Ye ride a goodly steed; 
 
 He may know another master : 
 Ye forward come with speed, 
 
 But ye ll learn to back much faster, 
 When ye meet our mountain boys 15 
 
 And their leader, Johnny Stark 1 
 Lads who make but little noise, 
 
 But who always hit the mark 
 With the rifle, the true rifle ! 
 In their hands will prove no trifle I 20 
 
 Had ye no graves at home 
 
 Across the briny water, 
 That hither ye must come, 
 
 Like bullocks to the slaughter? 
 If we the work must do, 25 
 
 Why, the sooner tis begun, 
 If flint and trigger hold but true, 
 
 The quicker twill be done 
 By the rifle, the good rifle ! 
 In our hands it is no trifle ! 30 
 
58 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 TIMOTHY DWIGHT 
 Columbia 
 
 Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 
 The queen of the world, and child of the skies ! 
 Thy genius commands thee ; with raptures behold, 
 While ages on ages thy splendours unfold. 
 6 Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time, 
 
 Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime. 
 Let the crimes of the east ne er encrimson thy name, 
 Be freedom, and science, and virtue, thy fame. 
 To conquest, and slaughter, let Europe aspire, 
 
 10 Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire. 
 
 Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, 
 And triumph pursue them, and glory attend. 
 A world is thy realm : for a world be thy laws, 
 Enlarg d as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; 
 
 15 On Freedom s broad basis, that empire shall rise, 
 
 Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies. 
 
 Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar, 
 And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star. 
 New bards, and new sages, unrival d shall soar 
 
 20 To fame, unextinguish d, when time is no more ; 
 
 To thee, the last refuge of virtue design d, 
 Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind ; 
 Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring 
 Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring. 
 
 25 Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, 
 
 And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend; 
 The graces of form shall awake pure desire, 
 And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire ; 
 Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refin d, 
 
 30 And Virtue s bright image, instamp d on the mind, 
 
 With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow, 
 And light up a smile in the aspect of woe. 
 
 Thy fleets to all nations thy pow r shall display, 
 The nations admire, and the ocean obey ; 
 
JOHN TRUMBULL 59 
 
 Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, 35 
 
 And the east and the south yield their spices and gold. 
 
 As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendour shall flow, 
 
 And earth s little kingdoms before thee shall bow; 
 
 While the ensigns of union, in triumph unf url d, 
 
 Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world. 40 
 
 Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o erspread, 
 From war s dread confusion I pensively stray d 
 The gloom from the face of fair heav n retir d ; 
 The winds ceas d to murmur ; the thunders expir d ; 
 Perfumes, as of Eden, flow d sweetly along, 45 
 
 And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung : 
 " Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 
 The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." 
 
 JOHN TRUMBULL 
 
 McFingal s Sentence 
 
 (From McFingal, Canto III) 
 
 Meanwhile beside the pole, the guard 
 
 A Bench of Justice had prepared, 
 
 Where sitting round in awful sort 
 
 The grand Committee held their Court; 
 
 While all the crew, in silent awe, 5 
 
 Wait from their lips the lore of law. 
 
 Few moments with deliberation 
 
 They hold the solemn consultation ; 
 
 When soon in judgment all agree, 
 
 And Clerk proclaims the dread decree ; 10 
 
 " That Squire McFiNGAL having grown 
 
 The vilest Tory in the town, 
 
 And now in full examination 
 
 Convicted by his own confession, 
 
 Finding no tokens of repentance, 15 
 
 This Court proceeds to render sentence : 
 
60 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 That first the Mob a slip-knot single 
 Tie round the neck of said McFingal, 
 And in due form do tar him next, 
 20 And feather, as the law directs ; 
 
 Then through the town attendant ride him. 
 In cart with Constable beside him, 
 And having held him up to shame, 
 Bring to the pole, from whence he came.* 
 
 McFingaTs Flight 
 (From McFingal, Canto IV) 
 
 McFingal deem d it vain to stay, 
 And risk his bones in second fray : 
 But chose a grand retreat from foes, 
 In literal sense, beneath their nose. 
 6 The window then, which none else knew- 
 
 He softly open d and crept through, 
 And crawling slow in deadly fear, 
 By movements wise made good his rear. 
 Then scorning all the fame of martyr, 
 
 10 For Boston took his swift departure, 
 
 Nor looked back on the fatal spot, 
 More than the family of Lot. 
 Not North in more distressed condition, 
 Out-voted first by opposition ; 
 
 15 Nor good King George, when our dire phantom 
 
 Of Independence came to haunt him, 
 Which hovering round by night and day, 
 Not all his conj rors e er could lay. 
 His friends, assembled for his sake, 
 
 20 He wisely left in pawn, at stake, 
 
 To tarring, feath ring, kicks and drubs 
 Of furious, disappointed mobs, 
 Or with their forfeit heads to pay 
 For him, their leader, crept away. 
 
JOEL BARLOW 61 
 
 So when wise Noah summon d greeting, 25 
 
 All animals to gen ral meeting, 
 
 From every side the members went, 
 
 All kinds of beasts to represent ; 
 
 Each, from the flood, took care t embark, 
 
 And save his carcase in the ark : 30 
 
 But as it fares in state and church, 
 
 Left his constituents in the lurch. 
 
 JOEL BARLOW 
 Washington to his Troops 
 (From The Vision of Columbus, Book V) 
 
 In front great Washington exalted shone, 
 His eye directed tow rd the half-seen sun ; 
 As through the mist the bursting splendors glow, 
 And light the passage to the distant foe. 
 
 His waving steel returns the living day, 5 
 
 Clears the broad plains, and marks the warrior s way; 
 The forming columns range in order bright, 
 And move impatient for the promis d fight. 
 
 When great Columbus saw the chief arise, 
 
 And his bold blade cast lightning on the skies, 10 
 
 He trac d the form that met his view before, 
 On drear Ohio s desolated shore. 
 Matur d with years, with nobler glory warm, 
 Fate in his eye, and vengeance on his arm, 
 
 The great observer here with joy beheld 15 
 
 The hero moving in a broader field. 
 
 While other chiefs and heirs of deathless fame 
 
 Rise into sight, and equal honors claim ; 
 
 But who can tell the dew-drops of the morn ? 
 
 Or count the rays that in the diamond burn ? 20 
 
62 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Now, the broad field as untry d warriors shade, 
 The sun s glad beam their shining ranks display d; 
 The glorious Leader wav d his glittering steel, 
 Bade the long train in circling order wheel ; 
 
 25 And, while the banner d host around him press d, 
 With patriot ardour thus the ranks address d : 
 
 " Ye generous bands, behold the task to save, 
 Or yield whole nations to an instant grave. 
 See headlong myriads crowding to your shore, 
 
 30 Hear, from all ports, their boasted thunders roar ; 
 
 From Charlestown -heights their bloody standard , play, 
 O er far Champlain they lead their northern way, 
 Virginian banks behold their streamers glide, 
 And hostile navies load each southern tide. 
 
 35 Beneath their ships your towns in ashes lie, 
 Your inland empires feast their greedy eye ; 
 Soon shall your fields to lordly parks be turn d, 
 Your children butcher d, and your villas burn d ; 
 While following millions, thro the reign of time, 
 
 40 Who claim their birth in this indulgent clime, 
 Bend the weak knee, to servile toils consign d, 
 And sloth and slavery overwhelm mankind. 
 Rise then to war, to noble vengeance rise, 
 Ere the grey sire, the hapless infant dies ; 
 
 45 Look thro the world where endless years descend, 
 What realms, what ages on your arms depend ! 
 Reverse the fate, avenge th insulted sky ; 
 Move to the strife we conquer or we die." 
 So spoke the chief ; and with his guiding hand 
 
 50 Points the quick toil to each surrounding band. 
 At once the different lines are wheeled afar, 
 In different realms, to meet the gathering war. 
 
THOMAS GODFREY 63 
 
 THOMAS GODFREY 
 Song 
 
 For Chloris long I sigh d in vain, 
 
 Nor could her bosom move, 
 She met my vows with cold disdain, 
 
 And scorn returned for Love. 
 At length, grown weary of her pride, \ 
 
 I left the haughty Maid, 
 Corinna s fetters now I try d, 
 
 Who love for love repaid. 
 
 With her the pleasing hours I waste, 
 
 With her such joys I prove, 10 
 
 As kindred Souls alone can taste, 
 
 When join d in mutual Love. 
 Ye Shepherds hear, not slight my strain, 
 
 Fly, fly the scornful Fair, 
 Kind Nyrnphs you ll find to ease your pain, 15 
 
 And soften ev ry care. 
 
 When in Celia s Heavenly Eye 
 
 When in Celia s heavenly Eye 
 Soft inviting Love I spy, 
 Tho you say tis all a cheat, 
 I must clasp the dear deceit. 
 
 Why should I more knowledge gain, 
 When it only gives me pain V 
 If deceived I m still at rest, 
 In the sweet delusion blest. 
 
64 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 (From The Prince of Parthia) 
 
 ACT V, SCENE I 
 
 The Palace 
 
 The Curtain rises, slowly, to soft music, and discovers Evanthe 
 sleeping on a Sofa ; after the music ceases, Vardanes enters. 
 VARDANES. Now shining Empire standing at the goal, 
 
 Beck ns me forward to increase my speed ; 
 5 But, yet, Arsaces lives, bane to my hopes, 
 
 Lysias I ll urge to ease me of his life, 
 
 Then give the villain up to punishment. 
 
 The shew of justice gains the changeling croud. 
 
 Besides, I ne er will harbour in my bosom 
 10 Such serpents, ever ready with their stings - 
 
 But now one hour for love and fair Evanthe 
 
 Hence with ambition s cares see, where reclin d, 
 
 In slumbers all her sorrows are dismiss d, 
 
 Sleep seems to heighten ev ry beauteous feature, 
 15 And adds peculiar softness to each grace. 
 
 She weeps in dreams some lively sorrow pains her 
 
 I ll take one kiss oh ! what a balmy sweetness! 
 
 Give me another and another still 
 
 For ever thus I d dwell upon her lips. 
 20 Be still my heart, and calm unruly transports. 
 
 Wake her, with music, from this mimic death. [Music sounds.] 
 
 Song 
 
 Tell me, Phillis, tell me why, 
 
 You appear so wond rous coy, 
 When that glow, and sparkling eye, 
 25 Speak you want to taste the joy ? 
 
 Prithee give this fooling o er, 
 Nor torment your lover more. 
 
 While youth is warm within our veins, 
 
 And nature tempts us to be gay, 
 30 Give to pleasure loose the reins, 
 
 Love and youth fly swift away. 
 
THOMAS GODFREY 65 
 
 Youth in pleasure should be spent, 
 Age will come, we ll then repent. 
 
 EVANTHE (waking) I come ye lovely shades Ha ! am I here ? 
 Still in the tyrant s palace ? Ye bright pow rs ! 35 
 
 Are all my blessings then but vis onary? 
 Methought I was arriv d on that blest shore 
 Where happy souls for ever dwell, crown d with 
 Immortal bliss; Arsaces led me through 
 
 The flow ry groves, while all around me gleam d 40 
 
 Thousand and thousand shades, who welcom d me 
 With pleasing songs of joy Vardanes, ha! 
 
 VARDANES. Why beams the angry lightning of thine eye 
 Against thy sighing slave ? Is love a crime ? 
 
 Oh ! if to dote, with such excess of passiou 45 
 
 As rises e en to mad extravagance 
 Is criminal, I then am so, indeed. 
 
 EVANTHE. Away ! vile man ! 
 
 VARDANES. If to pursue thee e er 
 
 With all the humblest offices of love, 50 
 
 If ne er to know one single thought that does 
 Not bear thy bright idea, merits scorn 
 
 EVANTHE. Hence from my sight nor let me, thus, pollute 
 Mine eyes, with looking on a wretch like thee, 
 
 Thou cause of all my ills ; I sicken at 55 
 
 Thy loathsome presence 
 
 VARDANES. Tis not always thus, 
 
 Nor dost thou ever meet the sounds of love 
 With rage and fierce disdain : Arsaces, soon, 
 Could smooth thy brow, and melt thy icy breast. 60 
 
 EVANTHE. Ha ! does it gall thee ? Yes, he could, he could ; 
 Oh ! when he speaks, such sweetness dwells upon 
 His accents, all my soul dissolves to love, 
 And warm desire ; such truth and beauty join d ! 
 His looks are soft and kind, such gentleness 65 
 
 Such virtue swells his bosom ! in his eye 
 Sits majesty, commanding ev ry heart. 
 Strait as the pine, the pride of all the grove, 
 
66 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 More blooming than the spring, and sweeter far, 
 70 Than asphodels or roses infant sweets. 
 
 Oh ! I could dwell forever on his praise, 
 
 Yet think eternity was scarce enough 
 
 To tell the mighty theme ; here in rny breast 
 
 His image dwells, but one dear thought of him, 
 75 When fancy paints his Person to my eye, 
 
 As he was wont in tenderness dissolv d, 
 
 Sighing his vows, or kneeling at my feet, 
 
 Wipes off all mem ry of my wretchedness. 
 
 VARDANES. I know this brav ry is affected, yet 
 80 It gives me joy, to think my rival only 
 
 Can in imagination taste thy beauties. 
 
 Let him, twill ease him in his solitude, 
 
 And gild the horrors of his prison-house, 
 
 Till death shall 
 85 EVANTHE. Ha! what was that? till death ye Godsl 
 
 Ah, now I feel distress s tort ring pang 
 
 Thou canst not villain darst not think his death 
 
 O mis ry ! 
 
 VARDANES. Naught but your kindness saves him, 
 90 Yet bless me with your love, and he is safe ; 
 
 But the same frown which kills my growing hopes, 
 
 Gives him to death. 
 
 CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 
 
 A Mysterious Voice 
 (From Wieland, Chap. IX) 
 
 I returned to the closet, and once more put my hand upon 
 the lock. Oh, may my ears lose their sensibility ere they 
 be again assailed by a shriek so terrible ! Not merely my 
 understanding was subdued by the sound ; it acted on my 
 5 nerves like an edge of steel. It appeared to cut asunder 
 the fibres of my brain and rack every joint with agony. 
 
CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 67 
 
 The cry, loud and piercing as it was, was nevertheless 
 human. No articulation was ever more distinct. The 
 breath which accompanied it did not fan my hair, yet did 
 every circumstance combine to persuade me that the lips 10 
 which uttered it touched my very shoulder. 
 
 " Hold ! hold ! " were the words of this tremendous pro 
 hibition, in whose tone the whole soul seemed to be wrapped 
 up, and every energy converted into eagerness and terror. 
 
 Shuddering, I dashed myself against the wall, and, by 15 
 the same involuntary impulse, turned my face backward to 
 examine the mysterious monitor. The moonlight streamed 
 into each window, and every corner of the room was con 
 spicuous, and yet I beheld nothing ! 
 
 The interval was too brief to be artificially measured, be- 20 
 tween the utterance of these words and my scrutiny directed 
 to the quarter whence they came. Yet, if a human being 
 had been there, could he fail to have been visible ? Which 
 of my senses was the prey of a fatal illusion ? The shock 
 which the sound produced was still felt in every part of my 25 
 frame. The sound, therefore, could not but be a genuine 
 commotion. But that I had heard it was not more true 
 than that the being who uttered it was stationed at my 
 right ear ; yet my attendant was invisible. 
 
 I cannot describe the state of my thoughts at that so 
 moment. Surprise had mastered my faculties. My frame 
 shook, and the vital current was congealed. I was conscious 
 only to the vehemence of my sensations. This condition 
 could not be lasting. Like a tide, which suddenly mounts to 
 an overwhelming height and then gradually subsides, my 35 
 confusion slowly gave place to order, and my tumults to a 
 calm. I was able to deliberate and move. I resumed my 
 feet, and advanced into the midst of the room. Upward, 
 and behind, and on each side, I threw penetrating glances. 
 I was not satisfied with one examination. He that hitherto 40 
 
68 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 refused to be seen might change his purpose, and on the 
 next survey be clearly distinguishable. 
 
 Solitude imposes least restraint upon the fancy. Dark is 
 less fertile of images than the feeble lustre of the moon. I 
 
 45 was alone, and the walls were checkered by shadowy forms. 
 As the moon passed behind a cloud and emerged, these 
 shadows seemed to be endowed with life, and to move. 
 The apartment was open to the breeze, and the curtain was 
 occasionally blown from its ordinary position. This motion 
 
 50 was not unaccompanied with sound. I failed not to snatch 
 a look and to listen when this motion and this sound 
 occurred. My belief that my monitor was posted near was 
 strong, and instantly converted these appearances to tokens 
 of his presence ; and yet I could discern nothing. 
 
 PHILIP FRENEAU 
 A Political Litany 
 
 Libera nos, Domine Deliver us, O Lord, 
 Not only from British dependence, but also, 
 
 From a junto that labor for absolute power, 
 Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour ; 
 5 From the lords of the council, who fight against freedom 
 Who still follow on where delusion shall lead em. 
 
 From groups at Saint James s who slight our Petitions, 
 And fools that are waiting for further submissions ; 
 From a nation whose manners are rough and abrupt, 
 10 Fro-m scoundrels and rascals whom gold can corrupt. 
 
 From pirates sent out by command of the king 
 To murder and plunder, but never to swing; 
 From Wallace, and Graves, and Vipors, and Roses, 
 Whom, if Heaven pleases, we ll give bloody noses. 
 
PHILIP FRENEAU 69 
 
 From the valiant Dunmore, with his crew of banditti 15 
 
 Who plunder Virginians at Williamsburg city, 
 From hot-headed Montague, mighty to swear, 
 The little fat man with his pretty white hair. 
 
 From bishops in Britain, who butchers are grown, 
 From slaves that would die for a smile from the throne, 20 
 
 From assemblies that vote against Congress proceedings 
 (Who now see the fruit of their stupid misleadings) . 
 
 From Tryon, the mighty, who flies from our city, 
 
 And swelled with importance, disdains the committee 
 
 (But since he is pleased to proclaim us his foes, 25 
 
 What the devil care we where the devil he goes). 
 
 From the caitiff, Lord North, who would bind us in chains, 
 
 From our noble King Log, with his toothful of brains, 
 
 Who dreams, and is certain (when taking a nap), 
 
 He has conquered our lands as they lay on his map. 30 
 
 From a kingdom that bullies, and hectors, and swears, 
 I send up to Heaven my wishes and prayers 
 That we, disunited, may freemen be still, 
 And Britain go on to be damn d if she will. 
 
 Eutaw Springs 
 
 At Eutaw Springs the valiant died ; 
 
 Their limbs with dust are covered o er 
 Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide ; 
 
 How many heroes are no more 1 
 
 If in this wreck of ruin, they 5 
 
 Can yet be thought to claim a tear, 
 O smite your gentle breast, and say 
 
 The friends of freedom slumber here ! 
 
 Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain, 
 
 If goodness rules thy generous breast, 10 
 
 Sigh for the wasted rural reign ; 
 
 Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest ! 
 
70 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Stranger, their humble graves adorn ; 
 
 You too may fall, and ask a tear ; 
 15 Tis not the beauty of the morn 
 
 That proves the evening shall be clear. 
 
 They saw their injured country s woe ; 
 The flaming town, the wasted field ; 
 Then rushed to meet the insulting foe ; 
 20 They took the spear but left the shield. 
 
 Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, 
 The Britons they compelled to fly ; 
 
 None distant viewed the fatal plain, 
 None grieved, in such a cause to die 
 
 25 But, like the Parthian, famed of old, 
 
 Who, flying, still their arrows threw, 
 These routed Britons, full as bold, 
 Retreated, and retreating slew. 
 
 Now rest in peace, our patriot band ; 
 30 Though far from nature s limits thrown, 
 
 We trust they find a happier land, 
 A brighter sunshine of their own. 
 
 The Wild Honey Suckle 
 
 Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, 
 Hid in this silent, dull retreat, 
 Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, 
 Unseen thy little branches greet : 
 5 No roving foot shall crush thee here, 
 
 No busy hand provoke a tear. 
 
 By Nature s self in white arrayed, 
 She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, 
 And planted here the guardian shade, 
 10 And sent soft waters murmuring by; 
 
 Thus quietly thy summer goes, 
 Thy days declining to repose. 
 
PHILIP FRENEAU 71 
 
 Smit with those charms, that must decay, 
 
 I grieve to see your future doom ; 
 
 They died nor were those flowers more gay, 15 
 
 The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; 
 
 Unpitying frosts, and Autumn s power 
 
 Shall leave no vestige of this flower. 
 
 From morning suns and evening dews 
 
 At first thy little being came : 20 
 
 If nothing once, you nothing lose, 
 
 For when you die you are the same ; 
 
 The space between is but an hour, 
 
 The frail duration of a flower. 
 
 The Death Song of a Cherokee Indian 
 
 The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, 
 But glory remains when their lights fade away. 
 Begin, ye tormentors : your threats are in vain 
 For the son of Alknomock can never complain. 
 
 Remember the woods, where in ambush he lay, 5 
 
 And the scalps which he bore from your nation away ! 
 Why do ye delay ? till I shrink from my pain V 
 Know the son of Alknomock can never complain. 
 
 Remember the arrows he shot from his bow, 
 
 Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low, 10 
 
 The flame rises high, you exult in my pain ? 
 
 Know the son of Alknomock will never complain. 
 
 I go to the land where my father is gone : 
 
 His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son, 
 
 Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain, 15 
 
 And thy son, O Alknomock, has scorned to complain. 
 
72 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 May to April 
 
 Without your showers, I breed no flowers, 
 Each field a barren waste appears ; 
 
 If you don t weep, my blossoms sleep, 
 They take such pleasures in your tears. 
 
 5 As your decay made room for May, 
 
 So I must part with all that s mine : 
 My balmy breeze, my blooming trees 
 To torrid suns their sweets resign ! 
 
 O er April dead, my shades I spread : 
 10 To her I owe my dress so gay 
 
 Of daughters three, it falls on me 
 To close our triumphs on one day ; 
 
 Thus to repose, all Nature goes ; 
 
 Month after month must find its doom: 
 15 Time on the wing, May ends the Spring, 
 
 And Summer dances on her tomb ! 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 The Character of Peter Stuyvesant 
 (From Knickerbocker s History of New York, Book V, Chap. I) 
 
 Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the renowned 
 Wouter Van Twiller, the best, of our ancient Dutch governors. 
 Wouter having surpassed all who preceded him, and Peter, 
 or Piet, as he was sociably called by the old Dutch burghers, 
 
 5 who were ever proud to familiarize names, having never 
 been equaled by any successor. He was in fact the man 
 fitted by nature to retrieve the desperate fortunes of her 
 beloved province, had not the fates, those most potent and 
 unrelenting of all ancient spinsters, destined them to 
 
 10 inextricable confusion. 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 73 
 
 To say merely that he was a hero, would be doing him 
 great injustice: he was in truth a combination of heroes; 
 for he was of a sturdy, raw-boned make, like Ajax Telamon, 
 with a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would have 
 given his hide for (meaning his lion s^Jhide) when he 15 
 undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, more 
 over, as Plutarch describes Coriolanus, not only terrible for 
 the force of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which 
 sounded as though it came out of a barrel ; and, like the self 
 same warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for the 20 
 sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough of 
 itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake 
 with terror and dismay. All this martial excellency of 
 appearance was inexpressibly heightened by an accidental 
 advantage, with which I am surprised that neither Homer 25 
 nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes. This was 
 nothing less than a wooden leg, which was the only prize he 
 had gained in bravely fighting the battles of his country, 
 but of which he was so proud, that he was often heard to 
 declare he valued it more than all his other limbs put 30 
 together ; indeed, so highly did he esteem it, that he had it 
 gallantly enchased and relieved with silver devices, which 
 caused it to be related in divers histories and legends that 
 he wore a silver leg. 1 
 
 Like that choleric warrior Achilles, he was somewhat 35 
 subject to extempore bursts of passion, which were rather 
 unpleasant to his favorites and attendants, whose percep 
 tions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his illus 
 trious imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing their shoulders 
 with his walking-staff. 40 
 
 Though I cannot find that he had read Plato, or Aristotle, 
 or Hobbes, or Bacon, or Algernon Sydney, or Tom Paine, 
 
 1 See the histories of Masters Josselyn and Blome. (Irving s note.) 
 
74 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 yet did he sometimes manifest a shrewdness and sagacity 
 in his measures, that one would hardly expect from a man 
 
 45 who did not know Greek, and had never studied the an 
 cients. True it is, and I confess it with sorrow, that he 
 had an unreasonable aversion to experiments, and was fond 
 of governing his province after the simplest manner; but 
 then he contrived to keep it in better order than did the 
 
 50 erudite Kieft, though he had all the philosophers, ancient 
 and modern, to assist and perplex him. I must likewise 
 own that he made but very few laws ; but then, again, he 
 took care that those few were rigidly and impartially en 
 forced; and I do not know but justice, on the whole, was 
 
 55 as well administered as if there had been volumes of sage 
 acts and statutes yearly made, and daily neglected and for 
 gotten. 
 
 He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors, be 
 ing neither tranquil and inert, like Walter the Doubter, nor 
 
 60 restless and fidgeting, like William the Testy, but a man, 
 or rather a governor, of such uncommon activity and de 
 cision of mind, that he never sought or accepted the advice 
 of others, depending bravely upon his single head, as 
 would a hero of yore upon his single arm, to carry him 
 
 65 through all difficulties and dangers. To tell the simple 
 truth, he wanted nothing to complete him as a statesman 
 than to think always right ; for no one can say but that he 
 always acted as he thought. He was never a man to flinch 
 when he found himself in a scrape, but to dash forward 
 
 70 through thick and thin, trusting, by hook or by crook, to 
 make all things straight in the end. In a word, he pos 
 sessed, in an eminent degree, that great quality in a states 
 man, called perseverance by the polite, but nicknamed 
 obstinancy by the vulgar, a wonderful salve for official 
 
 75 blunders, since he who perseveres in error without flinch 
 ing gets the credit of boldness and consistency, while he 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 75 
 
 who wavers in seeking to do what is right gets stigmatized 
 as a trimmer. This much is certain ; and it is a maxim 
 well worthy the attention of all legislators, great and small, 
 who stand shaking in the wind, irresolute which way to 80 
 steer, that a ruler who follows his .own will pleases himself, 
 while he who seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims of 
 others runs great risk of pleasing nobody. There is noth 
 ing, too, like putting down one s foot resolutely when in 
 doubt, and letting things take their course. The clock that 85 
 stands still points right twice in the four-and-twenty hours, 
 while others may keep going continually and be continually 
 going wrong. 
 
 Nor did this magnanimous quality escape the discern 
 ment of the good people of Meuw Nederlands ; on the con- 90 
 trary, so much were they struck with the independent will 
 and vigorous resolution displayed on all occasions by their 
 new governor, that they universally called him Hard-Koppig 
 Piet, or Peter the Headstrong, a great compliment to the 
 strength of his understanding. 95 
 
 If, from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy 
 reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, 
 weather-beaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion- 
 hearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have written 
 to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing con- 100 
 elusions. 
 
 The Devil and Tom Walker 
 (From Tales of a Traveler) 
 
 A few miles from Boston in Massachusetts, there is a 
 deep inlet, winding several miles into the interior of the 
 country from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly 
 wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this inlet is a 
 beautiful dark grove ; on the opposite side the land rises 5 
 
76 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 abruptly from the water s edge into a high ridge, on which 
 grow a few scattered oaks of great age and immense size. 
 Under one of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, 
 there was a great amount of treasure buried by Kidd the 
 
 10 pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money in 
 a boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the hill ; 
 the elevation of the place permitted a good look-out to be 
 kept that no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees 
 formed good landmarks by which the place might easily be 
 
 15 found again. The old stories add, moreover, that the devil 
 presided at the hiding of the money, and took it under his 
 guardianship ; but this, it is well known, he always does 
 with buried treasure, particularly when it has been ill- 
 gotten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover 
 
 20 his wealth ; being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out 
 to England, and there hanged for a pirate. 
 
 About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes 
 were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall 
 sinners down upon their knees, there lived near this place a 
 
 25 meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. He 
 had a wife as miserly as himself : they were so miserly that 
 they even conspired to cheat each other. Whatever the 
 woman could lay hands on, she hid away ; a hen could not 
 cackle but she was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. 
 
 30 Her husband was continually prying about to detect her 
 secret hoards, and many and fierce were the conflicts that 
 took place about what ought to have been common property. 
 They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood alone, and 
 had an air of starvation. A few straggling savin trees, 
 
 35 emblems of sterility, grew near it; no smoke ever curled 
 from its chimney ; no travelers stopped at its door. A 
 miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the bars 
 of a gridiron, stalked about a field, where a thin carpet of 
 moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds of puddingstone, 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 77 
 
 tantalized and balked his hunger ; and sometimes he would 40 
 lean his head over the fence, look piteously at the passerby, 
 and seem to petition deliverance from this land of famine. 
 
 The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. 
 Tom s wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud of 
 tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was often heard in 45 
 wordy warfare with her husband ; and his face sometimes 
 showed signs that their conflicts were not confined to words. 
 No one ventured, however, to interfere between them. The 
 lonely wayfarer shrunk within himself at the horrid clamor 
 and clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of discord askance ; and 50 
 hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, in his celibacy. 
 
 One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part of 
 the neighborhood, he took what he considered a short cut 
 homeward, through the swamp. Like most short cuts, it 
 was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was thickly grown 55 
 with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of them ninety 
 feet high, which made it dark at noonday, and a retreat for 
 all the owls of the neighborhood. It was full of pits and 
 quagmires, partly covered with weeds and mosses, where 
 the green surface often betrayed the traveler into a gulf of 60 
 black, smothering mud : there were also dark and stagnant 
 pools, the abode of the tadpole, the bull-frog, and the water- 
 snake ; where the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half- 
 drowned, half-rotting, looking like alligators sleeping in the 
 mire. 65 
 
 Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through 
 this treacherous forest ; stepping from tuft to tuft of rushes 
 and roots, which afforded precarious footholds among deep 
 sloughs ; or pacing carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate 
 trunks of trees ; startled now and then by the sudden 70 
 screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a wild duck 
 rising on the wing from some solitary pool. At length he 
 arrived at a piece of firm ground, which ran out like a penin- 
 
78 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 sula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It had been one 
 
 75 of the strongholds of the Indians during their wars with the 
 first colonists. Here they had thrown up a kind of fort, 
 which they had looked upon as almost impregnable, and 
 had used as a place of refuge for their squaws and children. 
 Nothing remained of the old Indian fort but a few embank- 
 
 80ments, gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding 
 earth, and already overgrown in part by oaks and other 
 forest trees, the foliage of which formed a contrast to the 
 dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. 
 
 It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker 
 
 85 reached the old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest 
 himself. Any one but he would have felt unwilling to 
 linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common 
 people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed 
 down from the time of the Indian wars ; when it was as- 
 
 90serted that the savages held incantations here, and made 
 sacrifices to the evil spirit. 
 
 Torn Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled 
 with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some 
 time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the bod- 
 
 95 ing cry of the tree-toad, and delving with his walking-staff 
 into a mound of black mould at his feet. As he turned up 
 the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against something 
 hard. He raked it out of the vegetable mould, and lo ! a 
 cloven skull, with an Indian tomahawk buried deep in it, 
 100 lay before him. The rust on the weapon showed the time 
 that had elapsed since this death-blow had been given. It 
 was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that had taken 
 place in this last foothold of the Indian warriors. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to 
 105 shake the dirt from it. 
 
 "Let that skull alone !" said a gruff voice. Tom lifted 
 up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seated directly 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 79 
 
 opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceedingly 
 surprised, having neither heard nor seen any one approach ; 
 and he was still more perplexed on observing, as well as the no 
 gathering gloom would permit, that the stranger was neither 
 negro nor Indian. It is true he was dressed in a rude half 
 Indian garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed round his 
 body ; but his face was neither black nor copper-color, but 
 swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with soot, as if he had 115 
 been accustomed to toil among fires and forges. He had a 
 shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from his head in 
 all directions, and bore an axe on his shoulder. 
 
 He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great 
 red eyes. 120 
 
 " What are you doing on my grounds ? " said the black 
 man, with a hoarse growling voice. 
 
 " Your grounds ! " said Tom with a sneer ; " no more your 
 grounds than mine ; they belong to Deacon Peabody." 
 
 " Deacon Peabody be d d," said the stranger, " as I flat- 125 
 ter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his own 
 sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, and 
 see how Deacon Peabody is faring. 
 
 Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, and 
 beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing without, but 130 
 rotten at the core, and saw that it had been nearly hewn 
 through, so that the first high wind was likely to blow it 
 down. On the bark of the tree was scored the name of 
 Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who had waxed wealthy 
 by driving shrewd bargains with the Indians. He now looked 135 
 around, and found most of the tall trees marked with the 
 name of some great man of the colony, and all more or less 
 scored by the axe. The one on which he had been seated, 
 and which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the 
 name of Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty rich 140 
 man of that name, who made a vulgar display of wealth, 
 
80 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 which it was whispered he had acquired by buccaneer 
 ing. 
 
 " He s just ready for burning ! " said the black man, with 
 145 a growl of triumph. " You see I am likely to have a good 
 stock of firewood for winter." 
 
 "But what right have you," said Tom, "to cut down 
 Deacon Peabody s timber ? " 
 
 " The right of a prior claim," said the other. " This wood- 
 150 land belonged to me long before one of your whitefaced race 
 put foot upon the soil." 
 
 " And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold ? " said Tom. 
 
 " Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild huntsman in 
 
 some countries ; the black miner in others. In this neigh- 
 
 155 borhood I am known by the name of the black woodsman. 
 
 I am he to whom the red men consecrated this spot, and in 
 
 honor of whom they now and then roasted a white man, by 
 
 way of sweet-smelling sacrifice. Since the red men have 
 
 been exterminated by you white savages, I amuse myself by 
 
 160 presiding at the persecutions of Quakers and Anabaptists ; 
 
 I am the great patron and promoter of slave-dealers, and the 
 
 grand-master of the Salem witches." 
 
 " The upshot of all which is, if I mistake not," said Tom, 
 sturdily, "you are he commonly called Old Scratch." 
 165 " The same, at your service ! " replied the black man, with 
 a half civil nod. 
 
 Such was the opening of this interview, according to the 
 old story ; though it has almost too familiar an air to be cred 
 ited. One would think that to meet with such a singular 
 170 personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any 
 man s nerves ; but Tom was a hard-minded fellow, not easily 
 daunted, and he had lived so long with a termagant wife that 
 he did not even fear the devil. 
 
 It is said that after this commencement they had a long 
 175 and earnest conversation together, as Tom returned home- 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 81 
 
 ward. The black man told him of great sums of money 
 buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak-trees on the high 
 ridge, not far from the morass. All these were under his 
 command, and protected by his power, so that none could 
 find them but such as propitiated his favor. These he 180 
 offered to place within Tom Walker s reach, having con 
 ceived an especial kindness for him ; but they were to be 
 had only on certain conditions. What these conditions were 
 may be easily surmised, though Tom never disclosed them 
 publicly. They must have been very hard, for he required 185 
 time to think of them, and he was not a man to stick at 
 trifles when money was in view. When they had reached 
 the edge of the swamp, the stranger paused "What proof 
 have I that all you have been telling me is true ? " said Tom. 
 " There s my signature," said the black man, pressing his 190 
 finger on Tom s forehead. So saying, he turned off among 
 the thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go 
 down, down, down, into the earth, until nothing but his 
 head and shoulders could be seen, and so on, until he totally 
 disappeared. 195 
 
 When Torn reached home he found the black print of a 
 finger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing 
 could obliterate. 
 
 The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden 
 death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It 200 
 was announced in the papers with the usual flourish, that 
 " A great man had fallen in Israel." 
 
 Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just 
 hewn down, and which was ready for burning. " Let the 
 freebooter roast," said Tom, " who cares ? " He now felt 205 
 convinced that all he had heard and seen was no illusion. 
 
 He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence ; but 
 as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it with 
 her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention of hid- 
 
82 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 210 den gold, and she urged her husband to comply with the 
 black man s terms, and secure what would make them 
 wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt disposed 
 to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined not to do so 
 to oblige his wife ; so he flatly refused, out of the mere 
 
 215 spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the quarrels 
 they had on the subject ; but the more she talked, the more 
 resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. 
 
 At length she determined to drive the bargain on her own 
 account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to herself. 
 
 220 Being of the same fearless temper as her hushand, she set 
 off for the old Indian fort towards the close of a summer s 
 day. She was many hours absent. When she came back, 
 she was reserved and sullen in her replies. She spoke 
 something of a black man, whom she had met about twilight, 
 
 225 hewing at the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, 
 and would not come to terms : she was to go again with a 
 propitiatory offering, but what it was she forebore to say. 
 
 The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with 
 her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, 
 
 230 but in vain ; midnight came, but she did not make her ap 
 pearance : morning, noon, night returned, but still she did 
 not come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, especially 
 as he found she had carried off in her apron the silver tea 
 pot and spoons, and every portable article of value. An- 
 
 235 other night elapsed, another morning came; but no wife. 
 In a word, she was never heard of more. 
 
 What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of 
 so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts 
 which have become confounded by a variety of historians. 
 
 240 Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled 
 mazes of the swamp, and sank into some pit or slough; 
 others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped with 
 the household booty, and made off to some other province ; 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 83 
 
 while others surmised that the tempter had decoyed her 
 into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her hat was 245 
 found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a great 
 black man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late that 
 very evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a bundle 
 tied in a check apron, with an air of surly triumph. 
 
 The most current and probable story, however, observes, 250 
 that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his wife 
 and his property, that he set out at length to seek them 
 both at the Indian fort. During a long summer s afternoon 
 he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife was to be 
 seen. He called her name repeatedly, but she was nowhere 255 
 to be heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as 
 he flew screaming by; or the bull-frog croaked dolefully 
 from a neighboring pool. At length, it is said, just in the 
 brown hour of twilight, when the owls began to hoot, and 
 the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted by the 260 
 clamor of carrion crows hovering about a cypress-tree. He 
 looked up, and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron, and 
 hanging in the branches of the tree, with a great vulture 
 perched hard by, as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped 
 with joy; for he recognized his wife s apron, and supposed 265 
 it to contain the household valuables. 
 
 " Let us get hold of the property," said he consolingly to 
 himself, "and we will endeavor to do without the woman." 
 
 As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its wide 
 wings, and sailed off screaming into the deep shadows of 270 
 the forest. Tom seized the checked apron, but woeful 
 sight ! found nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it ! 
 
 Such, according to this most authentic old story, was all 
 that was to be found of Tom s wife. She had probably at 
 tempted to deal with the black man as she had been accus- 275 
 tomed to deal with her husband ; but though a female scold 
 is generally considered a match for the devil, yet in this 
 
84 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 instance she appears to have had the worst of it. She must 
 have died game, however ; for it is said Tom noticed many 
 
 280 prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, and 
 found handfuls of hair, that looked as if they had been 
 plucked from the coarse black shock of the woodman. Tom 
 knew his wife s prowess by experience. He shrugged his 
 shoulders, as he looked at the signs of a fierce elapper-claw- 
 
 285 ing. " Egad," said he to himself, " Old Scratch must have 
 had a tough time of it ! " 
 
 Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property, with 
 the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He 
 even felt something like gratitude towards the black wood- 
 
 290 man, who, he considered, had done him a kindness. He 
 sought, therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance with 
 him, but for some time without success ; the old black-legs 
 played shy, for whatever people may think, he is not always 
 to be had for calling for: he knows how to play his cards 
 
 295 when pretty sure of his game. 
 
 At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom s 
 eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to any 
 thing rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met 
 the black man one evening in his usual woodman s dress, 
 
 300 with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, 
 and humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom s ad 
 vances with great indifference, made brief replies, and went 
 on humming his tune. 
 
 By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and 
 
 305 they began to haggle about the terms on which the former 
 was to have the pirate s treasure. There was one condition 
 which need not be mentioned, being generally understood in 
 all cases where the devil grants favors; but there were 
 others about which, though of less importance, he was in- 
 
 310 flexibly obstinate. He insisted that the money found 
 through his means should be employed in his service. He 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 85 
 
 proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in the black 
 traffic ; that is to say, that he should fit out a slave-ship. 
 This, however, Tom resolutely refused : he was bad enough 
 in all conscience ; but the devil himself could not tempt him 315 
 to turn slave-trader. 
 
 Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not in 
 sist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn 
 usurer ; the devil being extremely anxious for the increase 
 of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar people. 320 
 
 To this no objections were made, for it was just to Tom s 
 taste. 
 
 " You shall open a broker s shop in Boston next month," 
 said the black man. 
 
 " I ll do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom Walker. 325 
 
 " You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." 
 
 " Egad, I ll charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. 
 
 " You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the 
 merchant to bankruptcy " 
 
 " I ll drive him to the d 1," cried Tom Walker. 330 
 
 " You are the usurer for my money ! " said the black-legs 
 with delight. " When will you want the rhino ? " 
 
 " This very night." 
 
 " Done ! " said the devil. 
 
 " Done ! " said Tom Walker. So they shook hands and 335 
 struck a bargain. 
 
 A few days time saw Tom Walker seated behind his 
 desk in a counting-house in Boston. 
 
 His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who would lend 
 money out for a good consideration, soon spread abroad. 340 
 Everybody remembers the time of Governor Belcher, when 
 money was particularly scarce. It was a time of paper 
 credit. The country had been deluged with government 
 bills, the famous Land Bank had been established ; there 
 had been a rage for speculating ; the people had run mad 345 
 
86 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 with schemes for new settlements ; for building cities in the 
 wilderness; land-jobbers went about with maps of grants, 
 and townships, and Eldorados, lying nobody knew where, 
 but which everybody was ready to purchase. In a word, 
 
 350 the great speculating fever which breaks out every now and 
 then in the country had raged to an alarming degree, and 
 everybody was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from 
 nothing. As usual the fever had subsided ; the dream had 
 gone off, and the imaginary fortunes with it ; the patients 
 
 355 were left in doleful plight, and the whole country resounded 
 with the consequent cry of " hard times." 
 
 At this propitious time of public distress did Tom Walker 
 set up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon thronged 
 by customers. The needy and adventurous ; the gambling 
 
 360 speculator ; the dreaming land-jobber ; the thriftless trades 
 man ; the merchant with cracked credit ; in short, every 
 one driven to raise money by desperate means and desperate 
 sacrifices, hurried to Tom Walker. 
 
 Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and 
 
 365 acted like a " friend in need " ; that is to say, he always 
 exacted good pay and good security. In proportion to 
 the distress of the applicant was the hardness of his terms. 
 He accumulated bonds and mortgages ; gradually squeezed 
 his customers closer and closer ; and sent them at length, 
 
 370 dry as a sponge, from his door. 
 
 In this way he made money hand over hand ; became 
 a rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon 
 Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out of 
 ostentation; but left the greater part of it unfinished and- 
 
 375 unfurnished, out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage 
 in the fullness of his vainglory, though he nearly starved the 
 horses which drew it ; and as the ungreased wheels groaned 
 and screeched on the axle-trees, you would have thought 
 you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was squeezing. 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 87 
 
 As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having 380 
 secured the good things of this world, he began to feel 
 anxious about those of the next. He thought with regret 
 on the bargain he had made with his black friend, and set 
 his wits to work to cheat him out of the conditions. He 
 became, therefore, all of a sudden, a violent church-goer. 385 
 He prayed loudly and strenuously, as if heaven were to be 
 taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell 
 when he had sinned most during the week, by the clamor 
 of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians who had 
 been modestly and steadfastly traveling Zionward were 390 
 struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenly 
 outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. Tom 
 was as rigid in religious as in money matters ; he was a 
 stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, and seemed 
 to think every sin entered up to their account became a 395 
 credit on his own side of the page. He even talked of the 
 expediency of reviving the persecution of Quakers and 
 Anabaptists. In a word, Tom s zeal became as notorious 
 as his riches. 
 
 Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, 400 
 Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would 
 have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, there 
 fore, it is said he always carried a small Bible in his coat- 
 pocket. He had also a great folio Bible on his counting- 
 house desk, and would frequently be found reading it when 405 
 people called on business ; on such occasions he would lay 
 his green spectacles in the book, to mark the place, while 
 he turned round to drive some usurious bargain. 
 
 Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old 
 days, and that fancying his end approaching, he had his 410 
 horse new shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with his 
 feet uppermost; because he supposed that at the last day 
 the world would be turned upside down ; in which case he 
 
88 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 should find his horse standing ready for mounting, and he 
 
 415 was determined at the worst to give his old friend a run 
 for it. This, however, is probably a mere old wives fable. 
 If he really did take such a precaution, it was totally super 
 fluous ; at least so says the authentic old legend, which 
 closes his story in the following manner. 
 
 420 One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, just as a 
 terrible black thundergust was coming up, Tom sat in his 
 counting-house in his white linen cap and India silk morning- 
 gown. He was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by 
 which he would complete the ruin of an unlucky land 
 
 425 speculator for whom he had professed the greatest friend 
 ship. The poor land-jobber begged him to grant a few 
 months indulgence. Tom had grown testy and irritated, 
 and refused another day. 
 
 " My family will be ruined, and brought upon the parish," 
 
 430 said the land-jobber. "Charity begins at home," replied 
 Tom ; " I must take care of myself in these hard times." 
 
 " You have made so much money out of me," said the 
 speculator. 
 
 Tom lost his patience and his piety " The devil take 
 
 435 me," said he, " if I have made a farthing ! " 
 
 Just then there were three loud knocks at the street 
 door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black man 
 was holding a black horse, which neighed and stamped with 
 impatience. 
 
 440 " Tom, you re come for," said the black fellow, gruffly. 
 Tom shrunk back, but too late. He had left his little 
 Bible at the bottom of his coat-pocket, and his big Bible on 
 the desk buried under the mortgage he was about to fore 
 close : never was sinner taken more unawares. The black 
 
 445 man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave 
 the horse the lash, and he galloped, with Tom on his 
 back, in the midst of the thunderstorm. The clerks stuck 
 
WASHINGTON IRVING 89 
 
 their pens behind their ears, and stared after him from the 
 windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing down the " 
 streets; his white cap bobbing up and down; his morning- 450 
 gown fluttering in the wind, and his steed striking fire 
 out of the pavement at every bound. When the clerks 
 turned to look for the black man he had disappeared. 
 
 Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. 
 A countryman who lived on the border of the swamp re- 455 
 ported that in the height of the thundergust he had heard 
 a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the road, 
 and running to the window caught sight of a figure, such 
 as I have described, on a horse that galloped like mad 
 across the fields, over the hills, and down into the black 460 
 hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort ; and that 
 shortly after a thunderbolt falling in that direction seemed 
 to set the whole forest in a blaze. 
 
 The good people of Boston shook their heads and shrugged 
 their shoulders, but had been so much accustomed to 465 
 witches, and goblins, and tricks of the devil, in all kinds of 
 shapes, from the first settlement of the colony, that they 
 were not so much horror-struck as might have been ex 
 pected. Trustees were appointed to take charge of Tom s ef 
 fects. There was nothing, however, to administer upon. 470 
 On searching his coffers all his bonds and mortgages were 
 found reduced to cinders. In place of gold and silver his 
 iron chest was filled with chips and shavings ; two skeletons 
 lay in his stable instead of his half-starved horses, and the 
 very next day his great house took fire and was burnt to the 475 
 ground. 
 
 Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten 
 wealth. Let all griping money-brokers lay this story to 
 heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The very hole 
 under the oak-trees, whence he dug Kidd s money, is to be 480 
 seen to this day ; and the neighboring swamp and old Indian 
 
90 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 fort are often haunted in stormy nights by a figure on horse 
 back, in morning-gown and white cap, which is doubtless the 
 troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved 
 485 itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that popular say 
 ing, so prevalent throughout New England of " The Devil 
 and Tom Walker." 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
 Thanatopsis 
 
 To him who in the love of Nature hold o 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 5 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And healing sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
 
 10 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; 
 
 Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
 
 15 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, 
 
 20 Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
 Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 
 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 
 J The poems of Bryant are reprinted by permission of D. Appleton & Co., 
 the authorized publishers of his works. 
 
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 91 
 
 Thine individual being, shalt them go 25 
 
 To mix forever with the elements, 
 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock 
 
 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
 
 Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 30 
 
 Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world with kings, 
 The powerful of the earth the wise, the good, 35 
 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, the vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 The venerable woods rivers that move 40 
 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
 Old Ocean s gray and melancholy waste, 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 45 
 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
 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 
 That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 50 
 
 Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 
 Save his own dashings yet the dead are there : 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 55 
 
 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 from the living, and no friend 
 Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 60 
 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
 
92 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 When them art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
 His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
 
 65 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 Of ages glide 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, 
 
 70 The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man 
 
 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, which moves 
 
 75 To that mysterious realm, 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, 
 
 80 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 To a Waterfowl 
 
 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 ? 
 
 5 Vainly the fowler s eye 
 
 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
 As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 
 Thy figure floats along. 
 
 Seek st thou the plashy brink 
 10 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
 
 Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 
 On the chafed ocean-side ? 
 
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 93 
 
 There is a Power whose care 
 Teaches thy way along that pathless coast 
 The desert and illimitable air 15 
 
 Lone wandering, but not lost. 
 
 All day thy wings have fanned, 
 At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 
 
 Though the dark night is near. 20 
 
 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 25 
 
 Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart 
 Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
 
 And shall not soon depart. 
 
 He who, from zone to zone, 
 
 Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30 
 
 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, 
 And spread the roof above them ere he framed 
 The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 5 
 
 The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, 
 Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, 
 And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
 And supplication. For his simple heart 
 
 Might not resist the sacred influences 10 
 
 Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
 And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 
 
04 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
 Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
 15 All their green tops, stole 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, neglect 
 God s ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
 Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
 That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, 
 Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 
 Offer one hymn thrice happy, if it find 
 Acceptance in his ear. 
 
 Father, thy hand 
 
 25 Hath reared these venerable columns, Thou 
 
 Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
 Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
 All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, 
 Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
 
 30 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 for humble worshipper to hold 
 
 35 Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 
 
 These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
 Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
 The boast of our vain race to change the form 
 Of thy fair works. But thou art here Thou fill st 
 
 40 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, 
 
 45 The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. 
 
 Here is continual worship ; .Nature, here, 
 In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, 
 Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, 
 From perch to perch, fhe solitary bird 
 
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 95 
 
 Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 50 
 
 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 55 
 
 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 60 
 
 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 
 
 Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 
 
 With scented breath and look so like a smile, 65 
 
 Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 
 
 An emanation 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 70 
 
 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. 75 
 
 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 than their ancestors 80 
 
 Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost 
 One of earth s charms : upon her bosom yet, j 
 
 After the flight of untold centuries, 
 The freshness of her far "beginning lies 
 
 And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 85 
 
 Of his arch-enemy Death yea, seats himself 
 Upon the tyrant s throne the sepulchre, 
 
96 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
 Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
 90 From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 
 
 There have been holy men 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 
 95 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 
 
 100 My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, 
 
 The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 
 And tremble and are still. O God ! when Thou 
 Dost scare the world with tempest, set on fire 
 The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 
 
 105 With all the waters of the firmament, 
 
 The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods 
 And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, 
 Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
 Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
 
 110 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 
 
 115 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. 
 
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 97 
 
 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 sear. 
 
 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, 5 
 
 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. 10 
 
 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 goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, 15 
 
 And the yellow sunflower 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 new, when comes the calm "mild day, as still such days will 
 
 come, 
 
 To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; 20 
 
 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 lie 
 
 bore, 
 And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. 
 
 And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, 25 
 
 The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. 
 
98 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest 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, 
 30 So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 
 
 To the Fringed Gentian 
 
 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, 
 
 6 Thou comest not when violets lean 
 
 O er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
 Or columbines, in purple dressed, 
 Nod o er the ground-bird s hidden nest. 
 
 Thou waitest late and com st alone, 
 
 10 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 quiet eye 
 Look through its fringes to the sky, 
 15 Blue blue as if that sky let fall 
 
 A flower from its cerulean wall. 
 
 I would that thus, when I shall see 
 The hour of death draw near to me, 
 Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
 20 May look to heaven as I depart. 
 
 The Gladness of Nature 
 
 Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 
 
 When our mother Nature laughs around ; 
 
 When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 
 
 And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? 
 
WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT 99 
 
 There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, 5 
 
 And the gossip of swallows through all the sky ; 
 
 The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, 
 And the wilding bee hums merrily by. 
 
 The clouds are at play in the azure space, 
 
 And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, 10 
 
 And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
 
 And there they roll on the easy gale. 
 
 There s a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
 There s a titter of winds in that beechen tree, 
 
 There s a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, 15 
 And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. 
 
 And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 
 
 On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, 
 On the leaping waters and gay young isles; 
 
 Ay, look, and he ll smile thy gloom away. 20 
 
 Robert of Lincoln 
 
 Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
 Near to the nest of his little dame, 
 Over the mountain-side or mead, 
 
 Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : 
 
 Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 5 
 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 
 Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
 Hidden among the summer flowers. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, 
 
 Wearing a bright black wedding-coat ; 
 White are his shoulders and white his crest. 
 Hear him call in his merry note : 
 Bob-o -lirik, bob-oVLink, 
 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 15 
 
 Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 
 Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
100 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Robert of Lincoln s Quaker wife, 
 
 20 Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
 
 Passing at home a patient life, 
 
 Broods in the grass while her husband sings: 
 Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 
 
 1 25 Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 
 
 Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Modest and shy as a nun is she ; 
 
 One weak chirp is her only note. 
 30 Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 
 
 Pouring boasts from his little throat : 
 Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 
 Never was I afraid of man ; 
 
 35 Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! 
 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 
 
 Flecked with purple, a pretty sight I 
 There as the mother sits all day, 
 
 40 Robert is singing with all his might : 
 
 Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 
 Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
 keeping house while I frolic about. 
 45 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 
 
 Six wide mouths are open for food : 
 Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
 Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 
 Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 
 This new life is likely to be 
 Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 101 
 
 Robert of Lincoln at length is made 55 
 
 Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
 Off is his holiday garment laid, 
 Half forgotten that merry air : 
 Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 
 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 60 
 
 Nobody knows but my mate and I 
 Where our nest and nestlings lie. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; 
 
 Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 65 
 
 Robert of Lincoln s a humdrum crone ; 
 Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 
 Bob-o -link, bob-o -link, 
 Spink, spank, spink ; 
 
 When you can pipe that merry old strain, 70 
 
 Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 The Hurricane 
 
 Lord of the winds ! I feel thee nigh, 
 I know thy breath in the burning sky ! 
 And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, 
 For the coming of the hurricane ! 
 
 And lo ! on the wing of the heavy gales, 5 
 
 Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails ; 
 Silent, and slow, and terribly strong, 
 The mighty shadow is borne along, 
 Like the dark eternity to come ; 
 
 While the world below, dismayed and dumb, 10 
 
 Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere 
 Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. 
 
 They darken fast and the golden blaze 
 Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, 
 And he sends through the shade a funeral ray 15 
 
 A glare that is neither night nor day, 
 
102 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 A beam that touches, with hues of death, 
 The clouds above and the earth beneath. 
 To its covert glides the silent bird, 
 
 20 While the hurricane s distant voice is heard, 
 
 Uplifted among the mountains round, 
 And the forests hear and answer the sound. 
 
 He is come ! he is come ! do ye not behold 
 His ample robes on the wind unrolled ? 
 
 25 Giant of air ! we bid thee hail 1 
 
 How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; 
 How his huge and writhing arms are bent, 
 To clasp the zone of the firmament, 
 And fold, at length, in their dark embrace, 
 
 30 From mountain to mountain the visible space. 
 
 Darker still darker ! the whirlwinds bear 
 The dust of the plains to the middle air : 
 And hark to the crashing, long and loud, 
 Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! 
 
 35 You may trace its path by the flashes that start 
 
 From the rapid wheels where er they dart, 
 As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, 
 And flood the skies with a lurid glow. 
 
 What roar is that? tis the rain that breaks 
 
 40 In torrents away from the airy lakes, 
 
 Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, 
 And shedding a nameless horror round. 
 Ah ! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies, 
 W T ith the very clouds ! ye are lost to my eyes. 
 
 45 I seek ye vainly and see in your place 
 
 The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space, 
 A whirling ocean that fills the wall 
 Of the crystal heaven, and buries all. 
 And I, cut off from the world, remain 
 
 50 Alone with the terrible hurricane. 
 
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 103 
 
 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 
 
 The Fight Between the Ariel and the Alacrity 
 
 (From The Pilot, Chapter 18) 
 
 The English cutter held her way from the land, until she 
 got an offing of more than two miles, when she reduced 
 her sails to a yet smaller number;, and heaving into the 
 wind, she fired a gun in a direction opposite to that which 
 pointed to the Ariel. 5 
 
 " Now I would wager a quintal of codfish, Master Coffin," 
 said Barnstable, " against the best cask of porter that was 
 ever brewed in England, that fellow believes a Yankee 
 schooner can fly in the wind s eye ! If he wishes to speak 
 to us, why don t he give his cutter a little sheet, and come 10 
 down ? " 
 
 The cockswain had made his arrangements for the com 
 bat, with much more method and philosophy than any 
 other man in the vessel. When the drum beat to quarters, 
 he threw aside his jacket, vest, and shirt, with as little 15 
 hesitation as if he stood under an American sun, and with 
 all the discretion of a man who had engaged in an under 
 taking that required the free use of his utmost powers. As 
 he was known to be a privileged individual in the Ariel, 
 and one whose opinions, in all matters of seamanship, were 20 
 regarded as oracles by the crew, and were listened to by 
 his commander with no little demonstration of respect, the 
 question excited no surprise. He was standing at the 
 breech of his long gun, with his brawny arms folded on a 
 breast that had been turned to the color of blood by long 25 
 exposure, his grizzled locks fluttering in the breeze, and his 
 tall form towering far above the heads of all near him. 
 
 " He hugs the wind, sir, as if it was his sweetheart," was 
 
104 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 his answer; "but he ll let go his hold soon; and if he don t, 
 
 30 we can find a way to make him fall to leeward." 
 
 " Keep a good full ! " cried the commander, in a stern 
 voice ; " and let the vessel go through the water. That fel 
 low walks well, long Tom ; but we are too much for him on 
 a bowline ; though, if he continue to draw ahead in this 
 
 35 manner, it will be night before we can get alongside him." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain ; " them cutters 
 carries a press of canvas when they seem to have but little ; 
 their gaffs are all the same as young booms, and spread a 
 broad head to their mainsails. But it s no hard matter to 
 
 40 knock a few cloths out of their bolt-ropes, when she will 
 drop astarn and to leeward." 
 
 " I believe there is good sense in your scheme, this time," 
 said Barnstable ; " for I am anxious about the frigate s 
 people though I hate a noisy chase; speak to him, Tom, 
 
 45 and let us see if he will answer." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir," cried the cockswain, sinking his body in 
 such a manner as to let his head fall to a level with the 
 cannon that he controlled, when, after divers orders, and 
 sundry movements to govern the direction of the piece, he 
 
 50 applied a match, with a rapid motion, to the priming. An 
 immense body of white smoke rushed from the muzzle of 
 the cannon, followed by a sheet of vivid fire, until, losing 
 its power, it yielded to the wind, and as it rose from the 
 water, spread like a cloud, and, passing through the masts 
 
 55 of the schooner, was driven far to leeward, and soon 
 blended in the lists which were swiftly scudding before the 
 fresh breezes of the ocean. 
 
 Although many curious eyes were watching this beautiful 
 sight from the cliffs, there was too little of novelty in the 
 
 60 exhibition to attract a single look of the crew of the schooner, 
 from the more important examination of the effect of a shot 
 on their enemy. Barnstable sprang lightly on a gun, and 
 
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 105 
 
 watched the instant when the ball would strike with keen 
 interest, while long Tom threw himself aside from the line 
 of the smoke with a similar intention ; holding one of his 65 
 long arms extended towards his namesake, with a finger on 
 the vent, and supporting his frame by placing the hand of 
 the other on the deck, as his eyes glanced through an 
 opposite port-hole, in an attitude that most men might have 
 despaired of imitating with success. 70 
 
 " There go the chips ! " cried Barnstable. " Bravo ! 
 Master Coffin, you never planted iron in the ribs of an 
 Englishman with more judgment. Let him have another 
 piece of it ; and if he likes the sport, we ll play a game of 
 long bowls with him ! " 75 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain, who, the instant 
 he witnessed the effects of his shot, had returned to superin 
 tend the reloading of his gun ; " if he holds on half an hour 
 longer, I ll dub him down to our own size, when we can 
 close and make an even fight of it." 80 
 
 The drum of the Englishman was now, for the first time, 
 heard, rattling across the waters, and echoing the call to 
 quarters, that had already proceeded from the Ariel. 
 
 11 Ah ! you have sent him to his guns ! " said Barnstable ; 
 " we shall now hear more of it ; wake him up, Tom wake 85 
 him up ! " 
 
 " We shall start him on end, or put him to sleep altogether, 
 shortly," said the deliberate cockswain, who never allowed 
 himself to be at all hurried, even by his commander. " My 
 shot are pretty much like a shoal of porpoises, and com- 90 
 monly sail in each other s wake. Stand by heave her 
 breech forward so; get out of that, you damned young 
 reprobate, and let my harpoon alone ! " 
 
 " What are you at, there, Master Coffin ? " cried Barn- 
 stable ; " are you tongue-tied ? " 95 
 
 " Here s one of the boys skylarking with my harpoon in 
 
106 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the lee-scuppers, and by-and-by, when I shall want it most, 
 there ll be a no-man s-land to hunt for it in." 
 
 " Never mind the boy, Tom ; send him aft here to me, and 
 
 100 I ll polish his behavior; give the Englishman some more 
 iron." 
 
 " I want the little villain to pass up my cartridges," re* 
 turned the angry old seaman ; " but if you ll be so good, sir, 
 as to hit him a crack or two, now and then, as he goes by 
 
 105 you to the magazine, the monkey will learn his manners, and 
 the schooner s work will be all the better done for it. A young 
 herring-faced monkey ! to meddle with a tool ye don t know 
 the use of. If your parents had spent more of their money 
 on your education, and less on your outfit, you d ha been a 
 
 110 gentleman to what ye are now." 
 
 " Hurrah ! Tom, hurrah ! " cried Barnstable, a little im 
 patiently ; " is your namesake never to open his throat again ! " 
 "Ay, ay, sir; all ready," grumbled the coxswain; "de 
 press a little ; so so ; a damned young baboon-behaved cur- 
 
 H5mudgeon; overhaul that forward fall more; stand by with 
 your match but I ll pay him ! fire ! " This was the actual 
 commencement of the fight ; for as the shot of Tom Coffin 
 travelled, as he had intimated, very much in the same 
 direction, their enemy found the sport becoming too hot to 
 
 120 be endured in silence, and the report of the second gun from 
 the Ariel was instantly followed by that of the whole broad 
 side of the Alacrity. The shot of the cutter flew in. a very 
 good direction, but her guns were too light to give them 
 efficiency at that distance ; and as one or two were heard to 
 
 125 strike against the bends of the schooner, and fall back, in 
 nocuously, into the water, the cockswain, whose good-humor 
 became gradually restored as the combat thickened, re 
 marked with his customary apathy, 
 
 " Them count for no more than love-taps does the 
 
 130 Englishman think that we are firing salutes ! " 
 
JAMES FENIMORE. COOPER 107 
 
 " Stir him up, Tom ! every blow you give him will help 
 to open his eyes," cried Barustable, rubbing his hands with 
 glee as he witnessed the success of his efforts to close. 
 
 Thus far the cockswain and his crew had the fight, on 
 the part of the Ariel, altogether to themselves, the men 135 
 who were stationed at the smaller and shorter guns stand 
 ing in perfect idleness by their sides ; but in ten or fifteen 
 minutes the commander of the Alacrity, who had been 
 staggered by the weight of the shot that had struck him, 
 found that it was no longer in his power to retreat, if he 140 
 wished it; when he decided on the only course that was 
 left for a brave man to pursue, and steered boldly in such 
 a direction as would soonest bring him in contact with his 
 enemy, without exposing his vessel to be raked by his 
 fire. Barnstable watched each movement of his foe with 145 
 eagle eyes, and when the vessel had got within a lessened 
 distance, he gave the order for a general fire to be opened. 
 The action now grew warm and spirited on both sides. 
 The power of the wind was counteracted by the constant 
 explosion of the cannon ; and, instead of driving rapidly 150 
 to leeward, a white canopy of curling smoke hung above 
 the Ariel, or rested on the water, lingering in her wake, 
 so as to mark the path by which she was approaching to 
 a closer and still deadlier struggle. The shouts of the 
 young sailors, as they handled their instruments of death, 155 
 became more animated and fierce, while the cockswain 
 pursued his occupation with the silence and skill of one 
 who labored in a regular vocation. Barnstable was unusu 
 ally composed and quiet, maintaining the grave deportment 
 of a commander on whom rested the fortunes of the con- 160 
 test, at the same time that his dark eyes were dancing with 
 the fire of suppressed animation. 
 
 " Give it them ! " he occasionally cried, in a voice that 
 might be heard amid the bellowing of the cannon ; " never 
 
108 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 165 mind their cordage, my lads ; drive home their bolts, and 
 make your marks below their ridge-ropes." 
 
 In the meantime the Englishman played a manful game. 
 He had suffered a heavy loss by the distant cannonade, 
 which no metal he possessed could retort upon his enemy ; 
 
 170 but he struggled nobly to repair the error in judgment with 
 which he had begun the contest. The two vessels gradu 
 ally drew nigher to each other, until they both entered into 
 the common cloud created by their fire, which thickened 
 and spread around them in such a manner as to conceal 
 
 175 their dark hulls from the gaze of the curious and interested 
 spectators on the cliffs. The heavy reports of the cannon 
 were now mingled with the rattling of muskets and pistols, 
 and streaks of fire might be seen glancing like flashes of 
 lightning through the white cloud which enshrouded the 
 
 180 combatants ; and many minutes of painful uncertainty 
 followed, before the deeply interested soldiers, who were 
 gazing at the scene, discovered on whose banners victory 
 had alighted. 
 
 We shall follow the combatants into their misty wreath, 
 
 185 and display to the reader the events as they occurred. 
 
 The fire of the Ariel was much the most quick and 
 deadly, both because she had suffered less, and her men 
 were less exhausted ; and the cutter stood desperately on 
 to decide the combat, after grappling, hand to hand. Barn- 
 
 190 stable anticipated her intention, and well understood her 
 commander s reason for adopting this course ; but he was 
 not a man to calculate coolly his advantages, when pride 
 and daring invited him to a more severe trial. Accord 
 ingly, he met the enemy halfway, and as the vessels rushed 
 
 195 together, the stern of the schooner was secured to the bows 
 of the cutter, by the joint efforts of both parties. The 
 voice of the English commander was now plainly to be 
 heard, in the uproar, calling to his men to follow him. 
 
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 109 
 
 " Away there, boarders ! repel boarders on the starboard 
 quarter ! " shouted Barnstable through his trumpet. 200 
 
 This was the last order that the gallant young sailor gave 
 with this instrument ; for, as he spoke, he cast it from him, 
 and, seizing his sabre, flew to the spot where the enemy 
 was about to make his most desperate effort. The shouts, 
 execrations, and tauntings of the combatants, now succeeded 205 
 to the roar of the cannon, which could be used no longer 
 with effect, though the fight was still maintained with 
 spirited discharges of the small arms. 
 
 u Sweep him from his decks ! " cried the English com 
 mander, as he appeared on his own bulwarks, surrounded 210 
 by a dozen of his bravest men ; " drive the rebellious dogs 
 into the sea ! " 
 
 " Away there, marines ! " retorted Barnstable, firing his 
 pistol at the advancing enemy ; " leave not a man of them 
 to sup his grog again/" 215 
 
 The tremendous and close volley that succeeded this 
 order, nearly accomplished the command of Barnstable to 
 the letter, and the commander of the Alacrity, perceiving 
 that he stood alone, reluctantly fell back on the deck of his 
 own vessel, in order to bring on his men once more. 220 
 
 " Board her ! gray-beards and boys, idlers and all ! " 
 shouted Barnstable, springing in advance of his crew ; a 
 powerful arm arrested the movement of the dauntless sea 
 man, and before he had time to recover himself, he was 
 drawn violently back to his own vessel by the irresistible 225 
 grasp of his cockswain. 
 
 " The fellow s in his flurry, 7 said Tom, " and it wouldn t 
 be wise to go within reach of his flukes; but I ll just step 
 ahead and give him a set with my harpoon." 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, the cockswain reared his 230 
 tall frame on the bulwarks, and was in the attitude of step 
 ping on board of his enemy, when a sea separated the 
 
110 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 vessels, and he fell with a heavy dash of the waters into 
 the ocean. As twenty muskets and pistols were discharged 
 
 235 at the instant he appeared, the crew of the Ariel supposed 
 his fall to be occasioned by his wounds, and were rendered 
 doubly fierce by the sight, and the cry of their commander 
 to 
 
 " Revenge long Tom ! board her ! long Tom or death ! " 
 
 240 They threw themselves forward in irresistible numbers, 
 and forced a passage, with much bloodshed, to the fore 
 castle of the Alacrity. The Englishman was overpowered, 
 but still remained undaunted he rallied his crew, and 
 bore up most gallantly to the fray. Thrusts of pikes and 
 
 245 blows of sabres were becoming close and deadly, while 
 muskets and pistols were constantly discharged by those 
 who were kept at a distance by the pressure of the throng 
 of closer combatants. 
 
 Barnstable led his men in advance, and became a mark 
 
 250 of peculiar vengeance to his enemies, as they slowly yielded 
 before his vigorous assaults. Chance had placed the two 
 commanders on opposite sides of the cutter s deck, and the 
 victory seemed to incline towards either party, wherever 
 these daring officers directed the struggle in person. But 
 
 255 the Englishman, perceiving that the ground he maintained 
 in person was lost elsewhere, made an effort to restore the 
 battle, by changing his position, followed by one or two of 
 his best men. A marine, who preceded him, levelled his 
 musket within a few feet of the head of the American com- 
 
 260 mander, and was about to fire, when Merry glided among 
 the combatants, and passed his dirk into the body of the 
 man, who fell at the blow ; shaking his piece, with horrid 
 imprecations, the wounded soldier prepared to deal his 
 vengeance on his youthful assailant, when the fearless boy 
 
 265 leaped within its muzzle, and buried his own keen weapon 
 in his heart. 
 
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 111 
 
 " Hurrah ! " shouted the unconscious Barnstable, from 
 the edge of the quarter-deck, where, attended by a few men, 
 he was driving all before him. "Revenge! long Tom 
 and victory ! " 270 
 
 " We have them ! " exclaimed the Englishman ; " handle 
 your pikes ! we have them between two fires." 
 
 The battle would probably have terminated very differ 
 ently from what previous circumstances had indicated, had 
 not a wild looking figure appeared in the cutter s channels 275 
 at that moment, issuing from the sea, and gaining the deck 
 at the same instant. It was long Tom, with his iron visage 
 rendered fierce by his previous discomfiture, and his grizzled 
 locks drenched with the briny element from which he had 
 risen, looking like Neptune with his trident. Without 280 
 speaking, he poised his harpoon, and, with a powerful effort, 
 pinned the unfortunate Englishman to the mast of his own 
 vessel. 
 
 " Starn all! " cried Tom by a sort of instinct, when the blow 
 was struck ; and catching up the musket of the fallen 285 
 marine, he dealt out terrible and fatal blows with its butt, 
 on all who approached him, utterly disregarding the use of. 
 the bayonet on its muzzle. The unfortunate commander of 
 the Alacrity brandished his sword with frantic gestures, 
 while his eyes rolled in horrid wildness, when he writhed 290 
 for an instant in his passing agonies, and then, as his head 
 dropped lifeless upon his gored breast, he hung against the 
 spar, a spectacle of dismay to his crew. A few of the 
 Englishmen stood chained to the spot in silent horror at the 
 sight, but most of them fled to their lower deck, or hastened 295 
 to conceal themselves in the secret parts of the vessel, leav 
 ing to the Americans the undisputed possession of the 
 Alacrity. 
 
112 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 
 On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake 
 
 Green be the turf above thee, 
 Friend of my better days ! 
 
 None knew thee but to love thee, 
 Nor named thee but to praise. 
 
 5 Tears fell when thou wert dying, 
 
 From eyes unused to weep, 
 And long, where thou art lying, 
 Will tears the cold turf steep. - 
 
 When hearts, whose truth was proven, 
 10 Like thine, are laid in earth, 
 
 There should a wreath be woven 
 To tell the world their worth ; 
 
 And I who woke each morrow 
 To clasp thy hand in mine, 
 15 Who shared thy joy and sorrow, 
 
 Whose weal and woe were thine ; 
 
 It should be mine to braid it 
 
 Around thy faded brow, 
 But I ve in vain essayed it, 
 20 And feel I cannot now. 
 
 While memory bids me weep thee, 
 Nor thoughts nor words are free, 
 
 The grief is fixed too deeply 
 That mourns a man like thee. 
 
 Marco Bozzaris 
 
 At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
 The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
 
 When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
 Should tremble at his power. 
 
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 113 
 
 In dreams, through camp and court he bore 5 
 
 The trophies of a conqueror ; 
 
 In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
 Then wore his monarch s signet-ring ; 
 Then pressed that monarch s throne a king: 
 As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 10 
 
 As Eden s garden-bird. 
 
 At midnight, in the forest shades, 
 
 Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
 True as the steel of their tried blades, 
 
 Heroes in heart and hand. 15 
 
 There had the Persian s thousands stood, 
 There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 
 
 On old Platsea s day : 
 
 And now there breathed that haunted air, 
 The sons of sires who conquered there, 20 
 
 With arms to strike, and soul to dare, 
 
 As quick, as far as they. 
 
 An hour passed on the Turk awoke ; 
 
 That bright dream was his last : 
 
 He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 25 
 
 " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " 
 He woke to die midst flame and smoke, 
 And shout and groan, and sabre-stroke, 
 
 And death-shots-falling thick and fast 
 
 As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 30 
 
 And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
 
 Bozzaris cheer his band : 
 " Strike ! till the last armed foe expires ; 
 " Strike ! for your altars and your fires ; 
 " Strike ! for the green graves of your sires ; 35 
 
 God and your native land ! " 
 
 They fought like brave men, long and well ; 
 
 They piled the ground with Moslem slain ; 
 They conquered but Bozzaris fell, 
 
 Bleeding at every vein. 40 
 
114 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 His few surviving comrades saw 
 
 His smile, when rang their proud " hurrah/ 
 
 And the red field was won : 
 Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
 45 Calmly, as to a night s repose, 
 
 Like flowers at set of sun. 
 
 Come to the bridal-chamber, Death ; 
 
 Come to the mother s, when she feels, 
 For the first time, her first-born s breath ; 
 
 50 Come when the blessed seals 
 
 That close the pestilence are broke, 
 And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
 Come in consumption s ghastly form, 
 The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
 
 55 Come when the heart beats high and warm 
 
 With banquet-song, and dance, and wine ; 
 And thou art terrible the tear, 
 The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear 
 
 60 Of agony, are thine. 
 
 But to the hero, when his sword 
 Has won the battle for the free, 
 
 Thy voice sounds like a prophet s word ; 
 
 And in its hollow tones are heard 
 65 The thanks of millions yet to be. 
 
 Come, when his task of fame is wrought 
 
 Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought 
 Come in her crowning hour and then 
 
 Thy sunken eye s unearthly light 
 70 To him is welcome as the sight 
 
 Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; 
 
 Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
 
 Of brother in a foreign land ; 
 
 Thy summons welcome as the cry 
 75 That told the Indian isles were nigh 
 
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 115 
 
 To the world-seeking Genoese, 
 When the land wind, from woods of palm, 
 And orange groves, and fields of balm, 
 
 Blew o er the Haytian seas. , 
 
 Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 80 
 
 Greece nurtured in her glory s time, 
 Rest thee there is no prouder grave, 
 
 Even in her own proud clime. 
 She wore no funeral- weeds for thee, 
 
 Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume 85 
 
 Like torn branch from death s leafless tree 
 In sorrow s pomp and pageantry, 
 
 The heartless luxury of the tomb ; 
 
 But she remembers thee as one 
 
 Long loved and for a season gone ; 90 
 
 For thee her poet s lyre is wreathed, 
 
 Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
 
 For thee she rings the birthday bells. 
 
 Of thee her babe s first lisping tells ; 
 
 For thine her evening prayer is said 95 
 
 At palace-couch and cottage-bed ; 
 
 Her soldier, closing with the foe, 
 
 Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
 
 His plighted maiden, when she fears 
 
 For him the joy of her young years, 100 
 
 Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; 
 
 And she, the mother of thy boys, 
 Though in her eye and faded cheek 
 Is read the grief she will not speak, 
 
 The memory of her buried joys ; 105 
 
 And even she who gave thee birth, 
 Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth. 
 
 Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
 For thou art Freedom s now, and Fame s : 
 One of the few, the immortal names, 110 
 
 That were not born to die. 
 
116 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 
 The American Flag 
 
 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. 
 5 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
 
 The milky baldric of the skies, 
 And striped its pure celestial white 
 With streakings of the morning light ; 
 Then from his mansion in the sun 
 10 She called her eagle bearer down, 
 
 And gave into his mighty hand 
 The symbol of her chosen land. 
 
 Majestic monarch of the cloud, 
 Who rear st aloft thy regal form, 
 
 15 To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
 
 And see the lightning lances driven, 
 
 When strive the warriors of the storm, 
 And rolls the thunder drum of heaven, 
 Child of the sun ! to thee tis given 
 
 20 To guard the banner of the free, 
 
 To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
 To ward away the battle stroke, 
 And bid its blendings shine afar, 
 Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 
 
 25 The harbingers of victory 1 
 
 Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
 The sign of hope and triumph high, 
 When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
 And the long line comes gleaming on. 
 30 Ere yet the life blood, warm and wet, 
 
 Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
 
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 117 
 
 Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
 
 To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
 
 And, as his springing steps advance, 
 
 Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 35 
 
 And when the cannon mouthings loud 
 
 Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
 
 And gory sabers rise arid fall 
 
 Like shoots of flame on midnight s pall, 
 
 Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 40 
 
 And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
 
 Each gallant arm that strikes below 
 That lovely messenger of death. 
 
 Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
 
 Thy stars shall glitter o er the brave ; 45 
 
 When death, careering on the gale, 
 
 Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
 
 And frighted waves rush wildly back 
 
 Before the broadside s reeling rack, 
 
 Each dying wanderer of the sea 50 
 
 Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
 
 And smile to see thy splendors fly 
 
 In triumph o er his closing eye. 
 
 Flag of the free heart s hope and home I 
 
 By angel hands to valor given ; 55 
 
 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
 
 And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
 Forever float that standard sheet ! 
 
 Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
 With Freedom s soil beneath our feet, 60 
 
 And Freedom s banner streaming o er us? 
 
118 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 JOHN C. CALHOUN 
 
 The Real Character of the Union 
 
 (From On Nullification) 
 
 Notwithstanding all that has been said, I may say that 
 neither the Senator from Delaware (Mr. Clayton), nor any 
 other who has spoken on the same side, has directly and 
 fairly met the great question at issue: Is this a Fed- 
 5 eral Union ? a union of States, as distinct from that of in 
 dividuals ? Is the sovereignty in the several States, or in 
 the American people in the aggregate ? The very language 
 which we are compelled to use when speaking of our politi 
 cal institutions affords proof conclusive as to its real 
 
 10 character. The terms union, federal, united, all imply a 
 combination of sovereignties, a confederation of States. 
 They never apply to an association of individuals. Who 
 ever heard of the United State of New York, of Massachu 
 setts, or of Virginia ? Who ever heard the term federal or 
 
 15 union applied to the aggregation of individuals into one 
 community ? Nor is the other point less clear that the 
 sovereignty is in the several States, and that our system is 
 a union of twenty-four sovereign powers, under a constitu 
 tional compact, and not of a divided sovereignty between the 
 
 20 States severally and the United States. In spite of all that has 
 been said, I maintain that sovereignty is in its nature indi 
 visible. It is the supreme power in a State, and we might 
 just as well speak of half a square, or half of a triangle, as 
 of half a sovereignty. It is a gross error to confound the 
 
 25 exercise of sovereign powers with sovereignty itself, or the 
 delegation of such powers with the surrender of them. A 
 sovereign may delegate his powers to be exercised by as 
 many agents as he may think proper, under such conditions 
 and with such limitations as he may impose ; but to sur- 
 
JOHN C. CALHOUN 119 
 
 render any portion of his sovereignty to another is to an- 30 
 nihilate the whole. The Senator , from Delaware calls this 
 metaphysical reasoning, which he says he cannot comprehend. 
 If by metaphysics he means that scholastic refinement which 
 makes distinctions without difference, no one can hold it in 
 more utter contempt than I do ; but if, on the contrary, he 35 
 means the power of analysis and combination that power 
 which reduces the most complex idea into its elements, 
 which traces causes to their first principle, and, by the 
 power of generalization and combination, unites the whole 
 in one system then, so far from deserving contempt, it is 40 
 the highest attribute of the human mind. It is the power 
 which raises man above the brute which distinguishes his 
 faculties from mere sagacity, which he holds in common 
 with the inferior animals. It is the power which has raised 
 the astronomer from being a mere gazer at the stars to the high 45 
 intellectual eminence of a Newton or a Laplace, and astron 
 omy itself from a mere observation of isolated facts into that 
 noble science which displays to our admiration the system of 
 the universe. And shall this high power of the mind, which 
 has effected such wonders when directed to the laws which 50 
 control the material world, be forever prohibited, under a 
 senseless cry of metaphysics, from being applied to the high 
 purposes of political science and legislation ? I hold them 
 to be subject to laws as fixed as matter itself, and to be as 
 fit a subject for the application of the highest intellectual 55 
 power. Denunciation may, indeed, fall upon the philosophi 
 cal inquirer into these first principles, as it did upon Galileo 
 and Bacon, when they first unfolded the great discoveries 
 which have immortalized their names; but the time will 
 come when truth will prevail in spite of prejudice and de-60 
 nunciation, and when politics and legislation will be consid 
 ered as much a science as astronomy and chemistry. 
 
 In connection with this part of the subject, I understood 
 
120 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the senator from Virginia (Mr. Rives) to say that sov- 
 
 65 ereignty was divided, and that a portion remained with 
 the States severally, and that the residue was vested in the 
 Union. By Union, I suppose the senator meant the United 
 States. If such be his meaning if he intended that the 
 sovereignty was in the twenty-four States, in whatever 
 
 70 light he may view them, our opinions will not Disagree; 
 but, according to my conception, the whole sovereignty is in 
 the several States, while the exercise of sovereign powers is 
 divided a part being exercised under compact, through 
 this general government, and the residue through the sepa- 
 
 75 rate State governments. But if the senator from Virginia 
 (Mr. Rives) means to assert that the twenty-four States 
 form but one community, with a single sovereign power as 
 to the objects of the Union, it will be but a revival of the 
 old question, of whether the Union is a union between 
 
 80 States, as distinct communities, or a mere aggregate of the 
 American people, as a mass of individuals ; and in this 
 light his opinions would lead directly to consolidation. 
 
 DANIEL WEBSTER 
 
 On the Language of Calhoun s Resolutions 
 (From The Constitution Not a Compact) 
 
 The first two resolutions of the honorable member affirm 
 these propositions, viz. : 
 
 1. That the political system under which we live, and 
 under which Congress is now assembled, is a compact, to 
 
 5 which the people of the several States, as separate and sov 
 ereign communities, are the parties. 
 
 2. That these sovereign parties have a right to judge, 
 each for itself, of any alleged violation of the Constitution 
 by Congress ; and, in case of such violation, to choose, each 
 
 10 for itself, its own mode and measure of redress. 
 
DANIEL WEBSTER 121 
 
 It is true, Sir, that the honorable member calls this a 
 "constitutional" compact; but still he affirms it to be a 
 compact between sovereign States. What precise meaning, 
 then, does he attach to the term constitution? When ap 
 plied to compact between sovereign States, the term consti- 15 
 tutional affixes to the word compact no definite idea. Were 
 we to hear of a constitutional league or treaty between 
 England and France, or a constitutional convention between 
 Austria and Russia, we should not understand what could 
 be intended by such a league, such a treaty, or such a con- 20 
 vention. In these connections, the word is void- of all 
 meaning; and yet, Sir, it is easy, quite easy, to see why 
 the honorable gentleman has used it in these resolutions. 
 He cannot open the book, and look upon our written frame 
 of government, without seeing that it is called a constitution. 25 
 This may well be appalling to him. It threatens his whole 
 doctrine of compact, and its darling derivatives, nullifica 
 tion and secession, with instant confutation. Because, if 
 he admits our instrument of government to be a constitution, 
 then, for that very reason, it is not a compact between 30 
 sovereigns ; a constitution of government and a compact 
 between sovereign powers being things essentially unlike in 
 their very natures, arid incapable of ever being the same. 
 Yet the word constitution is on the very front of the instru 
 ment. He cannot overlook it. He seeks, therefore, to 35 
 compromise the matter, and to sink all the substantial 
 sense of the word, while he retains a resemblance of its 
 sound. He introduces a new word of his own, viz. compact, 
 as importing the principal idea, and designed to play the 
 principal part, and degrades constitution into an insignificant, 40 
 idle epithet, attached to compact. The whole then stands 
 as a "constitutional compact!" And in this way he hopes 
 to pass off a plausible gloss, as satisfying the words of the 
 instrument. But he will find himself disappointed. Sir, I 
 
122 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 45 must say to the honorable gentleman, that, in our American 
 political grammar, CONSTITUTION is a noun substantive ; 
 it imports a distinct and clear idea of itself; and it is not 
 to lose its importance and dignity, it is not to be turned 
 into a poor, ambiguous, senseless, unmeaning adjective, for 
 
 50 the purpose of accommodating any new set of political 
 notions. Sir, we reject his new rules of syntax altogether. 
 We will not give up our forms of political speech to the 
 grammarians of the school of nullification. By the Con 
 stitution, we mean, not a "constitutional compact," but, 
 
 55 simply and directly, the Constitution, the fundamental law ; 
 and if there be one word in the language which the people 
 of the United States understand, this is that word. We 
 know no more of a constitutional compact between sovereign 
 powers, than we know of a constitutional indenture of co- 
 
 60 partnership, a constitutional deed of conveyance, or a con 
 stitutional bill of exchange. But we know what the Con 
 stitution is ; we know what the plainly written fundamental 
 law is ; we know what the bond of our Union and the 
 security of our liberties is ; and we mean to maintain and 
 
 65 to defend it, in its plain sense and unsophisticated 
 meaning. 
 
 The sense of the gentleman s proposition, therefore, is 
 not at all affected, one way or the other, by the use of this 
 word. That proposition still is, that our system of govern- 
 
 70 ment is but a compact between the people of separate and 
 sovereign States. 
 
 Was it Mirabeau, Mr. President, or some other master of 
 the human passions, who has told us that words are things ? 
 They are indeed things, and things of mighty influence, not 
 
 75 only in addresses to the passions and high-wrought feelings 
 of mankind, but in the discussion of legal and political 
 questions also ; because a just conclusion is often avoided, 
 or a false one reached, by the adroit substitution of one 
 
DANIEL WEBSTER 123 
 
 phrase, or one word, for another. Of this we have, I think, 
 another example in the resolutions before us. 80 
 
 The first resolution declares that the people of the sev 
 eral States " acceded " to the Constitution, or to the consti 
 tutional compact, as it is called. This word " accede," not 
 found either in the Constitution itself, or in the ratification 
 of it by any one of the States, has been chosen for use here, 85 
 doubtless, not without a well-considered purpose. 
 
 The natural converse of accession is secession; and, there 
 fore, when it is stated that the people of the States acceded 
 to the Union, it may be more plausibly argued that they 
 may secede from it. If, in adopting the Constitution, noth-90 
 ing was done but acceding to a compact, nothing would 
 seem necessary, in order to break it up, but to secede from 
 the same compact. But the term is wholly out of place. 
 Accession, as a word applied to political associations, im 
 plies coming into a league, treaty, or confederacy, by one 95 
 hitherto a stranger to it; and secession implies departing 
 from such league or confederacy. The people of the United 
 States have used no such form of expression in establishing 
 the present government. They do not say that they accede 
 to a league, but they declare that they ordain and establish 100 
 a Constitution. Such are the very words of the instrument 
 itself; and in all the States, without an exception, the 
 language used by their conventions was, that they " ratified 
 the Constitution " ; some of them employing the additional 
 words " assented to " and " adopted," but all of them " rati- 105 
 fying." 
 
 There is more importance than may, at first sight, appear, 
 in the introduction of this new word, by the honorable 
 mover of these resolutions. Its adoption and use are indis 
 pensable to maintain those premises from which his main no 
 conclusion is to be afterwards drawn. But before showing 
 that, allow me to remark, that this phraseology tends to 
 
124 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 keep out of sight the just view of a previous political his 
 tory, as well as to suggest wrong ideas as to what was 
 
 115 actually done when the present Constitution was agreed to. 
 In 1789, and before this Constitution was adopted, the 
 United States had already been in a union, more or less 
 close, for fifteen years. At least as far back as the meeting 
 of the first Congress, in 1774, they had been in some 
 
 120 measure, and for some national purposes, united together. 
 Before the Confederation of 1781, they had declared 
 independence jointly, and had carried on the war jointly, 
 both by sea and land ; and this not as separate States, but 
 as one people. When, therefore, they formed that Con- 
 
 125 federation, and adopted its articles as articles of perpetual 
 union, they did not come together for the first time ; and 
 therefore they did not speak of the States as acceding to the 
 Confederation, although it was a league, and nothing but a 
 league, and rested on nothing but plighted faith for its per- 
 
 130 f ormance. Yet, even then, the States were not strangers to 
 each other ; there was a bond of union already subsisting 
 between them ; they were associated, united States ; and 
 the object of the Confederation was to make a stronger and 
 better bond of union. Their representatives deliberated to- 
 
 135 gether on these proposed Articles of Confederation, and be 
 ing authorized by their respective States, finally " ratified 
 and confirmed" them. Inasmuch as they were already in 
 union, they did not speak of acceding to the new Articles of 
 Confederation, but of ratifying and confirming them ; and 
 
 140 this language was not used inadvertently, because, in the 
 same instrument, accession is used in its proper sense, when 
 applied to Canada, which was altogether a stranger to the 
 existing union. "Canada," says the eleventh article, "ac 
 ceding to the Confederation, and joining in the measures of 
 
 145 the United States, shall be admitted into the Union." 
 
 Having thus used the terms ratify and confirm, even in 
 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN 125 
 
 regard to the old Confederation, it would have been strange 
 indeed, if the people of the United States, after its forma 
 tion, and when they came to establish the present Constitu 
 tion, had spoken of the States, or the people of the States, 150 
 as acceding to this Constitution. Such language would 
 have been ill-suited to the occasion. It would have implied 
 an existing separation or disunion among the States, such 
 as never has existed since 1774. No such language, there 
 fore, was used. The language actually employed is, adopt, 155 
 ratify , establish, ordain. 
 
 Therefore, Sir, since any State, before she can prove her 
 right to dissolve the Union, must show her authority to 
 undo what has been done, no State is at liberty to secede, on 
 the ground that she and other States have done nothing but 160 
 accede. She must show that she has a right to reverse what 
 has been ordained, to unsettle and overthrow what has been 
 established, to reject what the people have adopted, and to 
 break up what they have ratified; because these are the 
 terms which express the transactions which have actually 165 
 taken place. In other words, she must show her right to 
 make a revolution. 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 "Showing His Hand" 
 
 (A Letter to the Sangamon Journal) 
 
 NEW SALEM, June 13, 1836. 
 
 To THE EDITOR OF THE Journal: In your paper of last 
 Saturday I see a communication, over the signature of 
 " Many voters," in which the candidates who are announced 
 in the Journal are called upon to " show their hands." 5 
 Agreed. Here s mine. 
 
 I go for all sharing the privileges of the government who 
 
126 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 assist in bearing its burdens. Consequently, I go for ad 
 mitting all whites to the right of suffrage who pay taxes or 
 10 bear arms (by no means excluding females). 
 
 If elected, I shall consider the whole people of Sangamon 
 my constituents, as well those that oppose as those that 
 support me. 
 
 While acting as their representative, I shall be governed 
 15 by their will on all subjects upon which I have the means of 
 knowing what their will is ; and upon all others I shall do 
 what my own judgment teaches me will best advance their 
 interests. Whether elected or not, I go for distributing the 
 proceeds of the sales of the public lands to the several States, 
 20 to enable our State, in common with others, to dig canals 
 and construct railroads without borrowing money and pay 
 ing the interest on it. 
 
 If alive on the first Monday in November, I shall vote for 
 Hugh L. White for President. 
 
 A. LINCOLN. 
 
 Speech on Leaving Springfield in 1861 
 
 MY FRIENDS : No one, not in my situation, can appreciate 
 my feeling of sadness at this parting. To this place, and 
 the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I 
 have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a 
 
 5 young to an old man. Here my children have been born, 
 and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when or 
 whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater 
 than that which rested upon Washington. Without the 
 assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him, I 
 
 10 cannot succeed. With that assistance, 1 cannot fail. Trust 
 ing in him who can go with me, and remain with you, and 
 be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will 
 yet be well. To his care commending you, as I hope 
 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN 127 
 
 in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affec 
 tionate farewell. 15 
 
 Lincoln s Shortest Speech 
 (Address at Utica, New York, February 18, 1861) 
 
 LADIES AND GENTLEMEN : I have no speech to make to 
 you, and no time to speak in. I appear before you that I 
 may see you, and that you may see me ; and I am willing 
 to admit, that so far as the ladies are concerned, I have the 
 best of the bargain, though I wish it to be understood that 5 
 I do not make the same acknowledgment concerning the men. 
 
 (From the First Inaugural) 
 
 In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not 
 in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The Govern 
 ment will not assail you. You can have no conflict, without 
 being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath regis 
 tered in Heaven to destroy the government, while / shall 5 
 have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect, and de 
 fend it." 
 
 I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. 
 We must not be enemies. Though passion may have 
 strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The 10 
 mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield 
 and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all 
 over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, 
 when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better 
 angels of our nature. 15 
 
 The Gettysburg Address 
 
 Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth 
 upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and 
 dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 
 
128 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that 
 5 nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can 
 long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that 
 war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a 
 final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that 
 the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper 
 
 10 that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot 
 dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this 
 ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled 
 here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or de 
 tract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what 
 
 15 we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It 
 is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the un 
 finished work which they who fought here have thus so far 
 nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated 
 to the great task remaining before us, that from these 
 
 20 honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for 
 which they gave the last full measure of devotion, that we 
 here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, 
 that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of 
 freedom, and that government of the people, by the 
 
 25 people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 
 
 Letter to Mrs. Bixby 
 
 WASHINGTON, November 21, 1864. 
 
 DEAR MADAM: I have been shown in the files of the 
 War Department a statement of the Adjutant-General of 
 Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who 
 5 have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak 
 and fruitless must be any words of mine which should 
 attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so over 
 whelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you 
 the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the 
 
HENRY TIMROD 129 
 
 Republic they died to save. I pray that our heavenly 10 
 Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and 
 leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, 
 and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so 
 costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. 
 
 HENRY TIMROD i 
 A Cry to Arms 
 
 Ho ! woodsmen of the mountain side ! 
 
 Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! 
 Ho ! ye who by the chafing tide 
 
 Have roughened in the gales ! 
 Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, 5 
 
 Lay by the bloodless spade ; 
 Let desk, and case, and counter rot, 
 
 And burn your books of trade. 
 
 The despot roves your fairest lands ; 
 
 And till he flies or fears, 10 
 
 Your fields must grow but armed bands, 
 
 Your sheaves be sheaves of spears ! 
 Give up to mildew and to rust 
 
 The useless tools of gain ; 
 And feed your country s sacred dust 15 
 
 With floods of crimson rain ! 
 
 Come, with the weapons at your call 
 
 With musket, pike, or knife ; 
 He wields the deadliest blade of all 
 
 Who lightest holds his life. 20 
 
 The arm that drives its unbought blows 
 
 With all a patriot s scorn, 
 Might brain a tyrant with a rose, 
 
 Or stab him with a thorn. 
 
 1 The poems by Henry Timrod included in this book are used by special 
 permission of the B. F. Johnson Publishing Co., Richmond, Va., the 
 authorized publishers of his works. 
 
130 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 25 Does any falter? let him turn 
 
 To some brave maiden s eyes, 
 And catch the holy fires that burn 
 
 In those sublunar skies. 
 Oh ! could you like your women feel, 
 30 And in their spirit march, 
 
 A day might see your lines of steel 
 Beneath the victor s arch. 
 
 What hope, O God ! would not grow warm 
 
 When thoughts like these give cheer? 
 35 The Lily calmly braves the storm, 
 
 And shall the Palm-tree fear ? 
 No ! rather let its branches court 
 The rack that sweeps the plain ; 
 And from the Lily s regal port 
 40 Learn how to breast the strain ! 
 
 Ho! woodsmen of the mountain side! 
 
 Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! 
 Ho I ye who by the roaring tide 
 
 Have roughened in the gales ! 
 45 Come ! nocking gayly to the fight, 
 
 From forest, hill, and lake ; 
 We battle for our Country s right, 
 
 And for the Lily s sake I 
 
 Ode 
 
 (Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead 1 
 at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C., 1867) 
 
 Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, 
 
 Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause ; 
 Though yet no marble column craves 
 
 The pilgrim here to pause. 
 
 5 . In seeds of laurel in the earth 
 
 The blossom of your fame is blown, 
 And somewhere, waiting for its birth, 
 The shaft is in the stone ! 
 
HENRY TIMROD 131 
 
 Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years 
 
 Which keep in trust your storied tombs, IQ 
 
 Behold! your sisters bring their tears, 
 
 And these memorial blooms. 
 
 Small tributes ! but your shades will smile 
 
 More proudly on these wreaths to-day, 
 Than when some cannon-moulded pile 15 
 
 Shall overlook this bay. 
 
 Stoop, angels, hither from the skies ! 
 
 There is no holier spot of ground 
 Than where defeated valor lies, 
 
 By mourning beauty crowned 1 20 
 
 Flower-Life 
 
 I think that, next to your sweet eyes, 
 And pleasant books, and starry skies, 
 
 I love the world of flowers ; 
 Less for their beauty of a day, 
 
 Than for the tender things they say, 5 
 
 And for a creed I ve held alway, 
 
 That they are sentient powers. 
 
 It may be matter for a smile 
 And I laugh secretly the while 
 
 I speak the fancy out 10 
 
 But that they love, and that they woo, 
 And that they often marry too, 
 And do as noisier creatures do, 
 
 I ve not the faintest doubt. 
 
 And so, I cannot deem it right 15 
 
 To take them from the glad sunlight, 
 
 As I have sometimes dared ; 
 Though not witkout an anxious sigh 
 Lest this should break some gentle tie, 
 Some covenant of friendship, I 20 
 
 Had better far have spared. 
 
132 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 And when, in wild or thoughtless hours, 
 My hand hath crushed the tiniest flowers, 
 
 I ne er could shut from sight 
 25 The corpses of the tender things, 
 
 With other drear imaginings, 
 And little angel-flowers with wings 
 
 Would haunt me through the night. 
 
 Oh ! say you, friend, the creed is fraught 
 30 With sad, and even with painful thought 
 
 Nor could you bear to know 
 That such capacities belong 
 To creatures helpless against wrong, 
 At once too weak to fly the strong 
 35 Or front the feeblest foe ? 
 
 So be it always, then, with you; 
 So be it whether false or true 
 
 I press my faith on none ; 
 If other fancies please you more, 
 40 The flowers shall blossom as before, 
 
 Dear as the Sibyl-leaves of yore, 
 
 But senseless, every one. 
 
 Yet, though I give you no reply, 
 It were not hard to justify 
 45 My creed to partial ears ; 
 
 But, conscious of the cruel part, * 
 My rhymes would flow with faltering art, 
 I could not plead against your heart, 
 Nor reason with your tears. 
 
 Why Silent 
 
 Why am I silent from year to year ? 
 
 Needs must I sing on these blue March days? 
 What will you say, when I tell you here, 
 
 That already, I think, for a little praise, 
 5 I have paid too dear ? 
 
PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 133 
 
 For, I know not why, when I tell my thought, 
 
 It seems as though I fling it away ; 
 And the charm wherewith a fancy is fraught, 
 
 When secret, dies with the fleeting lay 
 
 Into which it is wrought. 10 
 
 So my butterfly -dreams their golden wings 
 
 But seldom unfurl from their chrysalis; 
 And thus I retain my loveliest things, 
 
 While the world, in its worldliness, does not miss 
 
 What a poet sings. 15 
 
 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 1 
 Beauregard s Appeal 
 
 !fea ! since tne need is bitter, 
 
 Take down those sacred bells, 
 Whose music speaks of hallowed joys, 
 
 And passionate farewells ! 
 
 But ere ye fall dismantled, 5 
 
 Ring out, deep bells ! once more : 
 And pour on the waves of the passing wind 
 
 The symphonies of yore. 
 
 Let the latest born be welcomed 
 
 By pealings glad and long, 10 
 
 Let the latest dead in the churchyard bed 
 
 Be laid with solemn song. 
 
 And the bells above them throbbing, 
 
 Should sound in mournful tone, 
 As if, in grief for a human death, 
 
 They prophesied their own. 
 
 1 The selections from Paul Hamilton Hayne are used by permission of 
 Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, publishers of Hayne s Complete Poems. 
 
134 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Who says tis a desecration 
 
 To strip the temple towers, 
 And invest the metal of peaceful notes 
 - With death-compelling powers? 
 
 A truce to cant and folly ! 
 
 Our people s ALL at stake, 
 Shall we heed the cry of the shallow fool, 
 
 Or pause for the bigot s sake V 
 
 25 Then crush the struggling sorrow ! 
 
 Feed high your furnace fires, 
 And mould into deep-mouthed guns of bronze, 
 The bells from a hundred spires. 
 
 Methinks no common vengeance, 
 30 No transient war eclipse, 
 
 Will follow the awful thunder-burst 
 From their adamantine lips. 
 
 A cause like ours is holy, 
 
 And it useth holy things ; 
 
 35 While over the storm of a righteous strife, 
 
 May shine the angel s wings. 
 
 Where er our duty leads us, 
 The grace of God is there, 
 And the lurid shrine of war may hold 
 40 The Eucharist of prayer. 
 
 Forgotten 
 
 Forgotten ! Can it be a few swift rounds 
 
 Of Time s great chariot wheels have crushed to naught 
 The memory of those fearful sights and sounds, 
 
 With speechless misery fraught 
 Wherethr,o we hope to gain the Hesperian height, 
 Where Freedom smiles in light ? 
 
PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 135 
 
 Forgotten ! scarce have two dim autumns veiled 
 With merciful mist those dreary burial sods, 
 
 Whose coldness (when the high-strung pulses failed, 
 Of men who strove like gods) 10 
 
 Wrapped in a sanguine fold of senseless dust 
 
 Dead hearts and perished trust ! 
 
 Forgotten ! While in far-off woodland dell, 
 By lonely mountain tarn and murmuring stream, 
 
 Bereaved hearts with sorrowful passion swell 15 
 
 Their lives one ghastly dream 
 
 Of hope outwearied and betrayed desire, 
 
 And anguish crowned with fire ! 
 
 Forgotten ! while our manhood cursed with chains, 
 
 And pilloried high for all the world to view, 20 
 
 Writhes in its fierce, intolerable pains, 
 Decked with dull wreaths of rue, 
 
 And shedding blood for tears, hands waled with scars, 
 
 Lifts to the dumb, cold stars ! 
 
 Forgotten ! Can the dancer s jocund feet 25 
 
 Flash o er a char n el-vault, and maidens fair 
 Bend the white lustre of their eyelids sweet, 
 
 Love-weighed, so nigh despair, 
 
 Its ice-cold breath must freeze their blushing brows? 
 And hush love s tremulous vows ? 30 
 
 Forgotten ! Nay : but all the songs we sing 
 
 Hold under-burdens, wailing chords of woe ; 
 Our lightest laughters sound with hollow ring, 
 
 Our bright wit s freest flow, 
 
 Quavers to sudden silence of affright, 35 
 
 Touched by an untold blight ! 
 
 Forgotten ! N"o ! we cannot all forget, 
 
 Or, when we do, farewell to Honor s face, 
 To Hope s sweet tendance, Valor s unpaid debt, 
 
 And every noblest Grace, 40 
 
136 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Which nursed in Love, might still benignly bloom 
 Above a nation s tomb ! 
 
 Forgotten ! Tho a thousand years should pass, 
 
 Methinks our air will throb with memory s thrills, 
 45 A conscious grief weigh down the faltering grass, 
 
 A pathos shroud the hills, 
 Waves roll lamenting, autumn sunsets yearn 
 For the old time s return ! 
 
 The Axe and Pine 
 
 All day, on bole and limb the axes ring, 
 And every stroke upon my startled brain 
 Falls with the power of sympathetic pain ; 
 I shrink to view each glorious forest-king 
 5 Descend to earth, a wan, discrowned thing. 
 Ah, Heaven! beside these foliaged giants slain, 
 How small the human dwarfs, whose lust for gain 
 Hath edged their brutal steel to smite and sting I 
 Hark ! to those long-drawn murmurings, strange and drear 1 
 10 The wails of Dryads in their last distress ; 
 O er ruined haunts and ravished loveliness 
 Still tower those brawny arms ; tones coarsely loud 
 Rise still beyond the greenery s waning cloud, 
 While falls the insatiate steel, sharp, cold and sheer ! 
 
 Aspects of the Pines 
 
 Tall, sombre, grim, against the morning sky 
 They rise, scarce touched by melancholy airs, 
 
 Which stir the fadeless foliage dreamfully, 
 As if from realms of mystical despairs. 
 
 6 Tall, sombre, grim, they stand with dusky gleams 
 Brightening to gold within the woodland s core, 
 Beneath the gracious noontide s tranquil beams 
 But the weird winds of morning sigh no more. 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 137 
 
 A stillness, strange, divine, ineffable, 
 
 Broods round and o er them in the wind s surcease, JQ 
 
 And on each tinted copse and shimmering dell 
 
 Rests the mute rapture of deep hearted peace. 
 
 Last, sunset comes the solemn joy and might 
 " Borne from the West when cloudless day declines 
 Low, flutelike breezes sweep the waves of light, 15 
 
 And lifting dark green tresses of the pines, T ; 
 
 Till every lock is luminous gently float, 
 
 Fraught with hale odors up the heavens afar 
 To faint when twilight on her virginal throat 
 
 Wears for a gem the tremulous vesper star. 20 
 
 Poets 
 
 Some thunder on the heights of song, their race 
 
 Godlike in power, while others at their feet 
 
 Are breathing measures scarce less strong and sweet 
 
 Than those which peal from out that loftiest place ; 
 
 Meantime, just midway on the mount, his face 5 
 
 Fairer than April heavens, when storms retreat, 
 
 And on their edges rain and sunshine meet, 
 
 Pipes the soft lyrist lays of tender grace ; 
 
 But where the slopes of bright Parnassus sweep 
 
 Near to the common ground, a various throng 10 
 
 Chant lowlier measures, yet each tuneful strain 
 
 (The silvery minor of earth s perfect song) 
 
 Blends with that music of the topmost steep, 
 
 O er whose vast realm the master minstrels reigri ! 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 To Helen 
 
 Helen, thy beauty is to me 
 
 Like those Nicean barks of yore, 
 
 That gently, o er a perfumed sea, 
 The weary, way-worn wanderer bore 
 To his own native shore. 5 
 
138 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 i 
 
 On desperate seas long wont to roam, 
 Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, 
 
 Thy Naiad airs have brought me home 
 
 To the glory that was Greece, 
 10 And the grandeur that was Rome. 
 
 Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche 
 How statue-like I see thee stand, 
 The agate lamp within thy hand ! 
 
 Ah, Psyche, from the regions which 
 15 Are Holy-Land ! 
 
 Israfel 
 
 In Heaven a spirit doth dwell 
 Whose heart-strings are a lute ; * 
 
 None sing so wildly well 
 
 As the angel Israfel, 
 5 And the giddy stars (so legends tell) 
 
 Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell 
 Of his voice, all mute. 
 
 Tottering above 
 
 In her highest noon, 
 10 The enamored moon 
 
 Blushes with love, 
 
 While, to listen, the red levin 
 (With the rapid Pleiads, even, 
 Which were seven,) 
 15 Pauses in Heaven. 
 
 And they say (the starry choir 
 And the other listening things) 
 
 That Israfeli s fire 
 
 Is owing to that lyre 
 20 By which he sits and sings 
 
 The trembling living wire 
 Of those unusual strings. 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 139 
 
 But the skies that angel trod, 
 
 Where deep thoughts are a duty 
 Where Love s a grown-up God 25 
 
 Where the Houri glances are 
 Imbued with all the beauty 
 
 Which we worship in a star. 
 
 Therefore, thou art not wrong, 
 
 Israfeli, who despisest 30 
 
 An unimpassioned song; 
 To thee the laurels belong, 
 
 Best bard, because the wisest ! 
 Merrily live, and long ! 
 
 The ecstasies above 35 
 
 With thy burning measures suit 
 Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, 
 
 With the fervor of thy lute 
 
 Well may the stars be mute ! 
 
 Yes, Heaven is thine ; but this 40 
 
 Is a world of sweets and sours ; 
 
 Our flowers are merely flowers, 
 And the shadow of thy perfect bliss 
 
 Is the sunshine of ours. 
 
 If I could dwell 45 
 
 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 50 
 
 From my lyre within the sky. 
 
140 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The Haunted Palace 
 
 In the greenest of our valleys 
 
 By good angels tenanted, 
 Once a fair and stately palace 
 
 Radiant palace reared its head. 
 5 In the monarch Thought s dominion 
 
 It stood there ! 
 Never seraph spread a pinion 
 
 Over fabric half so fair ! 
 
 Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 
 10 On its roof did float and flow, 
 
 (This all this was in the olden 
 
 Time long ago,) 
 And every gentle air that dallied, 
 
 In that sweet day, 
 
 15 Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 
 
 A winged odor went away. 
 
 Wanderers in that happy valley, 
 
 Through two luminous windows, saw 
 
 Spirits moving musically, 
 20 To a lute s well-tuned law, 
 
 Round about a throne where, sitting, 
 (Porphyrogene !) 
 
 In state his glory well befitting, 
 The ruler of the realm was seen. 
 
 25 And all with pearl and ruby glowing 
 
 Was the fair palace door, 
 Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing 
 
 And sparkling evermore, 
 A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 
 30 Was but to sing, 
 
 In voices of surpassing beauty, 
 
 The wit and wisdom of their king. 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 141 
 
 But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 
 
 Assailed the monarch s high estate. 
 (Ah, let us mourn ! for never morrow 35 
 
 Shall dawn upon him desolate!) 
 And round about his home the glory 
 
 That blushed and bloomed, 
 Is but a dim-remembered story 
 
 Of the old time entombed. 40 
 
 And travellers, now, within that valley, 
 
 Through the red-litten windows see 
 Vast forms, that move fantastically 
 
 To a discordant melody, 
 While, like a ghastly rapid river, 45 
 
 Through the pale door 
 A hideous throng rush out forever 
 
 And laugh but smile no more. 
 
 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 visiter/ I muttered, tapping at my chamber door 5 
 Only this and nothing more. 
 
 Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; 
 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 10 
 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 
 Thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 15 
 * Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door 
 Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door ; 
 This it is and nothing more. 
 
142 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer, 
 20 < 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. 
 
 25 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, 
 
 fearing, 
 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever daved to dream before ; 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
 And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore ! 
 This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word Lenore ! 
 
 30 Merely this and nothing more. 
 
 Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
 Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
 Surely, said I, surely that is something at my window lattice ; 
 Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore 
 35 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 nutter 
 
 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; 
 
 40 But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door 
 Perched upon a bust of Pallas 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, 
 45 < 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. 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 143 
 
 Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
 Though its answer little meaning little relevancy bore; 50 
 
 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 the placid bust, spoke only 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
 Doubtless, said I, what it utters is its only stock and store 
 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 65 
 
 Of " Never nevermore." 
 
 But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy 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 70 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
 Meant in croaking i 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 75 
 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 ! 
 
144 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 
 
 censer 
 
 80 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. 
 
 85 < 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 there balm in Gilead ? tell me tell me, I implore ! 
 
 90 Quoth the Raven l Nevermore. 
 
 4 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 
 95 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore. 
 Quoth the Raven Nevermore. 
 
 Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! I shrieked, 
 
 upstarting 
 
 4 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 ! 
 100 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door ! 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, 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; 
 105 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; 
 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
 Shall be lifted nevermore ! 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 145 
 
 Ulalume 
 
 The skies they were ashen and sober ; 
 
 The leaves they were crisped and sere 
 
 The leaves they were withering and sere ; 
 It was night in the lonesome October 
 
 Of my most immemorial year ; 5 
 
 It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 
 
 In the misty mid region of Weir 
 It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 
 
 In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir 
 
 Here once, through an alley Titanic. 10 
 
 Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul 
 
 Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. 
 These were days when my heart was volcanic 
 
 As the scoriae rivers that roll 
 
 As the lavas that restlessly roll 15 
 
 Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 
 
 In the ultimate climes of the pole 
 That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 
 
 In the realms of the boreal pole. 
 
 Our talk had been serious and sober, 20 
 
 But our thoughts they were palsied and sere 
 Our memories were treacherous and sere 
 
 For we knew not the month was October, 
 And we marked not the night of the year 
 (Ah, night of all nights in the year !) 25 
 
 We noted not the dim lake of Auber 
 
 (Though once we had journeyed down here) 
 
 Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, 
 Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 
 
 And now, as the night was senescent 30 
 
 And star-dials pointed to morn 
 
 As the star-dials hinted of morn 
 At the end of our path a liquescent 
 
 And nebulous lustre was born, 
 
146 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 35 Out of which a miraculous crescent 
 
 Arose with a duplicate horn 
 Astarte s bediamonded crescent 
 Distinct with its duplicate horn. 
 
 And I said She is warmer than Dian : 
 40 She rolls through an ether of sighs 
 
 She revels in a region of sighs : 
 She has seen that the tears are not dry on 
 
 These cheeks, where the worm never dies 
 And has come past the stars of the Lion 
 45 To point us the path to the skies 
 
 To the Lethean peace of the skies 
 Come up, in despite of the Lion, 
 
 To shine on us with her bright eyes 
 Come up through the lair of the Lion, 
 60 With love in her luminous eyes/ 
 
 But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 
 Said Sadly this star I mistrust 
 Her pallor I strangely mistrust : 
 
 Oh, hasten ! oh, let us not linger ! 
 65 Oh, fly ! let us fly 1 for we must. 
 
 In terror she spoke, letting sink her 
 Wings until they trailed in the dust 
 
 In agony sobbed, letting sink her 
 
 Plumes till they trailed in the dust 
 60 Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 
 
 I replied < This is nothing but dreaming : 
 
 Let us on by this tremulous light ! 
 
 Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! 
 Its Sibyllic splendor Is beaming 
 65 With Hope and in Beauty to-night : 
 
 See ! it flickers up the sky through the night ! 
 Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, 
 
 And be sure it will lead us aright 
 We safely may trust to a gleaming 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 147 
 
 That cannot but guide us aright, 70 
 
 Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night. 
 
 Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, 
 
 And tempted her out of her gloom 
 
 And conquered her scruples and gloom ; 
 And we passed to the end of the vista, 75 
 
 But were stopped by the door of a tomb 
 
 By the door of a legended tomb ; 
 And I said * What is written, sweet sister, 
 
 On the door of this legended tomb ? 
 
 She replied Ulalume Ulalume 80 
 
 Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! 
 
 Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 
 As the leaves that were crisped and sere 
 As the leaves that were withering and sere, 
 
 And I cried * It was surely October 85 
 
 On this very night of last year 
 That I journeyed I journeyed down here 
 That I brought a dread burden down here 
 On this night of all nights in the year, 
 Ah, what demon has tempted me here ? 90 
 
 Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber 
 This misty mid region of Weir 
 
 Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
 This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 
 
 Annabel Lee 
 
 It was many and many a year ago, 
 
 In a kingdom by the sea 
 That a maiden there lived whom you may know 
 
 By the name of ANNABEL LEE ; 
 And this maiden she lived with no other thought 
 
 Than to love and be loved by me. 
 
148 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 / was a child and she was a child, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 
 But we loved with a love that was more than love 
 10 I and my ANNABEL LEE 
 
 With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 
 
 Coveted her and me. 
 
 And this was the reason that, long ago, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 15 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
 
 My beautiful ANNABEL LEE ; 
 So that her high-born kinsmen came 
 
 And bore her away from me, 
 To shut her up in a sepulchre 
 20 In this kingdom by the sea. 
 
 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
 
 Went envying her and me 
 Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea) 
 25 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 
 
 Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE. 
 
 But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
 
 Of those who were older than we 
 
 Of many far wiser than we 
 30 And neither the angels in heaven above, 
 
 Nor the demons down under the sea, 
 Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
 
 Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE : 
 
 For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 
 35 Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE, 
 
 And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 
 
 Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE : 
 And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
 Of my darling my darling my life and my bride, 
 40 In the sepulchre there by the sea 
 
 In her tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 149 
 
 Morella 
 
 AUTO rjaff avro />ie# avrov, aovo ctScs cuet av. 
 
 Itself, by itself solely, ONE everlastingly, and single. 
 
 PLATO, Sympos. 
 
 With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I re 
 garded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her 5 
 society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, 
 burned with fires it had never before known ; but the fires 
 were not of Eros, and bitter and tormenting to my spirit 
 was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner de 
 fine their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague in- 10 
 tensity. Yet we met ; and fate bound us together at the 
 altar ; and I never spoke of passion, nor thought of love. 
 She however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me 
 alone, rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; 
 it is a happiness to dream. 15 
 
 Morella s erudition was profound. As I hope to live, 
 her talents were of no common order her powers of mind 
 were gigantic. I felt this and, in many matters, became 
 her pupil. I soon, however, found that, perhaps on ac 
 count of her Presburg education, she placed before me a 20 
 number of those mystical writings which are usually con 
 sidered the mere dross of the early German literature. 
 These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her fa 
 vorite and constant study and that, in process of time 
 they became my own, should be attributed to the simple 25 
 but effectual influence of habit and example. 
 
 In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My 
 convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted 
 upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism 
 which I read, to be discovered, unless I am greatly mis- 30 
 taken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. Persuaded 
 
150 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 of this, I abandoned myself implicitly to the guidance of 
 my wife, and entered with an unflinching heart into the 
 intricacies of her studies. And then then, when, poring 
 
 35 over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden spirit enkindling 
 within me would Morella place her cold hand upon my 
 own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy 
 some low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned 
 themselves in upon my memory. And then, hour after 
 
 40 hour, would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the 
 music of her voice until, at length, its melody was tainted 
 with terror, and there fell a shadow upon my soul and 
 I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly 
 tones. And thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and the 
 
 45 most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon be 
 came the Gehenna. 
 
 It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those 
 disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have 
 mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole 
 
 50 conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in 
 what might be termed theological morality they will be 
 readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all 
 events, be little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fichte ; 
 the modified naAiyyevecrm of Pythagoreans ; and, above all, 
 
 .55 the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling were gener 
 ally the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty 
 to the imaginative Morella. That identity which is termed 
 personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the 
 saneness of a rational being. And since by person we un- 
 
 tfoderstand an intelligent essence having reason, and since 
 there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, 
 it is this which makes us all to be that which we call our 
 selves thereby distinguishing us from other beings that 
 think, and giving us our personal identity. But the princi- 
 indimduationis the notion of that identity which at 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 151 
 
 death is or is not lost forever was to me, at all times, a con 
 sideration of intense interest ; not more from the perplexing 
 and exciting nature of its consequences, than from the marked 
 and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them. 
 
 But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery 70 
 of my wife s manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no 
 longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of 
 her musical language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. 
 And she knew all this, but did not upbraid; she seemed 
 conscious of my weakness or my folly and, smiling, called it 75 
 Fate. She seemed, also, conscious of a cause, to me un 
 known, for the gradual alienation of my regard ; but she 
 gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman, 
 and pined away daily. In time, the crimson spot settled 
 steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale 80 
 forehead became prominent; and, one instant, my nature 
 melted into pity but, in the next, I met the glance of her 
 meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy 
 with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some 
 dreary and unfathomable abyss. 8 
 
 Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and con 
 suming desire for the moment of Morella s decease ? I did ; 
 but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many 
 days for many weeks and irksome months until my 
 tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and 1 90 
 grew furious through delay, and with the heart of a fiend, 
 cursed the days, and the hours, and the bitter moments, 
 which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life 
 declined like shadows in the dying of the day. 
 
 But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in 95 
 heaven, Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim 
 mist over all the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, 
 and, amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow 
 from the firmament had surely fallen. 
 
152 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 100 " It is a day of days," she said, as I approached ; " a day 
 of all days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the 
 sons of earth and life ah, more fair for the daughters of 
 heaven and death ! " 
 
 I kissed her forehead, and she continued : 
 105 " I am dying, yet shall I live." 
 "Morella!" 
 "The days have never been when thou couldst love me 
 
 but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou 
 shalt adore." 
 
 no "Morella!" 
 
 "I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge 
 of that affection ah, how little ! which thou didst feel for 
 me, Morella. And when my spirit departs, shall the child 
 live thy child and mine, Morella s. But thy days shall 
 
 115 be days of sorrow that sorrow which is the most lasting 
 of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. 
 For the hours of thy happiness are over; and joy is not 
 gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Psestum twice in a 
 year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with 
 
 120 time but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou 
 shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do 
 the Moslemin at Mecca." 
 
 " Morella ! " I cried, " Morella ! how knowest thou this ? " 
 
 but she turned away her face upon the pillow, and, a 
 125 slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I 
 
 heard her voice no more. 
 
 Yet, as she had foretold, her child to which in dying 
 she had given birth, which breathed not until the mother 
 breathed no more her child, a daughter, lived. And she 
 130 grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect 
 resemblance of her who had departed ; and I loved her with 
 a love more fervent than I had believed it possible to feel 
 for any denizen of earth. 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 153 
 
 But, erelong, the heaven of this pure affection became 
 darkened, and gloom, and horror, and grief swept over it 135 
 in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and 
 intelligence. Strange, indeed, was her rapid increase in 
 bodily size but terrible, oh ! terrible were the tumultuous 
 thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the de 
 velopment of her mental being ! Could it be otherwise, uo 
 when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the 
 adult powers and faculties of the woman? when the 
 lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy ? and 
 when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found 
 hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye ? When, 145 
 I say, all this became evident to my appalled senses when 
 I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off 
 from those perceptions which trembled to receive it is 
 it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a nature fearful 
 and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts 150 
 fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories 
 of the entombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny 
 of the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, 
 and in the rigorous seclusion of my home watched, with an 
 agonizing anxiety, over all which concerned the beloved. 155 
 
 And, as years rolled away, and I gazed, day after day, 
 upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and pored over 
 her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points 
 of resemblance in the child to her mother, the melancholy 
 and the dead. And, hourly, grew darker these shadows of 160 
 similitude, and more full, and more definite, and more per 
 plexing, and more hideously terrible in their aspect. For 
 that her smile was like her mother s I could bear; but 
 then I shuddered at its too perfect identity. That her eyes 
 were like Morella s I could endure ; but the,n they too often 165 
 looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella s 
 own intense and bewildering meaning. And in the con- 
 
154 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 tour of the high, forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken 
 hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves there- 
 
 170 in, and in the sad musical tones of her speech, and above 
 all oh ! above all in the phrases and expressions of the 
 dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food 
 for consuming thought and horror for a worm that would 
 not die. 
 
 175 Thus passed away two lustra of her life and, as yet, my 
 daughter remained nameless upon the earth. " My child," 
 and " my love " were the designations usually prompted 
 by a father s affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days 
 precluded all other intercourse. Morella s name died with 
 
 180 her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to 
 the daughter ; it was impossible to speak. Indeed, dur 
 ing the brief period of her existence, the latter had received 
 no impressions from the outer world, save such as might 
 have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. 
 
 185 But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my 
 mind, in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present 
 deliverance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the 
 baptismal fount I hesitated for a name. And many titles 
 of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times, of my 
 
 190 own and foreign lands came thronging to my lips, with 
 many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and 
 the good. What prompted me, then, to disturb the memory 
 of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe 
 that sound, which, in its very recollection, was wont to 
 
 195 make ebb the purple blood in torrents from the temples 
 to the heart ? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my 
 soul, when, amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the 
 night, I whispered within the ears of the holy man the 
 syllables Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the 
 
 200 features of my child, and overspread them with hues of 
 death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 155 
 
 her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven and, falling pros 
 trate on the black slabs of our ancestral vault, responded 
 "I am here!" 
 
 Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple 205 
 sounds within my ear, and thence like molten lead, rolled 
 hissingly into my brain. Years years may pass away, 
 but the memory of that epoch never ! Nor was I indeed 
 ignorant of the flowers and the vine but the hemlock and 
 the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept 210 
 no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate 
 faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, 
 and its figures passed by me, like flitting shadows, and 
 among them all I beheld only Morella. The winds of the 
 firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and 215 
 the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore Morella. 
 But she died; and with my own hands I bore her to the 
 tomb ; and I laughed with a .long and bitter laugh as I 
 found no traces of the first, in the charnel where I laid the 
 second, Morella. 220 
 
 The Short-Story 
 
 (From review of Twice-Told Tales) 
 
 The tale proper, in our opinion, affords unquestionably 
 the fairest field for the exercise of the loftiest talent, which 
 can be afforded by the wide domains of mere prose. Were 
 we bidden to say how the highest genius could be most ad 
 vantageously employed for the best display of its own powers, 5 
 we should answer, without hesitation in the composition 
 of a rhymed poem, not to exceed in length what might be 
 perused in an hour. Within this limit alone can the highest 
 order of true poetry exist. We need only here say, upon 
 this topic, that, in almost all classes of composition, the 10 
 unity of effect or impression is a point of the greatest im- 
 
156 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 portance. It is clear, moreover, that this unity cannot be 
 thoroughly preserved in productions whose perusal cannot 
 be completed at one sitting. We may continue the reading 
 
 15 of a prose composition, from the very nature of prose it 
 self, much longer than we can persevere, to any good pur 
 pose, in the perusal of a poem. This latter, if truly fulfill 
 ing the demands of the poetic sentiment, induces an exalta 
 tion of the soul which cannot be long sustained. All high 
 
 20 excitements are necessarily transient. Thus a long poem 
 is a parodox. And, without unity of impression, the deepest 
 effects cannot be brought about. Epics were the offspring 
 of an imperfect sense of Art, and their reign is no more. A 
 poem too brief may produce a vivid, but never an intense or 
 
 25 enduring impression. Without a certain continuity of ef 
 fort without a certain duration or repetition of purpose 
 the soul is never deeply moved. There must be the drop 
 ping of the water upon the rock. De Beranger has wrought 
 brilliant things pungent and spirit-stirring but, like im- 
 
 30 massive bodies, they lack momentum, and thus fail to satisfy 
 the Poetic Sentiment. They sparkle and excite, but, from 
 want of continuity, fail deeply to impress. Extreme brevity 
 will degenerate into epigrammatism ; but the sin of extreme 
 length is even more unpardonable. In medio tutissimus ibis. 
 
 35 Were we called upon, however, to designate that class of 
 composition, which, next to such a poem as we have suggested, 
 should best fulfil the demands of high genius should offer 
 it the most advantageous field of exertion we should un 
 hesitatingly speak of the prose tale, as Mr. Hawthorne has 
 
 40 here exemplified it. We allude to the short prose narrative, 
 requiring from a half-hour to one or two hours in its perusal. 
 The ordinary novel is objectionable, from its length, for 
 reasons already stated in substance. As it cannot be read 
 at one sitting, it deprives itself, of course, of the immense 
 
 45 force derivable from totality. Worldly interests intervening 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 157 
 
 during the pauses of perusal, modify, annul, or counteract, 
 in a greater or less degree, the impressions of the book. 
 But simple cessation in reading, would, of itself, be sufficient 
 to destroy the true unity. In the brief tale, however, the 
 author is enabled to carry out the fulness of his intention, 50 
 be it what it may. During the hour of perusal the soul of 
 the reader is at the writer s control. There are no external 
 or extrinsic influences resulting from weariness or inter 
 ruption. 
 
 A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, 55 
 he has not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his inci 
 dents ; but having conceived with deliberate care, a certain 
 unique or single effect to be wrought out, he then invents 
 such incidents he then combines such events as may best 
 aid him in establishing this preconceived effect. If his very 60 
 initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, 
 then he has failed in his first step. In the whole composi 
 tion 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 65 
 length painted which leaves in the mind of him who con 
 templates it with a kindred art, a sense of the fullest satis 
 faction. The idea of the tale has been presented unblem 
 ished, because undisturbed ; and this is an end unattainable 
 by the novel. Undue brevity is just as exceptionable here 70 
 as in the poem ; but undue length is yet more to be avoided. 
 
 We have said that the tale has a point of superiority even 
 over the poem. In fact, while the rhythm of this latter is an 
 essential aid in the development of the poet s highest idea 
 the idea of the Beautiful the artificialities of this 75 
 rhythm are an inseparable bar to the development of all 
 points of thought or expression which have their basis in 
 Truth. But Truth is often, and in very great degree, the 
 aim of the tale. Some of the finest tales are tales of 
 
158 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 80 ratiocination. Thus the field of this species of composition, 
 if not in so elevated a region on the mountain of Mind, is a 
 table-land of far vaster extent than the domain of the mere 
 poem. Its products are never so rich, but infinitely more 
 numerous, and more appreciable by the mass of mankind. 
 
 85 The writer of the prose tale, in short, may bring to his 
 theme a vast variety of modes or inflections of thought and 
 expression (the ratiocinative, for example, the sarcastic, or 
 the humorous) which are not only antagonistical to the 
 nature of the poem, but absolutely forbidden by one of its 
 
 90 most peculiar and indispensable adjuncts; we allude, of 
 course, to rhythm. It may be added here, par parenthese, 
 that the author who aims at the purely beautiful in a prose 
 tale is laboring at great disadvantage. For Beauty can be 
 better treated in the poem. Not so with terror, or passion, 
 
 95 or horror, or a multitude of such other points. And here it 
 will be seen how full of prejudice are the usual animadver 
 sions against those tales of effect, many fine examples of which 
 were found in the earlier numbers of Blackwood. The im 
 pressions produced were wrought in a legitimate sphere of 
 100 action, and constituted a legitimate although sometimes an 
 exaggerated interest. They were relished by every man 
 of genius : although there were found many men of genius 
 who condemned them without just ground. The true critic 
 will but demand that the design intended be accomplished, 
 105 to the fullest extent, by the means most advantageously 
 applicable. 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 159 
 
 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE * 
 
 The May-Pole of Merry Mount 
 
 There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance, in the 
 curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston, or Merry 
 Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted, the facts recorded on the 
 grave pages of our New England annalists have wrought themselves, 
 almost spontaneously, into a sort of allegory. The masques, mummeries, 
 and festive customs, described in the text are in accordance with the 
 manners of the age. Authority on these points may be found in Strutt s 
 Book of English Sports and Pastimes. 
 
 Bright were the days at Merry Mount, when the May- 
 Pole was the banner staff of that gay colony ! They who 
 reared it, should their banner be triumphant, were to pour 
 sunshine over New England s rugged hills, and scatter 
 flower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom were 5 
 contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come, 
 bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap, of 
 a more vivid hue than the tender buds of Spring. But May, 
 or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry 
 Mount, sporting with the Summer months, and revelling 10 
 with Autumn, and basking in the glow of Winter s fireside. 
 Through a world of toil and care she flitted with a dream 
 like smile, and came hither to find a home among the light 
 some hearts of Merry Mount. 
 
 Never had the May-Pole been so gayly decked as at 15 
 sunset on midsummer eve. This venerated emblem was a 
 pine-tree, which had preserved the slender grace of youth, 
 while it equaled the loftiest height of the old wood mon- 
 archs. From its top streamed a silken banner, colored like 
 the rainbow. Down nearly to the ground, the pole was 20 
 dressed with birchen boughs, and others of the liveliest 
 
 1 The selections from Hawthorne, Emerson, Thoreau, Longfellow, Lowell, 
 Whittier, and Holmes are used by permission of, and by special arrange 
 ment with, Houghton Mifflin Company, publishers of their works. 
 
160 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 green, and some with, silvery leaves, fastened by ribbons 
 that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors, 
 but no sad ones. Garden flowers and blossoms of the 
 
 25 wilderness laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, so fresh 
 and dewy, that they must have grown by magic on that 
 happy pine-tree. Where this green and flowery splendor 
 terminated, the shaft of the May-Pole was stained with the 
 seven brilliant hues of the banner at its top. On the 
 
 30 lowest green bough hung an abundant wreath of roses, 
 some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of the 
 forest, and others, of still richer blush, which the colonists 
 had reared from English seed. people of the Golden Age, 
 the chief of your husbandry was to raise flowers ! 
 
 35 But what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand 
 about the May-Pole ? It could not be, that the fauns and 
 nymphs, when driven from their classic groves and homes 
 of ancient fable, had sought refuge, as all the persecuted 
 did, in the fresh woods of the West. These were Gothic 
 
 40 monsters, though perhaps of Grecian ancestry. On the 
 shoulders of a comely youth uprose the head and branching 
 antlers of a stag ; a second, human in all other points, had 
 the grim visage of a wolf ; a third, still with the trunk and 
 limbs of a mortal man, showed the beard and horns of a 
 
 45 venerable he-goat. There was the likeness of a bear erect, 
 brute in all but his hind legs, which were adorned with 
 pink silk stockings. And here again, almost as wondrous, 
 stood a real bear of the dark forest, lending each of his fore- 
 paws to the grasp of a human hand, and as ready for the 
 
 50 dance as any in that circle. His inferior nature rose half 
 way, to meet his companions as they stooped. Other faces 
 wore the similitude of man or woman, but distorted or 
 extravagant, with red noses pendulous before their mouths, 
 which seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear to 
 
 55 ear in an eternal fit of laughter. Here might be seen the 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 161 
 
 Salvage Man, well known in heraldry, hairy as a baboon, 
 and girdled with green leaves. By his side, a nobler figure, 
 but still a counterfeit, appeared an Indian hunter, with 
 feathery crest and wanipum belt. Many of this strange 
 company wore foolscaps, and had little bells appended to 60 
 their garments, tinkling with a silvery sound, responsive to 
 the inaudible music of their gleesome spirits. Some youths 
 and maidens were of soberer garb, yet well maintained their 
 places in the irregular throng, by the expression of wild 
 revelry upon their features. Such were the colonists of 65 
 Merry Mount, as they stood in the broad smile of sunset, 
 round their venerated May-Pole. 
 
 Had a wanderer, bewildered in the melancholy forest, 
 heard their mirth, and stolen a half-affrighted glance, he 
 might have fancied them the crew of Comus, some already 70 
 transformed to brutes, some midway between man and 
 beast, and the others rioting in the flow of tipsy jollity that 
 fore-ran the change. But a band of Puritans, who watched 
 the scene, invisible themselves, compared the masques to 
 those devils and ruined souls with whom their superstition 75 
 peopled the black wilderness. 
 
 Within the ring of monsters appeared the two airiest 
 forms that had ever trodden on any more solid footing than 
 a purple and golden cloud. One was a youth in glistening 
 apparel, with a scarf of the rainbow pattern crosswise on 80 
 his breast. His right hand held a gilded staff, the ensign 
 of high dignity among the revelers, and his left grasped 
 the slender fingers of a fair maiden, not less gaily decorated 
 than himself. Bright roses glowed in contrast with the 
 dark and glossy curls of each, and were scattered round 85 
 their feet, or had sprung up spontaneously there. Behind 
 this lightsome couple,- so close to the May-Pole that its 
 boughs shaded his jovial face, stood the figure of an Eng 
 lish priest, canonically dressed, yet decked with flowers, 
 
162 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 90 in heathen fashion, and wearing a chaplet of the native 
 vine-leaves. By the riot of his rolling eye, and the pagan 
 decorations of his holy garb, he seemed the wildest monster 
 there, and the very Comus of the crew. 
 
 "Votaries of the May-Pole," cried the flower-decked 
 95 priest, "merrily, all day long, have the woods echoed to 
 your mirth. But be this your merriest hour, my hearts ! 
 Lo, here stand the Lord and Lady of the May, whom I, a 
 clerk of Oxford, and high priest of Merry Mount, am pres 
 ently to join in holy matrimony. Up with your nimble 
 
 100 spirits, ye morrice-dancers, green men, and glee-maidens, 
 bears and wolves, and horned gentlemen ! Come ; a chorus 
 now, rich with the old mirth of Merry England, and the 
 wilder glee of this fresh forest ; and then a dance, to show 
 the youthful pair what life is made of, and how airily they 
 
 105 should go through it ! All ye that love the May-Pole, lend 
 your voices to the nuptial song of the Lord and Lady of the 
 May!" 
 
 This wedlock was more serious than most affairs of 
 Merry Mount, where jest and delusion, trick and fantasy, 
 
 110 kept up a continual carnival. The Lord and Lady of the 
 May, though their titles must be laid down at sunset, were 
 really and truly to be partners for the dance of life, begin 
 ning the measure that same bright eve. The wreath of 
 roses, that hung from the lowest green bough of the May -Pole, 
 
 115 had been twined for them, and would be thrown over both 
 their heads, in symbol of their flowery union. When the 
 priest had spoken, therefore, a riotous uproar burst from 
 the rout of monstrous figures. 
 
 " Begin you the stave, reverend Sir," cried they all ; 
 
 120 " and never did the woods ring to such a merry peal, as we 
 of the May -Pole shall send up ! " 
 
 Immediately a prelude of pipe, cithern, and viol, touched 
 with practised minstrelsy, began to play from a neighboring 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 163 
 
 thicket, in such a mirthful cadence that the boughs of the 
 May-Pole quivered to the sound. But the May Lord, he of 125 
 the gilded staff, chancing to look into his Lady s eyes, was 
 wonder-struck at the almost pensive glance that met his 
 own. 
 
 " Edith, sweet Lady of the May," whispered he reproach 
 fully, " is yon wreath of roses a garland to hang above our 130 
 graves, that you look so sad ? Edith, this is our golden 
 time ! Tarnish it not by any pensive shadow of the mind ; 
 for it may be that nothing of futurity will be brighter than 
 the mere remembrance of what is now passing." 
 
 " That was the very thought that saddened me ! How 135 
 came it in your mind too ? " said Edith, in a still lower tone 
 than he ; for it was high treason to be sad at Merry Mount. 
 " Therefore do I sigh amid this festive music. And besides, 
 dear Edgar, I struggle as with a dream, and fancy that 
 these shapes of our jovial friends are visionary, and their 140 
 mirth unreal, and that we are no true Lord and Lady of the 
 May. What is the mystery in my heart ? " 
 
 Just then, as if a spell had loosened them, down came a 
 little shower of withering rose-leaves from the May-Pole. 
 Alas, for the young lovers ! No sooner had their hearts 145 
 glowed with real passion, than they were sensible of some 
 thing vague and unsubstantial in their former pleasures, 
 and felt a dreary presentiment of inevitable change. From 
 the moment that they truly loved, they had subjected 
 themselves to earth s doom of care and sorrow and troubled 150 
 joy, and had no more a home at Merry Mount. That was 
 Edith s mystery. Now leave we the priest to marry them, 
 and the masquers to sport round the May-Pole, till the last 
 sunbeam be withdrawn from its summit, and the shadows 
 of the forest mingle gloomily in the dance. Meanwhile, we 155 
 may discover who these gay people were. 
 
 Two hundred years ago, and more, the Old World and its 
 
164 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 inhabitants became mutually weary of each other. Men 
 voyaged by thousands to the West; some to barter glass 
 
 160 beads, and such like jewels, for the furs of the Indian 
 hunter ; some to conquer virgin empires ; and one stern 
 band to pray. But none of these motives had much weight 
 with the colonists of Merry Mount. Their leaders were 
 men who had sported so long with life; that when Thought 
 
 165 and Wisdom came, even these unwelcome guests were led 
 astray by the crowd of vanities which they should have put 
 to flight. Erring Thought and perverted Wisdom were 
 made to put on masques, and play the fool. The men of 
 whom we speak, after losing the heart s fresh gaiety, 
 
 170 imagined a wild philosophy of pleasure, and came hither to 
 act out their latest day-dream. They gathered followers 
 from all that giddy tribe, whose whole life is like the festal 
 days of soberer men. In their train were minstrels, not 
 unknown in London streets; wandering players, whose 
 
 175 theatres had been the halls of noblemen, mummers, rope- 
 dancers, and mountebanks, who would long be missed at 
 wakes, church ales, and fairs ; in a word, mirth-makers of 
 every sort, such as abounded in that age, but now began to 
 be discountenanced by the rapid growth of Puritanism. 
 
 180 Light had their footsteps been on land, and as lightly they 
 came across the sea. Many had been maddened by their 
 previous troubles into a gay despair ; others were as madly 
 gay in the flush of youth, like the May Lord and his Lady ; 
 but whatever might be the quality of their mirth, old and 
 
 185 young were gay at Merry Mount. The young deemed 
 themselves happy. The elder spirits, if they knew that 
 mirth was but the counterfeit of happiness, yet followed 
 the false shadow wilfully, because at least her garments 
 glittered brightest. Sworn triflers of a lifetime, they would 
 
 190 not venture among the sober truths of life, not even to be 
 truly blest. 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 165 
 
 All the hereditary pastimes of Old England were trans 
 planted hither. The King of Christmas was duly crowned, 
 and the Lord of Misrule bore potent sway. On the eve of 
 Saint John, they felled whole acres of the forest to make 195 
 bonfires, and danced by the blaze all night, crowned with 
 garlands, and throwing flowers into the flame. At harvest- 
 time, though their crop was of the smallest, they made an 
 image with the sheaves of Indian corn, and wreathed it 
 with autumnal garlands, and bore it home triumphantly. 200 
 But what chiefly characterized the colonists of Merry 
 Mount was their veneration for the May-Pole. It has made 
 their true history a poet s tale. Spring decked the hallowed 
 emblem with young blossoms and fresh green boughs; 
 Summer brought roses of the deepest blush, and the per- 205 
 f ected foliage of the forest ; Autumn enriched it with that 
 red and yellow gorgeousness, which converts each wildwood 
 leaf into a painted flower ; and Winter silvered it with sleet, 
 and hung it round with icicles, till it flashed in the cold 
 sunshine, itself a frozen sunbeam. Thus each alternate 210 
 season did homage to the May-Pole, and paid it a tribute of 
 its own richest splendor. Its votaries danced round it, 
 once, at least, in every month; sometimes they called it 
 their religion, or their altar ; but always, it was the banner 
 staff of Merry Mount. 215 
 
 Unfortunately, there were men in the New World of a 
 sterner faith than these May-Pole worshippers. Not far 
 from Merry Mount was a settlement of Puritans, most dis 
 mal wretches, who said their prayers before daylight, and 
 then wrought in the forest or the cornfield till evening 220 
 made it prayer-time again. Their weapons were always at 
 hand, to shoot down the straggling savage. When they 
 met in conclave, it was never to keep up the old English 
 mirth, but to hear sermons three hours long, or to proclaim 
 bounties on the heads of wolves and the scalps of Indians. 225 
 
166 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Their festivals were fast-days, and their chief pastime the 
 singing of psalms. Woe to the youth or maiden who did 
 but dream of a dance! The selectman nodded to the con 
 stable; and there sat the light-heeled reprobate in the 
 230 stocks ; or if he danced, it was round the whipping-post,, 
 which might be termed the Puritan May-Pole. 
 
 A party of these grim Puritans, toiling through the diffi 
 cult woods, each with a horse-load of iron armor to burthen 
 his footsteps, would sometimes draw near the sunny pre- 
 235 cincts of Merry Mount. There were the silken colonists,, 
 sporting round their May-Pole ; perhaps teaching a bear to 
 dance, or striving to communicate their mirth to the grave 
 Indian ; or masquerading in the skins of dee? and wolves, 
 which they had hunted for that especial purpose. Often,. 
 240 the whole colony were playing at blind-man s buff, magis 
 trates and all with their eyes bandaged, except a single 
 scape-goat, whom the blinded sinners pursued by the tink 
 ling of the bells at his garments. Once, it is said, they were 
 seen following a flower-decked corpse, with merriment and 
 245 festive music, to his grave. But did the dead man laugh ? 
 In their quietest times, they sang ballads and told tales, for 
 the edification of their pious visitors ; or perplexed them 
 with juggling tricks ; or grinned at them through horse- 
 collars ; and when sport itself grew wearisome, they made 
 250 game of their own stupidity, and began a yawning match. 
 At the very least of these enormities, the men of iron 
 shook their heads and frowned so darkly, that the revelers 
 looked up, imagining that a momentary cloud had overcast 
 the sunshine, which was to be perpetual there. On the 
 255 other hand, the Puritans affirmed, that, when a psalm was 
 pealing from their place of worship, the echo which the 
 forest sent them back seemed often like the chorus of a 
 jolly catch, closing with a roar of laughter. Who but the 
 fiend, and his bond-slaves, the crew of Merry Mount, had 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 167 
 
 thus disturbed them ? In due time, a feud arose, stern and 260 
 bitter on one side, and as serious on the other as anything 
 could be among such light spirits as had sworn allegiance 
 to the May-Pole. The future complexion of New England 
 was involved in this important quarrel. Should the grizzly 
 saints establish their jurisdiction over the gay sinners, then 265 
 would their spirits darken all the clime, and make it a land 
 of clouded visages, of hard toil, of sermon and psalin for 
 ever. But should the banner-staff of Merry Mount be 
 fortunate, sunshine would break upon the hills and flowers 
 would beautify the forest, and late posterity do homage to 270 
 the May-Pole. 
 
 After these authentic passages from history, we return to 
 the nuptials of the Lord and Lady of the May. Alas ! we 
 have delayed too long, and must darken our tale too sud 
 denly. As we glance again at the May-Pole, a solitary sun- 275 
 beam is fading from the summit, and leaves only a faint, 
 golden tinge, blended with the hues of the rainbow banner. 
 Even that dim light is now withdrawn, relinquishing the 
 whole domain of Merry Mount to the evening gloom, which 
 has rushed so instantaneously from the black surrounding 280 
 woods. But some of these black shadows have rushed forth 
 in human shape. 
 
 Yes ; with the setting sun, the last day of mirth had 
 passed from Merry Mount. The ring of gay masquers was 
 disordered and broken ; the stag lowered his antlers in dis- 285 
 may ; the wolf grew weaker than a lamb ; the bells of the 
 morrice-dancers tinkled with tremulous affright. The Puri 
 tans had played a characteristic part in the May-Pole mum 
 meries. Their darksome figures were intermixed with the 
 wild shapes of their foes, and made the scene a picture of 290 
 the moment, when waking thoughts start up amid the 
 scattered fantasies of a dream. The leader of the hostile 
 party stood in the centre of the circle, while the rout of 
 
168 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 monsters cowered around him, like evil spirits in the pres 
 
 295 ence of a dread magician. No fantastic foolery could look 
 him in the face. So stern was the energy of his aspect, that 
 the whole man, visage, frame, and soul, seemed wrought of 
 iron, gifted with life and thought, yet all of one substance 
 with his head-piece and breast-plate. It was the Puritan 
 
 300 of Puritans ; it was Endicott himself ! 
 
 " Stand off, priest of Baal ! " said he, with a grim frown, 
 and laying no reverent hand upon the surplice. " I know 
 thee, Blackstone ! Thou art the man who couldst not abide 
 the rule even of thine own corrupted church, and hast come 
 
 305 hither to preach iniquity, and to give example of it in thy 
 life. But now shall it be seen that the Lord hath sanctified 
 this wilderness for his peculiar people. Woe unto them 
 that would defile it! And first, for this flower-decked 
 abomination, the altar of thy worship ! " 
 
 310 And with his keen sword Endicott assaulted the hallowed 
 May-Pole. Nor long did it resist his arm. It groaned with 
 a dismal sound ; it showered leaves and rosebuds upon the 
 remorseless enthusiast; and finally, with all its green 
 boughs, and ribbons, and flowers, symbolic of departed 
 
 315 pleasures, down fell the banner-staff of Merry Mount. As 
 it sank, tradition says, the evening sky grew darker, and 
 the woods threw forth a more sombre shadow. 
 
 "There," cried Endicott, looking triumphantly on his 
 work, " there lies the only May-Pole in New England ! 
 
 320 The thought is strong within me, that, by its fall, is shad 
 owed forth the fate of light and idle mirth-makers, amongst 
 us and our posterity. Amen, saith John Endicott." 
 " Amen ! " echoed his followers. 
 But the votaries of the May-Pole gave one groan for their 
 
 325 idol. At the sound, the Puritan leader glanced at the crew 
 of Comus, each a figure of broad mirth, yet, at this moment, 
 strangely expressive of sorrow and dismay. 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 169 
 
 " Valiant captain," quoth Peter Palfrey, the Ancient of 
 the band, " what order shall be taken with the prisoners ? " 
 
 "I thought not to repent me of cutting down a May- 330 
 Pole," replied Endicott, " yet now I could find in my heart 
 to plant it again, and give each of these bestial pagans one 
 other dance round their idol. It would have served rarely 
 for a whipping-post ! " 
 
 " But there are pinetrees enow," suggested the lieutenant. 335 
 
 "True, good Ancient," said the leader. "Wherefore, 
 bind the heathen crew, and bestow on them a small matter 
 of stripes apiece, as earnest of our future justice. Set some 
 of the rogues in the stocks to rest themselves, so soon as 
 Providence shall bring us to one of our own well-ordered 340 
 settlements, where such accommodations may be found. 
 Further penalties, such as branding and cropping of ears, 
 shall be thought of hereafter." 
 
 " How many stripes for the priest ? " inquired Ancient 
 Palfrey. 345 
 
 "None as yet," answered Endicott, bending his iron 
 frown upon the culprit. "It must be for the Great and 
 General Court to determine whether stripes and long im 
 prisonment, and other grievous penalty, may atone for his 
 transgressions. Let him look to himself ! For such as vio- 350 
 late our civil order, it may be permitted us to show mercy. 
 But woe to the wretch that troubleth our religion ! " 
 
 " And this dancing bear," resumed the officer. " Must he 
 share the stripes of his fellows ? " 
 
 " Shoot him through the head ! " said the energetic Puri- 355 
 tan. "I suspect witchcraft in the beast." 
 
 " Here be a couple of shining ones," continued Peter Pal 
 frey, pointing his weapon at the Lord and Lady of the May. 
 "They seem to be of high station among these misdoers. 
 Methinks their dignity will not be fitted with less than a 360 
 double share of stripes." 
 
170 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Endicott rested on his sword, and closely surveyed the 
 dress and aspect of the hapless pair. There they stood, 
 pale, downcast, and apprehensive. Yet there was an air of 
 
 365 mutual support, and of pure affection, seeking aid and giv 
 ing it, that showed them to be man and wife, with the sanc 
 tion of a priest upon their love. The youth, in the peril of 
 the moment, had dropped his gilded staff, and thrown his 
 arm about the Lady of the May, who leaned against his 
 
 370 breast, too lightly to burthen him, but with weight enough 
 to express that their destinies were linked together, for 
 good or evil. They looked first at each other, and then into, 
 the grim captain s face. There they stood, in the first hour 
 of wedlock, while the idle pleasures, of which their com- 
 
 375 panions were the emblems, had given place to the sternest 
 cares of life, personified by the dark Puritans. But never 
 had their youthful beauty seemed so pure and high, as when 
 its glow was chastened by adversity. 
 
 " Youth, 7 said Endicott, " ye stand in an evil case, thou 
 
 380 and thy maiden wife. Make ready presently; for I am 
 minded that ye shall both have a token to remember your 
 wedding-day ! " 
 
 " Stern man," cried the May Lord, " how can I move thee ? 
 Were the means at hand, I would resist to the death. Be- 
 
 385 ing powerless, I entreat ! Do with me as thou wilt, but let 
 Edith go untouched ! " 
 
 "Not so," replied the immitigable zealot. "We are not 
 wont to show an idle courtesy to that sex, which requireth 
 the stricter discipline. What sayest thou, maid ? Shall 
 
 390 thy silken bridegroom suffer thy share of the penalty, be 
 sides his own ? " 
 
 " Be it death," said Edith, " and lay it all on me! " 
 Truly, as Endicott had said, the poor lovers stood in a 
 woful case. Their foes were triumphant, their friends cap- 
 
 395 tive and abased, their home desolate, the benighted wilder- 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 171 
 
 ness around them, and a rigorous destiny, in the shape of 
 the Puritan leader, their only guide. Yet the deepening 
 twilight could not altogether conceal that the iron man was 
 .softened ; he smiled at the fair spectacle of early love ; he 
 ;almost sighed for the inevitable blight of early hopes. 400 
 
 "The troubles of life have come hastily on this young 
 couple," observed Endicott. " We will see how they com 
 port themselves under their present trials, ere we burthen 
 them with greater. If, among the spoil, there be any gar 
 ments of a more decent fashion, let them be put upon this 405 
 May Lord and his Lady, instead of their glistening vanities. 
 Look to it, some of you." 
 
 " And shall not the youth s hair be cut ? " asked Peter 
 Palfrey, looking with abhorrence at the love-lock and long 
 glossy curls of the young man. 410 
 
 " Crop it forthwith, and that in the true pumpkin-shell 
 fashion," answered the captain. " Then bring them along 
 with us, but more gently than their fellows. There be 
 -qualities in the youth, which may make him valiant to fight, 
 -and sober to toil, and pious to pray ; and in the maiden, 415 
 that may fit her to become a mother in our Israel, bringing 
 up babes in better nurture than her own hath been. Nor 
 think ye, young ones, that they are the happiest, even in 
 our lifetime of a moment, who misspend it in dancing round 
 a, May-Pole ! " 420 
 
 And Endicott, the severest Puritan of all who laid the 
 rock-foundation of New England, lifted the wreath of roses 
 from the ruin of the May-Pole, and threw it, with his own 
 gauntleted hand, over the heads of the Lord and Lady of the 
 May. It was a deed of prophecy. As the moral gloom of 425 
 the world overpowers all systematic gaiety, even so was 
 their home of wild mirth made desolate amid the sad forest. 
 They returned to it no more. But, as their flowery garland 
 was wreathed of the brightest roses that had grown there, 
 
172 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 430 so, in the tie that united them, were intertwined all the 
 purest and best of their early joys. They went heaven 
 ward, supporting each other along the difficult path which 
 it was their lot to tread, and never wasted one regretful 
 thought on the vanities of Merry Mount. 
 
 Browne s Wooden Image 
 
 One sunshiny morning, in the good old times of the town of 
 Boston, a young carver in wood, well known by the name 
 of Drowne, stood contemplating a large oaken log, which it 
 was his purpose to convert into the figure-head of a vessel. 
 5 And while he discussed within his own mind what sort of 
 shape or similitude it were well to bestow upon this excellent 
 piece of timber, there came into Drowne s workshop a cer 
 tain Captain Hunnewell, owner and commander of the good 
 brig called the Cynosure, which had just returned from her 
 
 10 first voyage to Fayal. 
 
 " Ah ! that will do, Drowne, that will do ! " cried the 
 jolly captain, tapping the log with his rattan. " I bespeak 
 this very piece of oak for the figure-head of the Cynosure. 
 She has shown herself the sweetest craft that ever floated, 
 
 15 and I mean to decorate her prow with the handsomest image 
 that the skill of man can cut out of timber. And, Drowne, 
 you are the fellow to execute it." 
 
 " You give me more credit than I deserve, Captain Hunne 
 well," said the carver, modestly, yet as one conscious of 
 
 20 eminence in his art. " But, for the sake of the good brig, I 
 stand ready to do my best. And which of these designs 
 do you prefer ? Here," pointing to a staring, half-length 
 figure, in a white wig and scarlet coat, " here is an ex 
 cellent model, the likeness of our gracious king. Here is 
 
 25 the valiant Admiral Vernon. Or, if you prefer a female 
 figure, what say you to Britannia with the trident ? " 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 173 
 
 "All very fine, Drowne ; all very fine/ answered the 
 mariner. " But as nothing like the brig ever swam the 
 ocean, so I am determined she shall have such a figure-head 
 as old Neptune never saw in his life. And what is more, 30 
 as there is a secret in the matter, you must pledge your 
 credit not to betray it. 7 
 
 " Certainly," said Drowne, marvelling, however, what 
 possible mystery there could be in reference to an affair so 
 open, of necessity, to the inspection of all the world as the 35 
 figure-head of a vessel. " You may depend, captain, on my 
 being as secret as the nature of the case will permit." 
 
 Captain Hunnewell then took Drowne by the button, and 
 communicated his wishes in so low a tone that it would be 
 unmannerly to repeat what was evidently intended for the 40 
 carver s private ear. We shall, therefore, take the opportu 
 nity to give the reader a few desirable particulars about 
 Drowne himself. 
 
 He was the first American who is known to have at 
 tempted in a very humble line, it is true that art in 45 
 which we can now reckon so many names already distin 
 guished, or rising to distinction. From his earliest boyhood 
 he had exhibited a knack for it would be too proud a 
 word to call it genius a knack, therefore, for the imitation 
 of the human figure in whatever material came most readily 50 
 to hand. The snows of a New England winter had often 
 supplied him with a species of marble as dazzlingly white, 
 at least, as the Parian or the Carrara, and if less durable, 
 yet sufficiently so to correspond with any claims to permanent 
 existence possessed by the boy s frozen statues. Yet they 55 
 won admiration from maturer judges than his school-fellows, 
 and were indeed, remarkably clever, though destitute of the 
 native warmth that might have made the snow melt beneath 
 his hand. As he advanced in life, the young man adopted 
 pine and oak as eligible materials for the display of his 60 
 
174 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 skill, which now began to bring him a return of solid silver 
 as well as the empty praise that had been an apt reward 
 enough for his productions of evanescent snow. He became 
 noted for carving ornamental pump heads, and wooden urns 
 
 65 for gate posts, and decorations, more grotesque than fanci 
 ful, for mantelpieces. No apothecary would have deemed 
 himself in the way of obtaining custom without setting up 
 a gilded mortar, if not a head of Galen or Hippocrates, 
 from the skilful hand of Drowne. 
 
 70 But the great scope of his business lay in the manu 
 facture of figure-heads for vessels. Whether it were 
 the monarch himself, or some famous British admiral 
 or general, or the governor of the province, or perchance 
 the favorite daughter of the ship-owner, there the image stood 
 
 75 above the prow, decked out in gorgeous colors, magnificently 
 gilded, and staring the whole world out of countenance, as 
 if from an innate consciousness of its own superiority. 
 These specimens of native sculpture had crossed the sea 
 in all directions, and been not ignobly noticed among the 
 
 80 crowded shipping of the Thames and wherever else the 
 hardy mariners of New England had pushed their ad 
 ventures. It must be confessed that a family likeness 
 pervaded these respectable progeny of Drowne s skill ; that 
 the benign countenance of the king resembled those of his 
 
 85 subjects, and that Miss Peggy Hobart, the merchant s 
 daughter, bore a remarkable similitude to Britannia, Vic 
 tory, and other ladies of the allegoric sisterhood; and, 
 finally, that they all had a kind of wooden aspect which 
 proved an intimate relationship with the unshaped blocks 
 
 90 of timber in the carver s workshop. But at least there was 
 no inconsiderable skill of hand, nor a deficiency of any 
 attribute to render them really works of art, except that 
 deep quality, be it of soul or intellect, which bestows life 
 upon the lifeless and v r armth upon the cold, and which, 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 175 
 
 had it been present, would have made Drowne s wooden 95 
 image instinct with spirit. 
 
 The captain of the Cynosure had now finished his in 
 structions. 
 
 " And Drowne," said he, impressively, " you must lay 
 aside all other business and set about this forthwith. And 100 
 as to the price, only do the job in first-rate style, and you 
 shall settle that point yourself." 
 
 " Very well, captain," answered the carver, who looked 
 grave and somewhat perplexed, yet had a sort of smile 
 upon his visage ; " depend upon it, I ll do my utmost to 105 
 satisfy you." 
 
 From that moment the men of taste about Long Wharf 
 and the Town Dock who were wont to show their love for the 
 arts by frequent visits to Drowne s workshop, and admira 
 tion of his wooden images, began to be sensible of a mystery 110 
 in the carver s conduct. Often he was absent in the day 
 time. Sometimes, as might be judged by gleams of light 
 from the snop windows, he was at work until a late hour 
 of the evening ; although neither knock nor voice, on such 
 occasions, could gain admittance for a visitor, or elicit any 115 
 word of response. Nothing remarkable, however, was ob 
 served in the shop at those hours when it was thrown open. 
 A fine piece of timber, indeed, which Drowne was known 
 to have reserved for some work of especial dignity, was 
 seen to be gradually assuming shape. What shape it was 120 
 destined ultimately to take was a problem to his friends 
 and a point on which the carver himself preserved a rigid 
 silence. But day after day, though Drowne was seldom 
 noticed in the act of working upon it, this rude form began 
 to be developed until it became evident to all observers 125 
 that a female figure was growing into mimic life. At each 
 new visit they beheld a larger pile of wooden chips and a 
 nearer approximation to something beautiful. It seemed 
 
176 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 as if the hamadryad of the oak had sheltered herself 
 
 130 from the unimaginative world within the heart of her 
 native tree, and that it was only necessary to remove 
 the strange shapelessness that had incrusted her, and reveal 
 the grace and loveliness of a divinity. Imperfect as the 
 design, the attitude, the costume, and especially the face 
 
 135 of the image still remained, there was already an effect 
 that drew the eye from the wooden cleverness of Browne s 
 earlier productions and fixed it upon the tantalizing mys 
 tery of this new project. 
 
 Copley, the celebrated painter, then a young man and a 
 
 140 resident of Boston, came one day to visit Drowne ; for he 
 had recognized so much of moderate ability in the carver 
 as to induce him, in the dearth of professional sympathy, 
 to cultivate his acquaintance. On entering the shop, the 
 artist glanced at the inflexible image of king, commander, 
 
 145 dame, and allegory, that stood around, on the best of which 
 might have been bestowed the questionable praise that it 
 looked as if a living man had here been changed to wood, 
 and that not only the physical, but the intellectual and 
 spiritual part, partook of the stolid transformation. But 
 
 150 in not a single instance did it seem as if the wood were im 
 bibing the ethereal essence of humanity. What a wide 
 distinction is here ! and how far would the slightest portion 
 of the latter merit have outvalued the utmost degree of the 
 former ! 
 
 155 "My friend Drowne," said Copley, smiling to himself, 
 but alluding to the mechanical and wooden cleverness that 
 so invariably distinguished the images, "you are really a 
 remarkable person ! I have seldom met with a man in your 
 line of business that could do so much ; for one other touch 
 
 160 might make this figure of General Wolfe, for instance, a 
 breathing and intelligent human creature." 
 
 " You would have me think that you are praising me 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 177 
 
 highly, Mr. Copley," answered Drowne, turning his back 
 upon Wolfe s image in apparent disgust. " But there has 
 come a light into my mind. I know, what you know as 165 
 well, that the one touch which you speak of as deficient 
 is the only one that would be truly valuable, and that with 
 out it these works of mine are no better than worthless 
 abortions. There is the same difference between them and 
 the works of an inspired artist as between a sign-post daub 170 
 and one of your best pictures." 
 
 " This is strange," cried Copley, looking him in the face, 
 which now, as the painter fancied, had a singular depth of 
 intelligence, though hitherto it had not given him greatly 
 the advantage over his own family of wooden images. 175 
 " What has come over you ? How is it that, possessing the 
 idea which you have now uttered, you should produce only 
 such works as these ? " 
 
 The carver smiled, but made no reply. Copley turned 
 again to the images, conceiving that the sense of deficiency 180 
 which Drowne had just expressed, and which is so rare in a 
 merely mechanical character, must surely imply a genius, 
 the tokens of which had heretofore been overlooked. But 
 no ; there was not a trace of it. He was about to withdraw 
 when his eyes chanced to fall upon a half-developed figure 185 
 which lay in a corner of the workshop, surrounded by scat 
 tered chips of oak. It arrested him at once. 
 
 " What is here ? Who has done this ? " he broke out, 
 after contemplating it in speechless astonishment for an 
 instant. " Here is the divine, the life-giving touch. What 190 
 inspired hand is beckoning this wood to arise and live ? 
 Whose work is this ?" 
 
 " No man s work," replied Drowne. " The figure lies 
 within that block of oak, and it is my business to find it." 
 
 " Drowne," said the true artist, grasping the carver f er- 195 
 vently by the hand, " you are a man of genius ! " 
 
178 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 As Copley departed, happening to glance backward from 
 the threshold, he beheld Drowne bending over the half- 
 created shape, and stretching forth his arms as if he would 
 
 200 have embraced and drawn it to his heart ; while, had such 
 a miracle been possible, his countenance expressed passion 
 enough to communicate warmth and sensibility to the life 
 less oak. 
 
 " Strange enough ! " said the artist to himself. " Who 
 
 205 would have looked for a modern Pygmalion in the person 
 of a Yankee mechanic ! " 
 
 As yet, the image was but vague in its outward present 
 ment ; so that, as in the cloud shapes around the western 
 sun, the observer rather felt, or was led to imagine, than 
 
 210 really saw what was intended by it. Day by day, however, 
 the work assumed greater precision, and settled its irregu 
 lar and misty outline into distincter grace and beauty. The 
 general design was now obvious to the common eye. It 
 was a female figure, in what appeared to be a foreign dress ; 
 
 215 the gown being laced over the bosom, and opening in front 
 so as to disclose a skirt or petticoat, the folds and inequali 
 ties of which were admirably represented in the oaken 
 substance. She wore a hat of singular gracefulness, and 
 abundantly laden with flowers, such as never grew in the 
 
 220 rude soil of New England, but which, with all their fanci 
 ful luxuriance, had a natural truth that it seemed impossi 
 ble for the most fertile imagination to have attained 
 without copying from real prototypes. There were several 
 little appendages to this dress, such as a fan, a pair of ear- 
 
 225 rings, a chain about the neck, a watch in the bosom, and a 
 ring upon the finger, all of which would have been deemed 
 beneath the dignity of sculpture. They were put on, how 
 ever, with as much taste as a lovely woman might have 
 shown in her attire, and could therefore have shocked none 
 
 230 but a judgment spoiled by artistic rules. 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 179 
 
 The face was still imperfect ; but gradually, by a magic 
 touch, intelligence and sensibility brightened through the 
 features, with all the effect of light gleaming forth from 
 within the solid oak. The face became alive. It was a 
 beautiful, though not precisely regular and somewhat 235 
 haughty aspect, but with a certain piquancy about the eyes 
 and mouth, which, of all expressions, would have seemed 
 the most impossible to throw over a wooden countenance. 
 And now, so far as carving went, this wonderful production 
 was complete. 240 
 
 " Drowne," said Copley, who had hardly missed a single 
 day in his visits to the carver s workshop, " if this work 
 were in marble it would make you famous at once ; nay, I 
 would almost affirm that it would make an era in the art. 
 It is as ideal as an antique statue, and yet as real as any 245 
 lovely woman whom one meets at a fireside or in the street. 
 But I trust you do not mean to desecrate this exquisite 
 creature with paint, like those staring kings and admirals 
 yonder ? " 
 
 "Not paint her!" exclaimed Captain Hunnewell, who 250 
 stood by ; " not paint the figure-head of the Cynosure ! 
 And what sort of a figure should I cut in a foreign port 
 with such an unpainted oaken stick as this over my prow ! 
 She must, and she shall, be painted to the life, from the 
 topmost flower in her hat down to the silver spangles on 255 
 her slippers." 
 
 " Mr. Copley," said Drowne, quietly, " I know nothing of 
 marble statuary, and nothing of the sculptor s rules of art ; 
 but of this wooden image, this work of my hands, this 
 creature of my heart," and here his voice faltered and 260 
 choked in a very singular manner, "of this of her 
 I may say that I know something. A well-spring of inward 
 wisdom gushed within me as I wrought upon the oak with 
 my whole strength, atid soul, and faith. Let others do 
 
180 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 265 what they may with marble, and adopt what rules they 
 choose. If I can produce my desired effect by painted 
 wood, those rules are not for me, and I have a right to dis 
 regard them." 
 
 " The very spirit of genius, 7 muttered Copley to himself. 
 
 270 " How otherwise should this carver feel himself entitled to 
 transcend all rules, and make me ashamed of quoting 
 them ? " 
 
 He looked earnestly at Drowne, and again saw that ex 
 pression of human love which, in a spiritual sense, as the 
 
 275 artist could not help imagining, was the secret of the life 
 that had been breathed into this block of wood. 
 
 The carver, still in the same secrecy that marked all his 
 operations upon this mysterious image, proceeded to paint 
 the habiliments in their proper colors, and the countenance 
 
 280 with Nature s red and white. When all was finished he 
 threw open his workshop, and admitted the townspeople to 
 behold what he had done. Most persons, at their first en 
 trance, felt impelled to remove their hats, and pay such rev 
 erence as was due to the richly-dressed and beautiful young 
 
 285 lady who seemed to stand in a corner of the room, with 
 oaken chips and shavings scattered at her feet. Then came 
 a sensation of fear ; as if, not being actually human, yet so 
 like humanity, she must therefore be something preternat 
 ural. There was, in truth, an indefinable air and expres- 
 
 290 sion that might reasonably induce the query, Who and from 
 what sphere this daughter of the oak should be ? The 
 strange, rich flowers of Eden on her head ; the complexion 
 so much deeper and more brilliant than those of our native 
 beauties ; the foreign, as it seemed, and fantastic garb, yet 
 
 295 not too fantastic to be worn decorously in the street ; the 
 delicately wrought embroidery of the skirt ; the broad gold 
 chain about her neck ; the curious ring upon her finger ; the 
 fan, so exquisitely sculptured in open work, and painted to 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 181 
 
 resemble pearl and ebony ; where could Drowne, in his 
 sober walk of life, have beheld the vision here so match- 300 
 lessly embodied ! And then her face ! In the dark eyes, 
 and around the voluptuous mouth, there played a look made 
 up of pride, coquetry, and a gleam of mirthfulness, which 
 impressed Copley with the idea that the image was secretly 
 enjoying the perplexing admiration of himself and other 305 
 beholders. 
 
 " And will you," said he to the carver, " permit this mas 
 terpiece to become the figure-head of a vessel? Give the 
 honest captain yonder figure of Britannia it will answer 
 his purpose far better and send this fairy queen to Eng-310 
 land, where, for aught I know, it may bring you a thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 " I have not wrought it for money," said Drowne. 
 
 " What sort of a fellow is this ! " thought Copley. " A 
 Yankee, and throw away the chance of making his fortune ! 315 
 He has gone mad ; and thence has come this gleam of 
 genius." 
 
 There was still further proof of Drowne s lunacy, if credit 
 were due to the rumor that he had been seen kneeling at 
 the feet of the oaken lady, and gazing with a lover s pas- 320 
 sionate ardor into the face that his own hands had created. 
 The bigots of the day hinted that it would be no matter of 
 surprise if an evil spirit were allowed to enter this beautiful 
 form, and seduce the carver to destruction. 
 
 The fame of the image spread far and wide. The inhabit- 325 
 ants visited it so universally, that after a few days of ex 
 hibition there was hardly an old man or a child who had 
 not become minutely familiar with its aspect. Even had 
 the story of Drowne s wooden image ended here, its celebrity 
 might have been prolonged for many years by the reminis- 330 
 cences of those who looked upon it in their childhood, and 
 saw nothing else so beautiful in after life. But the town 
 
182 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 waF now astounded by an event, the narrative of which has 
 forined itself into one of the most singular legends that are 
 
 335 yet to be met with in the traditionary chimney corners of 
 the New England metropolis, where old men and women 
 sit dreaming of the past, and wag their heads at the dreamers 
 of the present and the future. 
 
 One fine morning, just before the departure of the Cyno- 
 
 340 sure on her second voyage to Fayal, the commander of that 
 gallant vessel was seen to issue from his residence in Han 
 over Street. He was stylishly dressed in a blue broadcloth 
 coat, with gold lace at the seams and button-holes, an em 
 broidered scarlet waistcoat, a triangular hat, with a loop 
 
 345 and broad binding of gold, and wore a silver-hilted hanger 
 at his side. But the good captain might have been arrayed 
 in the robes of a prince or the rags of a beggar, without in 
 either case attracting notice, while obscured by such a com 
 panion as now leaned on his arm. The people in the street 
 
 350 started, rubbed their eyes, and either leaped aside from 
 their path, or stood as if transfixed to wood or marble in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Do you see it ? do you see it ? " cried one, with trem 
 ulous eagerness. " It is the very same ! " 
 
 355 " The same ? " answered another, who had arrived in 
 town only the night before. " Who do you mean ? I see 
 only a sea-captain in his shore-going clothes, and a young 
 lady in a foreign habit, with a bunch of beautiful flowers in 
 her hat. On my word, she is as fair and bright a damsel as 
 
 360 my eyes have looked on this many a day ! " 
 
 " Yes ; the same ! the very same ! " repeated the other. 
 " Drowne s wooden image has come to life ! " 
 
 Here was a miracle indeed ! Yet, illuminated by the sun 
 shine, or darkened by the alternate shade of the houses, and 
 
 365 with its garments fluttering lightly in the morning breeze, 
 there passed the image along the street. It was exactly and 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 183 
 
 minutely the shape, the garb, and the face which the towns 
 people had so recently thronged to see and admire. Not a rich 
 flower upon her head, not a single leaf, but had had its proto 
 type in Drowne s wooden workmanship, although now their 370 
 fragile grace had become flexible, was shaken by every foot 
 step that the wearer made. The broad gold chain upon the 
 neck was identical with the one represented on the image, 
 and glistened with the motion imparted by the rise and fall 
 of the bosom which it decorated. A real diamond sparkled 375 
 on her^finger. In her right hand she bore a pearl and ebony 
 fan, which she flourished with a fantastic and bewitching 
 coquetry, that was likewise expressed in all her movements 
 as well as in the style of her beauty and the attire that so 
 well harmonized with it. The face with its brilliant depth 380 
 of complexion had the same piquancy of mirthful mischief 
 that was fixed upon the countenance of the image, but which 
 was here varied and continually shifting, yet always essen 
 tially the same, like the sunny gleam upon a bubbling 
 fountain. On the whole, there was something so airy and 385 
 yet so real in the figure, and withal so perfectly did it rep 
 resent Drowne s image, that people knew not whether to 
 suppose the magic wood etherealized into a spirit or warmed 
 and softened into an actual woman. 
 
 "One thing is certain, 7 muttered a Puritan of the old 390 
 stamp, "Drowne has sold himself to the devil; and doubt 
 less this gay Captain Hunnewell is a party to the bargain." 
 
 " And I," said a young man who overheard him, " would 
 almost consent to be the third victim, for the liberty of 
 saluting those lovely lips." 395 
 
 "And so would I," said Copley, the painter, "for the 
 privilege of taking her picture." 
 
 The image, or the apparition, whichever it might be, still 
 escorted by the bold captain, proceeded from Hanover Street 
 through some of the cross lanes that make this portion of 400 
 
184 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 the town so intricate, to Ann Street, thence into Dock Square, 
 and so downward to Drowne s shop, which stood just on the 
 water s edge. The crowd still followed, gathering volume 
 as it rolled along. Never had a modern miracle occurred in 
 
 405 such broad daylight, nor in the presence of such a multitude 
 of witnesses. The airy image, as if conscious that she was 
 the object of the murmurs and disturbance that swelled be 
 hind her, appeared slightly vexed and flustered, yet still in 
 a manner consistent with the light vivacity and sportive 
 
 410 mischief that were written in her countenance. She was 
 observed to flutter her fan with such vehement rapidity that 
 the elaborate delicacy of its workmanship gave way, and it 
 remained broken in her hand. 
 
 Arriving at Drowne s door, while the captain threw it 
 
 415 open, the marvellous apparition paused an instant on the 
 threshold, assuming the very attitude of the image, and 
 casting over the crowd that glance of sunny coquetry which 
 all remembered on the face of the oaken lady. She and her 
 cavalier then disappeared. 
 
 420 " Ah ! " murmured the crowd, drawing a deep breath, as 
 with one vast pair of lungs. 
 
 "The world looks darker now that she has vanished," 
 said some of the young men. 
 
 But the aged, whose recollections dated as far back as 
 
 425 witch times, shook their heads, and hinted that our fore 
 fathers would have thought it a pious deed to burn the 
 daughter of the oak with fire. 
 
 " If she be other than a bubble of the elements," exclaimed 
 Copley, " I must look upon her face again." 
 
 430 He accordingly entered the shop ; and there, in her usual 
 corner, stood the image, gazing at him, as it might seem, 
 with the very same expression of mirthful mischief that had 
 been the farewell look of the apparition when, but a moment 
 before, she turned her face towards the crowd. The carver 
 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 185 
 
 stood beside his creation mending the beautiful fan, which 435 
 by some accident was broken in her hand. But there was 
 no longer any motion in the lifelike image, nor any real 
 woman in the workshop, nor even the witchcraft of a sunny 
 shadow, that might have deluded people s eyes as it flitted 
 along the street. Captain Hunnewell, too, had vanished. 440 
 His hoarse sea-breezy tones, however, were audible on the 
 other side of a door that opened upon the water. 
 
 " Sit down in the stern sheets, my lady," said the gallant 
 captain. " Come, bear a hand, you lubbers, and set us on 
 board in the turning of a minute-glass." 445 
 
 And then was heard the stroke of oars. 
 
 " Drowne," said Copley with a smile of intelligence, "you 
 have been a truly fortunate man. What painter or statuary 
 ever had such a subject ! No wonder that she inspired a 
 genius into you, and first created the artist who afterwards 450 
 created her image." 
 
 Drowue looked at him with a visage that bore the traces 
 of tears, but from which the light of imagination and sen 
 sibility, so recently illuminating it, had departed. He was 
 again the mechanical carver that he had been known to be 455 
 all his lifetime. 
 
 " I hardly understand what you mean, Mr. Copley, 5 said 
 he, putting his hand to his brow. " This image ! Can it 
 have been my work ? Well, I have wrought it in a kind of 
 dream ; and now that I am broad awake I must set about 460 
 finishing yonder figure of Admiral Vernon." 
 
 And forthwith he employed himself on the stolid coun 
 tenance of one of his wooden progeny, and completed it in 
 his own mechanical style, from which he was never known 
 afterwards to deviate. He followed his business indus-465 
 triously for many years, acquired a competence, and in the 
 latter part of his life attained to a dignified station in the 
 church, being remembered in records and traditions as 
 
186 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Deacon Drowne, the carver. One of his productions, an 
 
 470 Indian chief, gilded all over, stood during the better part of 
 a century on the cupola of the Province House, bedazzling 
 the eyes of those who looked upward, like an angel of the 
 sun. Another work of the good deacon s hand a reduced 
 likeness of his friend Captain Hunnewell, holding a tel- 
 
 475 escope and quadrant may be seen to this day, at the cor 
 ner of Broad and State streets, serving in the useful capacity 
 of sign to the shop of a nautical instrument maker. We 
 know not how to account for the inferiority of this quaint 
 old figure, as compared with the recorded excellence of the 
 
 480 Oaken Lady, unless on the supposition that in every human 
 spirit there is imagination, sensibility, creative power, gen 
 ius, which, according to circumstances, may either be de 
 veloped in this world, or shrouded in a mask of dulness 
 until another state of being. To our friend Drowne there 
 
 485 came a brief season of excitement, kindled by love. It ren 
 dered him a genius for that one occasion, but, quenched in 
 disappointment, left him again the mechanical carver in 
 wood, without the power even of appreciating the work that 
 his own hands had wrought. Yet who can doubt that the 
 
 490 very highest state to which a human spirit can attain, in its 
 loftiest aspirations, is its truest and most natural state, and 
 that Drowne was more consistent with himself when he 
 wrought the admirable figure of the mysterious lady, than 
 when he perpetrated a whole progeny of blockheads ? 
 
 495 There was a rumor in Boston, about this period, that a 
 young Portuguese lady of rank, on some occasion of political 
 or domestic disquietude, had fled from her home in Fayal 
 and put herself under the protection of Captain Hunnewell, 
 on board of whose vessel, and at whose residence she was 
 
 500 sheltered until a change of affairs. This fair stranger must 
 have been the original of Drowne s Wooden Image. 
 
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 187 
 
 JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 
 
 Tour of William the Silent through Holland 
 
 (From The Rise of the Dutch Republic, Part V, Chap. HI) 
 
 At the popular request, the Prince afterwards made a tour 
 through the little provinces, honoring every city with a brief 
 visit. There were no triumphal arches, no martial music, 
 no banners, no theatrical pageantry nothing but the choral 
 anthem from thousands of grateful hearts. " Father William 5 
 has come! Father William has come ! " cried men, women, 
 and children to each other when the news of his arrival in 
 town or village was announced. He was a patriarch visiting 
 his children, not a conqueror, nor a vulgar potentate display 
 ing himself to his admirers. Happy were they who heard 10 
 his voice, happier they who touched his hands, for his words 
 were full of tenderness, his hand was offered to all. There 
 were none so humble as to be forbidden to approach him, 
 none so ignorant as not to know his deeds. 
 
 He found time, notwithstanding the congratulating crowds 15 
 who thronged his footsteps, to direct the labors of the states- 
 general, who still looked more than ever to his guidance, as 
 their relations with Don John became more complicated 
 and unsatisfactory. In a letter addressed to them, on the 
 20th of June, from Harlem, he warned them most eloquently 20 
 to hold to the Ghent Pacification as to their anchor in the 
 storm. He assured them, if it was torn from them, that 
 their destruction was inevitable. He reminded them that 
 hitherto they had got but the shadow, not the substance of 
 the treaty ; that they had been robbed of that which was to 25 
 have been its chief fruit union among themselves. He 
 and his brothers, with their labor, their wealth, and their 
 blood, had laid down the bridge over which the country had 
 stepped to the Pacification of Ghent. It was for the nation 
 
188 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 30 to maintain what had been so painfully won ; yet he pro 
 claimed to them that the government were not acting in 
 good faith, that secret preparations were making to annihilate 
 the authority of the states, to restore the edicts, to put 
 strangers into high places, and to set up again the scaffold 
 
 35 and the whole machinery of persecution. 
 
 In consequence of the seizure of Namur Castle, and the 
 accusations made by Don John against Orange, in order to 
 justify that act, the Prince had already despatched Taffin and 
 Saint Aldegonde to the states-general with a commission to 
 
 40 declare his sentiments upon the subject. He addressed, 
 moreover, to the same body a full letter of sincere and simple 
 eloquence. " The Seigneur Don John," said he, " has accused 
 me of violating the peace, and of countenancing attempts 
 against his life, and is endeavouring to persuade you into 
 
 45 joining him in a declaration of war against me and against 
 Holland and Zealand ; but I pray you, most affectionately, 
 to remember our mutual and solemn obligations to maintain 
 the treaty of Ghent." He entreated the states, therefore, 
 to beware of the artifices employed to seduce them from the 
 
 50 only path which led to the tranquillity of their common 
 country, and her true splendor and prosperity. " I believe 
 there is not one of you," he continued, " who can doubt me, 
 if he will weigh carefully all my actions, and consider 
 closely the course which I am pursuing and have always 
 
 55 pursued. Let all these be confronted with the conduct of 
 Don John, and any man will perceive that all my views of 
 happiness, both for my country and myself, imply a peace 
 able enjoyment of the union, joined with the legitimate 
 restoration of our liberties, to which all good patriots aspire, 
 
 60 and towards which all my designs have ever tended. As all 
 the grandeur of Don John, on the contrary, consists in 
 war, as there is nothing which he so abhors as repose, as he 
 has given ample proof of these inclinations in all his designs 
 
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 189 
 
 and enterprises, both before and after the treaty of Marche 
 en Famine, both within the country and beyond its borders, 65 
 as it is most manifest that his purpose is, and ever has been, 
 to embroil us with our neighbors of England and Scotland 
 in new dissensions, as it must be evident to every one of you 
 that his pretended accusations against me are but colors and 
 shadows to embellish and to shroud his own desire for war, 70 
 his appetite for vengeance, and his hatred not only to me 
 but to yourselves, and as his determination is, in the words 
 of Escovedo, to chastize some of us by means of the rest, 
 and to excite the jealousy of one portion of the country 
 against the other therefore, gentlemen, do I most affec-75 
 tionately exhort you to found your decision, as to these 
 matters, not upon words, but upon actions. Examine care 
 fully my conduct in the points concerning which the charges 
 are made ; listen attentively to what my envoys will com 
 municate to you in my behalf ; and then, having compared it 80 
 with all the proceedings of Seigneur Don John, you will be 
 able to form a resolution worthy the rank which you occupy, 
 and befitting your obligations to the whole people, of whom 
 you have been chosen chiefs and protectors by God and by 
 men. Put away all considerations which might obscure your 85 
 clear eye-sight ; maintain with magnanimity, and like men, 
 the safety of yourselves, your wives, your children, your es 
 tates, your liberties ; see that this poor people, whose eyes 
 are fixed upon you, does not perish ; preserve them from the 
 greediness of those who would grow great at your expense; 90 
 guard them from the yoke of miserable servitude ; let not 
 all our posterity lament that, by our pusillanimity, they 
 have lost the liberties which our ancestors had conquered 
 for them, and bequeathed to them as well as to us, and that 
 they have been subjugated by the proud tyranny of strangers. 95 
 
 " Trusting," said the Prince, in conclusion, " that you will 
 accord faith and attention to my envoys, I will only add an 
 
190 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 expression of my sincere determination to employ myself 
 incessantly in your service, and for the welfare of the whole 
 
 100 people, without sparing any means in my power, nor my 
 life itself." 
 
 The vigilant Prince was indeed not slow to take advantage 
 of the Governor s false move. While in reality intending 
 peace, if it were possible, Don John had thrown the gaunt- 
 
 105 let; while affecting to deal openly and manfully, like a 
 warrior and an emperor s son, he had involved himself in 
 petty stratagems and transparent intrigues, by all which he 
 had gained nothing but the character of a plotter, whose 
 word could not be trusted. Saint Aldegonde expressed the 
 
 no hope that the seizure of Namur Castle would open the eyes 
 of the people, and certainly the Prince did his best to 
 sharpen their vision. 
 
 While in North Holland, William of Orange received an 
 urgent invitation from the magistracy and community of 
 
 115 Utrecht to visit that city. His authority, belonging to him 
 under his ancient commission, had not yet been recognized 
 over that province, but there was no doubt that the contem 
 plated convention of " Satisfaction " was soon to be arranged, 
 for his friends there were numerous and influential. His 
 
 120 princess, Charlotte de Bourbon, who accompanied him on his 
 tour, trembled at the danger to which her husband would 
 expose himself by venturing thus boldly into a territory 
 which might be full of his enemies, but the Prince deter 
 mined to trust the loyalty of a province which he hoped 
 
 125 would be soon his own. With anxious forebodings, the 
 Princess followed her husband to the ancient episcopal city. 
 As they entered its gates, where an immense concourse was 
 waiting to receive him, a shot passed through the carriage 
 window, and struck the Prince upon the breast. The af- 
 
 130 frighted lady threw her arms about his neck, shrieking that 
 they were betrayed, but the Prince, perceiving that the 
 
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 191 
 
 supposed shot was but a wad from one of the cannon, which 
 were still roaring their welcome to him, soon succeeded in 
 calming her fears. The carriage passed slowly through the 
 streets, attended by the vociferous greetings of the multi- 135 
 tude ; for the whole population had come forth to do him 
 honor. The citizens of Utrecht became more than ever in 
 clined to accept the dominion of the Prince, and it was cer 
 tain before he took his departure that the treaty of " Satis 
 faction " would not be long delayed. It was drawn up, 140 
 accordingly, in the autumn of the same year, upon the basis 
 of that accepted by Harlem and Amsterdam a basis wide 
 enough to support both religions, with a nominal supremacy 
 to the ancient Church. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 The Rhodora: 
 
 ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? 
 
 In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
 
 I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
 
 Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
 
 To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
 
 The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 6 
 
 Made the black water with their beauty gay; 
 
 Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool, 
 
 And court the flower that cheapens his array. 
 
 Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
 
 This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 10 
 
 Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
 
 Then Beauty is its own excuse for being : 
 
 Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose 1 
 
 I never thought to ask, I never knew : 
 
 But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 15 
 
 The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. 
 
192 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The Apology 
 
 Think me not unkind and rude 
 
 That I walk alone in grove and glen ; 
 
 I go to the god of the wood 
 To fetch his word to men. 
 
 5 Tax not my sloth that I 
 
 Fold my arms beside the brook ; 
 Each cloud that floated in the sky 
 Writes a letter in my book. 
 
 Chide me not, laborious band, 
 10 For the idle flowers I brought; 
 
 Every aster in my hand 
 
 Goes home loaded with a thought. 
 
 There was never mystery 
 
 But tis figured in the flowers ; 
 15 Was never secret history 
 
 But birds tell it in the bowers. 
 
 One harvest from thy field 
 
 Homeward brought the oxen strong ; 
 A second crop thine acres yield, 
 20 Which I gather in a song. 
 
 Concord Hymn 
 
 (Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837) 
 
 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. 
 
 5 The foe long since in silence slept ; 
 
 Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; 
 And Time the ruined bridge has swept 
 
 Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 
 
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 193 
 
 On this green bank, by this soft stream, 
 
 We set to-day a votive stone : 10 
 
 That memory may their deed redeem, 
 
 When like our sires, our sons are gone. 
 
 Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
 
 To die, and leave their children free, 
 Bid Time and Nature gently spare 15 
 
 The shaft we raise to them and thee. 
 
 The Humble-Bee 
 
 Burly, dozing humble-bee, 
 
 Where thou art is clime for me. 
 
 Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
 
 Far-off heats through seas to seek ; 
 
 I will follow thee alone, 5 
 
 Thou animated torrid-zone ! 
 
 Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, 
 
 Let me chase thy waving lines; 
 
 Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
 
 Singing over shrubs and vines. 10 
 
 Insect lover of the sun, 
 
 Joy of thy dominion 1 
 
 Sailor of the atmosphere ; 
 
 Swimmer through the waves of air ; 
 
 Voyager of light and noon ; 15 
 
 Epicurean of June ; 
 
 Wait, I prithee, till I come , 
 
 Within earshot of thy hum, 
 
 All without is martyrdom. 
 
 When the south wind, in May days, 20 
 
 With a net of shining haze 
 
 Silvers the horizon wall, 
 
 And with softness touching all, 
 
194 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Tints the human countenance 
 25 With a color of romance, 
 
 And infusing subtle heats, 
 Turns the sod to violets, 
 Thou, in sunny solitudes, 
 Rover of the underwoods, 
 
 30 The green silence dost displace 
 
 With thy mellow, breezy bass. 
 
 Hot midsummer s petted crone, 
 Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 
 Tells of countless sunny hours, 
 
 35 Long days, and solid banks of flowers 
 
 Of gulfs of sweetness without bound 
 In Indian wildernesses found ; 
 Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, 
 Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 
 
 40 Aught unsavory or unclean 
 
 Hath my insect never seen ; 
 But violets and bilberry bells, 
 Maple-sap and daffodels, 
 Grass with green flag half-mast high, 
 
 45 Succory to match the sky, 
 
 Columbine with horn of honey, 
 Scented fern, and agrimony, 
 Clover, catchfly, adder s-tongue 
 And brier-roses, dwelt among; 
 
 50 All beside was unknown waste, 
 
 All was picture as he passed. 
 
 Wiser far than human seer, 
 Yellow-breeched philosopher! 
 Seeing only what is fair, 
 55 Sipping only what is sweet, 
 
 Thon dost mock at fate and care, 
 Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. 
 When the fierce northwestern blast 
 Cools sea and land so far and fast, 
 
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 195 
 
 Thou already slurnberest deep ; i 
 
 Woe and want thou canst outsleep ; 
 Want and woe, which torture us, 
 Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 
 
 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, 5 
 
 And said : * No more ! 
 
 No farther shoot 
 
 Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root. 
 
 Fancy departs : no more invent ; 
 
 Contract thy firmament 10 
 
 To compass of a tent. 
 
 There s not enough for this and that, 
 
 Make thy option which of two ; 
 
 Economize the failing river, 
 
 Not the less revere the Giver, 15 
 
 Leave the many and hold the few. 
 
 Timely wise accept the terms, 
 
 Soften the fall with wary foot ; 
 
 A little while 
 
 Still plan and smile, 20 
 
 And, fault of novel germs, 
 
 Mature the unf alien fruit. 
 
 Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires, 
 
 Bad husbands of their fires, 
 
 Who, when they gave thee breath, 25 
 
 Failed to bequeath 
 
 The needful sinew stark as once, 
 
 The Baresark marrow to thy bones, 
 
 But left a legacy of ebbing veins, 
 
 Inconstant heat and nerveless reins, 30 
 
196 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, 
 Amid the gladiators, halt and numb. 
 
 As the bird trims her to the gale, 
 I trim myself to the storm of time, 
 
 35 I man the rudder, reef the sail, 
 
 Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: 
 
 * Lowly faithful, banish fear, 
 
 Right onward drive unharmed ; 
 
 The port, well worth the cruise, is near, 
 
 40 And every wave is charmed. 
 
 The Nature of Government 
 (From Politics) 
 
 In this country, we are very vain of our political institu 
 tions, which are singular in this, that they sprung, within 
 the memory of living men, from the character and condition 
 of the people, which they still express with sufficient fidel- 
 5ity, and we ostentatiously prefer them to any other in 
 history. They are not better, but only fitter for us. We 
 may be wise in asserting the advantage in modern times of 
 the democratic form, but to other states of society, in which 
 religion consecrated the monarchical, that and not this was 
 
 10 expedient. Democracy is better for us, because the religious 
 sentiment of the present time accords better with it. Born 
 democrats, we are nowise qualified to judge of monarchy, 
 which, to our fathers living in the monarchical idea, was 
 also relatively right. But our institutions, though in coin- 
 
 15 cidence with the spirit of the age, have not any exemption 
 from the practical defects which have discredited other 
 forms. Every actual State is corrupt. Good men must 
 not obey the laws too well. What satire on government 
 can equal the severity of censure conveyed in the wordpol- 
 
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 197 
 
 which now for ages has signified cunning, intimating 20 
 that the State is a trick ? 
 
 The same benign necessity and the same practical abuse 
 appear in the parties into which each State divides itself, 
 of opponents and defenders of the administration of the 
 government. Parties are also founded on instincts, and 25 
 have better guides to their own humble aims than the sagac 
 ity of their leaders. They have nothing perverse in their 
 origin, but rudely mark some real and lasting relation. We 
 might as wisely reprove the east wind, or the frost, as a 
 political party, whose members, for the most part, could 30 
 give no account of their position, but stand for the defense 
 of those interests in which they find themselves. Our 
 quarrel with them begins, when they quit this deep natural 
 ground at the bidding of some leader, and, obeying personal 
 considerations, throw themselves into the maintenance and 35 
 defense of points nowise belonging to their system. A 
 party is perpetually corrupted by personality. While we 
 absolve the association from dishonesty we cannot extend 
 the same charity to their leaders. They reap the rewards 
 of the docility and zeal of the masses which they direct. 40 
 Ordinarily our parties are parties of circumstance and not 
 of principle; as the planting interest in conflict with the 
 commercial ; the party of capitalists, and that of operatives ; 
 parties which are identical in their moral character, and 
 which can easily change ground with each other, in the 45 
 support of many of their measures. Parties of principle, as 
 religious sects, or the party of free-trade, of universal suf 
 frage, of abolition of slavery, of abolition of capital punish 
 ment, degenerate into personalities, or would inspire enthu 
 siasm. The vice of our leading parties in this country 50 
 (which may be cited as a fair specimen of these societies of 
 opinion) is, that they do not plant themselves on the deep 
 and necessary grounds to which they are respectively en- 
 
198 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 titled, but lash themselves to fury in the carrying of some 
 55 local and momentary measure, nowise useful to the common 
 wealth. Of the two great parties, which, at this hour, 
 almost share the nation between them, I should say, that 
 one has the best cause, and the other contains the best men. 
 The philosopher, the poet, or the religious man, will, of 
 60 course, wish to cast his vote with the democrat, for free- 
 trade, for wide suffrage, for the abolition of legal cruelties 
 in the penal code, and for facilitating in every manner the 
 access of the young and the poor to the sources of wealth 
 and power. But he can rarely accept the persons whom 
 65 the so-called popular party proposes to him as representatives 
 of these liberalities. They have not at heart the ends 
 which give to the name of democracy what hope and virtue 
 are in it. The spirit of our American radicalism is destruc 
 tive and aimless : it is not loving ; it has no ulterior and 
 70 divine ends; but is destructive only out of hatred and 
 selfishness. On the other side, the conservative party, com 
 posed of the most moderate, able, and cultivated part of 
 the population, is timid, and merely defensive of property. 
 It vindicates no right, it aspires to no real good, it brands no 
 75 crime, it proposes no generous policy, it does not build, nor 
 write, nor cherish the arts, nor foster religion, nor establish 
 schools, nor encourage science, nor emancipate the slave, nor 
 befriend the poor, or the Indian, or the immigrant. From 
 neither party, when in power, has the world any benefit to 
 80 expect in science, art, or humanity at all commensurate with 
 the resources of the nation. 
 
 I do not for these defects despair of our republic. We 
 are not at the mercy of any waves of chance. In the strife 
 of ferocious parties, human nature always finds itself cher- 
 85 ished, as the children of the convicts at Botany Bay are 
 found to have as healthy a moral sentiment as other children. 
 Citizens of feudal states are alarmed at our democratic insti- 
 
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 199 
 
 tutions lapsing into anarchy ; and the older and more cau 
 tious among ourselves are learning from Europeans to look 
 with some terror at our turbulent freedom. It is said that 90 
 in our license of construing the Constitution, and in the des 
 potism of public opinion, we have no anchor ; and one foreign 
 observer thinks he has found the safeguard in the sanctity 
 of Marriage among us ; and another thinks he has found it 
 in our Calvinism. Fisher Ames expressed the popular secu- 95 
 rity more wisely, when he compared a monarchy and a 
 republic, saying, "that a monarchy is a merchantman, 
 which sails well, but will sometimes strike on a rock, and go 
 to the bottom ; whilst a republic is a raft, which would never 
 sink, but then your feet are always in water." No forms can 100 
 have any dangerous importance, whilst we are befriended 
 by the laws of things. It makes no difference how many 
 tons weight of atmosphere presses on our heads, so long as 
 the same pressure resists it within the lungs. Augment the 
 mass a thousand fold, it cannot begin to crush us, as long as 105 
 reaction is equal to action. The fact of two poles, of two 
 forces, centripetal and centrifugal, is universal, and each 
 force by its own activity develops the other. Wild liberty 
 develops iron conscience. Want of liberty, by strengthening 
 law and decorum, stupefies conscience. "Lynch-law" pre-no 
 vails only where there is greater hardihood and self-subsist- 
 ency in the leaders. A mob cannot be a permanency : 
 everybody s interest requires that it should not exist, and 
 only justice satisfies all. 
 
 We must trust infinitely to the beneficent necessity which 115 
 shines through all laws. Human nature expresses itself in 
 them as characteristically as in statues, or songs, or railroads, 
 and an abstract of the codes of nations would be a transcript 
 of the common conscience. Governments have their origin 
 in the moral identity of men. Reason for one is seen to be 120 
 reason for another, and for every other. There is a middle 
 
200 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 measure which satisfies all parties, be they never so many, 
 or so resolute for their own. Every man finds a sanction 
 for his simplest claims and deeds in decisions of his own 
 
 125 mind, which he calls Truth and Holiness. In these decisions 
 all the citizens find a perfect agreement, and only in these ; 
 not in what is good to eat, good to wear, good use of time, 
 or what amount of land, or of public aid, each is entitled to 
 claim. This truth and justice men presently endeavor to 
 
 130 make application of, to the measuring of land, the apportion 
 ment of service, the protection of life and property. Their 
 first endeavors, no doubt, are very awkward. Yet absolute 
 right is the first governor ; or, every government is an impure 
 theocracy. The idea, after which each community is aiming 
 
 135 to make and mend its law, is the will of the wise man. The 
 wise man, it cannot find in nature, and it makes awkward 
 but earnest efforts to secure his government by contrivance ; 
 as, by causing the entire people to give their voices on every 
 measure ; or, by a double choice to get the representation of 
 
 140 the whole; or, by a selection of the best citizens; or, to 
 secure the advantages of efficiency and internal peace, by 
 confiding the government to one, who may himself select his 
 agents. All forms of government symbolize an immortal 
 government, common to all dynasties and independent of 
 
 145 numbers, perfect where two men exist, perfect where there 
 is only one man. 
 
 HENRY DAVID THOREAU 
 
 The Coming of the Birds 
 
 (From Early Spring in Massachusetts) 
 
 March, 18, 1858. How much more habitable a few birds 
 make the fields ! At the end of the winter, when the fields 
 are bare, and there is nothing to relieve the monotony of 
 withered vegetation, our life seems reduced to its lowest 
 
HENRY DAVID THOREAU 201 
 
 terms. But let a bluebird come and warble over them, and 5 
 what a change ! The note of the first bluebird in the air 
 answers to the purling rill of melted snow beneath. It is 
 evidently soft and soothing, and, as surely as the thermom 
 eter, indicates a higher temperature. It is the accent of the 
 south wind, its vernacular. It is modulated by the south 10 
 wind. 
 
 The song-sparrow is more sprightly, mingling its notes 
 with the rustling of the brush along the water sides, but it 
 is at the same time more terrene than the bluebird. The 
 first woodpecker comes screaming into the empty house, and 15 
 throws open doors and windows wide, calling out each 
 of them to let the neighbors know of its return. But heard 
 farther off it is very suggestive of ineffable associations, 
 which cannot be distinctly recalled, of long-drawn summer 
 hours, and thus it also has the effect of music. I was not 20 
 aware that the capacity to hear the woodpecker had slum 
 bered within me so long. When the blackbird gets to a con- 
 queree he seems to be dreaming of the sprays that are to be 
 and on which he will perch. The robin does not come singing, 
 but utters a somewhat anxious or inquisitive peep at first. 25 
 The songsparrow is immediately most at home of those I 
 have named. 
 
 Each new year is a surprise to us. We find that we had 
 virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when we hear 
 it again, it is remembered like a dream, reminding us of a 30 
 previous state of existence. How happens it that the asso 
 ciations it awakens are always pleasing, never saddening, 
 reminiscences of our sanest hours. The voice of nature is 
 always encouraging. 
 
 When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round, and am 35 
 for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the 
 river valley and the horizon with its distant blue-scalloped 
 rim. It is a spring landscape, and as impossible a fortnight 
 
202 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 ago as the song of birds. It is a deeper and warmer blue than 
 
 40 in winter, methinks. The snow is off the mountains, which 
 seem even to have come again like the birds. The undu 
 lating river is a bright blue channel between sharp-edged 
 shores of ice retained by the willows. The wind blows 
 strong but warm from west by north (so that I have to hold 
 
 45 my paper tight while I write this), making the copses creak 
 and roar, but the sharp tinkle of a song-sparrow is heard 
 through it all. But, ah ! the needles of the pine, how they 
 shine, as I look down over the Holden wood and westward ! 
 Every third tree is lit with the most subdued, but clear, 
 
 50 ethereal light, as if it were the most delicate frost-work in 
 a winter morning, reflecting no heat, but only light. And 
 as they rock and wave in the strong wind, even a mile off, 
 the light courses up and down them as over a field of grain, 
 i.e. } they are alternately light and dark, like looms above 
 
 55 the forest, when the shuttle is thrown between the light 
 woof and the dark web. At sight of this my spirit is like 
 a lit tree. It runs or flashes over their parallel boughs as 
 when you play with the teeth of a comb. Not only osiers, 
 but pine needles, shine brighter, I think, in the spring, and 
 
 60 arrowheads and railroad rails, etc., etc. Anacreon noticed 
 this spring shining. Is it not from the higher sun and 
 cleansed air and greater animation of nature ? There is a 
 warmer red on the leaves of the shrub oak and on the tail 
 of the hawk circling over them. 
 
 Maimed Nature 
 (From Early Spring in Massachusetts) 
 
 March 23, 1856. I spend a considerable portion of my time 
 observing the habits of the wild animals, my brute neigh 
 bors. By their various movements and migrations they fetch 
 the year about to me. Very significant are the flight of geese 
 
HENRY DAVID THOREAU 203 
 
 and the migration of suckers, etc. But when I consider that 5 
 the nobler animals have been exterminated here, the cougar, 
 panther, lynx, wolverine, wolf, bear, moose, deer, beaver, 
 turkey, etc., etc., I cannot but feel as if I lived in a tamed 
 and, as it were, emasculated country. Would not the mo 
 tions of those larger and wilder animals have been more 10 
 significant still ? Is it not a maimed and imperfect nature 
 that I am conversant with ? As if I were to study a tribe 
 of Indians that had lost all its warriors. Do not the forest 
 and the meadow now lack expression ? now that I never see 
 nor think of the moose with a lesser forest on his head in 15 
 the one, nor of the beaver in the other ? When I think what 
 were the various sounds and notes, the migrations and works, 
 and changes of fur and plumage, which ushered in the spring 
 and marked the other seasons of the year, I am reminded 
 that this my life in nature, this particular round of natural 20 
 phenomena which I call a year, is lamentably incomplete. 
 I listen to a concert in which so many parts are wanting. 
 The whole civilized country is, to some extent, turned into 
 a city, and I am that citizen whom I pity. Many of those 
 animal migrations and other phenomena by which the 25 
 Indians marked the season are no longer to be observed. I 
 seek acquaintance with Nature to know her moods and 
 manners. Primitive nature is the most interesting to me. 
 I take infinite pains to know all the phenomena of the spring 
 for instance, thinking that I have here the entire poem, and 30 
 then, to my chagrin, I learn that it is but an imperfect copy 
 that I possess and have read, that my ancestors have torn 
 out many of the first leaves and grandest passages, and 
 mutilated it in many places. I should not like to think that 
 some demigod had come before me and picked out some of 35 
 the best of the stars. I wish to know an entire heaven and 
 an entire earth. All the great trees and beasts, fishes and 
 fowl are gone ; the streams perchance are somewhat shrunk. 
 
204 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 The Beleaguered City 
 
 I have read, in some old, marvellous tale, 
 Some legend strange and vague, 
 
 That a midnight host of spectres pale 
 Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 
 
 5 Beside the Moldau s rushing stream, 
 
 With the wan moon overhead, 
 There stood, as in an awful dream, 
 The army of the dead. 
 
 White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 
 10 The spectra] camp was seen, 
 
 And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
 The river flowed between. 
 
 No other voice nor sound was there, 
 
 No drum, nor sentry s pace ; 
 
 15 The mist-like banners clasped the air 
 
 As clouds with clouds embrace. 
 
 But when the old cathedral bell 
 
 Proclaimed the morning pra} T er, 
 The white pavilions rose and fell 
 20 On the alarmed air. 
 
 Down the broad valley fast and far 
 
 The troubled army fled ; 
 Up rose the glorious morning star, 
 
 The ghastly host was dead. 
 
 25 I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, 
 
 That strange and mystic scroll, 
 That an army of phantoms vast and wan 
 Beleaguer the human soul. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 205 
 
 Encamped beside Life s rushing stream, 
 
 In Fancy s misty light, 30 
 
 Gigantic shapes and shadows glearn 
 
 Portentous through the night. 
 
 Upon its midnight battle-ground 
 
 The spectral camp is seen, 
 And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 35 
 
 Flows the River of Life between. 
 
 No other voice nor sound is there, 
 
 In the army of the grave ; 
 No other challenge breaks the air, 
 
 But the rushing of Life s wave. 40 
 
 And when the solemn and deep church-hell 
 
 Entreats the soul to pray, 
 The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 
 
 The shadows sweep away. 
 
 Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 45 
 
 The spectral camp is fled ; 
 Faith shineth as a morning star, 
 
 Our ghastly fears are dead. 
 
 The Building of the Ship 
 
 * Build me straight, O worthy Master I 
 
 Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
 That shall laugh at all disaster, 
 
 And with wave and whirlwind wrestle I 
 
 The merchant s word 5 
 
 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 10 
 
 Play round the bows of ships 
 
 That steadily at anchor ride. 
 
206 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 And with a voice that was full of glee, 
 He answered, * Erelong we will launch 
 15 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, 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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, crank and tall, 
 
 30 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 
 
 35 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; 
 
 40 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 ; 
 
 45 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, 
 
 50 Might aid and not impede her course. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 207 
 
 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, 56 
 
 Lay the timber piled around ; 
 
 Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 
 
 And scattered here and there, with these, 
 
 The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; 
 
 Brought from regions far away, 60 
 
 From Pascagoula s sunny bay, 
 
 And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! 
 
 Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is 
 
 To note how many wheels of toil 
 
 One thought, one word, can set in motion! 65 
 
 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, 70 
 
 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, 75 
 
 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, 80 
 
 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 ! 85 
 
208 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The old man, in whose busy brain 
 
 Many a ship that sailed the main 
 
 Was modelled o er and o er again ; 
 
 The fiery youth, who was to be 
 90 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 1 
 95 Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 
 
 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 
 100 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 ! 
 105 For the day that gives her to the sea 
 
 Shall give my daughter unto thee 1 
 
 The Master s word 
 
 Enraptured the young man heard ; 
 
 And as he turned his face aside, 
 110 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, 
 115 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 ; 
 120 But he 
 
 Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 209 
 
 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, 12 5 
 
 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 130 
 
 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, 135 
 
 The keel of oak for a noble ship, 
 
 Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, 
 
 Was lying ready, and stretched along 
 
 The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 
 
 Happy, thrice happy, every one 140 
 
 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 145 
 
 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, 150 
 
 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, 155 
 
 That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, 
 
210 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 And the magic charm of foreign lands, 
 With shadows of palms, and shining sands, 
 Where the tumbling surf, 
 
 160 O er the coral reefs of Madagascar, 
 
 Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 
 As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 
 And the trembling maiden held her breath 
 At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 
 
 165 With all its terror and mystery, 
 
 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 
 
 170 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, 
 
 175 Tenderly, on the young man s breast ! 
 
 Day by day the vessel grew, 
 With timbers fashioned strong and true, 
 Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee, 
 Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 
 
 180 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, 
 
 185 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, 
 
 190 And overflowed 
 
 With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. 
 And amid the clamors 
 Of clattering hammers, 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 211 
 
 He who listened heard now and then 
 
 The song of the Master and his men : 195 
 
 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, 200 
 
 Lay the rudder on the sand, 
 
 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, 205 
 
 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 210 
 
 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 ! 2 15 
 
 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, 220 
 
 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 ; 225 
 
 Shrouds and stays 
 
 Holding it firm and fast ! 
 
212 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Long ago, 
 
 In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 
 230 When upon mountain and plain 
 
 Lay the snow, 
 
 They fell, those lordly pines I 
 
 Those grand, majestic pines ! 
 
 Mid shouts and cheers 
 235 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, 
 240 And naked and bare, 
 
 To feel the stress and the strain 
 
 Of the wind and the reeling main, 
 
 Whose roar 
 
 Would remind them forevermore 
 245 Of their native forests they should not see again. 
 
 And everywhere 
 
 The slender, graceful spars 
 
 Poise aloft in the air, 
 
 And at the mast-head, 
 250 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, 
 255 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 
 260 Of beauty and of strength. 
 
 To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 
 With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, 
 And o er the bay, 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 213 
 
 Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 
 
 The great sun rises to behold the sight. 265 
 
 The ocean old, 
 
 Centuries old, 
 
 Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 
 
 Paces restless to and fro, 
 
 Up and down the sands of gold. 270 
 
 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. 275 
 
 He waits impatient for his bride. 
 
 There she stands, 
 
 With her foot upon the sands, 
 
 Decked with flags and streamers gay, 
 
 In honor of her marriage day, 280 
 
 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 285 
 
 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. 290 
 
 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, 295 
 
 Kisses his daughter s glowing cheek 
 
 In silence, for he cannot speak, 
 
 And ever faster 
 
 Down his own the tears begin to run. 
 
214 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 300 The worthy pastor 
 
 The shepherd of that wandering flock, 
 That has the ocean for its wold, 
 That has the vessel for its fold, 
 Leaping ever from rock to rock 
 
 305 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, 
 
 310 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, 
 
 315 The will from its moorings and its course. 
 
 Therefore he spake, and thus said he : 
 Like unto ships far off at sea, 
 Outward or homeward bound, are we. 
 Before, behind, and all around, 
 
 320 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. 
 
 325 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, 
 
 330 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 
 
 335 To the toil and the task we have to do, 
 
 We shall sail securely, and safely reach 
 The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 215 
 
 The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, 
 Will be those of joy and not of fear 1 
 
 Then the Master, 340 
 
 With a gesture of command, 
 
 Waved his hand ; 
 
 And at the word, 
 
 Loud and sudden there was heard, 
 
 All around them and below, 345 
 
 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, 350 
 
 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, 355 
 
 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 360 
 
 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 1 365 
 
 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 370 
 
 Upon the bosom of that sea 
 
 Thy comings and thy goings be I 
 
216 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 For gentleness and love and trust 
 Prevail o er angry wave and gust; 
 375 And in the wreck of noble lives 
 
 Something immortal still survives 1 
 
 Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of state ! 
 Sail on O UNION, strong and great ! 
 Humanity with all its fears, 
 
 380 With all the hopes of future years, 
 
 Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
 We know what Master laid thy keel, 
 What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
 Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
 
 385 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 ; 
 
 390 Tis but the flapping of the sail, 
 
 And not a rent made by the gale ! 
 In spite of rock and tempest s roar, 
 In spite of false lights on the shore, 
 Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 
 
 395 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 
 
 Hiawatha s Wooing 
 (From The Song of Hiawatha) 
 
 * 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 ; 
 6 Useless each without the other ! 
 
 Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
 Said within himself and pondered, 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 217 
 
 Much perplexed by various feelings, 
 
 Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
 
 Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 10 
 
 Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
 
 In the land of the Dacotahs. 
 
 Wed a maiden of your people, 
 Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
 
 Go not eastward, go not westward, 15 
 
 For a stranger, whom we know not ! 
 Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
 Is a neighbor s homely daughter, 
 Like the starlight or the moonlight 
 Is the handsomest of strangers ! 20 
 
 Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
 And my Hiawatha answered 
 Only this : Dear old Nokomis, 
 Very pleasant is the firelight, 
 
 But I like the starlight better, 25 
 
 Better do I like the moonlight ! 
 
 Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
 
 * Bring not here an idle maiden, 
 Bring not here a useless woman, 
 
 Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ; 30 
 
 Bring a wife with nimble fingers, 
 Heart and hand that move together, 
 Feet that run on willing errands ! 
 
 Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
 
 In the land of the Dacotahs 35 
 
 Lives the Arrow-maker s daughter, 
 Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
 Handsomest of all the women. 
 I will bring her to your wigwam, 
 
 She shall run upon your errands, 40 
 
 Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
 Be the sunlight of my people ! 
 
 Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
 
 * Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
 
 From the land of the Dacotahs ! 45 
 
218 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 V&rj fierce are the Dacotahs, 
 Often is there war between us, 
 There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
 Wounds that ache and still may open ! 
 
 50 Laughing answered Hiawatha : 
 
 1 For that reason, if no other, 
 Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
 That our tribes might be united, 
 That old feuds might be forgotten, 
 
 55 And old wounds be healed forever ! 
 
 Thus departed Hiawatha 
 To the land of the Dacotahs, 
 To the land of handsome women ; 
 Striding over moor and meadow, 
 
 60 Through interminable forests, 
 
 Through uninterrupted silence. 
 With his moccasins of magic, 
 At each stride a mile he measured ; 
 Yet the way seemed long before him, 
 
 65 And his heart outran his footsteps ; 
 
 And he journeyed without resting, 
 Till he heard the cataract s laughter, 
 Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
 Calling to him through the silence. 
 
 70 Pleasant is the sound ! he murmured, 
 
 * Pleasant is the voice that calls me ! 
 
 On the outskirts of the forests, 
 Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
 Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 
 
 75 But they saw not Hiawatha ; 
 
 To his bow he whispered, * Fail not ! 
 To his arrow whispered, * Swerve not ! r 
 Sent it singing on its errand, 
 To the red heart of the roebuck ; 
 
 80 Threw the deer across his shoulder, 
 
 And sped forward without pausing. 
 
 At the doorway of his wigwam 
 Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 219 
 
 In the land of the Dacotahs, 
 
 Making arrow-heads of jasper 85 
 
 Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 
 
 At his side, in all her beauty, 
 
 Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 
 
 Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, 
 
 Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; 90 
 
 Of the past the old man s thoughts were, 
 
 And the maiden s of the future. 
 
 He was thinking, as he sat there, 
 Of the days when with such arrows 
 
 He had struck the deer and bison, 95 
 
 On the Muskoday, the meadow ; 
 Shot the wild goose, flying southward, 
 On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; 
 Thinking of the great war-parties, 
 
 How they came to buy his arrows, 100 
 
 Could not fight without his arrows. 
 Ah, no more such noble warriors 
 Could be found on earth as they were ! 
 Now the men were all like women, 
 Only used their tongues for weapons I 106 
 
 She was thinking of a hunter, 
 From another tribe and country, 
 Young and tall and very handsome, 
 Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 
 
 Came to buy her father s arrows, 110 
 
 Sat and rested in the wigwam, 
 Lingered long about the doorway, 
 Looking back as he departed. 
 She had heard her father praise him, 
 
 Praise his courage and his wisdom ; 115 
 
 Would he come again for arrows 
 To the Falls of Minnehaha? 
 On the mat her hands lay idle, 
 And her eyes were very dreamy. 
 
 Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 120 
 
 Heard a rustling in the branches, 
 
220 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
 With the deer upon his shoulders, 
 Suddenly from out the woodlands 
 
 125 Hiawatha stood before them. 
 
 Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
 Looked up gravely from his labor, 
 Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
 Bade him enter at the doorway, 
 
 130 Saying, as he rose to meet him, 
 
 Hiawatha, you are welcome ! 
 
 At the feet of Laughing Water 
 Hiawatha laid his burden, 
 Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; 
 
 135 And the maiden looked up at him, 
 
 Looked up from her mat of rushes, 
 Said with gentle look and accent, 
 * You are welcome, Hiawatha ! 
 Very spacious was the wigwam, 
 
 140 Made of deer-skins dressed and whitened, 
 
 With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
 Drawn and painted on its curtains, 
 And so tall the doorway, hardly 
 Hiawatha stooped to enter, 
 
 145 Hardly touched his eagle-feathers 
 
 As he entered at the doorway. 
 
 Then up rose the Laughing Water, 
 From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
 Laid aside her mat unfinished, 
 
 150 Brought forth food and set before them, 
 
 Water brought them from the brooklet, 
 Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
 Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
 Listened while the guest was speaking, 
 
 155 Listened while her father answered, 
 
 But not once her lips she opened, 
 Not a single word she uttered. 
 
 Yes, as in a dream she listened 
 To the words of Hiawatha, 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 221 
 
 As he talked of old Nokomis, 160 
 
 Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
 
 As he told of his companions, 
 
 Chibiabos, the musician, 
 
 And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
 
 And of happiness and plenty 165 
 
 In the land of the Ojibways, 
 
 In the pleasant land and peaceful. 
 
 1 After many years of warfare, 
 Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
 
 There is peace between the Ojibways 170 
 
 And the tribe of the Dacotahs. 
 Thus continued Hiawatha, 
 And then added, speaking slowly, 
 That this peace may last forever, 
 
 And our hands be clasped more closely, 175 
 
 And our hearts be more united, 
 Give me as my wife this maiden, 
 Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
 Loveliest of Dacotah Women ! 
 
 And the ancient Arrow-maker, IgO 
 
 Paused a moment ere he answered, 
 Smoked a little while in silence, 
 Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 
 Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
 
 And made answer very gravely : j5 
 
 4 Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
 Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! 
 
 And the lovely Laughing Water 
 Seemed more lovely as she stood there, 
 
 Neither willing nor reluctant, 190 
 
 As she went to Hiawatha, 
 Softly took the seat beside him, 
 While she said, and blushed to say it, 
 1 1 will follow you, my husband ! 
 
 This was Hiawatha s wooing ! jg5 
 
 Thus it was he won the daughter 
 
222 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
 In the land of the Dacotahs ! 
 From the wigwam he departed, 
 
 200 Leading with him Laughing Water ; 
 
 Hand in hand they went together, 
 Through the woodland and the meadow, 
 Left the old man standing lonely 
 At the doorway of his wigwam, 
 
 205 Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
 
 Calling to them from the distance, 
 Crying to them from afar off, 
 Fare thee well, O Minnehaha ! 
 And the ancient Arrow-maker 
 
 2io Turned again unto his labor, 
 
 Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
 Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
 Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
 Those we love, and those who love us ! 
 
 215 Just when they have learned to help us, 
 
 When we are old and lean upon them, 
 Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, 
 With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
 Wanders piping through the village, 
 
 220 Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
 
 And she follows where he leads her, 
 Leaving all things for the stranger ! 
 
 Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
 Through interminable forests, 
 
 225 Over meadow, over mountain, 
 
 Over river, hill, and hollow. 
 Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
 Though they journeyed very slowly, 
 Though his pace he checked and slackened 
 
 230 To the steps of Laughing Water. 
 
 Over wide and rushing rivers 
 In his arms he bore the maiden ; 
 Light he thought her as a feather, 
 As the plume upon his head-gear ; 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 223 
 
 Cleared the tangled pathway for her, 235 
 
 Bent aside the swaying branches, 
 
 Made at night a lodge of branches, 
 
 And a bed with boughs of hemlock, 
 
 And a fire before the doorway 
 
 With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 240 
 
 All the travelling winds went with them, 
 O er the meadows, through the forest ; 
 All the stars of night looked at them, 
 Watched with sleepless eyes their slumber ; 
 From his ambush in the oak-tree 245 
 
 Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
 Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; 
 And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
 Scampered from the path before them, 
 
 Peering, peeping from his burrow, 260 
 
 Sat erect upon his haunches, 
 Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 
 
 Pleasant was the journey homeward 1 
 All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
 
 Songs of happiness and heart s-ease ; 255 
 
 Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
 Happy are you, Hiawatha, 
 Having such a wife to love you ! 
 Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
 
 Happy are you, Laughing Water, 260 
 
 Having such a noble husband ! 
 
 From the sky the sun benignant 
 Looked upon them through the branches, 
 Saying to them, O my children, 
 
 Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, 265 
 
 Life is checkered shade and sunshine, 
 Rule by love, O Hiawatha ! 
 
 From the sky the moon looked at them, 
 Filled the lodge with mystic splendors, 
 
 Whispered to them, < O my children, 270 
 
 Day is restless, night is quiet, 
 Man imperious, woman feeble ; 
 
224 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Half is mine, although I follow ; 
 Rule by patience, Laughing Water ! 
 
 275 Thus it was they journeyed homeward ; 
 
 Thus it was that Hiawatha 
 To the lodge of old Nokomis 
 Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, 
 Brought the sunshine of his people, 
 
 280 Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
 
 Handsomest of all the women 
 In the land of the Dacotahs, 
 In the land of handsome women. 
 
 The Birds of Killingworth 
 
 It was the season, when through all the land 
 The merle and mavis build, and building sing 
 
 Those lovely lyrics, written by his hand, 
 
 Whom Saxon Csedmon calls the Blitheheart King ; 
 5 When on the boughs the purple buds expand, 
 The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, 
 
 And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, 
 
 And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. 
 
 The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, 
 10 Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee ; 
 
 The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud 
 Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; 
 And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, 
 
 Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, 
 15 Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said : 
 Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread ! " 
 
 Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, 
 
 Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet 
 
 Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed 
 20 The village with the cheers of all their fleet ; 
 
 Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed 
 Like foreign sailors, landed in the street 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 225 
 
 Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise 
 
 Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys. 
 
 Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, 25 
 
 In fabulous days, some hundred years ago ; 
 And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, 
 
 Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, 
 That mingled with the universal mirth, 
 
 Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; 30 
 
 They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words 
 To swift destruction the whole race of birds. 
 
 And a town -meeting was convened straightway 
 
 To set a price upon the guilty heads 
 Of these marauders, who. in lieu of pay, 35 
 
 Levied black-mail upon the garden beds 
 And cornfields, and beheld without dismay 
 
 The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds ; 
 The skeleton that waited at their feast, 
 Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. 40 
 
 Then from his house, a temple painted white, 
 
 With fluted columns, and a roof of red, 
 The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight ! 
 
 Slowly descending, with majestic tread, 
 Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, 45. 
 
 Down the long street he walked, as one who said, 
 A town that boasts inhabitants like me 
 Can have no lack of good society ! 
 
 The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere, 
 
 The instinct of whose nature was to kill ; 50 
 
 The wrath of God he preached from year to year, 
 
 And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will ; 
 His favorite pastime was to slay the deer 
 
 In summer on some Adirondac hill; 
 
 E en now, while walking down the rural lane, 55 
 
 He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. 
 
226 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 From the Academy, whose belfry crowned 
 The hill of Science with its vane of brass, 
 
 Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 
 60 Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, 
 
 And all absorbed in reveries profound 
 Of fair Almira in the upper class, 
 
 Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, 
 
 As pure as water, and as good as bread. 
 
 65 And next the Deacon issued from his door, 
 
 In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow ; 
 A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; 
 
 His form was ponderous, and his step was slow ; 
 There never was so wise a man before ; 
 70 He seemed the incarnate Well, I told you so ! 
 
 And to perpetuate his great renown 
 There was a street named after him in town. 
 
 These came together in the new town-hall, 
 
 With sundry farmers from the region round. 
 75 The Squire presided, dignified and tall, 
 
 His air impressive and his reasoning sound ; 
 111 fared it with the birds, both great and small ; 
 Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, 
 But enemies enough, who every one 
 80 Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. 
 
 When they had ended, from his place apart 
 Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong, 
 
 And, trembling like a steed before the start, 
 
 Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng ; 
 85 Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart 
 
 To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, 
 
 Alike regardless of their smile or frown, 
 
 And quite determined not to be laughed down. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 227 
 
 1 Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 
 
 From his Republic banished without pity 90 
 
 The Poets ; in this little town of yours, 
 
 You put to death, by means of a Committee, 
 The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, 
 
 The street-musicians of the heavenly city, 
 
 The birds, who make sweet music for us all 95 
 
 In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 
 
 The thrush that carols at the dawn of day 
 
 From the green steeples of the piny wood ; 
 The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 
 
 Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; 100 
 
 The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, 
 
 Flooding with melody the neighborhood ; 
 Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng 
 That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. 
 
 You slay them all ! and wherefore? for the gain 105 
 
 Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, 
 Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, 
 
 Scratched up at random by industrious feet, 
 Searching for worm or weevil after rain ! 
 
 Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet 110 
 
 As are the songs these uninvited guests 
 Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. 
 
 Do you ne er think what wondrous beings these? 
 
 Do you ne er think who made them, and who taught 
 The dialect they speak, where melodies 115 
 
 Alone are the interpreters of thought ? 
 Whose household words are songs in many keys, 
 
 Sweeter than instrument of man e er caught 1 
 Whose habitations in the tree-tops even 
 Are half-way houses on the road to heaven ! 126 
 
228 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Think, every morning when the sun peeps through 
 The dim, leaf -latticed windows of the grove, 
 
 How jubilant the happy birds renew 
 
 Their old, melodious madrigals of love ! 
 125 And when you think of this, remember too 
 
 Tis always morning somewhere, and above 
 
 The awakening continents, from shore to shore, 
 
 Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 
 
 Think of your woods and orchards without birds 1 
 130 Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams 
 
 As in an idiot s brain remembered words 
 
 Hang empty mid the cobwebs of his dreams ! 
 Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds 
 
 Make up for the lost music, when your teams 
 135 Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
 The feathered gleaners follow to your door? 
 
 What ! would you rather see the incessant stir 
 
 Of insects in the windrows of the hay, 
 And hear the locust and the grasshopper 
 140 Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? 
 
 Is this more pleasant to you than the whir 
 
 Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay, 
 Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take 
 Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake? 
 
 145 * You call them thieves and pillagers ; but know, 
 
 They are the winged wardens of your farms, 
 Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, 
 
 And from your harvests keep a hundred harms ; 
 Even the blackest of them all, the crow, 
 150 Renders good service as your man-at-arms, 
 
 Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, 
 And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 229 
 
 How can I teach your children gentleness, 
 
 And mercy to the weak, and reverence 
 For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 155 
 
 Is still a gleam of God s omnipotence, 
 Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less 
 
 The selfsame light, although averted hence, 
 When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, 
 You contradict the very things I teach ? 160 
 
 With this he closed ; and through the audience went 
 
 A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; 
 The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent 
 
 Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ; 
 Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment 165 
 
 Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. 
 The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows, 
 A bounty offered for the heads of crows. 
 
 There was another audience out of reach, 
 
 Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, 170 
 
 But in the papers read his little speech, 
 
 And crowned his modest temples with applause ; 
 They made him conscious, each one more than each, 
 
 He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. 
 Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, 175 
 
 O fair Almira at the Academy ! 
 
 And so the dreadful massacre began ; 
 
 O er fields and orchards, and o er woodland crests, 
 The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. 
 
 Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, 180 
 
 Or wounded crept away from sight of man, 
 
 While the young died of famine in their nests ; 
 A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, 
 The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 
 
230 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 185 The summer came, and all the birds were dead ; 
 The days were like hot coals ; the very ground 
 Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards fed 
 
 Myriads of caterpillars, and around 
 The cultivated fields and garden beds 
 190 Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found 
 
 No foe to check their march, till they had made 
 The land a desert without leaf or shade. 
 
 Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, 
 
 Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly 
 195 Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down 
 
 The canker-worms upon the passers-by, 
 Upon each woman s bonnet, shawl, and gown, 
 
 Who shook them off with just a little cry ; 
 They were the terror of each favorite walk, 
 200 The endless theme of all the village talk. 
 
 The farmers grew impatient, but a few 
 
 Confessed their error, and would not complain, 
 
 For after all, the best thing one can do 
 
 When it is raining, is to let it rain. 
 
 205 Then they repealed the law, although they knew 
 It would not call the dead to life again ; 
 
 As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, 
 
 Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. 
 
 That year in Killingworth the Autumn came 
 210 Without the light of his majestic look, 
 
 The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, 
 
 The illumined pages of his Doom s-Day book. 
 A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, 
 And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, 
 215 While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, 
 Lamenting the dead children of the air 1 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 231 
 
 But the next spring a stranger sight was seen, 
 
 A sight that never yet by bard was sung, 
 As great a wonder as it would have been 
 
 If some dumb animal had found a tongue ! 220 
 
 A wagon, overarched with evergreen, 
 
 Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, 
 All full of singing birds, came down the street, 
 Filling the air with music wild and sweet, 
 
 From all the county round these birds were brought, 225 
 
 By order of the town, with anxious quest, 
 And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought 
 
 In woods and fields the places they loved best, 
 Singing loud canticles, which many thought 
 
 Were satires to the authorities addressed, 230 
 
 While others, listening in green lanes, averred 
 Such lovely music never had been heard ! 
 
 But blither still and louder carolled they 
 Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know 
 
 It was the fair Almira s wedding-day, 235 
 
 And everywhere, around, above, below, 
 
 When the Preceptor bore his bride away, 
 Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, 
 
 And a new heaven bent over a new earth 
 
 Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 240 
 
 The Hanging of the Crane 
 
 The lights are out, and gone are all the guests 
 That thronging came with merriment and jests 
 
 To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane 
 In the new house, into the night are gone ; 
 But still the fire upon the hearth burns on, 
 And I alone remain. 
 
232 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 O fortunate, O happy day, 
 When a new household finds its place 
 Among the myriad homes of earth, 
 10 Like a new star just sprung to birth, 
 
 And rolled on its harmonious way 
 Into the boundless realms of space 1 
 
 So said the guests in speec*h and song. 
 As in the chimney, burning bright, 
 15 We hung the iron crane to-night, 
 
 And merry was the feast and long. 
 
 ii 
 
 And now I sit and muse on what may be, 
 And in my vision see, or seem to see, 
 
 Through floating vapors interfused with light, 
 20 Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade, 
 
 As shadows passing into deeper shade 
 Sink and elude the sight. 
 
 For two alone, there in the hall, 
 Is spread the table round and small ; 
 25 Upon the polished silver shine 
 
 The evening lamps, but, more divine, 
 The light of love shines over all ; 
 Of love, that says not mine and thine, 
 But ours, for ours is thine and mine. 
 
 30 They want no guests, to come between 
 
 Their tender glances like a screen, 
 And tell them tales of land and sea, 
 And whatsoever may betide 
 The great, forgotten world outside ; 
 
 35 They want no guests ; they needs must be 
 
 Each other s own best company. 
 
 in 
 
 The picture fades ; as at a village fair 
 A showman s views, dissolving into air, 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 233 
 
 Again appear transfigured on the screen, 
 
 So in my fancy this ; and now once more, 40 
 
 In part transfigured, through the open door 
 Appears the selfsame scene. 
 
 Seated, I see the two again, 
 
 But not alone ; they entertain 
 
 A little angel unaware, 45 
 
 With face as round as is the moon, 
 
 A royal guest with flaxen hair, 
 
 Who, throned upon his lofty chair, 
 
 Drums on the table with his spoon, 
 
 Then drops it careless on the floor, 50 
 
 To grasp at things unseen before. 
 
 Are these celestial manners ? these 
 
 The ways that win, the arts that please ? 
 
 Ah yes ; consider well the guest, 
 
 And whatsoe er he does seems best ; 55 
 
 He ruleth by the right divine 
 
 Of helplessness, so lately born 
 
 In purple chambers of the morn, 
 
 As sovereign over thee and thine. 
 
 He speaketh not ; and yet there lies 60 
 
 A conversation in his eyes ; 
 
 The golden silence of the Greek, 
 
 The gravest wisdom of the wise, 
 
 Not spoken in language, but in looks 
 
 More legible than printed books, 65 
 
 As if he could but would not speak. 
 
 And now, O monarch absolute, 
 
 Thy power is put to proof ; for, lo ! 
 
 Resistless, fathomless > and slow, 
 
 The nurse comes rustling like the sea, 70 
 
 And pushes back thy chair and thee, 
 
 And so good night to King Canute. 
 
234 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 IV 
 
 As one who walking in a forest sees 
 A lovely landscape through the parted trees, 
 75 Then sees it not, for boughs that intervene ; 
 
 Or as we see the moon sometimes revealed 
 Through drifting clouds, and then again concealed, 
 So I behold the scene. 
 
 There are two guests at table now ; 
 80 The king, deposed and older grown, 
 
 No longer occupies the throne, 
 
 The crown is on his sister s brow ; 
 
 A Princess from the Fairy Isles, 
 
 The very pattern girl of girls, 
 85 All covered and embowered in curls, 
 
 Rose-tinted from the Isle of Flowers, 
 
 And sailing with soft, silken sails 
 
 From far-off Dreamland into ours. 
 
 Above their bowls with rims of blue 
 90 Four azure eyes of deeper hue 
 
 Are looking, dreamy with delight ; 
 
 Limpid as planets that emerge 
 
 Above the ocean s rounded verge. 
 
 Soft-shining through the summer night. 
 95 Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see 
 
 Beyond the horizon of their bowls ; 
 
 Nor care they for the world that rolls 
 
 With all its freight of troubled souls 
 
 Into the days that are to be. 
 
 100 Again the tossing boughs shut out the scene, 
 
 Again the drifting vapors intervene, 
 
 And the moon s pallid disk is hidden quite ; 
 And now I see the table wider grown, 
 As round a pebble into water thrown 
 
 105 Dilates a ring of light. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 235 
 
 I see the table wider grown, 
 
 I see it garlanded with guests, 
 
 As if fair Ariadne s Crown 
 
 Out of the sky had fallen down ; 
 
 Maidens within whose tender breasts 110 
 
 A thousand restless hopes and fears, 
 
 Forth reaching to the coining years, 
 
 Flutter awhile, then quiet lie, 
 
 Like timid birds that fain would fly, 
 
 But do not dare to leave their nests ; 115 
 
 And youths, who in their strength elate 
 
 Challenge the van and front of fate, 
 
 Eager as champions to be 
 
 In the divine knight-errantry 
 
 Of youth, that travels sea and land 120 
 
 Seeking adventures, or pursues, 
 
 Through cities, and through solitudes 
 
 Frequented by the lyric Muse, 
 
 The phantom with the beckoning hand, 
 
 That still allures and still eludes. 125 
 
 O sweet illusions of the brain ! 
 
 O sudden thrills of fire and frost ! 
 
 The world is bright while ye remain, 
 
 And dark and dead when ye are lost ! 
 
 VI 
 
 The meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still, 130 
 
 Quickens its current as it nears the mill ; 
 
 And so the stream of Time that lingereth 
 In level places, and so dull appears, 
 Runs with a swifter current as it nears 
 
 The gloomy mills of Death. 135 
 
 And now, like the magician s scroll, 
 That in the owner s keeping shrinks 
 With every wish he speaks or thinks, 
 Till the last wish consumes the whole, 
 
236 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 140 The table dwindles, and again 
 
 I see the two alone remain. 
 
 The crown of stars is broken in parts ; 
 
 Its jewels, brighter than the day, 
 
 Have one by one been stolen away 
 145 To shine in other homes and hearts. 
 
 One is a wanderer now afar 
 
 In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, 
 
 Or sunny regions of Cathay ; 
 
 And one is in the boisterous camp 
 150 Mid clink of arms and horses tramp, 
 
 And battle s terrible array. 
 
 I see the patient mother read, 
 
 With aching heart, of wrecks that float 
 
 Disabled on those seas remote, 
 155 Or of some great heroic deed 
 
 On battle-fields, where thousands bleed 
 
 To lift one hero into fame. 
 
 Anxious she bends her graceful head 
 
 Above these chronicles of pain, 
 160 And trembles with a secret dread 
 
 Lest there among the drowned or slain 
 
 She find the one beloved name. 
 
 VII 
 
 After a day of cloud and wind and rain 
 Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, 
 165 And, touching all the darksome woods with light, 
 
 Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing, 
 Then like a ruby from the horizon s ring 
 Drops down into the night. 
 
 What see I now ? The night is fair, 
 170 The storm of grief, the clouds of care, 
 
 The wind, the rain, have passed away; 
 The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright, 
 The house is full of life and light ; 
 It is the Golden Wedding day. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 237 
 
 The guests come thronging in once more, 175 
 
 Quick footsteps sound along the floor, 
 
 The trooping children crowd the stair, 
 
 And in and out and everywhere 
 
 Flashes along the corridor 
 
 The sunshine of their golden hair. 180 
 
 On the round table in the hall 
 
 Another Ariadne s Crown 
 
 Out of the sky hath fallen down ; 
 
 More than one Monarch of the Moon 
 
 Is drumming with his silver spoon ; 185 
 
 The light of love shines over all. 
 
 O fortunate, O happy day ! 
 
 The people sing, the people say. 
 
 The ancient bridegroom and the bride, 
 
 Smiling contented and serene 190 
 
 Upon the blithe, bewildering scene, 
 
 Behold, well pleased, on every side 
 
 Their forms and features multiplied, 
 
 As the reflection of a light 
 
 Between two burnished mirrors gleams, 195 
 
 Or lamps upon a bridge at night 
 
 Stretch on and on before the sight, 
 
 Till the long vista endless seems. 
 
 The Cross of Snow 
 
 In the long, sleepless watches of the night, 
 
 A gentle face the face of one long dead 
 
 Looks at me from the wall, where round its head 
 
 The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. 
 
 Here in this room she died ; and soul more white 
 
 Never through martyrdom of fire was led 
 
 To its repose ; nor can in books be read 
 
 The legend of a life more benedight. 
 
 There is a mountain in the distant West, 
 
238 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 10 That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines 
 
 Displays a cross of snow upon its side. 
 Such is the cross I wear upon my breast 
 These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes 
 And seasons, changeless since the day she died. 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 My Love 
 
 Not as all other women are 
 Is she that to my soul is dear ; 
 Her glorious fancies come from far, 
 Beneath the silver evening-star, 
 6 And yet her heart is ever near. 
 
 Great feelings hath she of her own, 
 Which lesser souls may never know ; 
 God giveth them to her alone, 
 And sweet they are as any tone 
 10 Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 
 
 Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
 Although no home were half so fair; 
 No simplest duty is forgot, 
 Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
 15 That doth not in her sunshine share. 
 
 She doeth little kindnesses, 
 Which most leave undone, or despise : 
 For naught that sets one heart at ease, 
 And giveth happiness or peace, 
 20 Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 
 
 She hath no scorn of common things, 
 And, though she seem of other birth, 
 Round us her heart intwines and clings, 
 And patiently she folds her wings 
 25 To tread the humble paths of earth. 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 239 
 
 Blessing she is : God made her so, 
 
 And deeds of week-day holiness 
 
 Fall from her noiseless as the snow, 
 
 Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
 
 That aught were easier than to bless. 30 
 
 She is most fair, and thereunto 
 
 Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
 
 Feeling or thought that was not true 
 
 Ne er made less beautiful the blue 
 
 Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 35 
 
 She is a woman : one in whom 
 
 The spring-time of her childish years 
 
 Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
 
 Though knowing well that life hath room 
 
 For many blights and many tears. . 40 
 
 I love her with a love as still 
 
 As a broad river s peaceful might, 
 
 Which, by high tower and lowly mill, 
 
 Seems following its own wayward will, 
 
 And yet doth ever flow aright. 45 
 
 And, on its full, deep breast serene, 
 
 Like quiet isles my duties lie ; 
 
 It flows around them and between, 
 
 And makes them fresh and fair and green, 
 
 Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 50 
 
 Stanzas on Freedom 
 
 Men ! whose boast it is that ye 
 Come of fathers brave and free, 
 If there breathe on earth a slave, 
 Are ye truly free and brave ? 
 If ye do not feel the chain, 
 When it works a brother s pain, 
 Are ye not base slaves indeed, 
 Slaves unworthy to be freed? 
 
240 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Women ! who shall one day bear 
 10 Sons to breathe New England air, 
 
 If ye hear, without a blush, 
 Deeds to make the roused blood rush 
 Like red lava through your veins, 
 For your sisters now in chains, 
 15 Answer ! are ye fit to be 
 
 Mothers of the brave and free ? 
 
 Is true Freedom but to break 
 Fetters for our own dear sake, 
 And, with leathern hearts, forget 
 20 That we owe mankind a debt? 
 
 No ! true freedom is to share 
 All the chains our brothers wear, 
 And, with heart and hand, to be 
 Earnest to make others free ! 
 
 25 They are slaves who fear to speak 
 
 For the fallen and the weak ; 
 They are slaves who will not choose 
 Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 
 Rather than in silence shrink 
 
 3 Q From the truth they needs must think ; 
 
 They are slaves who dare not be 
 In the right with two or three. 
 
 (From Ode Recited at the Harvard Commemoration, July 21, 1865) 
 
 ii 
 
 To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes back 
 Her wisest Scholars, those who understood 
 
 The deeper teaching of her mystic tome, 
 
 And offered their fresh lives to make it good : 
 No lore of Greece or Rome, 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 241 
 
 No science peddling with the names of things, 
 Or reading stars to find inglorious fates, 
 
 Can lift our life with wings 
 Far from Death s idle gulf that for the many waits, 
 
 And lengthen out our dates 10 
 
 With that clear fame whose memory sings 
 In manly hearts to come, and nerves them and dilates : 
 Nor such thy teaching, Mother of us all ! 
 Not such the trumpet-call 
 
 Of thy diviner mood, 15 
 
 That could thy sons entice 
 From happy homes and toils, the fruitful nest 
 Of those half-virtues which the world calls best, 
 Into War s tumult rude ; 
 
 But rather far that stern device 20 
 
 The sponsors chose that round thy cradle stood 
 In the dim, un ventured wood, 
 The VERITAS that lurks beneath 
 The letter s unprolific sheath, 
 
 Life of whate er makes life worth living, 25 
 
 Seed-grain of high emprise, immortal food, 
 
 One heavenly thing whereof earth hath the giving. 
 
 in 
 
 Many loved Truth, and lavished life s best oil 
 
 Amid the dust of books to find her, 
 
 Content at last, for guerdon of their toil, 30 
 
 With the cast mantle she hath left behind her. 
 
 Many in sad faith sought for her, 
 
 Many with crossed hands sighed for her; 
 
 But these, our brothers, fought for her, 
 
 At life s dear peril wrought for her, 35 
 
 So loved her that they died for her, 
 
 Tasting the raptured fleetness 
 
 Of her divine completeness : 
 
 Their higher instinct knew 
 
 Those love her best who to themselves are true, 40 
 
 And what they dare to dream of, dare to do ; 
 
242 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 They followed her and found her 
 
 Where all may hope to find, 
 Not in the ashes of the burnt-out mind, 
 45 But beautiful, with danger s sweetness round her. 
 
 Where faith made whole with deed 
 
 Breathes its awakening breath 
 
 Into the lifeless creed, 
 
 They saw her plumed and mailed, 
 60 With sweet, stern face unveiled, 
 
 And all-repaying eyes, look proud on them in death t 
 
 Whither leads the path 
 To ampler fates that leads ? 
 Not down through flowery meads, 
 65 To reap an aftermath 
 
 Of youth s vainglorious weeds, 
 But up the steep, amid the wrath 
 And shock of deadly -hostile creeds, 
 Where the world s best hope and stay 
 60 By battle s flashes gropes a desperate way, 
 
 And every turf the fierce foot clings to bleeds. 
 Peace hath her not ignoble wreath, 
 Ere yet the sharp, decisive word 
 Light the black lips of cannon, and the sword 
 65 Dreams in its easeful sheath ; 
 
 But some day the live coal behind the thought, 
 Whether from Baal s stone obscene, 
 Or from the shrine serene 
 Of God s pure altar brought, 
 70 Bursts up in flame ; the war of tongue and pen 
 
 Learns with what deadly purpose it was fraught, 
 And, helpless in the fiery passion caught, 
 Shakes all the pillared state with shock of men : 
 Some day the Soft Ideal that we wooed 
 75 Confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 243 
 
 And cries reproachful : Was it, then, my praise, 
 And not myself was loved V Prove now thy truth ; 
 I claim of thee the promise of thy youth ; 
 Give me thy life, or cower in empty phrase, 
 
 The victim of thy genius, not its mate ! 80 
 
 Life may be given in many ways, 
 And loyalty to Truth be sealed 
 As bravely in the closet as the field, 
 
 So bountiful is Fate ; 
 
 But then to stand beside her, j .> . 85 
 
 When craven churls deride her, 
 To front a lie in arms and not to yield, 
 
 This shows, methinks, God s plan , . 
 
 And measure of a stalwart man, 
 
 Limbed like the old heroic breeds, 90 
 
 Who stands self-poised on manhood s solid earth, 
 
 Not forced to frame excuses for his birth, 
 Fed from within with all the strength he needs. 
 
 VI 
 
 Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, 
 
 Whom late the Nation he had led, 95 
 
 With ashes on her head, 
 Wept with the passion of an angry grief : 
 Forgive me, if from present things I turn 
 To speak what in my heart will beat and burn, 
 And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. 100 
 
 Nature, they say, doth dote, 
 
 And cannot make a man 
 
 Save on some worn-out plan, 
 
 Repeating us by rote : 
 For him her Old- World moulds aside she threw, 105 
 
 And choosing sweet clay from the breast 
 
 Of the unexhausted West, 
 With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, 
 Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 
 
244 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 110 How beautiful to see 
 
 Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, 
 Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead ; 
 One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, 
 
 Not lured by any cheat of birth, 
 115 But by his clear-grained human worth, 
 
 And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! 
 
 They knew that outward grace is dust ; 
 They could not choose but trust 
 In that sure-footed mind s unfaltering skill, 
 120 And supple-tempered will 
 
 That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. 
 His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, 
 Thrusting to thin air o er our cloudy bars, 
 A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind ; 
 125 Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, 
 
 Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, 
 Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. 
 
 Nothing of Europe here, 
 Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still, 
 130 Ere any names of Serf! and Peer 
 
 Could Nature s equal scheme deface 
 And thwart her genial will ; 
 Here was a type of the true elder race, 
 And one of Plutarch s men talked with us face to face 
 135 I praise him not ; it were too late ; 
 
 And some innative weakness there must be 
 
 In him who condescends to victory 
 
 Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, 
 
 Safe in himself as in a fate. 
 140 So always firmly he : 
 
 He knew to bide his time, 
 And can his fame abide, 
 Still patient in his simple faith sublime, 
 
 Till the wise years decide. 
 
 145 Great captains, with their guns and drums, 
 
 Disturb our judgment for the hour, 
 But at last silence comes ; 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 245 
 
 These are all gone, and, standing like a tower, 
 Our children shall behold his fame. 
 
 The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, 160 
 
 Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, 
 New birth of our new soil, the first American. 
 
 VIII 
 
 We sit here in the Promised Land 
 That flows with Freedom s honey and milk ; 
 But twas they won it, sword in hand, 165 
 
 Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk. 
 We welcome back our bravest and our best ; 
 Ah me ! not all ! some come not with the rest, 
 Who went forth brave and bright as any here ! 
 I strive to mix some gladness with my strain, 160 
 
 But the sad strings complain, 
 And will not please the ear : 
 I sweep them for a paean, but they wane 
 
 Again and yet again 
 
 Into a dirge, and die away, in pain. 165 
 
 In these brave ranks I only see the gaps, 
 Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps, 
 Dark to the triumph which they died to gain : 
 Fitlier may others greet the living, 
 
 For me the past is unforgiving; 170 
 
 I with uncovered head 
 Salute the sacred dead. 
 
 Who went, and who return not. Say not so ! 
 Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay, 
 
 But the high faith that failed not by the way; 17r 
 
 Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave; 
 No ban of endless night exiles the brave ; 
 
 And to the saner mind 
 We rather seem the dead that stayed behind. 
 
246 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 180 Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow ! 
 
 For never shall their aureoled presence lack : 
 I see them muster in a gleaming row, 
 With ever-youthful brows that nobler show; 
 We find in our dull road their shining track ; 
 
 185 In every nobler mood 
 
 We feel the orient of their spirit glow, 
 Part of our life s unalterable good, 
 Of all our saintlier aspiration ; 
 
 They come transfigured back, 
 
 190 Secure from change in their high-hearted ways, 
 
 Beautiful evermore, and with the rays 
 Of morn on their white Shields of Expectation ! 
 
 XI 
 
 Not in anger, not in pride, 
 
 Pure from passion s mixture rude 
 195 Ever to base earth allied, 
 
 But with far-heard gratitude, 
 
 Still with heart and voice renewed, 
 To heroes living and dear martyrs dead, 
 The strain should close that consecrates our brave, 
 200 , Lift the heart and lift the head ! 
 
 Lofty be its mood and grave, 
 
 Not without a martial ring, 
 
 Not without a prouder tread 
 
 And a peal of exultation : 
 205 Little right has he to sing 
 
 Through whose heart in such an hour 
 
 Beats no march of conscious power, 
 
 Sweeps no tumult of elation ! 
 
 Tis no Man we celebrate, 
 210 By his country s victories great, 
 
 A hero half, and half the whim of Fate, 
 
 But the pith and marrow of a Nation 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 247 
 
 Drawing force from all her men, 
 
 Highest, humblest, weakest, all, 
 
 For her time of need, and then 215 
 
 Pulsing it again through them, 
 Till the basest can no longer cower, 
 Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall, 
 Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem. 
 Come back, then, noble pride, for tis her dower ! 220 
 
 How could poet ever tower, 
 
 If his passions, hopes, and fears, 
 
 If his triumphs and his tears, 
 
 Kept not measure with his people ? 
 
 Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves ! 225 
 
 Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple ! 
 Banners, adance with triumph, bend your staves ! 
 
 And from every mountain-peak 
 
 Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak, 
 
 Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he, 230 
 
 And so leap on in light from sea to sea, 
 Till the glad news be sent 
 Across a kindling continent, 
 
 Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver : 
 * Be proud ! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her ! 235 
 
 She that lifts up the manhood of the poor, 
 
 She of the open soul and open door, 
 
 With room about her hearth for all mankind ! 
 
 The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more; 
 
 From her bold front the helm she doth unbind, 240 
 
 Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin, 
 
 Arid bids her navies, that so lately hurled 
 
 Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in, 
 
 Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore. 
 
 No challenge sends she to the elder world, 245 
 
 That looked askance and hated ; a light scorn 
 
 Plays o er her mouth, as round her mighty knees 
 
 She calls her children back, and waits the morn 
 Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas. 
 
248 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 XII 
 
 260 Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release ! 
 
 Thy God, in these distempered days, 
 Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways, 
 And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace ! 
 
 Bow down in prayer and praise ! 
 265 No poorest in thy borders but may now 
 
 Lift to the juster skies a man s enfranchised brow, 
 O Beautiful ! my country ! ours once more ! 
 Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair 
 O er such sweet brows as never other wore, 
 260 And letting thy set lips, 
 
 Freed from wrath s pale eclipse, 
 The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, 
 What words divine of lover or of poet 
 Could tell our love and make thee know it, 
 265 Among the Nations bright beyond compare? 
 
 What were our lives without thee ? 
 What all our lives to save thee? 
 We reck not what we gave thee ; 
 We will not dare to doubt thee, 
 270 But ask whatever else, and we will dare ! 
 
 (From Under the Old Elm) 
 
 (Poem read at Cambridge on the Hundredth Anniversary of Wash 
 ington s taking Command of the American Army, 3d July, 1775. ) 
 
 in 
 
 1 
 
 Beneath our consecrated elm 
 A century ago he stood, 
 
 Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood 
 Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm 
 The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm : 
 From colleges, where now the gown 
 To arms had yielded, from the town, 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 249 
 
 Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see 
 
 The new-come chiefs and wonder which was he. 
 
 No need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, 10 
 
 Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone 
 
 To bridle others clamors and his own, 
 
 Firmly erect, he towered above them all, 
 
 The incarnate discipline that was to free 
 
 With iron curb that armed democracy. 15 
 
 A motley rout was that which came to stare, 
 
 In raiment tanned by years of sun and storm, 
 
 Of every shape that was not uniform, 
 
 Dotted with regimentals here and there ; 
 
 An army all of captains, used to pray 20 
 
 And stiff in fight, but serious drill s despair, 
 
 Skilled to debate their orders, not obey ; 
 
 Deacons were there, selectmen, men of note 
 
 In half-tamed hamlets ambushed round with woods, 
 
 Ready to settle Freewill by a vote, 25 
 
 But largely liberal to its private moods ; 
 
 Prompt to assert by manners, voice, or pen, 
 
 Or ruder arms, their rights as Englishmen, 
 
 Nor much fastidious as to how and when : 
 
 Yet seasoned stuff and fittest to create 30 
 
 A thought-staid army or a lasting state: 
 
 Haughty they said he was, at first ; severe ; 
 
 But owned, as all men own, the steady hand 
 
 Upon the bridle, patient to command, 
 
 Prized, as all prize, the justice pure from fear, 35 
 
 And learned to honor first, then love him, then revere. 
 
 Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint 
 
 And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint. 
 
 3 
 
 Musing beneath the legendary tree, 
 
 The years between furl off : I seem to see 40 
 
250 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, 
 
 Dapple with gold his sober buff and blue 
 
 And weave prophetic aureoles round the head 
 
 That shines our beacon now nor darkens with the deado 
 
 45 O man of silent mood, 
 
 A stranger among strangers then, 
 How art thou since renowned the Great, the Good, 
 Familiar as the day in all the homes of men ! 
 The winged years, that winnow praise to blame, 
 
 60 Blow many names out : they but fan and flame 
 
 The self -renewing splendors of thy fame. 
 
 Soldier and statesman, rarest unison ; 
 
 High-poised example of great duties done 
 
 Simply as breathing, a world s honors worn 
 55 As life s indifferent gifts to all men born ; 
 
 Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, 
 
 But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, 
 
 Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, 
 
 Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 
 60 Modest, yet firm as Nature s self ; unblamed 
 
 Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; 
 
 Never seduced through show of present good 
 
 By other than unsetting lights to steer 
 
 New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood 
 65 More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear ; 
 
 Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still 
 
 In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will ; 
 
 Not honored then or now because he wooed 
 
 The popular voice, but that he still withstood ; 
 70 Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one, 
 
 Who was all this and ours, and all men s, WASHINGTON, 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 251 
 
 VIII 
 
 Virginia gave us this imperial man 
 
 Cast in the massive mould 
 
 Of those high-statured ages old 
 
 Which into grander forms our mortal metal ran ; 75 
 
 She gave us this unblemished gentleman : 
 
 What shall we give her back but love and praise 
 
 As in the dear old unestranged days 
 
 Before the inevitable wrong began? 
 
 Mother of States arid undiminished men, 80 
 
 Thou gavest us a country, giving him, 
 
 And we owe always what we owed thee then : 
 
 The boon thou wouldst have snatched from us agen 
 
 Shines as before with no abatement dim. 
 
 A great man s memory is the only thing 85 
 
 With influence to outlast the present whim 
 
 And bind us as when here he knit our golden ring. 
 
 All of him that was subject to the hours 
 
 Lies in thy soil and makes it part of ours : 
 
 Across more recent graves, 90 
 
 Where unresentf ul Nature waves 
 
 Her pennons o er the shot-ploughed sod, 
 
 Proclaiming the sweet Truce of God, 
 
 We from this consecrated plain stretch out 
 
 Our hands as free from afterthought or doubt 95 
 
 As here the united North 
 
 Poured her embrowned manhood forth 
 
 In welcome of our savior and thy son. 
 
 Through battle we have better learned thy worth, 
 
 The long-breathed valor and undaunted will, 100 
 
 Which, like his own, the day s disaster done, 
 
 Could, safe in manhood, suffer and be still. 
 
 Both thine and ours the victory hardly won ; 
 
 If ever with distempered voice or pen 
 
 We have misdeemed thee, here we take it back, 105 
 
 And for the dead of both don common black. 
 
252 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Be to us evermore as thou wast then, 
 As we forget thou hast not always been, 
 Mother of States and unpolluted men, 
 110 Virginia, fitly named from England s manly queen ! 
 
 Emerson and His Audience 
 (From Emerson the Lecturer) 
 
 It is a singular fact, that Mr. Emerson is the most 
 steadily attractive lecturer in America. Into that some 
 what cold-waterish region adventurers of the sensational 
 kind come down now and then with a splash, to become 
 
 5 disregarded King Logs before the next season. But Mr. 
 Emerson always draws. A lecturer now for something like 
 a third of a century, one of the pioneers of the lecturing 
 system, the charm of his voice, his manner, and his matter 
 has never lost its power over his earlier hearers, and con- 
 
 lOtinually winds new ones in its enchanting meshes. What 
 they do not fully understand they take on trust and listen, 
 saying to themselves, as the old poet of Sir Philip 
 
 Sidney, 
 
 " A sweet, attractive kind of grace, 
 15 A full assurance given by looks, 
 
 Continual comfort in a face, 
 
 The lineaments of gospel books." 
 
 We call it a singular fact, because we Yankees are 
 thought to be fond of the spread-eagle style, and nothing 
 
 20 can be more remote from that than his. We are reckoned 
 a practical folk, who would rather hear about a new air 
 tight stove than about Plato; yet our favorite teacher s 
 practicality is not in the least of the Poor Richard variety. 
 If he have any Buncombe constituency, it is that unrealized 
 
 25 commonwealth of philosophers which Plotinus proposed to 
 establish; and if he were to make an almanac, his directions 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 253 
 
 to farmers would be something like this : " OCTOBER : Indian 
 Summer; now is the time to get in your early Vedas." 
 What, then, is his secret ? Is it not that he out- Yankees 
 us all ? that his range includes us all ? ,hat he is equally 30 
 at home with the potato-disease and original sin, with 
 pegging shoes and the Over-soul ? that, as we try all trades, 
 so has he tried all cultures ? and above all, that his 
 mysticism gives us a counterpoise to our super-practicality ? 
 
 There is no man living to whom, as a writer, so many of 35 
 us feel and thankfully acknowledge so great an indebtedness 
 for ennobling impulses, none whom so many cannot abide. 
 What does he mean ? ask these last. Where is his system ? 
 What is the use of it all? What have we to do with 
 Brahma ? I do not propose to write an essay on Emerson 40 
 at this time. I will only say that one may find grandeur 
 and consolation in a starlit night without caring to ask 
 what it means save grandeur and consolation ; one may like 
 Montaigne, as some ten generations before us have done, 
 without thinking him so systematic as some more eminently 45 
 tedious (or shall we say tediously eminent ?) authors ; one 
 may think roses as good in their way as cabbages, though 
 the latter would make a better show in the witness-box if 
 cross-examined as to their usefulness ; and as for Brahma, 
 why, he can take care of himself, and won t bite us at any so 
 rate. 
 
 The bother with Mr. Emerson is, that, though he writes 
 in prose, he is essentially a poet. If you undertake to para 
 phrase what he says, and to reduce it to words of one 
 syllable for infant minds, you will make as sad work of it 55 
 as the good monk with his analysis of Homer in the 
 Epistolce Obscurorum Virorum. We look upon him as one 
 of the few men of genius whom our age has produced, and 
 there needs no better proof of it than his masculine faculty 
 of fecundating other minds. Search for his eloquence in 60 
 
254 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 his books and you will perchance miss it, but meanwhile 
 you will find that it has kindled all your thoughts. For 
 choice and pith of language he belongs to a better age than 
 ours, and might n b shoulders with Fuller and Browne, 
 
 65 though he does use that abominable word reliable. His eye 
 for a fine, telling phrase that will carry true is like that of a 
 backwoodsman for a rifle ; and he will dredge you up a 
 choice word from the mud of Cotton Mather himself. A 
 diction at once so rich and so homely as his I know not 
 
 70 where to match in these days of writing by the page ; it is 
 like homespun cloth-of-gold. The many cannot miss his 
 meaning, and only the few can find it. It is the open secret 
 of all true genius. It is wholesome to angle in those pro 
 found pools, though one be rewarded with nothing more 
 
 75 than the leap of a fish that flashes his freckled side in the 
 sun, and as suddenly absconds in the dark and dreamy 
 waters again. There is keen excitement, though there be 
 no ponderable acquisition. If we carry nothing home in 
 our baskets, there is ample gain in dilated lungs and stimu- 
 
 solated blood. What does he mean, quotha? He means 
 inspiring hints, a divining-rod to your deeper nature. No 
 doubt Emerson, like all original men, has his peculiar 
 audience, and yet I know none that can hold a promiscuous 
 crowd in pleased attention so long as he. As in all original 
 
 85 men, there is something for every palate. "Would you 
 know," says Goethe, " the ripest cherries ? Ask the boys 
 and the blackbirds." 
 
 The announcement that such a pleasure as a new course 
 of lectures by him is coming, to people as old as I am, is 
 
 90 something like those forebodings of spring that prepare us 
 every year for a familiar novelty, none the less novel, when 
 it arrives, because it is familiar. We know perfectly well 
 what we are to expect from Mr. Emerson, and yet what he 
 says always penetrates and stirs us, as is apt to be the case 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 255 
 
 with genius, in a very unlooked-for fashion. Perhaps 95 
 genius is one of the few things which we gladly allow to 
 repeat itself, one of the few that multiply rather than 
 weaken the force of their impression by iteration. Perhaps 
 some of us hear more than the mere words, are moved by 
 something deeper than the thoughts. If it be so, we are 100 
 quite right, for it is thirty years and more of " plain living 
 and high thinking" that speak to us in this altogether 
 unique lay-preacher. We have shared in the beneficence of 
 this varied culture, this fearless impartiality in criticism 
 and speculation, this masculine sincerity, this sweetness of 105 
 nature which rather stimulates than cloys, for a generation 
 long. If ever there was a standing testimonial to the 
 cumulative power and value of Character (and we need it 
 sadly in these days), we have it in this gracious and 
 dignified presence. What an antiseptic is a pure life! At no 
 sixty-five (or two years beyond his grand climacteric, as he 
 would prefer to call it) he has that privilege of soul which 
 abolishes the calendar, and presents him to us always the 
 unwasted contemporary of his own prime. I do not know 
 if he seem old to his younger hearers, but we who have 115 
 known him so long wonder at the tenacity with which he 
 maintains himself even in the outposts of youth. I suppose 
 it is not the Emerson of 1868 to whom we listen. For us 
 the whole life of the man is distilled in the clear drop of 
 every sentence, and behind each word we divine the force 120 
 of a noble character, the weight of a large capital of think 
 ing and being. We do not go to hear what Emerson says 
 so much as to hear Emerson. Not that we perceive any 
 falling off in anything that ever was essential to the charm 
 of Mr. Emerson s peculiar style of thought or phrase. The 125 
 first lecture, to be sure, was more disjointed even than com 
 mon. It was as if, after vainly trying to get his paragraphs 
 into sequence and order, he had at last tried the desperate 
 
256 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 expedient of shuffling them. It was chaos come again, but 
 
 130 it was a chaos fall of shooting-stars, a jumble of creative 
 forces. The second lecture, on Criticism and Poetry, was 
 quite up to the level of old times, full of that power of 
 strangely subtle association whose indirect approaches 
 startle the mind into almost painful attention, of those 
 
 135 flashes of mutual understanding between speaker and hearer 
 that are gone ere one can say it lightens. The vice of 
 Emerson s criticism seems to be, that while no man is so 
 sensitive to what is poetical, few men are less sensible than 
 he of what makes a poem. He values the solid meaning of 
 
 140 thought above the subtler meaning of style. He would 
 prefer Donne, I suspect, to Spenser, and sometimes mis 
 takes the queer for the original. 
 
 To be young is surely the best, if the most precarious, 
 gift of life ; yet there are some of us who would hardly con- 
 
 145 sent to be young again, if it were at the cost of our recollec 
 tion of Mr. Emerson s first lectures during the consulate of Van 
 Buren. We used to walk in from the country to the Masonic 
 Temple (I think it was), through the crisp winter night, 
 and listen to that thrilling voice of his, so charged with 
 
 150 subtle meaning and subtle music, as shipwrecked men on a 
 raft to the hail of a ship that came with unhoped-for food 
 and rescue. Cynics might say what they liked. Did our 
 own imaginations transfigure dry remainder-biscuit into 
 ambrosia ? At any rate, he brought us life, which, on the 
 
 155 whole, is no bad thing. Was it all transcendentalism ? 
 magic-lantern pictures on mist? As you will. Those, 
 then, were just what we wanted. But it was not so. The 
 delight and the benefit were that he put us in communica 
 tion with a larger style of thought, sharpened our wits with 
 
 160 a more pungent phrase, gave us ravishing glimpses of an 
 ideal under the dry husk of our New England; made us 
 conscious of the supreme and everlasting originality of 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 257 
 
 whatever bit of soul might be in any of us ; freed us, in 
 short, from the stocks of prose in which we had sat so long 
 that we had grown wellnigh contented in our cramps. And 165 
 who that saw the audience will ever forget it, where every 
 one still capable of fire, or longing to renew in them the 
 half-forgotten sense of it, was gathered ? Those faces, 
 young and old, agleam with pale intellectual light, eager 
 with pleased attention, flash upon me once more from the 170 
 deep recesses of the years with an exquisite pathos. Ah, 
 beautiful young eyes, brimming with love and hope, wholly 
 vanished now in that other world we call the Past, or peer 
 ing doubtfully through the pensive gloaming of memory, 
 your light impoverishes these cheaper days ! I hear again 175 
 that rustle of sensation, as they turned to exchange glances 
 over some pithier thought, some keener flash of that humor 
 which always played about the horizon of his mind like 
 heat-lightning, and it seems now like the sad whisper of the 
 autumn leaves that are whirling around me. But would 180 
 my picture be complete if I forgot that ample and vegete 
 countenance of Mr. R of W , how, from its reg 
 ular post at the corner of the front bench, it turned in ruddy 
 triumph to the prof an er audience as if he were the inex 
 plicably appointed fugleman of appreciation? I was re- 185 
 minded of him by those hearty cherubs in Titian s Assump 
 tion that look at you as who should say, " Did you ever see 
 a Madonna like that ? Did you ever behold one hundred 
 and fifty pounds of womanhood mount heavenward before 
 like a rocket ? " 190 
 
 To some of us that long past experience remains as the 
 most marvellous and fruitful 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 what breath may fill it. Sidney heard it in the 195 
 ballad of Chevy Chase, and we in Emerson. Nor did it blow 
 
258 . AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 retreat, but called to us with assurance of victory. Did 
 they say he was disconnected? So were the stars, that 
 seemed larger to our eyes, still keen with that excitement, 
 
 200 as we walked homeward with prouder stride over the creak 
 ing snow. And were they not knit together by a higher logic 
 than our mere sense could master ? Were we enthusiasts ? 
 I hope and believe we were, and am thankful to the man 
 who made us worth something for once in our lives. If 
 
 205 asked what was left ? what we carried home ? we should 
 not have been careful for an answer. It would have been 
 enough if we had said that something beautiful had passed 
 that way. Or we might have asked in return what one 
 brought away from a symphony of Beethoven ? Enough 
 
 210 that he had set that ferment of wholesome discontent at 
 work in us. There is one, at least, of those old hearers, so 
 many of whom are now in the fruition of that intellectual 
 beauty of which Emerson gave them both the desire and the 
 foretaste, who will always love to repeat : 
 
 215 Che in la mente m e fitta, ed or m accuora 
 
 La cara e buona immagine paterna 
 Di voi, quando nel mondo ad ora ad ora 
 M insegnavaste come F uom s eterna." 
 
 White s " Selborne " 
 (From My Garden Acquaintance) 
 
 One of the most delightful books in my father s library 
 was White s " Natural History of Selborne." For me it 
 has rather gained in charm with years. I used to read it 
 without knowing the secret of the pleasure I found in it, 
 5 but as I grow older I begin to detect some of the simple ex 
 pedients of this natural magic. Open the book where you 
 will, it takes you out of doors. In our broiling July 
 weather one can walk out with this genially garrulous Fel- 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 259 
 
 low of Oriel and find refreshment instead of fatigue. You 
 have no trouble in keeping abreast of him as he ambles 10 
 along on his hobby-horse, now pointing to a pretty view, 
 now stopping to watch the motions of a bird or an insect, 
 or to bag a specimen for the Honourable Daines Barrington 
 or Mr. Pennant. In simplicity of taste and natural refine 
 ment he reminds one of Walton ; in tenderness toward what 15 
 he would have called the brute creation, of Cowper. I do not 
 know whether his descriptions of scenery are good or not, 
 but they have made me familiar with his neighborhood. 
 Since I first read him, I have walked over some of his 
 favorite haunts, but I still see them through his eyes rather 20 
 than by any recollection of actual and personal vision. The 
 book has also the delightfulness of absolute leisure. Mr. 
 White seems never to have had any harder work to do than 
 to study the habits of his feathered fellow-townsfolk, or to 
 watch the ripening of his peaches on the wall. No doubt 25 
 he looked after the souls of his parishioners with official 
 and even friendly interest, but, I cannot help suspecting, 
 with a less personal solicitude. For he seems to have lived 
 before the Fall. His volumes are the journal of Adam in 
 Paradise, 30 
 
 " Annihilating all that s made 
 To a green thought in a green shade." 
 
 It is positive rest only to look into that garden of his. It 
 is vastly better than to 
 
 " See great Diocletian walk 35 
 
 In the Salonian garden s noble shade," 
 
 for thither ambassadors intrude to bring with them the 
 noises of Rome, while here the world has no entrance. No 
 rumor of the revolt of the American Colonies appears to 
 have reached him. "The natural term of an hog s life "40 
 has more interest for him than that of an empire. Bur- 
 
260 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 goyne may surrender and welcome ; of what consequence is 
 that compared with the fact that we can explain the odd 
 tumbling of rooks in the air by their turning over "to 
 
 45 scratch themselves with one claw " ? All the couriers in 
 Europe spurring rowel-deep make no stir in Mr. White s 
 little Chartreuse ; but the arrival of the house-martin a day 
 earlier or later than last year is a piece of news worth send 
 ing express to all his correspondents. 
 
 50 Another secret charm of this book is its inadvertent hu 
 mor, so much the more delicious because unsuspected by the 
 author. How pleasant is his innocent vanity in adding to 
 the list of the British, and still more of the Selbornian, 
 fauna! I believe he would gladly have consented to be 
 
 55 eaten by a tiger or a crocodile, if by that means the oc 
 casional presence within the parish limits of either of these 
 anthropophagous brutes could have been established. He 
 brags of no fine society, but is plainly a little elated by 
 " having considerable acquaintance with a tame brown owl." 
 
 60 Most of us have known our share of owls, but few can boast 
 of intimacy with a feathered one. The great events of Mr. 
 White s life, too, have that disproportionate importance 
 which is always humorous. To think of his hands having 
 actually been thought worthy (as neither Willoughby s nor 
 
 65 Ray s were) to hold a stilted plover, the Charadrius himan- 
 topusj with no back toe, and therefore " liable, in specula 
 tion, to perpetual vacillations " ! I wonder, by the way, if 
 metaphysicians have no hind toes. In 1770 he makes the 
 acquaintance in Sussex of " an old family tortoise," which 
 
 70 had then been domesticated for thirty years. It is clear 
 that he fell in love with it at first sight. We have no 
 means of tracing the growth of his passion ; but in 1780 we 
 find him eloping with its object in a post-chaise. "The 
 rattle and hurry of the journey so perfectly roused it that, 
 
 75 when I turned it out in a border, it walked twice down to 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 261 
 
 the bottom of my garden." It reads like a Court Journal : 
 " Yesterday morning H.R.H. the Princess Alice took an 
 airing of half an hour on the terrace of Windsor Castle." 
 This tortoise might have been a member of the Royal So 
 ciety, if he could have condescended to so ignoble an am- 80 
 bition. It had but just been discovered that a surface 
 inclined at a certain angle with the plane of the horizon 
 took more of the sun s rays. The tortoise had always 
 known this (though he unostentatiously made no parade of 
 it), and used accordingly to tilt himself up against the gar- 85 
 den-wall in the autumn. He seems to have been more of a 
 philosopher than even Mr. White himself, caring for nothing 
 but to get under a cabbage-leaf when it rained, or when the 
 sun was too hot, and to bury himself alive before frost, a 
 four-footed Diogenes, who carried his tub on his back. 90 
 
 There are moods in which this kind of history is infinitely 
 refreshing. These creatures whom we affect to look down 
 upon as the drudges of instinct are members of a common 
 wealth whose constitution rests on immovable bases. Never 
 any need of reconstruction there ! They never dream of 95 
 settling it by vote that eight hours are equal to ten, or that 
 one creature is as clever as another and no more. They do 
 not use their poor wits in regulating God s clocks, nor think 
 they cannot go astray so long as they carry their guide- 
 board about with them, a delusion we often practice upon 100 
 ourselves with our high and mighty reason, that admirable 
 finger-post which points every way, as we choose to turn it, 
 and always right. It is good for us now and then to con 
 verse with a world like Mr. White s, where Man is the least 
 important of animals. But one who, like me, has always 105 
 lived in the country and always on the same spot, is drawn 
 to his book by other occult sympathies. Do we not share 
 his indignation at that stupid Martin who had graduated his 
 thermometer no lower than 4 above zero of Fahrenheit, so 
 
262 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 110 that in the coldest weather ever known the mercury basely 
 absconded into the bulb, and left us to see the victory slip 
 through our fingers just as they were closing upon it ? No 
 man, I suspect, ever lived long in the country without being 
 bitten by these meteorological ambitions. He likes to be 
 
 115 hotter and colder, to have been more deeply snowed up, to 
 have more trees, and larger, blown down than his neigh 
 bors. With us descendants of the Puritans especially, 
 these weather-competitions supply the abnegated excite 
 ment of the race-course. Men learn to value thermometers 
 
 120 of the true imaginative temperament, capable of prodigious 
 elations and corresponding dejections. The other day 
 (5th July) I marked 98 in the shade, my high- water mark, 
 higher by one degree than I had ever seen it before. I 
 happened to meet a neighbor ; as we mopped our brows at 
 
 125 each other, he told me that he had just cleared 100, and I 
 went home a beaten man. I had not felt the heat before, 
 save as a beautiful exaggeration of sunshine ; but now it 
 oppressed me with the prosaic vulgarity of an oven. What 
 had been poetic intensity became all at once rhetorical 
 
 130 hyperbole. I might suspect his thermometer (as indeed I 
 did, for we Harvard men are apt to think ill of any gradua 
 tion save our own) ; but it was a poor consolation. The 
 fact remained that his herald Mercury, standing a-tiptoe, 
 could look down on mine. I seem to glimpse something of 
 
 135 this familiar weakness in Mr. White. He, too, has shared 
 in these mercurial triumphs and defeats. Nor do I doubt 
 that he had a true country-gentleman s interest in the 
 weathercock ; that his first question on coming down of a 
 morning was, like Barabas s, 
 
 140 " Into what quarter peers my halcyon s bill ? " 
 
 It is an innocent and healthful employment of the mind, 
 distracting one from too continual study of oneself, and 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 263 
 
 leading one to dwell rather upon the indigestions of the 
 elements than one s own. " Did the wind back round, or 
 go about with the sun ? " is a rational question that bears 145 
 not remotely on the making of hay and the prosperity of 
 crops. I have little doubt that the regulated observation 
 of the vane in many different places, and the interchange 
 of results by telegraph, would put the weather; as it were, 
 in our power, by betraying its ambushes before it is ready to 150 
 give the assault. At first sight, nothing seems more drolly 
 trivial than the lives of those whose single achievement is 
 to record the wind and the temperature three times a day. 
 Yet such men are doubtless sent into the world for this 
 special end, and perhaps there is no kind of accurate ob- 155 
 servation, whatever its object, that has not its final use and 
 value for some one or other. It is even to be hoped that 
 the speculations of our newspaper editors and their myriad 
 correspondents upon the signs of the political atmosphere 
 may also fill their appointed place in a well-regulated 160 
 universe, if it be only that of supplying so many more 
 jack-o -lanterns to the future historian. Nay, the observa 
 tions on finance of an M. C. whose sole knowledge of the 
 subject has been derived from a lifelong success in getting 
 a living out of the public without paying any equivalent 165 
 therefor, will perhaps be of interest hereafter to some ex 
 plorer of our cloaca maxima, whenever it is cleansed. 
 
 The True Nature of Democracy 
 
 (From Democracy) 
 
 We are told that the inevitable result of democracy is to 
 sap the foundations of personal independence, to weaken 
 the principle of authorit}^, to lessen the respect due to emi 
 nence, whether in station, virtue, or genius. If these things 
 were so, society could not hold together. Perhaps the best 5 
 
264 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 forcing-house of robust individuality would be where public 
 opinion is inclined to be most overbearing, as he must be of 
 heroic temper who should walk along Piccadilly at the 
 height of the season in a soft hat. As for authority, it is 
 
 10 one of the symptoms of the time that the religious reverence 
 for it is declining everywhere, but this is due partly to the 
 fact that state-craft is no longer looked upon as a mystery, 
 but as a business, and partly to the decay of superstition, 
 by which I mean the habit of respecting what we are told 
 
 15 to respect rather than what is respectable in itself. There 
 is more rough and tumble in the American democracy than 
 is altogether agreeable to people of sensitive nerves and 
 refined habits, and the people take their political duties 
 lightly and laughingly, as is, perhaps, neither unnatural 
 
 20 nor unbecoming in a young giant. Democracies can no 
 more jump away from their own shadows than the rest of us 
 can. They no doubt sometimes make mistakes and pay 
 honor to men who do not deserve it. But they do this be 
 cause they believe them worthy of it, and though it be true 
 
 25 that the idol is the measure of the worshipper, yet the 
 worship has in it the germ of a nobler religion. But is it 
 democracies alone that fall into these errors ? I, who have 
 seen it proposed to erect a statue to Hudson, the railway 
 king, and have heard Louis Napoleon hailed as the saviour 
 
 30 of society by men who certainly had no democratic asso 
 ciations or leanings, am not ready to think so. But de 
 mocracies have likewise their finer instincts. I have also 
 seen the wisest statesman and most pregnant speaker of our 
 generation, a man of humble birth and ungainly manners, 
 
 35 of little culture beyond what his own genius supplied, be 
 come more absolute in power than any monarch of modern 
 times through the reverence of his countrymen for his 
 honesty, his wisdom, his sincerity, his faith in God and 
 man, and the nobly humane simplicity of his character. 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 265 
 
 And I remember another whom popular respect enveloped 40 
 as with a halo, the least vulgar of men, the most austerely 
 genial, and the most independent of opinion. Wherever 
 he went he never met a stranger, but everywhere neighbors 
 and friends proud of him as their ornament and decoration. 
 Institutions which could bear and breed such men as Lincoln 45 
 and Emerson had surely some energy for good. No, amid all 
 the fruitless turmoil and miscarriage of the world, if there 
 be one thing steadfast and of favorable omen, one thing to 
 make optimism distrust its own obscure distrust, it is the 
 rooted instinct in men to admire what is better and more 50 
 beautiful than themselves. The touchstone of political and 
 social institutions is their ability to supply them with worthy 
 objects of this sentiment, which is the very tap-root of 
 civilization and progress. There would seem to be no readier 
 way of feeding it with the elements of growth and vigor than 55 
 such an organization of society as will enable men to respect 
 themselves, and so to justify them in respecting others. 
 
 Such a result is quite possible under other conditions 
 than those of an avowedly democratical Constitution. For 
 I take it that the real essence of democracy was fairly enough 60 
 defined by the First Napoleon when he said that the French 
 Revolution meant "la carriere ouverte aux talents" a 
 clear pathway for merit of whatever kind. I should be in 
 clined to paraphrase this by calling democracy that form of 
 society, no matter what its political classification, in which 65 
 every man had a chance and knew that he had it. If a man 
 can climb, and feels himself encouraged to climb, from a 
 coalpit to the highest position for which he is fitted, he can 
 well afford to be indifferent what name is given to the gov 
 ernment under which he lives. The Bailli of Mirabeau, 70 
 uncle of the more famous tribune of that name, wrote in 
 1771: "The English are, in my opinion, a hundred times 
 more agitated and more unfortunate than the very Algerines 
 
266 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 themselves, because they do not know and will not know 
 
 75 till the destruction of their over-swollen power, which I be 
 lieve very near, whether they are monarchy, aristocracy, or 
 democracy, and wish to play the part of all three." England 
 has not been obliging enough to fulfil the Bailli s prophecy, 
 and perhaps it was this very carelessness about the name, 
 
 80 and concern about the substance of popular government, this 
 skill in getting the best out of things as they are, in utilizing 
 all the motives which influence men, and in giving one 
 direction to many impulses, that has been a principal factor 
 of her greatness and power. Perhaps it is fortunate to 
 
 85 have an unwritten Constitution, for men are prone to be 
 tinkering the work of their own hands, whereas they are 
 more willing to let time and circumstance mend or modify 
 what time and circumstance have made. All free govern 
 ments, whatever their name, are in reality governments by 
 
 90 public opinion, and it is on the quality of this public opinion 
 that their prosperity depends. It is, therefore, their first 
 duty to purify the element from which they draw the breath 
 of life. With the growth of democracy grows also the fear, 
 if not the danger, that this atmosphere may be corrupted 
 
 95 with poisonous exhalations from lower and more malarious 
 levels, and the question of sanitation becomes more instant 
 and pressing. Democracy in its best sense is merely the 
 letting in of light and air. Lord Sherbrooke, with his usual 
 epigrammatic terseness, bids you educate your future rulers. 
 100 But would this alone be a sufficient safeguard ? To educate 
 the intelligence is to enlarge the horizon of its desires and 
 wants. And it is well that this should be so. But the en 
 terprise must go deeper and prepare the way for satisfying 
 those desires and wants in so far as they are legitimate. 
 105 What is really ominous of danger to the existing order of 
 things is not democracy (which, properly understood, is a 
 conservative force), but the Socialism which may find a 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 267 
 
 fulcrum in it. If we cannot equalize conditions and for 
 tunes any more than we can equalize the brains of men 
 and a very sagacious person has said that "where two men 110 
 , ride of a horse one must ride behind " we can yet, perhaps, 
 do something to correct those methods and influences that 
 lead to enormous inequalities, and to prevent their growing 
 more enormous. It is all very well to pooh-pooh Mr. 
 George and to prove him mistaken in his political economy. 115 
 I do not believe that land should be divided because the 
 quantity of it is limited by nature. Of what may this not 
 be said ? A fortiori, we might on the same principle insist 
 on a division of human wit, for I have observed that the 
 quantity of this has been even more inconveniently limited. 120 
 Mr. George himself has an inequitably large share of it. 
 But he is right in his impelling motive ; right, also, I am 
 convinced, in insisting that humanity makes a part, by far 
 the most important part, of political economy ; and in think 
 ing man to be of more concern and more convincing than 125 
 the longest columns of figures in the world. For unless you 
 include human nature in your addition, your total is sure to 
 be wrong and your deductions from it fallacious. Com 
 munism means barbarism, but Socialism means, or wishes to 
 mean, cooperation and community of interests, sympathy, 130 
 the giving to the hands not so large a share as to the brains, 
 but a larger share than hitherto in the wealth they must 
 combine to produce means, in short, the practical applica 
 tion of Christianity to life, and has in it the secret of an 
 orderly and benign reconstruction. State Socialism would 135 
 cut off the very roots in personal character self-help, 
 forethought, and frugality which nourish and sustain the 
 trunk and branches of every vigorous Commonwealth. 
 
 I do not believe in violent changes, nor do I expect them. 
 Things in possession have 51 very firm grip. One of the 140 
 strongest cements of society is the conviction of mankind 
 
268 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 that the state of things into which they are born is a part 
 of the order of the universe, as natural, let us say, as that 
 the sun should go round the earth. It is a conviction that 
 
 145 they will not surrender except on compulsion, and a wise 
 society should look to it that this compulsion be not put 
 upon them. For the individual man there is no radical cure, 
 outside of human nature itself, for the evils to which human 
 nature is heir. The rule will always hold good that you 
 
 150 must 
 
 " Be your own palace or the world s your gaol." 
 
 But for artificial evils, for evils that spring from want of 
 thought, thought must find a remedy somewhere. There 
 has been no period of time in which wealth has been more 
 
 155 sensible of its duties than now. It builds hospitals, it 
 establishes missions among the poor, it endows schools. It 
 is one of the advantages of accumulated wealth, and of the 
 leisure it renders possible, that people have time to think 
 of the wants and sorrows of their fellows. But all these 
 
 160 remedies are partial and palliative merely. It is as if we 
 should apply plasters to a single pustule of the small-pox 
 with a view of driving out the disease. The true way is to 
 discover and to extirpate the germs. As society is now con 
 stituted these are in the air it breathes, in the water it 
 
 165 drinks, in things that seem, and which it has always be 
 lieved, to be the most innocent and healthful. The evil 
 elements it neglects corrupt these in their springs and pol 
 lute them in their courses. Let us be of good cheer, how 
 ever, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear arc 
 
 170 those which never come. The world has outlived much, 
 and will outlive a great deal more, and men have contrived 
 to be happy in it. It has shown the strength of its consti 
 tution in nothing more than in surviving the quack medi 
 cines it has tried. In the scales of the destinies brawn will 
 
SIDNEY LANIER 269 
 
 never weigh so much as brain. Our healing is not in the 175 
 storm or in the whirlwind, it is not in monarchies, or aris 
 tocracies, or democracies, but will be revealed by the still 
 small voice that speaks to the conscience and the heart, 
 prompting us to a wider and wiser humanity. 
 
 SIDNEY LANIER 
 My Springs l 
 
 In the heart of the Hills of Life, I know 
 Two springs that with unbroken flow 
 Forever pour their lucent streams 
 Into my soul s far Lake of Dreams. 
 
 Not larger than two eyes, they lie 6 
 
 Beneath the many-changing sky 
 And mirror all of life and time, 
 
 Serene and dainty pantomime. 
 
 Shot through with lights of stars and dawns, 
 
 And shadowed sweet by ferns and fawns, 10 
 
 Thus heaven and earth together vie 
 Their shining depths to sanctify. 
 
 Always when the large Form of Love 
 
 Is hid by storms that rage above, 
 
 I gaze in my two springs and see 1 _ 
 
 Love in his very verity. 
 
 Always when Faith with stifling stress 
 
 Of grief hath died in bitterness, 
 
 I gaze in my two springs and see 
 
 A Faith that smiles immortally. 20 
 
 iFrom " Poems of Sidney Lanier " : copyright, 1884, 1891 ; published 
 by Charles Scribner s Sons. 
 
270 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Always when Charity and Hope, 
 In darkness bounden, feebly grope, 
 I gaze in my two springs and see 
 A Light that sets my captives free. 
 
 25 Always, when Art on perverse wing 
 
 Flies where I cannot hear him sing, 
 I gaze in my two springs and see 
 A charm that brings him back to me. 
 
 When Labor faints, and Glory fails, 
 30 And coy Reward in sighs exhales, 
 
 I gaze in my two springs and see 
 Attainment full and heavenly. 
 
 O Love, O Wife, thine eyes are they, 
 My springs from out whose shining gray 
 35 Issue the sweet celestial streams 
 
 That feed my life s bright Lake of Dreams. 
 
 Oval and large and passion-pure 
 And gray and wise and honor-sure ; 
 Soft as a dying violet-breath 
 40 Yet calmly unafraid of death ; 
 
 Thronged, like two dove-cotes of gray doves, 
 With wife s and mother s and poor-folk s loves. 
 And home-loves and high glory-loves 
 And science-loves and story-loves, 
 
 45 And loves for all that God and man 
 
 In art and nature make or plan, 
 And lady-loves for spidery lace 
 And broideries and supple grace 
 
 And diamonds and the whole sweet round 
 50 Of littles that large life compound, 
 
 And loves for God and God s bare truth, 
 And loves for Magdalen and Ruth, 
 
SIDNEY LANIER 271 
 
 Dear eyes, dear eyes and rare complete 
 
 Being heavenly-sweet and earthly-sweet, 
 
 I marvel that God made you mine, 55 
 
 For when He frowns, tis then ye shine ! 
 
 Song of the Chattahoochee l 
 
 Out of the hills of Habersham, 
 
 Down the valleys of Hall, 
 I hurry amain to reach the plain, 
 Kun the rapid and leap the fall, 
 
 Split at the rock and together again, 5 
 
 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. 10 
 
 All down the hills of Habersham, 
 
 All through the valleys of Hall, 
 The rushes cried Abide, abide, 
 The willful waterweeds held me thrall, 
 
 The laving laurel turned my tide, 15 
 
 The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay, 
 The dewberry dipped for to work delay, 
 And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide, 
 
 Here in the hills of Habersham, 
 
 Here in the valleys of Hall. 20 
 
 High o er the hills of Habersham, 
 
 Veiling the valleys of Hall, 
 The hickory told me manifold 
 Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall 
 Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, 25 
 
 1 From "Poems of Sidney Lanier" : copyright, 1884, 1891; published 
 by Charles Scribner s Sons. 
 
 A 
 
272 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, 
 Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, 
 Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold 
 
 Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, 
 30 These glades in the valleys of Hall. 
 
 And oft in the hills of Habersham, 
 And oft in the valleys of Hall, 
 
 The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone 
 Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, 
 35 And many a luminous jewel lone 
 
 Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, 
 
 Ruby, garnet and amethyst 
 
 Made lures with the lights of streaming stone 
 
 In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, 
 40 In the beds of the valleys of Hall. 
 
 But oh, not the hills of Habersham, 
 And oh, not the valleys of Hall 
 Avail : I am fain for to water the plain. 
 Downward the voices of Duty call 
 45 Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main, 
 
 The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, 
 And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, 
 And the lordly main from beyond the plain 
 
 Calls o er the hills of Habersham, 
 50 Calls through the valleys of Hall. 
 
 HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 
 The New South 
 
 " There was a South, of slavery and secession that South 
 is dead. There is a South of union and freedom that 
 South, thank God, is living, breathing, growing every hour." 
 These words, delivered from the immortal lips of Benjamin 
 5H. Hill, at Tammany Hall, in 1866, true then and truer 
 now, I shall make my text to-night. 
 
HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 273 
 
 Mr. President and Gentlemen : Let me express to you my 
 appreciation of the kindness by which I am permitted to 
 address you. I make this abrupt acknowledgment advisedly, 
 for I feel that if, when I raise my provincial voice in this 10 
 ancient and august presence, it could find courage for no 
 more than the opening sentence, it would be well if in that 
 sentence I had met in a rough sense my obligation as a 
 guest, and had perished, so to speak, with courtesy on my 
 lips and grace in my heart. 15 
 
 Permitted, through your kindness, to catch my second 
 wind, let me say that I appreciate the significance of being 
 the first Southerner to speak at this board, which bears the 
 substance, if it surpasses the semblance, of original New 
 England hospitality and honors the sentiment that in 20 
 turn honors you, but in which my personality is lost, and 
 the compliment to my people made plain. 
 
 I bespeak the utmost stretch of your courtesy to-night. 
 I am not troubled about those from whom I come. You 
 remember the man whose wife sent him to a neighbor with 25 
 a pitcher of milk, and who, tripping on the top step, fell 
 with such casual interruptions as the landings afforded into 
 the basement, and, while picking himself up, had the pleas 
 ure of hearing his wife call out : " John, did you break the 
 pitcher ? " 30 
 
 "No, I didn t," said John, "but I ll be dinged if I don t." 
 
 So, while those who call me from behind may inspire me 
 with energy, if not with courage, I ask an indulgent hearing 
 from you. I beg that you will bring your full faith in 
 American fairness and frankness to judgment upon what 1 35 
 shall say. There was an old preacher once who told some 
 boys of the Bible lesson he was going to read in the morn 
 ing. The boys, finding the place, glued together the con 
 necting pages. The next morning he read on the bottom of 
 one page, " When Noah was one hundred and twenty years 40 
 
274 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 old lie took unto himself a wife, who was " then turning 
 the page " 140 cubits long 40 cubits wide, built of gopher 
 wood and covered with pitch inside and out." He was 
 naturally puzzled at this. He read it again, verified it, and 
 
 45 then said : " My friends, this is the first time I ever met 
 this in the Bible, but I accept this as an evidence of the 
 assertion that we are fearfully and wonderfully made." If 
 I could get you to hold such faith to-night I could proceed 
 cheerfully to the task I otherwise approach with a sense of 
 
 50 consecration. 
 
 Pardon me one word, Mr. President, spoken for the sole 
 purpose of getting into the volumes that go out annually 
 freighted with the rich eloquence of your speakers the 
 fact that the Cavalier, as well as the Puritan, was on the 
 
 55 continent in its early days, and that he was " up and able 
 to be about." I have read your books carefully and I find 
 no mention of the fact, which seems to me an important one 
 for preserving a sort of historical equilibrium, if for nothing 
 else. 
 
 60 Let me remind you that the Virginia Cavalier first chal 
 lenged France on the continent that Cavalier John Smith 
 gave New England its very name, and was so pleased with 
 the job that he has been handing his own name around ever 
 since and that while Myles Standish was cutting off men s 
 
 65 ears for courting a girl without her parent s consent, and 
 forbade men to kiss their wives on Sunday, the Cavalier 
 was courting everything in sight, and that the Almighty 
 had vouchsafed great increase to the Cavalier colonies, the 
 huts in the wilderness being as full as the nests in the 
 
 70 woods. 
 
 But having incorporated the Cavalier as a fact in your 
 charming little books, I shall let him work out his own sal 
 vation, as he has always done, with engaging gallantry, and 
 we will hold no controversy as to his merits. Why should 
 
HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 275 
 
 we ? Neither Puritan nor Cavalier long survived as such. 75 
 The virtues and good traditions of both happily still live 
 for the inspiration of their sons and the saving of the old 
 fashion. But both Puritan and Cavalier were lost in the 
 storm of the first Revolution, and the American citizen, sup 
 planting both and stronger than either, took possession of 80 
 the republic bought by their common blood and fashioned to 
 wisdom, and charged himself with teaching men government 
 and establishing the voice of the people as the voice of God. 
 
 My friends, Dr. Talmage has told you that the typical 
 American has yet to come. Let me tell you that he has 85 
 already come. Great types, like valuable plants, are slow 
 to flower and fruit. But from the union of these colonists, 
 Puritans and Cavaliers, from the straightening of their pur 
 poses and the crossing of their blood, slow perfecting through 
 a century, came he who stands as the first typical American, 90 
 the first who comprehended within himself all the strength 
 and gentleness, all the majesty and grace of this republic 
 Abraham Lincoln. He was the sum of Puritan and Cavalier, 
 for in his ardent nature were fused the virtues of both, and 
 in the depths of his great soul the faults of both were lost. 95 
 He was greater than Puritan, greater than Cavalier, in that 
 he was American, and that in his honest form were first 
 gathered the vast and thrilling forces of his ideal government 
 charging it with such tremendous meaning and elevating 
 it above human suffering that martyrdom, though infa- 100 
 mously aimed, came as a fitting crown to a life consecrated 
 from the cradle to human liberty. Let us, each cherishing 
 the traditions and honoring his fathers, build with reverent 
 hands to the type of this simple but sublime life, in which 
 all types are honored, and in our common glory as Americans 105 
 there will be plenty and to spare for your forefathers and 
 for mine. 
 
 Dr. Talmage has drawn for you, with a master s hand, the 
 
276 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 picture of your returning armies. He has told you how, in 
 
 no the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back to you, 
 marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their 
 glory in a nation s eyes ! Will you bear with me while I 
 tell you of another army that sought its home at the close 
 of the late war an army that marched home in defeat arid 
 
 115 not in victory in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory 
 that equaled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed 
 heroes home ! 
 
 Let me picture to you the footsore Confederate soldier, as 
 buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was 
 
 120 to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he 
 turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. 
 Think of him as ragged, half -starved, heavy-hearted, en 
 feebled by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion, 
 he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in 
 
 125 silence, and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the 
 last time to the graves that dot old Virginia hills, pulls his 
 gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful 
 journey. 
 
 What does he find let me ask you who went to your 
 
 130 homes eager to find, in the welcome you had justly earned, 
 full payment for four years sacrifice what does he find 
 when, having followed the battle-stained cross against over 
 whelming odds, dreading death not half so much as surrender, 
 he reaches the home he left so prosperous and beautiful ? 
 
 135 He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves 
 free, his stock killed, his barns empty, his trade destroyed, 
 his money worthless, his social system, feudal in its mag 
 nificence, swept away ; his people without law or legal status ; 
 his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his 
 
 140 shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very traditions are gone. 
 Without money, credit, employment, material, or training ; 
 and besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem 
 
HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 277 
 
 that ever met human intelligence the establishment of a 
 status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. 
 
 What does he do this hero in gray with a heart of gold ? 145 
 Does he sit down in sullenness and despair ? Not for a day. 
 Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired 
 him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so over 
 whelming, never was restoration swifter. 
 
 The soldier stepped from the trenches into the furrow ; 150 
 horses that had charged Federal guns marched before the 
 plow, and fields that ran red with human blood in April 
 were green with the harvest in June ; women reared in lux 
 ury cut up their dresses and made breeches for their hus 
 bands, and, with a patience and heroism that fit women 155 
 always as a garment, gave their hands to work. There was 
 little bitterness in all this. Cheerfulness and frankness 
 prevailed. " Bill Arp " struck the key-note when he said : 
 " Well, I killed as many of them as they did of me, and 
 now I m going to work." So did the soldier returning home 160 
 after defeat and roasting some corn on the roadside who 
 made the remark to his comrades: "You may leave the 
 South if you want to, but I m going to Sandersville, kiss my 
 wife and raise a crop, and if the Yankees fool with me any 
 more, I ll whip em again." 165 
 
 I want to say to General Sherman, who is considered an 
 able man in our parts, though some people think he is a kind 
 of careless man about fire, that from the ashes he left us in 
 1864 we have raised a brave and beautiful city ; that some 
 how or other we have caught the sunshine in the bricks and 170 
 mortar of our homes, and have builded therein not one igno 
 ble prejudice or memory. 
 
 But what is the sum of our work ? We have found out 
 that in the summing up the free negro counts more than he 
 did as a slave. We have planted the schoolhouse on the 175 
 hilltop and made it free to white and black. We have 
 
278 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 sowed towns and cities in the place of theories, and put 
 business above politics. We have challenged your spinners 
 in Massachusetts and your iron-makers in Pennsylvania. 
 
 180 We have learned that $400,000,000 annually received from 
 our cotton crop will make us rich when the supplies that 
 make it are home-raised. We have reduced the commercial 
 rate of interest from 24 to 6 per cent., and are floating 4 per 
 cent, bonds. We have learned that one Northern immigrant 
 
 185 is worth fifty foreigners and have smoothed the path to 
 
 Southward, wiped out the place where Mason and Dixon s 
 
 line used to be, and hung out the latchstring to you and yours. 
 
 We have reached the point that marks perfect harmony 
 
 in every household, when the husband confesses that the 
 
 190 pies which his wife cooks are as good as those his mother 
 used to bake ; and we admit that the sun shines as brightly 
 and the moon as softly as it did before the war. We have 
 established thrift in city and country. We have fallen in 
 love with work. We have restored comfort to homes from 
 
 195 which culture and elegance never departed. We have let 
 economy take root and spread among us as rank as the crab- 
 grass which sprung from Sherman s cavalry camps, until we 
 are ready to lay odds on the Georgia Yankee as he manu 
 factures relics of the battlefield in a one-story shanty and 
 
 200 squeezes pure olive-oil out of his cottonseed, against any 
 down-easter that ever swapped wooden nutmegs for flannel 
 sausage in the valleys of Vermont. Above all, we know 
 that we have achieved in these " piping times of peace " a 
 fuller independence for the South than that which our 
 
 205 fathers sought to win in the forum by their eloquence or 
 compel in the field by their swords. 
 
 It is a rare privilege, sir, to have had part, however 
 humble, in this work. Never was nobler duty confided to 
 human hands than the uplifting and upbuilding of the pros- 
 
 2lOtrate and bleeding South misguided, perhaps, but beau- 
 
HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 279 
 
 tiful in her suffering, and honest, brave, and generous al 
 ways. In the record of her social, industrial, and political 
 illustration we await with confidence the verdict of the 
 world. 
 
 But what of the negro ? Have we solved the problem he 215 
 presents or progressed in honor and equity toward solution ? 
 Let the record speak to the point. No section shows a 
 more prosperous laboring population than the negroes of the 
 South, none in fuller sympathy with the employing and 
 land-owning class. He shares our school fund, has the full- 220 
 est protection of our laws and the friendship of our people. 
 Self-interest, as well as honor, demand that he should have 
 this. Our future, our very existence depend upon our work 
 ing out this problem in full and exact justice. We under 
 stand that when Lincoln signed the emancipation proclama- 225 
 tion, your victory was assured, for he then committed you 
 to the cause of human liberty, against which the arms of 
 man cannot prevail while those of our statesmen who 
 trusted to make slavery the cornerstone of the Confederacy 
 doomed us to defeat as far as they could, committing us to 230 
 a cause that reason could not defend or the sword main 
 tain in sight of advancing civilization. 
 
 Had Mr. Toombs said, which he did not say, "that he 
 would call the roll of his slaves at the foot of Bunker Hill," 
 he would have been foolish, for he might have known that 235 
 whenever slavery became entangled in war it must perish, 
 and that the chattel in human flesh ended forever in New 
 England when your fathers not to be blamed for parting 
 with what didn t pay sold their slaves to our fathers 
 not to be praised for knowing a paying thing when they 240 
 saw it. The relations of the Southern people with the negro 
 are close and cordial. We remember with what fidelity for 
 four years he guarded our defenseless women and children, 
 whose husbands and fathers were fighting against his free- 
 
280 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 245 dom. To his eternal credit be it said that whenever he 
 struck a blow for his own liberty he fought in open battle, 
 and when at last he raised his black and humble hands that 
 the shackles might be struck off, those hands were innocent 
 of wrong against his helpless charges, and worthy to be 
 
 250 taken in loving grasp by every man who honors loyalty and 
 devotion. Ruffians have maltreated him, rascals have mis 
 led him, philanthropists established a bank for him, but the 
 South, with the North, protests against injustice to this 
 simple and sincere people. 
 
 255 To liberty and enfranchisement is as far as law can carry 
 the negro. The rest must be left to conscience and common 
 sense. It must be left to those among whom his lot is cast, 
 with whom he is indissolubly connected, and whose pros 
 perity depends upon their possessing his intelligent sym- 
 
 260 pathy and confidence. Faith has been kept with him, in 
 spite of calumnious assertions to the contrary by those who 
 assume to speak for us or by frank opponents. Faith will 
 be kept with him in the future, if the South holds her rea 
 son and integrity. 
 
 265 But have we kept faith with you ? In the fullest sense, 
 yes. When Lee surrendered I don t say when Johnston 
 surrendered, because I understand he still alludes to the time 
 when he met General Sherman last as the time when he de 
 termined to abandon any further prosecution of the struggle 
 
 270 when Lee surrendered, I say, and Johnston quit, the 
 South became and has since been, loyal to this Union. We 
 fought hard enough to know that we were whipped, and in 
 perfect frankness accept as final the arbitrament of the sword 
 to which we had appealed. The South found her jewel in 
 
 275 the toad s head of defeat. The shackles that had held her 
 in narrow limitations fell forever when the shackles of the 
 negro slave were broken. Under the old regime the negroes 
 were slaves to the South; the South was a slave to the 
 
HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 281 
 
 system. The old plantation, with its simple police regula 
 tions and feudal habit, was the only type possible under 280 
 slavery. Thus was gathered in the hands of a splendid and 
 chivalric oligarchy the substance that should have been dif 
 fused among the people, as the rich blood, under certain 
 artificial conditions, is gathered at the heart, filling that with 
 affluent rapture but leaving the body chill and colorless. 285 
 
 The old South rested everything on slavery and agricul 
 ture, unconscious that these could neither give nor maintain 
 healthy growth. The new South presents a perfect de 
 mocracy, the oligarchs leading in the popular movement a 
 social system compact and closely knitted, less splendid on 290 
 the surface, but stronger at the core a hundred farms for 
 every plantation, fifty homes for every palace and a diver 
 sified industry that meets the complex needs of this complex 
 age. 
 
 The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul 295 
 is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a 
 grander day is falling fair on her face. She is thrilling with 
 the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she 
 stands upright, full-statured and equal among the people of 
 the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon the 300 
 expanded horizon, she understands that her emancipation 
 came because through the inscrutable wisdom of God her 
 honest purpose was crossed, and her brave armies were 
 beaten. 
 
 This is said in no spirit of time-serving or apology. The 305 
 South has nothing for which to apologize. She believes 
 that the late struggle between the States was war and not 
 rebellion ; revolution and not conspiracy, and that her con 
 victions were as honest as yours. I should be unjust to the 
 dauntless spirit of the South and to my own convictions if 310 
 I did not make this plain in this presence. The South has 
 nothing to take back. 
 
282 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 In my native town of Athens is a monument that crowns 
 
 its central hill a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into its 
 
 315 shining side is a name dear to me above the names of men 
 
 that of a brave and simple man who died in brave and 
 simple faith. Not for all the glories of New England, from 
 Plymouth Rock all the way, would I exchange the heritage 
 he left me in his soldier s death. To the foot of that I shall 
 
 320 send my children s children to reverence him who ennobled 
 their name with his heroic blood. But, sir, speaking from 
 the shadow of that memory which I honor as I do nothing 
 else on earth, I say that the cause in which he suffered and 
 for which he gave his life was adjudged by higher and fuller 
 
 325 wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the omniscient 
 God held the balance of battle in His Almighty hand and 
 that human slavery was swept forever from American soil 
 
 that the American Union was saved from the wreck of 
 war. 
 
 330 This message, Mr. President, comes to you from con 
 secrated ground. Every foot of soil about the city in which 
 I live is sacred as a battle-ground of the republic. Every 
 hill that invests it is hallowed to you by the blood of your 
 brothers who died for your victory, and doubly hallowed to 
 
 335 us by the blood of those who died hopeless, but undaunted, 
 in defeat sacred soil to all of us rich with memories 
 that make us purer and stronger and better silent but 
 staunch witnesses in its red desolation of the matchless 
 valor of American hearts and the deathless glory of Ameri- 
 
 340 can arms speaking an eloquent witness in its white peace 
 and prosperity to the indissoluble union of American States 
 and the imperishable brotherhood of the American people. 
 
 Now, what answer has New England to this message? 
 Will she permit the prejudice of war to remain in the hearts 
 
 345 of the conquerors, when it has died in the hearts of the 
 conquered ? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next 
 
HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 283 
 
 generation, that in their hearts which never felt the generous 
 ardor of conflict it may perpetuate itself ? Will she with 
 hold, save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight 
 from his soldier s heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox ? 350 
 Will she make the vision of a restored and happy people, 
 which gathered above the couch of your dying captain, fill 
 ing his heart with grace, touching his lips with praise, and 
 glorifying his path to the grave will she make this vision 
 on which the last sigh of his expiring soul breathed a bene- 355 
 diction, a cheat and delusion ? 
 
 If she does, the South, never abject in asking for comrade 
 ship, must accept with dignity its refusal ; but if she does 
 not refuse to accept in frankness and sincerity this message 
 of good will and friendship, then will the prophecy of Web- 360 
 ster, delivered in this very society forty years ago amid 
 tremendous applause, become true, be verified in its fullest 
 sense, when he said : " Standing hand to hand and clasping 
 hands, we should remain united as we have been for sixty 
 years, citizens of the same country, members of the same 365 
 government, united, all united now and united forever." 
 There have been difficulties, contentions, and controversies, 
 but I tell you that in my judgment, 
 
 " Those opened eyes, 
 
 Which like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 370 
 
 All of one nature, of one substance bred, 
 Did lately meet in th intestine shock, 
 Shall now, in mutual well beseeming ranks, 
 March all one way." 
 
284 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 1 
 
 Advantages of Not Traveling 
 
 (From Prue and I) 
 
 I do not know how it is, but surely Nature makes kindly 
 provision. An imagination so easily excited as mine could 
 not have escaped disappointment if it had had ample op 
 portunity and experience of the lands it so longed to see. 
 
 5 Therefore, although I made the India voyage, I have never 
 been a traveler, and, saving the little time I was ashore in 
 India, I did not lose the sense of novelty and romance 
 which the first sight of foreign lands inspires. 
 
 That little time was all my foreign travel. I am glad of 
 
 10 it. I see now that I should never have found the country 
 from which the East Indiaman of my early days arrived. 
 The palm groves do not grow with which that hand laid 
 upon the ship placed me in magic conception. As for the 
 lovely Indian maid whom the palmy arches bowered, she 
 
 15 has long since clasped some native lover to her bosom, and, 
 ripened into mild maternity, how should I know her now ? 
 " You would find her quite as easily now as then, 7 says 
 my Prue, when I speak of it. 
 
 She is right again, as usual, that precious woman ; and it 
 
 20 is therefore I feel that if the chances of life have moored 
 me fast to a book-keeper s desk, they have left all the lands 
 I longed to see fairer and fresher in my mind than they 
 could ever be in my memory. Upon my only voyage I 
 used to climb into the top and search the horizon for the 
 
 25 shore. But now in a moment of calm thought I see a more 
 Indian India than ever mariner discerned, and do not envy 
 
 i The extracts from Prue and I and The Public Duty of Educated 
 Men are used by permission of Harper and Brothers, authorized pub 
 lishers of Curtis s works. 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 285 
 
 the youths who go there and make fortunes, who wear grass- 
 cloth jackets, drink iced beer, and eat curry ; whose minds 
 fall asleep, and whose bodies have liver complaints. 
 
 Unseen by me forever, nor ever regretted, shall wave the 30 
 Egyptian palms and the Italian pines. Untrodden by me, 
 the Forum shall still echo with the footfall of imperial 
 Rome, and the Parthenon, unrifled of its marbles, look per 
 fect across the JEgean blue. My young friends return from 
 their tours elate with the smiles of a nameless Italian or 35 
 Parisian belle. I know not such cheap delights; I am a 
 suitor of Vittoria Colonna; I walk with Tasso along the 
 terraced garden of the Villa d Este, and look to see Beatrice 
 smiling down the rich gloom of the cypress shade. You 
 stayed at the Hotel Europa in Venice, at Danieli s, or the 40 
 Leone Bianco; I am the guest of Marino Faliero, and I 
 whisper to his wife, as we climb the giant staircase in the 
 summer moonlight, 
 
 " Ah ! senza am are 
 
 Andare sul mare, 45 
 
 Col sposo del mare, 
 Non puo consolare." 
 
 It is for the same reason that I did not care to dine with 
 you and Aurelia that I am content not to stand in St. 
 Peter s. Alas ! if I could see the end of it, it would not be 50 
 St. Peter s. For those of us whom Nature means to keep 
 at home she provides entertainment. One man goes four 
 thousand miles to Italy and does not see it, he is so short 
 sighted. Another is so far-sighted that he stays in his 
 room and sees more than Italy. 55 
 
 But for this very reason that it washes the shores of my 
 possible Europe and Asia, the sea draws me constantly to 
 itself. Before I came to New York, while I was still a 
 clerk in Boston, courting Prue and living out of town, 
 
286 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 60 1 never knew of a ship sailing for India, or even for Eng 
 land and France, but I went up to the State-house cupola or 
 to the observatory on some friend s house in Roxbury, 
 where I could not be interrupted, and there watched the 
 departure. 
 
 65 The sails hung ready ; the ship lay in the stream ; busy 
 little boats and puffing steamers darted about it, clung to 
 its sides, paddled away from it, or led the way to sea, as 
 minnows might pilot a whale. The anchor was slowly 
 swung at the bow ; I could not hear the sailors song, but I 
 
 70 knew they were singing. I could not see the parting 
 friends, but I knew farewells were spoken. I did not share 
 the confusion, although I knew what bustle there was, what 
 hurry, what shouting, what creaking, what fall of ropes and 
 iron, what sharp oaths, low laughs, whispers, sobs. But I 
 
 75 was cool, high, separate. To me it was 
 
 " A painted ship 
 Upon a painted ocean." 
 
 Evils of Party Spirit 
 (From The Public Duty of Educated Men) 
 
 Undoubtedly a practical and active interest in politics 
 will lead you to party association and co-operation. Great 
 public results the repeal of the corn laws in England, the 
 abolition of slavery in America are due to that organi- 
 
 5 zation of effort and concentration of aim which arouse, in 
 struct, and inspire the popular heart and will. This is 
 the spring of party, and those who earnestly seek practical 
 results instinctively turn to this agency of united action. 
 But in this tendency, useful in the state as the fire upon 
 
 10 the household hearth, lurks, as in that fire, the deadliest 
 peril. Here is our republic it is a ship with towering 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 287 
 
 canvas spread, sweeping before the prosperous gale over a 
 foaming and sparkling sea; it is a lightning train, darting 
 with awful speed along the edge of dizzy abysses and across 
 bridges that quiver over unsounded gulfs. Because we are 15 
 Americans, we have no peculiar charm, no magic spell, to 
 stay the eternal laws. Our safety lies alone in cool self- 
 possession, directing the forces of wind and wave and fire. 
 If once the madness to which the excitement tends usurps 
 control, the catastrophe is inevitable. And so deep is the 20 
 conviction that sooner or later this madness must seize 
 every republic, that the most plausible suspicion of the 
 permanence of the American government is founded in the 
 belief that party spirit cannot be restrained. It is indeed a 
 master passion, but its control is the true conservatism of 25 
 the republic and of happy human progress ; and it is men 
 made familar by education with the history of its ghastly 
 catastrophes, men with the proud courage of independence, 
 who are to temper by lofty action, born of that knowledge, 
 the ferocity of party spirit. 30 
 
 The first object of concerted political action is the highest 
 welfare of the country. But the conditions of party associa 
 tion are such that the means are constantly and easily sub 
 stituted for the end. The sophistry is subtle and seductive. 
 Holding the ascendency of his party essential to the national 35 
 welfare, the zealous partisan merges patriotism in party. 
 He insists that not to sustain the party is to betray the 
 country, and against all honest doubt and reasonable 
 hesitation and reluctance, he vehemently urges that quibbles 
 of conscience must be sacrificed to the public good; that 40 
 wise and practical men will not be squeamish; that every 
 soldier in the army cannot indulge his own whims ; and 
 that if the majority may justly prevail in determining the 
 government, it must not be questioned in the control of a 
 party. 45 
 
288 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 This spirit adds moral coercion to sophistry. It de 
 nounces as a traitor him who protests against party tyranny, 
 and it makes unflinching adherence to what is called regular 
 party action the condition of the gratification of honorable 
 
 60 political ambition. Because a man who sympathizes with 
 the party aims refuses to vote for a thief, this spirit scorns 
 him as a rat and a renegade. Because he holds to principle 
 and law against party expediency and dictation, he is pro 
 claimed to have betrayed his country, justice, and humanity. 
 
 55 Because he tranquilly insists upon deciding for himself 
 when he must dissent from his party, he is reviled as a 
 popinjay and a visionary fool. Seeking with honest pur 
 pose only the welfare of his country, the hot air around him 
 hums with the cry of " the grand old party," " the traditions 
 
 60 of the party," " loyalty to the party," " future of the party," 
 " servant of the party," and he sees and hears the gorged and 
 portly money-changers in the temple usurping the very di 
 vinity of the God. Young hearts! be not dismayed. If 
 ever any one of you shall be the man so denounced, do not 
 
 65 forget that your own individual convictions are the whip of 
 small cords which God has put into your hands to expel the 
 blasphemers. 
 
 The same party spirit naturally denies the patriotism of 
 its opponents. Identifying itself with the country, it re- 
 
 70gards all others as public enemies. This is substantially 
 revolutionary politics. It is the condition of France, where, 
 in its own words, the revolution is permanent. Instead of 
 regarding the other party as legitimate opponents in the 
 English phrase, His Majesty s Opposition lawfully seek- 
 
 75 ing a different policy under the government, it decries that 
 party as a conspiracy plotting the overthrow of the govern 
 ment itself. History is lurid with the wasting fires of this 
 madness. We need not look to that of other lands. Our 
 own is full of it. It is painful to turn to the opening years 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 289 
 
 of the Union, and see how the great men whom we are 80 
 taught to revere, and to whose fostering care the beginning 
 of the republic was intrusted, fanned their hatred and sus 
 picion of each other. Do not trust the flattering voices that 
 whisper of a Golden Age behind us, and bemoan our own 
 as a degenerate day. The castles of hope always shine 85 
 along the horizon. Our fathers saw theirs where we are 
 standing. We behold ours where our fathers stood. But 
 pensive regret for the heroic past, like eager anticipation of 
 the future, shows only that the vision of a loftier life for 
 ever allures the human soul. We think our fathers to have 90 
 been wiser than we, and their day more enviable. But 
 eighty years ago the Federalists abhorred their opponents 
 as Jacobins, and thought Robespierre and Marat no worse 
 than Washington s Secretary of State. The opponents re 
 torted that the Federalists were plotting to establish a 95 
 monarchy by force of arms. The New England pulpit 
 anathematized Tom Jefferson as an atheist and a satyr. 
 Jefferson denounced John Jay as a rogue, and the chief 
 newspaper of the opposition, on the morning that Washing 
 ton retired from the presidency, thanked God that the 100 
 country was now rid of the man who was the source of all 
 its misfortunes. There is no mire in which party spirit 
 wallows to-day with which our fathers were not befouled, 
 and how little sincere the vituperation was, how shallow a 
 fury, appears when Jefferson and Adams had retired from 105 
 public life. Then they corresponded placidly and famil 
 iarly, each at last conscious of the other s fervent patriotism ; 
 and when they died, they were lamented in common by 
 those who in their names had flown at each other s throats, 
 as the patriarchal Castor and Pollux of. the pure age of 110 
 our politics, now fixed as a constellation of hope in our 
 heaven. 
 
 The same brutal spirit showed itself at the time of An- 
 
290 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 drew Johnson s impeachment. Impeachment is a proceed- 
 
 115 ing to be instituted only for great public reasons, which 
 should, presumptively, command universal support. To 
 prostitute the power of impeachment to a mere party pur 
 pose would readily lead to the reversal of the result of an 
 election. But it was made a party measure. The party 
 
 120 was to be whipped into its support : and when certain Sen 
 ators broke the party yoke upon their necks, and voted 
 according to their convictions, as honorable men always 
 will, whether the -party whips like it or not, one of the 
 whippers-in exclaimed of a patriotism, the struggle of obe- 
 
 I25dience to which cost one Senator, at least, his life "If 
 there is anything worse than the treachery, it is the cant 
 which pretends that it is the result of conscientious convic 
 tion; the pretense of a conscience is quite unbearable." 
 This was the very acridity of bigotry, which in other times 
 
 130 and countries raised the cruel tribunal of the Inquisition, 
 and burned opponents for the glory of God. The party 
 madness that dictated these words, and the sympathy that 
 approved them, was treason not alone to the country but 
 to well-ordered human society. Murder may destroy great 
 
 135 statesmen, but corruption makes great states impossible ; 
 and this was an attempt at the most insidious corruption. 
 The man who attempts to terrify a Senator of the United 
 States to cast a dishonest vote, by stigmatizing him as a 
 hypocrite and devoting him to party hatred, is only a more 
 
 140 plausible rascal than his opponent who gives Pat O Flana- 
 gan a fraudulent naturalization paper or buys his vote with a 
 dollar or a glass of whisky. Whatever the offenses of the 
 President may have been, they were as nothing when com 
 pared with the party spirit which declared that it was tired 
 
 145 of the intolerable cant of honesty. So the sneering Cavalier 
 was tired of the cant of the Puritan conscience; but the 
 conscience of which plumed Injustice and coroneted Privi- 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 291 
 
 lege were tired has been for three centuries the invincible 
 bodyguard of civil and religious liberty. 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 
 To William Lloyd Garrison 
 
 Champion of those who groan beneath 
 
 Oppression s iron hand : 
 In view of penury, hate, and death, 
 
 I see thee fearless stand. 
 Still bearing up thy lofty brow, 5 
 
 In the steadfast strength of truth, 
 In manhood sealing well the vow 
 
 And promise of thy youth. 
 
 Go on, for thou hast chosen well ; 
 
 On in the strength of God! 10 
 
 Long as one human heart shall swell 
 
 Beneath the tyrant s rod. 
 Speak in a slumbering nation s ear, 
 
 As thou hast ever spoken, 
 Until the dead in sin shall hear, 15 
 
 The fetter s link be broken ! 
 
 I love thee with a brother s love, 
 
 I feel my pulses thrill, 
 To mark thy spirit soar above 
 
 The cloud of human ill. 20 
 
 My heart hath leaped to answer thine, 
 
 And echo back thy words, 
 As leaps the warrior s at the shine 
 
 And flash of kindred swords I 
 
 They tell me thou art rash and vain, 25 
 
 A searcher after fame ; 
 That thou art striving but to gain 
 
 A long -enduring name; 
 
292 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 That thou hast nerved the Afric s hand 
 30 And steeled the Afric s heart, 
 
 To shake aloft his vengeful brand, 
 And rend his chain apart. 
 
 Have I not known thee well, and read 
 
 Thy mighty purpose long ? 
 35 And watched the trials which have made 
 
 Thy human spirit strong ? 
 And shall the slanderer s demon breath 
 
 Avail with one like me, 
 To dim the sunshine of my faith 
 40 And earnest trust in thee ? 
 
 Go on, the dagger s point may glare 
 
 Amid thy pathway s gloom ; 
 The fate which sternly threatens there 
 
 Is glorious martyrdom ! 
 45 Then onward with a martyr s zeal ; 
 
 And wait thy sure reward 
 When man to man no more shall kneel, 
 
 And God alone be Lord I 
 
 Proem 
 
 I love the old melodious lays 
 Which softly melt the ages through, 
 The songs of Spenser s golden days, 
 Arcadian Sidney s silvery phrase, 
 6 Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew. 
 
 Yet, vainly in my quiet hours 
 To breath their marvellous notes I try ; 
 I feel them, as the leaves and flowers 
 In silence feel the dewy showers, 
 10 And drink with glad, still lips the blessing of the sky. 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 293 
 
 The rigor of a frozen clime, 
 The harshness of an untaught ear, 
 
 The jarring words of one whose rhyme 
 
 Beat often Labor s hurried time, 
 Or Duty s rugged march through storm and strife, are here. 15 
 
 Of mystic beauty, dreamy grace, 
 No rounded art the lack supplies ; 
 
 Unskilled the subtle lines to trace, 
 
 Or softer shades of Nature s face, 
 I view her common forms with unanoiuted eyes. 20 
 
 Nor mine the seer-like power to show 
 The secrets of the heart and mind ; 
 
 To drop the plummet-line below 
 
 Our common world of joy and woe, 
 A more intense despair or brighter hope to find. 25 
 
 Yet here at least an earnest sense 
 Of human right and weal is shown; 
 
 A hate of tyranny intense, 
 
 And hearty in its vehemence, 
 As if my brother s pain and sorrow were my own. 30 
 
 O Freedom ! if to me belong 
 Nor mighty Milton s gift divine, 
 
 Nor MarvelPs wit and graceful song, 
 
 Still with a love as deep and strong 
 As theirs, I lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine ! 35 
 
 Ichabod 
 
 So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 
 
 Which once he wore ! 
 The glory from his gray hairs gone 
 
 Fore verm ore ! 
 
294 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 5 Revile him not, the Tempter hath 
 
 A snare for all ; 
 
 And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 
 Befit his fall ! 
 
 Oh, dumb be passion s stormy rage, 
 10 When he who might 
 
 Have lighted up and led his age, 
 Falls back in night. 
 
 Scorn 1 would the angels laugh, to mark 
 
 A bright soul driven, 
 
 15 Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 
 
 From hope and heaven ! 
 
 Let not the land once proud of him 
 
 Insult him now, 
 
 Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, 
 20 Dishonored brow. 
 
 But let its humbled sons, instead, 
 
 From sea to lake, 
 A long lament, as for the dead, 
 
 In sadness make. 
 
 25 Of all we loved and honored, naught 
 
 Save power remains ; 
 A fallen angel s pride of thought, 
 Still strong in chains. 
 
 All else is gone ; from those great eyes 
 30 The soul has fled : 
 
 When faith is lost, when honor dies, 
 The man is dead ! 
 
 Then pay the reverence of old days 
 
 To his dead fame ; 
 
 35 Walk backward, with averted gaze, 
 
 And hide the shame! 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 295 
 
 Skipper Ireson s Ride 
 
 Of all the rides since the birth of time, 
 
 Told in story or sung in rhyme, 
 
 On Apuleius s Golden Ass, 
 
 Or one-eyed Calender s horse of brass, 
 
 Witch astride of a human back, 5 
 
 Islam s prophet on Al-Borak, 
 
 The strangest ride that ever was sped 
 
 Was Ireson s, out from Marblehead ! 
 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 10 
 
 By the women of Marblehead ! 
 
 Body of turkey, head of owl, 
 
 Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, 
 
 Feathered and ruffled in every part, 
 
 Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 15 
 
 Scores of women, old and young, 
 
 Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, 
 
 Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, 
 
 Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : 
 
 Here s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 20 
 
 Torr d an futherr d an corr d in a corrt 
 By the women o Morble ead ! 
 
 Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 
 
 Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, 
 
 Wild-eyed, and free-limbed, such as chase 25 
 
 Bacchus round some antique vase, 
 
 Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, 
 
 Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, 
 
 With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns twang, 
 
 Over and over the Maenads sang : 30 
 
 Here s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
 
 Torr d an futherr d an* corr d in a corrt 
 By the women o Morble ead ! 
 
296 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Small pity for him ! He sailed away 
 35 From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, 
 
 Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
 With his own town s-people on her deck ! 
 Lay by ! lay by ! they called to him. 
 Back he answered, Sink or swim ! 
 40 Brag of your catch of fish again ! 
 
 And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
 By the women of Marblehead ! 
 
 46 Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 
 
 That wreck shall lie forevermore. 
 Mother and sister, wife and maid, 
 Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 
 Over the moaning and rainy sea, 
 
 60 Looked for the coming that might not be ! 
 
 What did the winds and the sea-birds say 
 Of the cruel captain who sailed away ? 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
 
 55 By the women of Marblehead ! 
 
 Through the street, on either side, 
 Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; 
 Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, 
 Treble lent the fish-horn s bray. 
 
 60 Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 
 
 Hulks of old sailors run aground, 
 Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane, 
 And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 
 1 Here s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
 
 65 Torr d an futherr d an corr d in a corrt 
 
 By the women o Morble ead ! 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 297 
 
 Sweetly along the Salem road 
 
 Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. 
 
 Little the wicked skipper knew 
 
 Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 70 
 
 Riding there in his sorry trim, 
 
 Like an Indian idol glum and grim, 
 
 Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 
 
 Of voices shouting, far and near : 
 
 * Here s Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 75 
 
 Torr d an 1 f utherr d an corr d in a corrt 
 By the women o Morble ead ! 
 
 * Hear me, neighbors ! at last he cried, 
 
 * What to me is this noisy ride ? 
 
 What is the shame that clothes the skin 8 
 
 To the nameless horror that lives within ? 
 
 Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, 
 
 And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! 
 
 Hate me and curse me, I only dread 
 
 The hand of God and the face of the dead ! 86 
 
 Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 
 Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
 By the women of Marblehead 1 
 
 Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 
 
 Said, * God has touched him ! why should we ! * 90 
 
 Said an old wife mourning her only son, 
 
 Cut the rogue s tether and let him run ! 
 
 So with soft relentings and rude excuse, 
 
 Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 
 
 And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 95 
 
 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 ! 
 
298 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 My Playmate 
 
 The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, 
 Their song was soft and low ; 
 
 The blossoms in the sweet May wind 
 Were falling like the snow. 
 
 5 The blossoms drifted at our feet, 
 
 The orchard birds sang clear ; 
 The sweetest and the saddest day 
 It seemed of all the year. 
 
 For, more to me than birds or flowers, 
 10 My playmate left her home, 
 
 And took with her the laughing spring, 
 The music and the bloom. 
 
 She kissed the lips of kith and kin, 
 
 She laid her hand in mine : 
 
 15 What more could ask the bashful boy 
 
 Who fed her father s kine? 
 
 She left us in the bloom of May : 
 
 The constant years told o er 
 Their seasons with as sweet May morns, 
 20 But she came back no more. 
 
 I walk, with noiseless feet, the round 
 
 Of uneventful years ; 
 Still o er and o er I sow the spring 
 
 And reap the autumn ears. 
 
 25 She lives where all the golden year 
 
 Her summer roses blow; 
 The dusky children of the sun 
 Before her come and go. 
 
 There haply with her jewelled hands 
 30 She smooths her silken gown, 
 
 No more the homespun lap wherein 
 I shook the walnuts down. 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 299 
 
 The wild grapes wait us by the brook, 
 
 The brown nuts on the hill, 
 And still the May-day flowers make sweet 35 
 
 The woods of Follymill. 
 
 The lilies blossom in the pond, 
 
 The bird builds in the tree, 
 The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill 
 
 The slow song of the sea. 40 
 
 I wonder if she thinks of them, 
 
 And how the old time seems, 
 If ever the pines of Ramoth wood 
 
 Are sounding in her dreams. 
 
 I see her face, I hear her voice ; 45 
 
 Does she remember mine ? 
 And what to her is now the boy 
 
 Who fed her father s kine ? 
 
 What cares she that the orioles build 
 
 For other eyes than ours, 50 
 
 That other hands with nuts are filled, 
 
 And other laps with flowers ? 
 
 O playmate in the golden time ! 
 
 Our mossy seat is green, 
 Its fringing violets blossom yet, 55 
 
 The old trees o er it lean. 
 
 The winds so sweet with birch and fern 
 
 A sweeter memory blow; 
 And there in spring the veeries sing 
 
 The song of long ago. 60 
 
 And still the pines of Ramoth wood 
 
 Are moaning like the sea, 
 The moaning of the sea of change 
 
 Between myself and thee ! 
 
300 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Laus Deol 
 
 It is done ! 
 
 Clang of bell and roar of gun 
 Send the tidings up and down. 
 
 How the belfries rock and reel f 
 
 6 How the great guns, peal on peal,, 
 
 Fling the joy from town to town 1 
 
 Ring, O bells ! 
 Every stroke exulting tells 
 Of the burial hour of crime. 
 10 Loud and long, that all may hear,, 
 
 Ring for every listening ear 
 Of Eternity and Time ! 
 
 Let us kneel : 
 
 God s own voice is in that peal r 
 15 And this spot is holy ground. 
 
 Lord, forgive us 1 What are we,. 
 That our eyes this glory see, 
 That our ears have heard the sound !< 
 
 For the Lord 
 20 On the whirlwind is abroad ; 
 
 In the earthquake He has spoken ;. 
 He has smitten with his thunder 
 The iron walls asunder, 
 And the gates of brass are broken !-. 
 
 25 Loud and long 
 
 Lift the old exulting song ; 
 Sing with Miriam by the sea, 
 He has cast the mighty down ; 
 Horse and rider sink and drown ^ 
 
 30 * He hath triumphed gloriously ! * 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 301 
 
 Did we dare, 
 
 In our agony of prayer, 
 Ask for more than He has done? 
 
 When was ever his right hand 
 
 Over any time or land 36 
 
 Stretched as now beneath the sun ? 
 
 How they pale, 
 
 Ancient myth and song and tale, 
 In this wonder of our days, 
 
 When the cruel rod of war 40 
 
 Blossoms white with righteous law, 
 And the wrath of man is praise I 
 
 Blotted out ! 
 
 All within and all about 
 Shall a fresher life begin ; 45 
 
 Freer breathe the universe 
 
 As it rolls its heavy curse 
 On the dead and buried sin 1 
 
 It is done ! 
 
 In the circuit of the sun 50 
 
 Shall the sound thereof go forth. 
 
 It shall bid the sad rejoice, 
 
 It shall give the dumb a voice, 
 It shall belt with joy the earth 1 
 
 Ring and swing, 55 
 
 Bells of joy ! On morning s wing 
 Send the song of praise abroad ! 
 
 With a sound of broken chains 
 
 Tell the nations that He reigns, 
 Who alone is Lord and God ! QQ 
 
302 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 In School-days 
 
 Still sits the school -house by the road, 
 A ragged beggar sleeping ; 
 
 Around it still the sumachs grow, 
 And blackberry-vines are creeping. 
 
 5 Within, the master s desk is seen, 
 
 Deep scarred by raps official ; 
 The warping floor, the battered seats, 
 The jack-knife s carved initial ; 
 
 The charcoal frescoes on its wall ; 
 10 Its door s worn sill, betraying 
 
 The feet that, creeping slow to school, 
 Went storming out to playing! 
 
 Long years ago a winter sun 
 
 Shone over it at setting; 
 
 15 Lit up its western window-panes, 
 
 And low eaves icy fretting. 
 
 It touched the tangled golden curls, 
 And brown eyes full of grieving, 
 Of one who still her steps delayed 
 20 When all the school were leaving. 
 
 For near her stood the little boy 
 Her childish favor singled : 
 
 His cap pulled low upon a face 
 
 Where pride and shame were mingled, 
 
 25 Pushing with restless feet the snow 
 
 To right and left, he lingered ; 
 As restlessly her tiny hands 
 
 The blue-checked apron fingered. 
 
 He saw her lift her eyes ; he felt 
 30 The soft hand s light caressing, 
 
 And heard the tremble of her voice, 
 As if a fault confessing. 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 303 
 
 * I m sorry that I spelt the word : 
 
 I hate to go above you, 
 Because, the brown eyes lower fell, 35 
 
 * Because, you see, I love you ! 
 
 Still memory to a gray-haired man 
 
 That sweet child-face is showing. 
 Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave 
 
 Have forty years been growing ! 40 
 
 He lives to learn, in life s hard school, 
 
 How few who pass above him 
 Lament their triumph and his loss, 
 
 Like her, because they love him. 
 
 The Lost Occasion 
 
 Some die too late and some too soon, 
 
 At early morning, heat of noon, 
 
 Or the chill evening twilight. Thou, 
 
 Whom the rich heavens did so endow 
 
 With eyes of power and Jove s own brow, 5 
 
 With all the massive strength that fills 
 
 Thy home-horizon s granite hills, 
 
 With rarest gifts of heart and head 
 
 From manliest stock inherited, 
 
 New England s stateliest type of man, 10 
 
 In port and speech Olympian ; 
 
 Whom no one met, at first, but took 
 
 A second awed and wondering look 
 
 (As turned, perchance, the eyes of Greece 
 
 On Phidias unveiled masterpiece) ; 15 
 
 Whose words in simplest homespun clad, 
 
 The Saxon strength of Csedmon s had, 
 
 With power reserved at need to reach 
 
 The Roman forum s loftiest speech, 
 
 Sweet with persuasion, eloquent 20 
 
 In passion, cool in argument, 
 
304 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Or, ponderous, falling on thy foes 
 
 As fell the Norse god s hammer blows, 
 
 Crushing as if with Talus flail 
 
 25 Through Error s logic-woven mail, 
 
 And failing only when they tried 
 The adamant of the righteous side, 
 Thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved 
 Of old friends, by the new deceived, 
 
 30 Too soon for us, too soon for thee, 
 
 Beside thy lonely Northern sea, 
 Where long and low the marsh-lands spread, 
 Laid wearily down thy august head. 
 
 Thou shouldst have lived to feel below 
 
 35 Thy feet Disunion s fierce upthrow ; 
 
 The late-sprung mine that underlaid 
 Thy sad concessions vainly made. 
 Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter s wall 
 The star-flag of the Union fall, 
 
 40 And armed rebellion pressing on 
 
 The broken lines of Washington ! 
 No stronger voice than thine had then 
 Called out the utmost might of men, 
 To make the Union s charter free 
 
 45 And strengthen law by liberty. 
 
 How had that stern arbitrament 
 To thy gray age youth s vigor lent, 
 Shaming ambition s paltry prize 
 Before thy disillusioned eyes ; 
 
 50 Breaking the spell about thee wound 
 
 Like the green withes that Samson bound ; 
 Redeeming in one effort grand, 
 Thyself and thy imperilled land ! 
 Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, 
 
 55 O sleeper by the Northern sea, 
 
 The gates of opportunity 1 
 God fills the gaps of human need, 
 Each crisis brings its word and deed. 
 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 305 
 
 Wise men and strong we did not lack ; 
 
 But still, with memory turning back, 60 
 
 In the dark hours we thought of thee, 
 
 And thy lone grave beside the sea. 
 
 Above that grave the east winds blow, 
 
 And from the marsh-lands drifting slow 
 
 The sea-fog comes, with evermore 65 
 
 The wave-wash of a lonely shore, 
 
 And sea-bird s melancholy cry, 
 
 As Nature fain would typify 
 
 The sadness of a closing scene, 
 
 The loss of that which should have been. 70 
 
 But, where thy native mountains bare 
 
 Their foreheads to diviner air, 
 
 Fit emblem of enduring fame, 
 
 One lofty summit keeps thy name. 
 
 For thee the cosmic forces did 75 
 
 The rearing of that pyramid, 
 
 The prescient ages shaping with 
 
 Fire, flood, and frost thy monolith. 
 
 Sunrise and sunset lay thereon 
 
 With hands of light their benison, 80 
 
 The stars of midnight pause to set 
 
 Their jewels in its coronet. 
 
 And evermore that mountain mass 
 
 Seems climbing from the shadowy pass 
 
 To light, as if to manifest 85 
 
 Thy nobler self, thy life at best ! 
 
306 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 WALT WHITMAN * 
 
 A Child s Question 
 (From Song of Myself) 
 
 A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; 
 How could I answer the child ? I do not know what it is any more 
 than he. 
 
 I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green 
 stuff woven. 
 
 Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, 
 5 A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, 
 Bearing the owner s name someway in the corners, that we may 
 see and remark, and say Whose ? 
 
 Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the 
 vegetation. 
 
 Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, 
 
 And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, 
 10 Growing among black folks as among white, 
 
 Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I 
 receive them the same. 
 
 And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. 
 
 Tenderly will I use you curling grass, 
 It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, 
 15 It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, 
 
 It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon 
 
 out of their mothers laps, 
 And here you are the mothers laps. 
 
 1 The poems of Walt Whitman here printed are used by permission of 
 Messrs. Horace Traubel and Thomas B. Harned, the poet s executors. 
 Small, Maynard & Company are the authorized publishers of Whitman s 
 works. 
 
WALT WHITMAN 307 
 
 This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, 
 
 Darker than the colorless beards of old men, 
 
 Dark to come t rom under the faint red roofs of mouths. 20 
 
 I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, 
 
 And I perceive they do not not come from the roofs of mouths for 
 nothing. 
 
 1 wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and 
 women, 
 
 And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken 
 soon out of their laps. 
 
 What do you think has become of the young and old men ? 25 
 
 And what do you think has become of the women and children V 
 
 They are alive and well somewhere, 
 
 The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, 
 
 And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the 
 
 end to arrest it, 
 And ceas d the moment life appear d. 30 
 
 All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, 
 
 And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. 
 
 Mannahatta 
 
 I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, 
 Whereupon lo ! upsprang the aboriginal name. 
 
 Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, 
 
 musical, self-sufficient, 
 
 I see that the word of my city is that word from of old, 
 Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, 5 
 Rich, hemm d thick all around with sailships and steamships, an 
 
 island sixteen miles long, solid-founded, 
 
308 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, 
 light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, 
 
 Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, 
 
 The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, 
 
 the heights, the villas, 
 
 10 The countless masts, the white shore- steamers, the lighters, the 
 ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model d, 
 
 The down-town streets, the jobbers houses of business, the house* 
 of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the river- 
 streets, 
 
 Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week, 
 
 The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the 
 brown-faced sailors, 
 
 The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds 
 
 aloft, 
 
 15 The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river, 
 passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide. 
 
 The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form d, beautiful-faced 
 looking you straight in the eyes, 
 
 Trottoirs throng d, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and 
 shows, 
 
 A million people manners free and superb open voices hos 
 pitality the most courageous and friendly young men, 
 
 City of hurried and sparkling waters ! city of spires and masts 1 
 20 City nested in bays ! my city ! 
 
 Captain I My Captain! 
 
 O Captain 1 my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, 
 The ship has weather d every rack, the prize we sought is won, 
 The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
 While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring ; 
 5 But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 
 
 O the bleeding drops of red, 
 
 Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
WALT WHITMAN 309 
 
 O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; 
 
 Rise up for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills, 10 
 
 For you bouquets and ribbon d wreaths for you the shores 
 
 a-crowding, 
 
 For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; 
 Here Captain ! dear father ! 
 This arm beneath your head ! 
 
 It is some dream that on the deck, 15 
 
 You ve fallen cold and dead. 
 
 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, 
 My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will. 
 The ship is anchor d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, 
 From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won ; 20 
 
 Exult O shores, and ring O bells ! 
 But I with mournful tread, 
 
 Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 When Lilacs last in the Dooryard Bloom d 
 
 1 
 
 When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom d, 
 
 And the great star early droop d in the western sky in the night, 
 
 I mourn d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. 
 
 Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, 
 
 Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, 5 
 
 And thought of him I love. 
 
 O powerful western fallen star ! 
 
 O shades of night O moody, tearful night ! 
 
 O great star disappear d O the black murk that hides the star ! 
 
 O cruel hands that hold me powerless O helpless soul of me ! 10 
 
 O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. 
 
310 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 3 
 
 In the dooryard fronting au old farm-house near the white-wash d 
 
 palings, 
 Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of 
 
 rich green, 
 With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume 
 
 strong I love, 
 
 15 With every leaf a miracle and from this bush in the dooryard, 
 With delicate -color d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich 
 
 green, 
 A sprig with its flower I break. 
 
 In the swamp in secluded recesses, 
 
 A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. 
 
 20 Solitary the thrush, 
 
 The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, 
 Sings by himself a song. 
 
 Song of the bleeding throat, 
 
 Death s outlet song of life (for well dear brother I know, 
 25 If thou wast not granted to sing thou would st surely die.) 
 
 Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, 
 
 Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep d 
 
 from the ground, spotting the gray debris, 
 Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the 
 
 endless grass, 
 Passing the yellow-spear d wheat, every grain from its shroud in 
 
 the dark-brown fields uprisen, 
 
 30 Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards, 
 Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, 
 Night and day journeys a coffin. 
 
WALT WHITMAN 311 
 
 6 
 
 Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, 
 
 Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, 
 With the pomp of the inloop d flags with the cities draped in black, 35 
 With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil d women 
 
 standing, 
 
 With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, 
 With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the 
 
 unbared heads, 
 
 W T ith the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces, 
 With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising 
 
 strong and solemn, 40 
 
 With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour d around the 
 
 coffin, 
 The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs where amid 
 
 these you journey, 
 
 With the tolling tolling bells perpetual clang, 
 Here, coffin that slowly passes, 
 I give you my sprig of lilac. 46 
 
 9 
 
 Sing on there in the swamp, 
 
 singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, 
 
 1 hear, I come presently, I understand you, 
 
 But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain d me, 
 
 The star my departing comrade holds and detains me. 50 
 
 10 
 
 O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved ? 
 And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has 
 
 gone ? 
 And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love ? 
 
 Sea-winds blown from east and west, 
 
 Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till 
 there on the prairies meeting, 55 
 
312 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 These and with these and the breath of my chant, 
 I ll perfume the grave of him I love. 
 
 13 
 
 Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird, 
 
 Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the 
 
 bushes, 
 
 60 Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines. 
 Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song, 
 Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. 
 
 O liquid and free and tender ! 
 
 O wild and loose to my soul O wondrous singer ! 
 65 You only I hear yet the star holds rne (but will soon depart), 
 Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me. 
 
 14 
 
 From deep secluded recesses, 
 
 From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, 
 
 Came the carol of the bird. 
 
 70 And the charm of the carol rapt me, 
 
 As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, 
 And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. 
 
 Come lovely and soothing death, 
 
 Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, 
 75 In the day, in the night, to all, to each, 
 Sooner or later delicate death. 
 
 Prais d be the fathomless universe, 
 
 For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, 
 And for love, sweet love but praise ! praise I praise I 
 80 For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. 
 
WALT WHITMAN 313 
 
 Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, 
 
 Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? 
 
 Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, 
 
 I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. 
 
 Approach strong deliveress, 85 
 
 When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead, 
 Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, 
 Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death. 
 
 From me to thee glad serenades, 
 
 Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and f eastings for 
 
 thee, 90 
 
 And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting, 
 And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. 
 
 The night in silence under many a star, 
 
 The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, 
 And the soul turning to thee vast and well-veiled death, 95 
 
 And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. 
 
 Over the tree-tops I float thee a song, 
 
 Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the 
 
 prairies wide, 
 
 Over the dense-pack d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, 
 I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee death. 100 
 
 15 
 
 To the tally of my soul, 
 
 Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, 
 
 With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night. 
 
 Loud in the pines and cedars dim, 
 
 Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, 105 
 
 And I with my comrades there in the night. 
 
314 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 16 
 
 Passing the visions, passing the night, 
 
 Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades hands, 
 
 Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my 
 
 soul, 
 
 Victorious song, death s outlet song, yet varying ever-altering 
 110 song, 
 
 As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding 
 
 the night, 
 Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again 
 
 bursting with joy, 
 
 Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven, 
 As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses, 
 115 Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, 
 
 I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with 
 
 spring. 
 
 I cease from my song for thee, 
 
 From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing 
 
 with thee, 
 O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night. 
 
 120 Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, 
 The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, 
 And the tallying chant, the echo arous d in my soul, 
 With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of 
 
 woe, 
 With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the 
 
 bird, 
 
 Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, 
 125 for the dead I loved so well, 
 
 For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands and this 
 
 for his dear sake, 
 
 Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul, 
 There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim. 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 315 
 
 Come, said my Soul 
 COME, SAID MY SOUL, 
 
 SUCH VERSES FOR MY BODY LET US WRITE, (FOR WE ARE ONE), 
 
 THAT SHOULD I AFTER DEATH INVISIBLY RETURN, 
 
 OR, LONG, LONG HENCE, IN OTHER SPHERES, 
 
 THERE TO SOME GROUP OF MATES THE CHANTS RESUMING, 5 
 
 (TALLYING EARTH S SOIL, TREES, WINDS, TUMULTUOUS WAVES,) 
 
 EVER WITH PLEAS D SMILE i MAY KEEP ON, 
 
 EVER AND EVER YET THE VERSES OWNING AS, FIRST, I HERE 
 AND NOW, 
 
 SIGHING FOR SOUL AND BODY, SET TO THEM MY NAME, 
 
 WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 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, . 6 
 
 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 10 
 
 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), 16 
 
 4 There ll be the devil to pay. 
 
316 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 He took the paper, and I watched, 
 
 And saw him peep within ; 
 At the first line he read, his face 
 20 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. 
 
 25 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, 
 30 I watched that wretched man, 
 
 And since, I never dare to write 
 As funny as I can. 
 
 The Last Leaf 
 
 I saw him once before, 
 As he passed by the door, 
 
 And again 
 
 The pavement stones resound, 
 5 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, 
 
 10 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 
 16 Sad and wan, 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 317 
 
 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 20 
 
 In their bloom, 
 
 And the names he loved to hear 
 Have been carved for many a year 
 
 On the tornb. 
 
 My grandmamma has said 25 
 
 Poor old lady, she is dead 
 
 Long ago 
 
 That he had a Roman nose, 
 And his cheek was like a rose 
 
 In the snow; 30 
 
 But now his nose is thin, 
 And it rests upon his chin 
 
 Like a staff, 
 
 And a crook is in his back, 
 And a melancholy crack 35 
 
 In his laugh. 
 
 I know it is a sin 
 For me to sit and grin 
 
 At him here ; 
 
 But the old three-cornered hat, 49 
 
 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, 45 
 
 Let them smile, as I do now, 
 At the old forsaken bough 
 
 Where I cling. 
 
318 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 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 
 5 In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, 
 
 And coral reefs lie bare, 
 Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. 
 
 Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 
 
 Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 
 10 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 \ 
 
 15 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, 
 20 Built up its idle door, 
 
 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 ! 
 25 From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
 
 Than ever Triton 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, 
 30 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, 
 35 Leaving thine outgrown shell by life s unresting sea ! 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 319 
 
 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 happened without delay, 5 
 
 Scaring the parson into fits, 
 
 Frightening people out of their wits, 
 
 Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 
 
 Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. 
 
 Georgius Secundus was then alive, 7 
 
 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. 15 
 
 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, 20 
 
 In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, 
 
 In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, lurking still, 
 
 Find it somewhere you must and will, 
 
 Above or below, or within or without, 
 
 And that s the reason, beyond a doubt, 25 
 
 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 tell yeou ) 
 
 He would build one shay to beat the taown 
 
 *N* the keounty n all the kentry raoun ; 30 
 
 It should be so built that it could n break daown 
 
320 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Fur, said the Deacon, * t s mighty plain 
 Thut the weakes place mus stan the strain ; 
 f N* the way t fix it, uz I maintain, 
 35 Is only jest 
 
 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, 
 
 40 That was for spokes and floor and sills ; 
 
 He sent for lancewood to make the thills ; 
 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; 
 
 45 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 ; 
 
 50 Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, 
 
 Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 
 Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; 
 Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; 
 Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 
 
 55 Found in the pit when the tanner died. 
 
 That was the way he * put her through. 
 * There ! said the Deacon, naow she ll dew I 
 
 Do ! I tell you, I rather guess 
 She was a wonder, and nothing less ! 
 60 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 ! 
 
 65 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED ; it came and found 
 
 The Deacon s masterpiece strong and sound. 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 321 
 
 Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; 
 
 " Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. 
 
 Eighteen hundred and twenty came ; 
 
 Running as usual ; much the same. 70 
 
 Thirty and forty at last arrive, 
 
 And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. 
 
 Little of all we value here 
 
 Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 
 
 Without both feeling and looking queer. 75 
 
 In fact, there s nothing that keeps its youth, 
 
 So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 
 
 (This is a moral that runs at large ; 
 
 Take it. You re welcome. No extra charge.) 
 
 FIRST OF NOVEMBER, the earthquake-day, 80 
 
 There are traces of age in the one-boss 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 85 
 
 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, 90 
 
 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 ! 95 
 
 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. 100 
 
322 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 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, 
 
 105 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, 
 
 110 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 1 
 
 115 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, 
 120 Logic is logic. That s all I say. 
 
 Parson Turell s Legacy, or, the President s Old Arm-Chair 
 
 A Mathematical Story 
 
 Facts respecting an old arm-chair, 
 At Cambridge. Is kept in the College there. 
 Seems but little the worse for wear. 
 That s remarkable when I say 
 5 It was old in President Holyoke s day. 
 
 (One of his boys, perhaps you know, 
 Died, at one hundred, years ago.) 
 He took lodgings for rain or shine 
 Under green bed-clothes in 69. 
 
 10 Know old Cambridge ? Hope you do. 
 
 Born there ? Don t say so ! I was, too. 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 323 
 
 (Born in a house with a gambrel-roof, 
 
 Standing still, if you must have proof. 
 
 * Gambrel ? Gambrel ? Let me beg 
 
 You ll look at a horse s hinder leg, 15 
 
 First great angle above the hoof, 
 
 That s the gambrel : hence gambrel-roof.) 
 
 Nicest place that ever was seen, 
 
 Colleges red and Common green, 
 
 Sidewalks brownish with trees between. 20 
 
 Sweetest spot beneath the skies 
 
 When the canker-worms don t rise, 
 
 When the dust, that sometimes flies 
 
 Into your mouth and ears and eyes, 
 
 In a quiet slumber lies, 25 
 
 Not in the shape of unbaked pies 
 
 Such as barefoot children prize. 
 
 A kind of harbor it seems to be, 
 
 Facing the flow of a boundless sea. 
 
 Rows of gray old Tutors stand 30 
 
 Ranged like rocks above the sand; 
 
 Rolling beneath them, soft and green, 
 
 Breaks the tide of bright sixteen, 
 
 One wave, two waves, three waves, four, > 
 
 Sliding up the sparkling floor : 35 
 
 Then it ebbs to flow no more, 
 
 Wandering off from shore to shore 
 
 With its freight of golden ore ! 
 
 Pleasant place for boys to play ; 
 
 Better keep your girls away ; 40 
 
 Hearts get rolled as pebbles do 
 
 Which countless fingering waves pursue, 
 
 And every classic beach is strown 
 
 With heart-shaped pebbles of blood-red stone. 
 
 But this is neither here nor there ; 45 
 
 I m talking about an old arm-chair. 
 
324 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 You ve heard, no doubt, of PARSON TURELL ? 
 Over at Medf ord he used to dwell ; 
 Married one of the Mathers folk ; 
 
 50 Got with his wife a chair of oak, 
 
 Funny old chair with seat like wedge. 
 Sharp behind and broad front edge, 
 One of the oddest of human things, 
 Turned all over with knobs and rings, 
 
 55 But heavy, and wide, and deep, and grand, 
 
 Fit for the worthies of the land, 
 Chief Justice Sew all a cause to try in, 
 Or Cotton Mather to sit and lie in. 
 Parson Turell bequeathed the same 
 
 60 To a certain student, SMITH by name ; 
 
 These were the terms, as we are told : 
 Saide Smith saide Chaire to have and holde ; 
 When he doth graduate, then to passe 
 To y e oldest Youth in y Senior Classe. 
 
 65 On payment of (naming a certain sum) 
 
 By him to whom y e Chaire shall come ; 
 He to y e oldest Senior next, 
 And soe forever (thus runs the text), 
 * But one Crown lesse than he gave to claime, 
 
 70 That being his Debte for use of same. 
 
 Smith transferred it to one of the BROWNS, 
 
 And took his money, five silver crowns. 
 
 Brown delivered it up to MOORE, 
 
 Who paid, it is plain, not five, but four. 
 75 Moore made over the chair to LEE, 
 
 Who gave him crowns of silver three. 
 
 Lee conveyed it unto DREW, 
 
 And now the payment, of course, was two. 
 
 Drew gave up the chair to DUNN, 
 80 All he got, as you see, was one. 
 
 Dunn released the chair to HALL, 
 
 And got by the bargain no crown at all. 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 325 
 
 And now it passed to a second BROWN, 
 
 Who took it and likewise claimed a crown. 
 
 When Brown conveyed it unto WARE, 85 
 
 Having had one crown, to make it fair, 
 
 He paid him two crowns to take the chair ; 
 
 And Ware, being honest (as all Wares be), f 
 
 He paid one POTTER, who took it, three. 
 
 Four got ROBINSON ; five got Dix ; 90 
 
 JOHNSON primus demanded six; 
 
 And so the sum kept gathering still 
 
 Till after the battle of Bunker s Hill. 
 
 When paper money became so cheap, 
 
 Folks wouldn t count it, but said a heap, 95 
 
 A certain RICHARDS, the books declare 
 
 (A. M. in 90 ? I ve looked with care 
 
 Through the Triennial, name not there), 
 
 This person, Richards, was offered then 
 
 Eightscore pounds, but would have ten ; 100 
 
 Nine, I think, was the sum he took, 
 
 Not quite certain, but see the book. 
 
 By and by the wars were still, 
 
 But nothing had altered the Parson s will. 
 
 The old arm-chair was solid yet, 105 
 
 But saddled with such a monstrous debt ! 
 
 Things grew quite too bad to bear, 
 
 Paying such sums to get rid of the chair 1 
 
 But dead men s fingers hold awful tight, 
 
 And there was the will in black and white, 110 
 
 Plain enough for a child to spell. 
 
 What should be done no man could tell, 
 
 For the chair was a kind of nightmare curse, 
 
 And every season but made it worse. 
 
 As a last resort, to clear the doubt, 115 
 
 They got old GOVERNOR HANCOCK out. 
 
 The Governor came with his Lighthorse Troop 
 
 And his mounted truckmen, all cock-a-hoop ; 
 
326 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 Halberds glittered and colors flew, 
 120 French horns whinnied and trumpets blew, 
 
 The yellow fifes whistled between their teeth, 
 And the bumble-bee bass-drums boomed beneath; 
 So he rode with all his band, 
 Till the President met him, cap in hand. 
 125 The Governor hefted the crowns, and said, 
 
 * A will is a will, and the Parson s dead. 
 The Governor hefted the crowns. Said he, 
 4 There is your p int. And here s my fee. 
 These are the terms you must fulfil, 
 130 On such conditions I BREAK THE WILL ! 
 
 The Governor mentioned what these should be. 
 (Just wait a minute and then you ll see.) 
 The President prayed. Then all was still, 
 And the Governor rose and BROKE THE WILL ! 
 
 135 About those conditions? Well, now you go 
 
 And do as I tell you, and then you ll know. 
 Once a year, on Commencement day, 
 If you ll only take the pains to stay, 
 You ll see the President in the CHAIR, 
 
 140 Likewise the Governor sitting there. 
 
 The President rises ; both old and young 
 May hear his speech in a foreign tongue, 
 The meaning whereof, as lawyers swear, 
 Is this : Can I keep this old arm-chair ? 
 
 145 And then his Excellency bows, 
 
 As much as to say that he allows. 
 The Vice-Gub. next is called by name ; 
 He bows like t other, which means the same. 
 And all the officers round em bow 
 
 150 As much as to say that they allow. 
 
 And a lot of parchments about the chair 
 Are handed to witnesses then and there, 
 And then the lawyers hold it clear 
 That the chair is safe for another year. 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 327 
 
 God bless you, Gentlemen ! Learn to give 155 
 
 Money to colleges while you live. 
 
 Don t be silly and think you ll try 
 
 To bother the colleges when you die, 
 
 With codicil this, and codicil that, 
 
 That Knowledge may starve while Law grows fat ; 160 
 
 For there never was pitcher that wouldn t spill, 
 
 And there s always a flaw in a donkey s will ! 
 
 All Here 
 
 It is not what we say or sing, 
 
 That keeps our charm so long unbroken, 
 Though every lightest leaf we bring 
 
 May touch the heart as friendship s token ; 
 Not what we sing or what we say 5 
 
 Can make us dearer to each other ; 
 We love the singer and his lay, 
 
 But love as well the silent brother. 
 
 Yet bring whate er your garden grows, 
 
 Thrice welcome to our smiles and praises ; 10 
 
 Thanks for the myrtle and the rose, 
 
 Thanks for the marigolds and daisies ; 
 One flower ere long we all shall claim, 
 
 Alas ! unloved of Amaryllis 
 Nature s last blossom need I name 15 
 
 The wreath of threescore s silver lilies? 
 
 How many, brothers, meet to-night 
 
 Around our boyhood s covered embers ? 
 Go read the treasured names aright 
 
 The old triennal list remembers ; 20 
 
 Though twenty wear the starry sign 
 
 That tells a life has broke its tether, 
 The fifty-eight of twenty-nine 
 
 God bless THE BOYS ! are all together! 
 
328 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 25 These come with joyous look and word, 
 
 With friendly grasp and cheerful greeting, 
 Those smile unseen, and move unheard, 
 
 The angel guests of every meeting ; 
 They cast no shadow in the flame 
 30 That flushes from the gilded lustre, 
 
 But count us we are still the same ; 
 One earthly band, one heavenly cluster ! 
 
 Love dies not when he bows his head 
 
 To pass beyond the narrow portals, 
 35 The light these glowing moments shed 
 
 Wakes from their sleep our lost immortals ; 
 They come as in their joyous prime, 
 
 Before their morning days were numbered, 
 Death stays the envious hand of Time, 
 40 The eyes have not grown dim that slumbered ! 
 
 The paths that loving souls have trod 
 
 Arch o er the dust where worldlings grovel 
 High as the zenith o er the sod, 
 
 The cross above the sexton s shovel ! 
 45 We rise beyond the realms of day ; 
 
 They seem to stoop from spheres of glory 
 With us one happy hour to stray, 
 
 While youth comes back in song and story. 
 
 Ah ! ours is friendship true as steel 
 50 That war has tried in edge and temper ; 
 
 It writes upon its sacred seal 
 
 The priest s ubique omnes semper ! 
 It lends the sky a fairer sun 
 
 That cheers our lives with rays as steady 
 55 As if our footsteps had begun 
 
 To print the golden streets already ! 
 
 The tangling years have clinched its knot 
 Too fast for mortal strength to sunder ; 
 The lightning bolts of noon are shot; 
 60 No fear of evening s idle thunder ! 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 329 
 
 Too late ! too late ! no graceless hand 
 
 Shall stretch its cords in vain endeavor 
 To rive the close encircling band 
 
 That made and keeps us one forever ! 
 
 So when upon the fated scroll 65 
 
 The falling stars have all descended, 
 And, blotted from the breathing roll, 
 
 Our little page of life is ended, 
 We ask but one memorial line 
 
 Traced on thy tablet, Gracious Mother : 70 
 
 My children. Boys of 29. 
 
 In pace. How they loved each other ! 
 
 The Broomstick Train ; or, The Return of the Witches 
 
 Look out ! Look out, boys ! Clear the track ! 
 
 The witches are here ! They ve all come back ! 
 
 They hanged them high, No use ! No use 1 
 
 What cares a witch for a hangman s noose? 
 
 They buried them deep, but they wouldn t lie still, 5 
 
 For cats and witches are hard to kill ; 
 
 They swore they shouldn t and wouldn t die, 
 
 Books said they did, but they lie ! they lie 1 
 
 A couple of hundred years, or so, 
 
 They had knocked about in the world below, 10 
 
 When an Essex Deacon dropped in to call, 
 
 And a homesick feeling seized them all ; 
 
 For he came from a place they knew full well, 
 
 And many a tale he had to tell. 
 
 They longed to visit the haunts of men, 15 
 
 To see the old dwellings they knew again, 
 
 And ride on their broomsticks all around 
 
 Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. 
 
 In Essex county there s many a roof 
 
 Well known to him of the cloven hoof.- 20 
 
330 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 The small square windows are full in view 
 Which the midnight hags went sailing through, 
 On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, 
 Seen like shadows against the sky ; 
 25 Crossing the track of owls and bats, 
 
 Hugging before them their coal-black cats. 
 
 Well did they know, those gray old wives, 
 The sights we see in our daily drives : 
 Shimmer of lake and shine of sea, 
 
 30 Browne s bare hill with its lonely tree, 
 
 (It wasn t then as we see it now, 
 With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow ;) 
 Dusky nooks in the Essex woods, 
 Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes, 
 
 35 Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake 
 
 Glide through his forests of fern and brake ; 
 Ipswich River ; its old stone bridge ; 
 Far off Andover s Indian Ridge, 
 And many a scene where history tells 
 
 40 Some shadow of bygone terror dwells, 
 
 Of Norman s Woe with its tale of dread, 
 Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead, 
 (The fearful story that turns men pale : 
 Don t bid me tell it, my speech would fail.) 
 
 45 Who would not, will not, if he can, 
 
 Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann, 
 Rest in the bowers her bays enfold, 
 Loved by the sachems and squaws of old? 
 Home where the white magnolias bloom, 
 
 50 Sweet with the bayberry s chaste perfume, 
 
 Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea ! 
 Where is the Eden like to thee ? 
 For that couple of hundred years, or so, 
 There had been no peace in the world below; 
 
 55 The witches still grumbling, It isn t fair ; 
 
 Come, give us a taste of the upper air ! 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 331 
 
 We ve had enough of your sulphur springs, 
 
 And the evil odor that round them clings ; 
 
 We long for a drink that is cool and nice, 
 
 Great buckets of water with Wenham ice ; 60 
 
 We ve served you well up-stairs, you know ; 
 
 You re a good old fellow come, let us go ! 
 
 I don t feel sure of his being good, 
 
 But he happened to be in a pleasant mood, 
 
 As fiends with their skins full sometimes are 65 
 
 (He d been drinking with roughs at a Boston bar). 
 
 So what does he do but up and shout 
 
 To a graybeard turnkey, * Let ern out ! 
 
 To mind his orders was all he knew ; 
 
 The gates swung open, and out they flew. 70 
 
 * Where are our broomsticks ? the beldams cried. 
 
 * Here are your broomsticks, an imp replied. 
 
 * They ve been in the place you know so long 
 They smell of brimstone uncommon strong ; 
 
 But they ve gained by being left alone, 75 
 
 Just look, and you ll see how tall they ve grown. 
 
 * And where is my cat? a vixen squalled. 
 
 * Yes, where are our cats ? the witches bawled, 
 And began to call them all by name : 
 
 As fast as they called the cats, they came : 80 
 
 There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, 
 
 And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, 
 
 And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, 
 
 And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, 
 
 And many another that came at call, 85 
 
 It would take too long to count them all. 
 
 All black, one could hardly tell which was which, 
 
 But every cat knew his own old witch ; 
 
 And she knew hers as hers knew her, 
 
 Ah, didn t they curl their tails and purr I 90 
 
 No sooner the withered hags were free 
 
 Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree ; 
 
332 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 I couldn t tell all they did in rhymes, 
 But the Essex people had dreadful times. 
 95 The Swampscott fishermen still relate 
 
 How a strange sea-monster stole their bait; 
 How their nets were tangled in loops and knots, 
 And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. 
 Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops, 
 
 100 And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. 
 
 A blight played havoc with Beverly beans, 
 It was all the work of those hateful queans ! 
 A dreadful panic began at Pride s, 
 Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides,, 
 
 105 And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms 
 
 Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. 
 
 Now when the Boss of the Beldams found 
 
 That without his leave they were ramping round, 
 
 He called, they could hear him twenty miles, 
 
 110 From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; 
 
 The deafest old granny knew his tone 
 Without the trick of the telephone. 
 Come here, you witches ! Come here ! says he, 
 At your games of old, without asking me ! 
 
 115 I ll give you a little job to do 
 
 That will keep you stirring, you godless crew ? * 
 
 They came, of course, at their master s call, 
 The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all; 
 He led the hags to a railway train 
 
 120 The horses were trying to drag in vain. 
 
 Now, then, says he, you ve had your fun, 
 And here are the cars you ve got to run. 
 The driver may just unhitch his team, 
 We don t want horses, we don t want steam; 
 
 125 You may keep your old black cats to hug, 
 
 But the loaded train you ve got to lug. 
 
 Since then on many a car you ll see 
 A broomstick plain as plain can be; 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 333 
 
 On every stick there s a witch astride, 
 
 The string you see to her leg is tied. 130 
 
 She will do a mischief if she can, 
 
 But the string is held by a careful man, 
 
 And whenever the evil-minded witch 
 
 Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch. 
 
 As for the hag, you can t see her, 135 
 
 But hark ! you can hear her black cat s purr, 
 
 And now and then, as a car goes by, 
 
 You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye. 
 
 Often you ve looked on a rushing train, 
 
 But just what moved it was not so plain. 140 
 
 It couldn t be those wires above, 
 
 For they could neither pull nor shove ; 
 
 Where was the motor that made it go 
 
 You couldn t guess, but now you know. 
 
 Remember my rhymes when you ride again 145 
 
 On the rattling rail by the broomstick train I 
 
 The Episode of the Pie 
 (From The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table) 
 
 I will thank you for that pie, said the provoking 
 young fellow whom I have named repeatedly. He looked 
 at it for a moment, and put his hands to his eyes as if 
 moved. I was thinking, he said, indistinctly 
 
 How? What is t? said our landlady. 5 
 
 I was thinking said he who was king of England 
 when this old pie was baked, and it made me feel bad to 
 think how long he must have been dead. 
 
 [Our landlady is a decent body, poor, and a widow, of 
 course ; cela va sans dire. She told me her story once ; it 10 
 was as if a grain of corn that had been ground and bolted 
 had tried to individualize itself by a special narrative. 
 
334 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 There was the wooing and the wedding, the start in life, 
 the disappointment, the children she had buried, 
 
 15 the struggle against fate, the dismantling of life, first of 
 its small luxuries, and then of its comforts, the broken 
 spirits, the altered character of the one on whom she had 
 leaned, and at last the death that came and drew the 
 black curtain between her and all her earthly hopes. 
 
 20 I never laughed at my landlady after she had told me her 
 story, but I often cried, not those pattering tears that run 
 off the eaves upon our neighbors grounds, the stillicidium of 
 self-conscious sentiment, but those which steal noiselessly 
 through their conduits until they reach the cisterns lying 
 
 25 round about the heart ; those tears which we weep inwardly 
 with unchanging features; such I did shed for her often 
 when the imps of the boarding-house Inferno tugged at her 
 soul with their red-hot pincers.] 
 
 Young man, I said, the pasty you speak lightly of is 
 
 30 not old, but courtesy to those who labor to serve us, 
 especially if they are of the weaker sex, is very old, and yet 
 well worth retaining. The pasty looks to me as if it were 
 tender, but I know that the hearts of women are so. May I 
 recommend to you the following caution, as a guide, whenever 
 
 35 you are dealing with a woman, or an artist, or a poet ; if 
 you are handling an editor or a politician, it is superfluous 
 advice. I take it from the back of one of those little 
 French toys which contain pasteboard figures moved by a 
 small running stream of fine sand ; Benjamin Franklin will 
 
 40 translate it for you : " Quoiqu elle soit tr&s solidement 
 montee, il ne faut pas BRUTALISER la machine." I will 
 thank you for the pie, if you please. 
 
 (I took more of it than was good for me, as much as 
 85, I should think, and had an indigestion in consequence. 
 
 45 While I was suffering from it, I wrote some sadly despond 
 ing poems, and a theological essay which took a very 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 335 
 
 melancholy view of creation. When I got better, I labeled 
 them all " Pie-crust," and laid them by as scare-crows and 
 solemn warnings. I have a number of books on niy shelves 
 that I should like to label with some such title ; but, as 50 
 they have great names on their title-pages, Doctors of 
 Divinity, some of them, it wouldn t do.) 
 
 My Last Walk with the Schoolmistress 
 (From The Autocrat) 
 
 But all this has nothing to do with my walks and talks 
 with the schoolmistress. I did not say that I would not 
 tell you something about them. Let me alone, and I shall 
 talk to you more than I ought to, probably. We never tell 
 our secrets to people that pump for them. 5 
 
 Books we talked about, and education. It was her duty 
 to know something of these, and of course she did. Perhaps 
 I was somewhat more learned than she, but I found that 
 the difference between her reading and mine was like that 
 of a man s and a woman s dusting a library. The man flaps 10 
 about with a bunch of feathers ; the woman goes to work 
 softly with a cloth. She does not raise half the dust, nor 
 fill her own eyes and mouth with it, but she goes into all 
 the corners, and attends to the leaves as much as the 
 covers. Books are the negative pictures of thought, and 15 
 the more sensitive the mind that receives their images, the 
 more nicely the finest lines are reproduced. A woman, (of 
 the right kind,) reading after a man, follows him as Ruth 
 followed the reapers of Boaz, and her gleanings are often 
 the finest of the wheat. 20 
 
 But it was in talking of Life that we came most nearly 
 together. I thought I knew something about that, that 
 I could speak or write about it somewhat to the purpose. 
 
 To take up this fluid earthly being of ours as a sponge 
 
336 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 25 sucks up water, to be steeped and soaked in its realities 
 as a hide fills its pores lying seven years in a tan-pit, to 
 have winnowed every wave of it as a mill-wheel works up a 
 stream that runs through the flume upon its float-boards, 
 to have curled up in the keenest spasms and flattened out in 
 
 30 the laxest languors of this breathing-sickness which keeps 
 certain parcels of matter uneasy for three or four score 
 years, to have fought all the devils and clasped all the 
 angels of its delirium, and then, just at the point when 
 the white-hot passions have cooled down to cherry-red, 
 
 35 plunge our experience into the ice-cold stream of some 
 human language or other, one might think would end in a 
 rhapsody with something of spring and temper in it. All 
 this I thought my power and province. 
 
 The schoolmistress had tried life, too. Once in a while 
 
 40 one meets with a single soul greater than all the living 
 pageant that passes before it. As the pale astronomer sits 
 in his study with sunken eyes and thin fingers, and weighs 
 Uranus or Neptune as in a balance, so there are meek, slight 
 women who have weighed all that this planetary life can 
 
 45 offer, and hold it like a bauble in the palm of their slender 
 hands. This was one of them. Fortune had left her, sor 
 row had baptized her ; the routine of labor and the loneli 
 ness of almost friendless city-life were before her. Yet, as 
 I looked upon her tranquil face, gradually regaining a 
 
 50 cheerfulness that was often sprightly, as she became inter 
 ested in the various matters we talked about and places we 
 visited, I saw that eye and lip and every shifting lineament 
 were made for love, unconscious of their sweet office as 
 yet, and meeting the cold aspect of Duty with the natural 
 
 55 graces which were meant for the reward of nothing less 
 than the Great Passion. 
 
 I never spoke one word of love to the schoolmistress 
 in the course of these pleasant walks. It seemed to me that 
 
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 337 
 
 we talked of everything but love on that particular morning. 
 There was, perhaps, a little more timidity and hesitancy on 60 
 my part than I have commonly shown among the people at 
 the boarding-house. In fact, I considered myself the master 
 at the breakfast-table; but, somehow, I could not command 
 myself just then so well as usual. The truth is, I had 
 secured a passage to Liverpool in the steamer which was to 65 
 leave at noon, with the condition, however, of being re 
 leased in case circumstances occurred to detain me. The 
 schoolmistress knew nothing about all this, of course, as 
 yet. 
 
 It was on the Common that we were walking. The mall, 70. 
 or boulevard of our Common, you know, has various branches 
 leading from it in different directions. One of these runs 
 downward from opposite Joy Street southward across the 
 whole length of the Common to Boylston Street. We called 
 it the long path, and were fond of it. 75 
 
 I felt very weak indeed (though of a tolerably robust 
 habit) as we came opposite the head of this path on that 
 morning. I think I tried to speak twice without making 
 myself distinctly audible. At last I got out the question, 
 Will you take the long path with me ? Certainly, said 80 
 the schoolmistress, with much pleasure. Think, I 
 said, before you answer ; if you take the long path with 
 me now, I shall interpret it that we are to part no more ! 
 The schoolmistress stepped back with a sudden movement, 
 as if an arrow had struck her. 85 
 
 One of the long granite blocks used as seats was hard 
 by, the one you may still see close by the Gingko-tree. 
 Pray, sit down, I said. No, no, she answered, softly, 
 I will take the long path with you ! 
 
 The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walking, 90 
 arm in arm, about the middle of the long path, and said, 
 very charmingly, " Good morning, my dears ! " 
 
NOTES 
 
 IT is assumed that some handbook is used with these readings. 
 Hence, dates of composition and biographical details are not given 
 unless they have some important bearing on the passages quoted. If 
 no guide is in the hands of the student, some of the larger histories of 
 American literature should be available for reference such as Trent s 
 (Appleton), Richardson s (Putnams), and Wendell s (Scribners). 
 Words are not explained when satisfactory definitions may be found 
 in such volumes as Webster s Secondary- School Dictionary (American 
 Book Company) or the Concise Oxford. The first-named should be 
 in the possession of every reader who can not procure the International, 
 of which it is an abridgment. 
 
 SMITH. The student should bear in mind that the language of 
 Smith is in general the language of Shakspere s plays and of the 
 King James (or " Authorized ") version of the Bible. A glance at a 
 first edition of King Lear or Hamlet (or a facsimile reprint) will 
 show the same inaccuracy and inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, 
 capitalization, and as many obsolete words and idioms as are found in 
 Smith. For spelling, note desart (line 3), bredth (4), seazed (15), and 
 ceazed (39). Utterly reasonless punctuation and capitalization are 
 easily observed. For words and forms of expression no longer in good 
 use, note his (4), Noughts (8; "windings"), in (21; "by"), them 
 (28 ; " themselves"), admired (42; " wondered "). 
 
 7. vituals. The student should look up the etymology of "vict 
 uals " in some good dictionary. 10. light, lighted. The guns were 
 matchlocks. 11. peece, piece, firearm. 18. with, by ; frequent in 
 Elizabethan English. Cf The Tempest, II, ii, 112: "killed with a 
 thunderstroke." 21. By that, by the time that. 25. Supply 
 " fell " before short. 29. shot, shooting. 30. discovered, dis 
 
 closed. 34. minding, paying attention to. 40. the King, i.e., 
 Opechancanough. 42. as, that. 48. Supply after woods : "that 
 they were a party hunting deer." 51, The town is named in 112, 
 Easawrack. Its location is not clear. 52. onely, only. 54. ad- 
 
 339 
 
340 NOTES [pp. 2-17] 
 
 vertised, informed ; accented on the second syllable in the seventeenth 
 century. See Shakspere s 3 Henry VI, V, iii, 18. 59. bishion. 
 Probably a military term. 66. pound as plural, like " year," "mile," 
 and some other nouns of measure, is no longer good English. 
 70. points, cords to fasten hose and doublet. 72. wanted, lacked. 
 77. mischance, i.e., the capture of Smith. 85. Paspahegh, the dis 
 trict in which Jamestown was located ; here used for the town itself. 
 89. impossible, impossible. 92. Their intent, I incerted (for " in 
 serted"), of their intention I informed. 96. salvage, savage. 
 106. Youghtanan; now the Pamunkey. 107. Mattapament ; now 
 the Mattapony. 109. Pewhakan, misprint for Powhatan. 110. Fals, 
 on the James at what is now Richmond. 112. marsh, march. 
 
 STRACHEY. On Strachey s language see the general remarks on 
 Smith above. 1. St. James his day, old form for " St. James s day." 
 53. took down the braves, took away the courage. 66. made up, 
 came up. 72. bisket, old spelling of "biscuit." 88. spell, 
 relieve. 99. as, that. 104. whip-staff, obsolete for " tiller," the 
 lever by which the rudder is turned. 105. ceased, seized. 
 113. capstone, capstan. 116. all thoughts. . . else, then that, all other 
 thoughts except that. 120. remora, the sucking-fish, supposed to 
 attach itself to vessels and check their course. 123. A watch on 
 board ship is four hours, his, its, referring to "thing," the word " it " 
 being superfluous. Beginning of sentence, then, means: "One thing 
 does not fail of being wonderful." 
 
 WIGGLESWORTH. 1. Bar, judgment-seat (of Christ). 3. or ... or, 
 either ... or. 25. Nature was probably pronounced as an exact 
 rhyme with Creator. 
 
 BRADSTREET. 29-30. See Psalms, XIX, 5. 33. vegative (usually 
 spelled " vegetive "), showing little mental activity ; i.e., animals of a 
 low order. 66. Philomel, the nightingale. 
 
 BRADFORD. 2. pretty parts, accomplishments. 19. of, off. 
 21. livetenante, lieutenant. The common pronunciation to-day in 
 Great Britain is "lef tenant." 25. petiefogger, pettyfogger ; an un 
 scrupulous, incompetent lawyer. Furnefells Inne, Furnival s Inn ; 
 one of eight "Inns of Chancery," a sort of preparatory school for 
 law students who afterward entered the " Inns of Court." 55. The 
 floralia, or feasts of the goddess Flora, were celebrated with much 
 license. 
 
[pp. 18-29] NOTES 341 
 
 WINTHROP. Winthrop was a contemporary of Bradford ; but the 
 text m all modern editions of the former is, for some reason not ap 
 parent, modernized, while the only edition of Bradford s history, that 
 made by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, is a faithful reprint of 
 the original. 10. omnes, etc., we all grow worse by license. 41. let 
 us break their bands, etc. See Psalms, II, 3. 
 
 MATHER. 8. Patent, official grant of territory. 14. presently, 
 immediately. 29. almost as vernacular, almost as if it were his 
 native speech. 37. Anabaptism taught (1) that the baptism of in 
 fants is not sanctioned by the Bible; (2) that the church is composed 
 of those only who have been baptized upon a profession of faith ; and 
 (3) that there should be an entire separation of church and state. 
 55. mihi, etc., May a similar end of life fall to me ! 58. No/ueus, 
 etc., the shepherd and rearer of the human flock. See Plato s States 
 man, 268, A. 
 
 EDWARDS. 14 ff. The number of omissions in this selection (indi 
 cated by asterisks) is due to the fact that both Edwards s style and his 
 details are unimportant for the student s purposes. The ten "con 
 siderations " stated in barest form sufficiently characterize the man 
 himself and the greater portion of his hearers. 
 
 FRANKLIN. On Drunkenness. The series of Dogood Papers 
 appeared in Franklin s brother s paper, the Courant, with no indica 
 tion of authorship, and with no suspicion of the identity of the writer. 
 1. Quod est, etc.: What the sober man thinks, the drunken man 
 speaks. Franklin s free use of capitals and italics is reproduced here. 
 6. humane, human. 15. Bacchus, god of wine. 19. discover; see 
 note on Smith, 30. 24. Ponder is, of course, a fictitious personage. 
 33. my own sex. Recall that this is supposed to be written by a woman. 
 53. impertinence, matter having no connection with the subject in 
 hand. 77. froze, for "frozen," as also chose (80) for "chosen." 
 The preterit of strong verbs was formerly used freely for the past 
 participle. 
 
 Causes of the American Discontents, first published in The London 
 Chronicle, Jan. 7, 1768, pretends to have been written by an English 
 man. In our readings it is abridged by the omission of two passages 
 summarized in the note below. 66. In this paragraph Franklia 
 turns aside from this statement of facts for a characteristic bit of irony. 
 74. A passage omitted here recites in order the abuses from which the 
 
342 NOTES [pp. 30-45] 
 
 colonies had suffered the Stamp Act ; the act for quartering soldiers 
 in private houses; the act taking away the legislative powers, of the 
 New York colonial assembly; the imposition of new customs duties, 
 with a high-salaried British board to collect them, and to use them in 
 paying governors, judges, and other officials not appointed by the 
 colonies. 124. emptying our gaols. It was customary to send British 
 criminals to America, bound to service for a number of years, instead 
 of holding them in prison. (Cf. the next selection, 44-50.) 135. ad 
 libitum, at pleasure. 138. A passage omitted here sets forth that the 
 colonists have agreed to refrain from the use of taxed articles ; and 
 that they assert vigorously their loyalty to the king, while refusing 
 loyalty to a House of Commons in which they are not represented. 
 
 An Edict by the King of Prussia was published in The Gentleman s 
 Magazine (London), October, 1773. 29. these presents, this docu 
 ment. Legal term. 34. ad valorem, according to value. 54. stat 
 utes of, etc. Abbreviations signify the year of the reign of the mon 
 arch, and the chapter of the statutes of that year. E.g., the tenth and 
 eleventh years of William III, chapter 10. 71. Rechtmaessig, Ger 
 man, equivalent to " Fair-and-just. " 72. Jeux d Esprit, French, 
 meaning "humorous trifles " (singular, jeu.) 
 
 Whistle. 76. apples of King John. Apparently Franklin means 
 apples of Saint John, so called because they reached maturity about 
 Saint John s Day (May 6). " It is said they will keep for two years, 
 and are best when shriveled." (Brewer s Dictionary of Phrase and 
 Fable.) 
 
 HENRY. The genuineness of this speech has been questioned, but 
 to the present editor the evidence against it seems not worth repeat 
 ing. 39. election, choice. 
 
 OTIS. The extract gives all the information necessary to under 
 stand the nature, issuance, and execution of the writs. 28. 14 
 Charles II. See note on Edict by the King of Prussia, 54. 
 
 PAINE. 64. Howe, British commander. 
 
 WASHINGTON. It is perhaps hardly necessary to remind the student 
 that Washington was first inaugurated on April 30, 1789, in New York 
 City. 6. retreat, Mount Vernon on the Potomac. 
 
 JEFFERSON. The Summary View was offered by Jefferson as suit 
 able instructions for the Virginia delegates to the First Continental 
 
[pp. 45-56] NOTES 343 
 
 Congress. Regarded as extreme, they were rejected. Later in the 
 year ttie document was printed at Williamsburg, Virginia, by friends 
 of the author. 
 
 HAMILTON. 74. Montesquieu, French writer of the eighteenth 
 century on political science. His most important work, The Spirit of 
 Laws, influenced greatly the writings on the American Constitution. 
 
 WOOLMAN. Woolman s Journal was not written for publication, 
 and was not published until after his death. The entire work is now 
 accessible in several cheap editions, and makes an interesting study, 
 especially when compared with Franklin s Autobiography. The ex 
 tract given is from Chapter IV. 1. This [province], Maryland. 
 15. Thou shalt not. Exodus, XXIII, 8. 16. As the disciples, etc. 
 See Matthew, X, 10. 26. Society, the Religious Society of Friends ; 
 also called Quakers. 36. esteemed before myself, thought better than 
 myself. 38. the prophet, Moses. See Numbers, XI, 15. 47. My 
 soul. Psalms, CXXXI, 2. 74. The 7th day of the fifth month. 
 Friends still number the months and the days of the week instead 
 of naming them. " Saturday, July fourth " would be expressed 
 in "Friendly" style, "Seventh Day, Seventh Month, Fourth." 
 80. Yearly Meeting. A single congregation of Friends is called a 
 Monthly Meeting; the Monthly Meetings within a limited territory 
 constitute a Quarterly Meeting ; a number of Quarterly Meetings unite 
 in a Yearly Meeting. In the United States there are eleven Yearly 
 Meetings of the "Orthodox" branch of Friends, and seven of the 
 " Liberal " branch. In the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting of the latter 
 nine Quarterly Meetings are included. 85. Port Eoyal, a town on 
 the Rappahannock in eastern Virginia. 
 
 HOPKINSON. The Battle of the Kegs, sung to the tune of u Yankee 
 Doodle," was immensely popular during the Revolution. 
 
 ANONYMOUS REVOLUTIONARY SONGS. Paul Jones. 1. Buccaneer, 
 pirate. Jones is so called because of the irregular character of his 
 commission and indeed of the whole colonial navy. 12. Alfred, 
 first ship commanded by Jones. Hopkins, Admiral Esek ; commander 
 of the first fleet sent out by the colonies. 15-16. The first American 
 flag was raised on the Alfred by Jones in 1776. On it was a pine tree, 
 with a coiled rattlesnake at its feet, and the motto, " Don t tread on 
 me." 21-22. On September 23, 1779, the British ship Serapis sur 
 rendered to the Bonhomme (Good-Man) Eichard, in command of 
 
344 NOTES [pp. 57-66] 
 
 Jones, off Flamborough Head, east coast of England. For an interest 
 ing imaginative presentation of John Paul Jones, read Cooper s The 
 Pilot. 
 
 Eiflemen s Song. At Bennington, Vermont, August 15-16, 1777, 
 the British and Hessians were utterly routed by the Americans under 
 Colonel John Stark. We are told that when the enemy came in sight, 
 Stark said : There are the red-coats. We must beat them to-day 
 or Molly Stark s a widow." 
 
 (A large number of interesting Revolutionary poems and songs may 
 be found in Poems of American History, edited by B. E. Stevenson ; 
 published by Houghton Mifflin Co.) 
 
 TRUMBULL. McFingal. The student should see a summary or 
 outline of the entire poem in some history. Canto III, 1. pole, the 
 "Liberty Pole." McFingal called it a " May-pole of sedition." Canto 
 IV, 4. beneath their nose. " This, during the American war, was a 
 fashionable phrase with the British. No officer, who had a lucky 
 escape, failed of stating in his report, that he made a grand retreat 
 under the very nose of the enemy." (Trumbull s note.) 5. the 
 window, of the cellar where the Tories were meeting. 12. Lot. 
 See Genesis, XIX, 12-26. 13. North, British Prime Minister. 
 15. phantom of Independence. " On the Declaration of Independ 
 ence, the ministerial speakers in Parliament amused themselves by 
 calling it, the phantom of independence. The wit was echoed by their 
 newspapers." (Trumbull s note.) 
 
 BARLOW. Vision of Columbus. In this poem (in nine books) 
 Columbus is represented as seeing from a hill the future greatness of 
 America. 11-12. In 1753-1754 Washington gained distinction in a 
 campaign against the French at the headwaters of the Ohio, the 
 beginning of the French and Indian War. 16-17. Forty-four lines 
 omitted here give a catalogue of Washington s lieutenants. 
 31. Charlestown, then a suburb of Boston; now a part of the 
 city. 32. Champlain, the lake in northeastern New York. 
 
 GODFREY. Prince of Parthia. The scene given shows one of the 
 leading motives of the play the love of the brothers, Princes Arsaces 
 and Vardanes, for Evanthe, a beautiful captive. Arsaces, the 
 heroine s choice, has by Vardanes s schemes been imprisoned ; and 
 the latter threatens that, unless she look upon his suit with favor, her 
 beloved will be puv xo death. 
 
[pp. 68-73] NOTES 345 
 
 FRENEAU. A Political Litany (also called Emancipation from 
 British Dependence}. Written in 1775. One of the earliest expres 
 sions in print of the sentiment for absolute independence of the 
 colonies. Title: the form of the poem imitates the Litany of the 
 Episcopal church. 1. Libera, etc. The Litany contains eight peti 
 tions beginning "From," and concluding with the response of the 
 congregation, " Good Lord, Deliver Us." 7. St. James s, the 
 English Court ; here meaning the government. 13. Wallace, Sir 
 James, and Graves, Baron Thomas, British admirals. Two British 
 warships were named Viper and Hose ; Wallace commanded the 
 Hose in 1771-1776. 15. Dunmore, last royal governor of the colony 
 of Virginia, 1772-1776. 17. Montague, Sir George, British naval 
 officer. 23. Tryon, William, last royal governor of New York. 
 27. North. See note on McFingal, IV, 13. 28. King Log, about 
 equal to " King Worthless." See note, page 355, for the story from 
 which the expression comes. 
 
 Eutaw Springs. " To the Memory of the Brave Americans under 
 General Greene, in South Carolina, who Fell in the Action of 
 September 8, 1781, at Eutaw Springs" (full title). Line 20 of this 
 poem Scott thought good enough to appropriate with the change of 
 a single word. In the Introduction to Canto III of Marmion, Scott 
 has: 
 
 " They snatched the spear but left the shield." 
 
 IRVING. Character of Peter Stuyvesant. 2. Wouter Van Twiller 
 was the first of the Dutch governors. In 59 the English equivalent of 
 his name is given Walter the Doubter. 9. spinsters, female spin 
 ners. Of the three fates, Clotho spins the thread of life, Lachesis 
 twists it, Atropos cuts it. 13. Ajax Telamon was " the bulwark of 
 the Greeks," of "immeasurable strength," and his buckler was "like 
 a rampart." See the Iliad, Bryant s translation, Book VII, lines 
 211-411. 16. Atlas was one of the Titans, who, after the defeat of 
 his party by Jupiter, was compelled to bear the heavens on his shoul 
 ders. Hercules agreed to bear Atlas s load while the latter did him a 
 favor. 17. Coriolanus, a Roman military leader of the fifth century 
 B.C. Plutarch wrote parallel lives of great Greeks and Romans, from 
 which Shakspere got the materials for his Greek and Roman plays. 
 Note 1. Josselyn and Blome were Englishmen who visited America 
 in the late seventeenth century and wrote some very absurd things 
 about the country. 35. choleric Achilles. The real subject of the 
 
346 NOTES [pp. 73-99] 
 
 Iliad is the " wrath of Achilles." His rages and frequent refusals to 
 fight are responsible for most of the Greeks troubles. 39. Peter the 
 Great, Czar of Russia, beginning of eighteenth century. 41. Plato, 
 Aristotle, Greek philosophers ; Hobbes, Bacon, English philosophers ; 
 Sydney (or Sidney), English statesman and political scientist ; Paine. 
 see above, pages 40-42. 50. Wilhelmus Kieft, or William the Testy 
 (60), governor after Wouter Van T wilier. 66. wanted, lacked. 
 
 Tom Walker. 160. persecutions. During the seventeenth century 
 these sects were severely persecuted in Massachusetts. Roger 
 Williams led a number of Baptists to Rhode Island, where they not 
 only "worshipped God according to their own belief," but allowed all 
 men to do so. A tract entitled The Wrongs of the Quakers (1660), 
 by Edward Burrough, an English Quaker (printed in Hart s American 
 History Toldby Contemporaries, Vol. I, pp. 404-6) ; and Hawthorne s 
 imaginative presentation of the same in The Gentle Soy (in Twice 
 Told Tales ), will give the student a most interesting bit of "parallel 
 reading." 332. rhino, slang for "money." 348. Eldorado, land 
 of gold or immense wealth. 373. change, the stock exchange. 
 
 BRYANT. Thanatopsis. The title is from two Greek words mean 
 ing " a view of death." 12. the narrow house, the grave. 17. Tet 
 a few days. The poem as first published began with these words. 
 28. the rude swain, etc. Cf. Hamlet, V, i, 83 ff. 51. Barcan 
 wilderness, in northern Africa. 66. bed with thee. Poem as first 
 published ended here. 
 
 Waterfowl. This poem is a meditation on an actual flight of a 
 bird observed by the poet. 10. marge, poetic word for " margin." 
 
 Forest Hymn. 3. architrave, in classical architecture, that part 
 of a building which rests directly on the capitals of the pillars. 
 5. vault, in Gothic architecture, the arch which itself forms the 
 roof or supports a separate roof. 11. stilly, poetic word. 26-28. See 
 Genesis, I, 11-12. 45. instinct (accented on second syllable), filled. 
 
 Death of the Flowers. 25 ff. These lines refer to the poet s 
 beloved sister, who had died the year before. 
 
 Fringed Gentian. Cf . Wordsworth s four poems on the daisy and 
 three on the celandine. 
 
 Gladness of Nature. One of the few nature-poems of Bryant 
 which have no moral. Not seldom it seems very loosely joined to 
 the poem, as in To the Fringed Gentian and To a Waterfowl; but 
 for Bryant the moral was always just as real and just as iinpor- 
 
[pp. 103-123] NOTES 347 
 
 tant as the rest of his meditation the description of the natural 
 object. 
 
 COOPER. Ariel and Alacrity. The scene of most of The Pilot 
 is the northeastern coast of England ; the time, December, 1778. 
 1. English cutter, the Alacrity. 7. Barnstable, commander of 
 the American schooner Ariel. 12. The cockswain, "Long Tom" 
 Coffin, is one of the notable characters of English fiction, worthy to 
 rank with Cooper s two other creations Leather-Stocking and 
 Harvey Birch. 9. in the wind s eye, against the wind. 40. bolt- 
 ropes, ropes stitched to the edge of sails. 66. his namesake, the 
 cannon, called "Long Tom." 75. long bowls, a game somewhat 
 like tenpins. 79. dub, trim. Trimming a gamecock for a fight is 
 called "dubbing." 114. curmudgeon is hardly a suitable name 
 for the boy ; but Tom s anger is not very accurate in expressing 
 itself. Besides, he probably did not know the meaning of the word, 
 but attached it to his vocabulary as a good " mouth-filling " term of 
 abuse. 181. soldiers. A party of British troopers were watching 
 the contest from the cliff. 260. Merry, the boy who earlier had so 
 stirred Tom s anger. 
 
 HALLECK. Marco Bozzaris. 13. Suliote, native of Suli in 
 Epirus, where Bozzaris was born. 16. Persian ; probably Xerxes 
 is meant, though the Persian commander defeated at Platcea was 
 Mardonius. When this battle was fought, Xerxes had returned to 
 Persia, after his own defeat in the sea fight of Salamis. 38. Moslem, 
 Mohammedan. 75. Indian isles, the West Indies. 76. Genoese, 
 Columbus. 
 
 CALHOUN. 18. twenty-four sovereign powers. The debate be 
 tween Calhoun and Webster took place in 1833. 61-62. Calhoun s 
 last prediction has come true ; for we have chairs of political science 
 everywhere, and not a few " schools of diplomacy." 
 
 WEBSTER. If time serves, the study of Calhoun and Webster here 
 might well be preceded by at least a rapid reading of the debate three 
 years earlier between Robert Y. Hayne and Webster. 43. gloss, 
 marginal note. 72. Mirabeau, French statesman of the Revolution. 
 He and Napoleon are commonly regarded as the greatest figures 
 who appeared in that momentous period. 107 ff. The student 
 would do well to follow Webster s argument with a good American 
 history or better, with two histories, one written from Webster s 
 
348 NOTES [pp. 125-137] 
 
 point of view, the other from Calhoun s. Even H. C. Lodge, how. 
 ever, Webster s biographer and. certainly in sympathy with his sub- 
 ject, says that the Massachusetts statesman s argument was histori 
 cally unsound. 
 
 LINCOLN. Showing His Hand. New Salem was in Sangamon 
 County, Illinois. Lincoln at the time of this letter was serving his 
 first term in the legislature. Hugh L. White was the candidate of 
 the Whig party. 
 
 Speech Leaving Springfield. If we had nothing of Lincoln s but 
 this, there would be slight ground for questioning his religion, as 
 has frequently been done. 
 
 Gettysburg Address. This speech was delivered at the dedication 
 of the national cemetery at Gettysburg a few months after the great 
 battle. 
 
 TIMROD. A Cry to Arms. The second of Thnrod s remarkable 
 series of poems growing out of incidents of the war. The first was 
 Ethnogenesis. 6. byre, cowhouse, cot, cottage, i.e., home. 
 
 Flower-Life. 41. Sibyl-leaves, valuable fragmentary writings 
 easily scattered or lost. 
 
 HAYNE. Beauregard s Appeal. Early in 1862 General Beaure- 
 gard appealed to the people of the Mississippi valley to give up planta 
 tion-bells to be moulded into cannon. Not only was this request 
 granted: churches gave up their bells, and women offered brass 
 candlesticks and andirons. 
 
 Forgotten. 29. Supply " that " before " Its." 
 
 Axe and Pine. This poem and Poets are excellent examples of 
 the sonnet, a form in which few poets have been strikingly success 
 ful. Longfellow is the greatest American sonnet-writer. For a satis 
 factory brief treatment of the sonnet, see Corson, Primer of English 
 Verse, Chapter X. 
 
 Poets will repay careful study of substance as well as of form. 
 
 POE. To Helen. Of this poem Lowell said : " There is a little 
 dimness in the filling up, but the grace and symmetry of the outline 
 are such as few poets ever attain. . . . The melody of the whole, 
 too, is remarkable. It is not of that kind which can be demonstrated 
 arithmetically upon the tips of the fingers. It is of that finer sort 
 which the inner ear alone can estimate. It seems simple, like a 
 Greek column, because of its perfection." 2. Nicean, Poe prob- 
 
[pp. 138-148] NOTES 349 
 
 ably used this word with no definite place in mind, merely suggesting 
 something distant. So the wanderer of line 4, though some have 
 thought it an allusion to Ulysses, is perhaps not meant to indicate 
 any man in particular. 7. hyacinth here means simply "beau 
 tiful." It was a favorite epithet with the poet. 8. The Naiads 
 were nymphs who presided over fountains, lakes, brooks, and wells. 
 9-10. These lines originally read : 
 
 " To the beauty of fair Greece, 
 And the grandeur of old Rome." 
 
 It would be a good exercise to find out how the revision is an im 
 provement. 14. Psyche, the soul. Cf. Ulalume, line 12. 
 
 Israfel. 5. giddy, whirling rapidly. 12. levin, lightning. 
 
 23. skies is the object of trod. 45-51. The thought of this stanza 
 the influence of environment on what one accomplishes is ex 
 pressed elsewhere by Poe. 
 
 Haunted Palace. Poe explained that the haunted palace sym 
 bolizes " a mind haunted by phantoms." In a letter he asserted 
 that Longfellow s Beleaguered City (page 204) was taken from this 
 poem, claiming that even the versification was copied. The student 
 might well compare the two to see how far Poe s charge was justified. 
 9-10. These lines show Poe s careful choice of words for their sound 
 value. Note also The Haven, 13, 71, Ulalume, 5, 18-19, Annabel 
 Lee, 34. He was fond of words containing long vowels and sus 
 tainable consonants. 22. Porphyrogene, born to the purple. 
 
 Raven. See first note on Short-Story below. 10. Poe used the 
 name Lenore in several other places. Others that he used, to some 
 extent at least for their sound value, are "Eleonora," "Berenice," 
 " Morella." 41. Pallas, or Minerva, goddess of wisdom ; a suitable 
 bust for a student s room, said Poe. 89. Balm in Gilead. See 
 Jeremiah, VIII, 22. 93. Aidenn, a variant of "Eden"; here it 
 means any delightful place. 101. Here it becomes apparent, says 
 Poe, that the raven is "emblematical of Mournful and Never-ending 
 Remembrance. 1 
 
 Annabel Lee is supposed to have been inspired by the memory of 
 the poet s child- wife. 
 
 Ulalume. N. P. Willis, friend and admirer of Poe, said that 
 this poem is " full of beauty and oddity in sentiment and versifica 
 tion, but a curiosity (and a delicious one, we think) in philologic 
 flavor." Professor Pattee thinks its meaning is perfectly clear it 
 
350 NOTES [pp. 149-169] 
 
 is an allegory "the epitome of Foe s last years" ; "the marvelous 
 repetition . . . shows that the poet s mind was in a state almost oi 
 collapse." See the Chautauquan, Vol. 31, pp. 182-186 (May, 1900). 
 Pattee expounds the " allegory " in great detail, but is not altogether 
 convincing. 
 
 Morella. 8. Eros, love. 20. Presburg, ancient capital of Hun 
 gary, and one of its finest cities. 45. Hinnon became the Gehenna. 
 Before being defiled by Josiah (see 2 Kings, XXIII, 10) the valley 
 of Hinnon south of Jerusalem formed part of the royal gardens. 
 53. Pantheism, etc. It would be quite useless for the student to 
 attempt to understand even the names here. They are given merely 
 as specimens of abstruse philosophies. 58. Locke, John; chief 
 work, Essay on the Human Understanding. 118. Pcestum, ancient 
 Greek city of Lucania (southern part of Italy). 119. play the 
 Teian with time seems to mean " enjoy a care-free sort of existence." 
 The Teian is probably put for Anacreon, the Greek lyric poet, who 
 was born at Teos in Ionia. He wrote many poems in praise of love 
 and wine, and was a favorite at the courts of several rulers. 175. A 
 lustrum (plural, lustra ) is five years. 
 
 Short-Story. The theory of poetry set forth in the first para 
 graph here Poe repeated in many places. One of the most interesting 
 for the young student is The Philosophy of Composition, which 
 purports to tell how The Haven was composed. (The essay may be 
 had in several cheap editions.) 28. De Beranger, a French poet 
 prominent in Poe s day. 34. In medio, etc. ; A happy medium is 
 safest. 79. tales of ratiocination, tales in which acute reasoning is 
 used ; sometimes spoken of as analytical tales. The best examples 
 are Poe s own The Gold- Bug, The Purloined Letter, Murders in the 
 Eue Morgue. Sir Conan Doyle s stories of Sherlock Holmes are later 
 examples of the same kind. The models for these, by the way, Doyle 
 unhesitatingly asserted were Poe s tales just mentioned. 91. par 
 parenthese, parenthetically. 
 
 HAWTHORNE. May-Pole. See the reading from Bradford, page 
 15. 70. Comus, god of mirth. See Milton s masque. 98. Clerk 
 of Oxford, minister educated at Oxford University. 195. St. 
 John s Day is Dec. 27. 300. Endicott, colonial governor of Massa 
 chusetts, severe in his treatment of "heretics." He figures also in 
 another of the Twice Told Tales Endicott and the Red Cross. 
 303. Blackstone, the clerk of line 98. 328. Ancient, standard bearer. 
 
[pp. 172-189] NOTES 351 
 
 Drowne s Wooden Image. 10. Fayal, one of the Azores islands 
 (pronounced Fl-aT). 30. Neptune, god of the sea. 38. When the 
 story has been completed, it would be interesting to discuss what 
 was Hunnewell s "secret"; also the "mystery in the carver s 
 conduct" (110). 63. Parian, from Paros, one of the Cyclades, a 
 group of islands in the JEgean Sea. Carrara, a city of Tuscany, 
 Italy. 68. Galen (second century A.D.), and Hippocrates (fifth 
 century B.C.), famous Greek physicians. The latter was called the 
 "father of medicine." 129. hamadryad, in classical mythology, a 
 nymph whose life is bound up with that of her tree. 151. What 
 a wide distinction, etc. This thought is expressed in several other 
 places by Hawthorne e.g., in The Marble Faun, Chapter XIII, and 
 in the Italian Note-Book, under Feb. 14, 1858. 205. Pygmalion, a 
 mythological sculptor who made a statue of Galatea, with which he 
 fell in love, and which, in response to his prayer, Venus endowed with 
 life. 425. witch times. The famous witch-trials took place in Salein 
 in 1692-1693. 448. statuary, sculptor. 471. Province House, home 
 of the colonial governors of Massachusetts. See Hawthorne s descrip 
 tion of it at the beginning of Howe s Masquerade, in Twice Told Tales. 
 
 MOTLEY. William, Prince of Orange and Count of Nassau, called 
 "the Silent" (1533-1584), was the founder of the Dutch Kepublic. 
 The tour described took place in August, 1577. 2. little provinces, 
 i.e., the fifteen states which with Holland and Zealand had united in 
 the Pacification of Ghent to drive out the Spaniards. The Pacification 
 had been signed in November preceding William s tour. 5. Father 
 William. Since the union of the provinces was due more to William s 
 efforts than to any one else s, he was very appropriately called the 
 father of his country. 16. states-general, the "Congress" of the 
 provinces. Don John [of Austria], youngest son of Charles V of 
 Spain, and half-brother of Philip II. His mother was a peasant of 
 low birth. Philip appointed him governor of the Netherlands in 1576. 
 36. seizure ofNamur Castle, by Don John. As the commandant came 
 out to welcome the governor, he was arrested, and the entire garrison, 
 composed of old men, turned out. 38. John Taffin, an eminent minis 
 ter of the Eeformed Church ; Philip Marnix, Baron Saint Aldegonde. 
 Both were devoted adherents of William. 64. treaty of Marche en 
 Famine, also called the " Perpetual Edict," an agreement between Don 
 John and the little provinces Holland and Zealand, under William s 
 influence, refusing to sign. In less than a year the states-general de- 
 
352 NOTES [pp. 189-206] 
 
 clared that Don John (who had wisely fled) was no "longer an officei 
 of the country, and was really its enemy. 73. Escovedo, Juan, 
 a Spaniard, close friend of Don John. 118. The convention of 
 "Satisfaction," which granted William s demands for religious tolera 
 tion, was signed about two months after his visit. 126. episcopal 
 city, seat of a bishop. The bishopric of Utrecht dates from the eighth 
 century. 144. ancient church, the Roman Catholic. 
 
 EMERSON. Ehodora. 11-12. The lines answer the question 
 heading the poem. 
 
 Concord Hymn. The battle of Lexington and Concord took place 
 April 19, 1775. 
 
 Humble-See. 16. Epicurean, one who believes that pleasure is 
 the chief aim of life. 
 
 Terminus. When he wrote this poem (1867), he realized that 
 * his working days were nearly done," says his son, Dr. E. W. 
 Emerson. 28. Baresark, or "berserk," a Scandinavian warrior 
 who fought without armor. 
 
 Nature of Government. The cutting from Lowell s essay (page 
 252) should be given at least a rapid reading before reading this of 
 Emerson s. 17-18. These two short sentences are typical of Emer 
 son. They furnish food for much thought, yet it is doubtful whether 
 we ever get from them his full meaning. 56. The essay on Politics 
 was published in 1844, but contained portions of a lecture given in 
 1836. The student should find out what was the political situation 
 in the United States in those years. 85. Botany Bay, in Australia. 
 The name is commonly used as the equivalent of " penal colony " ; 
 but such a colony was never located there. The British planned to 
 establish it at Botany Bay, but found a more desirable site near the 
 present city of Sydney. 95. Fisher Ames, American orator and 
 statesman (1758-1808). 106. fact oj two poles, etc. This idea is 
 repeatedly expressed by Emerson, and is fully developed in the essay 
 Compensation. 
 
 THOREAU. Coming of the Birds. 60. Anacreon, Greek lyric 
 poet, fifth century B.C. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. Beleaguered City. 4. Prague, capital of Bohe 
 mia, Austria ; it is situated on the Moldau River. See note on 
 Haunted Palace, above. 
 
 Building of Ship. --37. / wis, here used (as generally) as an old- 
 
[pp. 207-235] NOTES 353 
 
 fashioned expression for "I know." It really is from Anglo-Saxon 
 gewis, an adverb meaning " certainly." 61. Pascagoula, in Missis 
 sippi. 62. Roanoke, river in Virginia and North Carolina. 
 161. Lascar, an East Indian sailor. 178. stemson, keelson, sternson 
 knee, timbers of a ship. 382-7. The student will recall that the 
 "Master" and several of the chief "Workmen" are represented 
 in the second group of our readings (pages 24-49). 
 
 Hiawatha. 12. Dacotahs. Hiawatha was an Ojibway (line 
 166). 14. Nokomis, Hiawatha s grandmother, who reared him. 
 86. chalcedony. Accented here on the first and third syllables. 
 
 Birds. This poem is founded on a tradition connected with the 
 town of Killingworth, Connecticut. 2. merle, blackbird, mavis, 
 thrush. 11-12. See Matthew, X, 29, 31 ; Luke, XII, 6-7. 17. Sound, 
 Long Island. Killingworth is about 10 miles from the Sound. 
 30. Cassandra-like, etc. Cassandra, daughter of Priam, king of 
 Troy, prophesied evil to her city. 43. Squire, Justice of the Peace. 
 51. See the reading from Edwards, page 21, above. 89. Plato, 
 Greek philosopher, fourth century B.C., in a work called the Republic, 
 set forth his ideal of government. Reviewers. Longfellow doubtless 
 refers to the magazines of the early nineteenth century Edinburgh 
 Review, Quarterly, and others which severely criticized Wordsworth 
 and others of the so-called "Romantic" school, sometimes denying 
 them any claim to the title of poet. 93. Troubadours, lyric poets 
 of Italy, Spain, and especially Southern France, twelfth and thirteenth 
 centuries, who sang chiefly of love. 96. See 1 Samuel, XVI, 14-23. 
 184. St. Bartholomew. On St. Bartholomew s Day (Aug. 24), 1572, 
 there was a terrible massacre of Protestants and Huguenots in Paris. 
 193. See Acts, XII, 20-23. 212. Doom s-Day Book, properly 
 "Domesday" (day of judgment), a valuation-survey of England 
 made by William the Conqueror. It made taxation on a sound basis 
 possible, besides being a census roll and a record of estate valuations. 
 The nickname came from the fact that in the eyes of the people it 
 was like the great reckoning of doomsday. 
 
 Hanging of Crane. " This is the story of life," said Longfellow, 
 "the sweet and pathetic poem of the fireside." 72. Canute was 
 king of England from 1017 to 1035. He was a small man ; and the 
 early part of his reign was characterized by great barbarity and 
 severity. Which of these facts has Longfellow in mina in giving the 
 baby this name ? 108. Ariadne s Crown After Ariadne was de 
 serted by Theseus, she was wooed and WOTJ by Bacchus, who gave her 
 
354 NOTES [pp. 236-250] 
 
 a golden crown. After her death, Bacchus made a heavenly constella 
 tion of the crown. 148. Cathay, China. 
 
 Cross of Snow. A sonnet commemorating the death by fire of 
 the poet s wife. With characteristic reserve and self-control, Long 
 fellow made no record of the great sorrow except this short lyric 
 eighteen years after the event, and then did not print it. 
 
 LOWELL. My Love. This poem was composed about the time 
 the poet became engaged to Maria White. 
 
 Freedom. Written in 1843. Few men of Lowell s position and 
 ability were then outspoken in opposition to slavery. 
 
 Commemoration Ode. This poem was dedicated " To the ever 
 sweet and shining memory of the ninety-three sons of Harvard 
 College who have died for their country in the war of nationality." 
 23. Veritas, truth. In 1643 the seal of Harvard was adopted a 
 shield with three open books bearing the word Veritas. 49. her (as 
 elsewhere in this section) refers to "truth" (line 28). 66-70. 
 See 1 Kings, XVIII, 17-46. 95. Lincoln was assassinated three 
 months before the Ode was written. The form read at the com 
 memoration exercises did not contain section VI ; but, as has often 
 been remarked, it follows V so naturally and effectively that it does 
 not seem like an afterthought. 129 ff. "Or if there was anything 
 of Europe in him, it was Europe in its early days (fronting morn- 
 ward}, when there were no hereditary distinctions of rank." 
 134. Plutarch >s men. See note on Irving s Stuyvesant, line 17. 
 152. The first American. Cf. Grady, page 275. 167. dear ones. 
 Three nephews of Lowell and five other relatives fell in the war. 
 174. See Numbers, XIII, 1-2, 21-24. 181. Line means: "We 
 shall never be without their glorified presence." 230. Katahdin, 
 MonadnocTc, Whiteface, mountains ; in Maine, New Hampshire, 
 and Colorado, respectively. 
 
 Old Elm. 35. Washington expressed himself as thinking he 
 was almost miraculously spared at Braddock s defeat in the French 
 and Indian War. 6. gown to arms had yielded. Several of the 
 Harvard buildings were used for military purposes. 25-26. "ready 
 to vote down the religious doctrine of Freewill, but inclined to be 
 very free in the exercise of their own will." 42. buff and blue, 
 the colors of the Continental uniform. 44. " I seem to see the 
 sun-flecks weave halos prophetic of glory round the head of Wash 
 ington, which have not grown less glorious with his passing, but 
 
[pp. 251-256] NOTES 355 
 
 continue our guiding light." 72. In section VIII, Lowell said, 
 he "held out a hand of kindly reconciliation to Virginia." 
 79. inevitable wrong, the War between the States. 93. During 
 the eleventh and twelfth centuries the Church enforced cessation 
 of hostilities at certain periods. Such cessation was called the Truce 
 of God. 
 
 Emerson the Lecturer. 5. King Logs. "The frogs prayed to 
 Jove to send them a king, and the god threw a log into the pool, 
 the splash of which terribly alarmed them for a time ; but they soon 
 learnt to despise a monarch who allowed them to jump upon its 
 back, and never resented their familiarities. The croakers com 
 plained to Jove for sending them so worthless a king." (Brewer s 
 Readers Handbook.) 10. What they do not fully understand, 
 etc. Most readers of Emerson take this attitude, just as his 
 hearers did. 12. old poet, Matthew Koydon, friend of Sidney, 
 Spenser, Marlowe, and other famous poets of the later sixteenth 
 century. The lines quoted are from an Elegie written by Roy don 
 on Sidney s death. 19. spread-eagle, noisily patriotic. 20. We 
 are reckoned. This and the next sentence are somewhat in Emer 
 son s cryptic style. 24. Buncombe constituency, body of support 
 ers who wish their representative to do a great deal of talking in a 
 high-flown style, even if he seldom touches any subject of interest or 
 importance. See "Buncombe" in the International Dictionary. 
 25. Plotinus, Egyptian philosopher of the third century. 28. Vedas 
 are the sacred books of India. 40. Brahma is the title of one of 
 Emerson s most obscure poems. 44. Montaigne, French essayist. 
 57. Epistol(K, etc., Letters of Obscure Men. 64. Rev. Thomas 
 Fuller and Sir Thomas Browne were great writers of the seventeenth 
 century, but the average person would not admire them as Lowell 
 does. 65. abominable word. This was written in 1868. The word 
 is now, of course, firmly established in the language. It was ob 
 jected to on the ground of irregularity of formation. 71. The 
 many, etc. This sentence is worthy of the student s best thinking. 
 It and the one following are quite Emersonian. 89. as old as I am. 
 Lowell was forty-nine. 101. "plain living and high thinking," 
 quoted from a sonnet of Wordsworth beginning, "O Friend! I 
 know not which way I must look." 136. ere one can say it light 
 ens. See Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 120. 146. consulate for "presi 
 dency" is merely a mild witticism the sort of thing that occasion 
 ally mars Lowell s best work. 153. remainder-biscuit. See ^4s 
 
356 NOTES [pp. 257-259] 
 
 You Like It, II, vii, 39. 164. stocks, machine for punishing by 
 putting the arms or legs of an offender in a cramped position. 
 165. And who that saw. The remainder of this paragraph is 
 characteristic of the author four sentences of prose that is only 
 just short of poetry, followed by three familiar and humorous ones. 
 He once said he was "a kind of twins, divided between grave and 
 gay." 181. vegete, lively. 185. fugleman, leader. The student 
 has doubtless already discovered Lowell s fondness for uncommon 
 words. It was not affectation, but the result of continued and loving 
 study of older English writers. 186. Titian, Venetian painter. 
 Assumption, reception of the Virgin Mary into heaven ; a favorite 
 subject with the old masters. 193. saved us, etc. See Romans, 
 VII, 24. 205. we should not have been careful for an answer. 
 See Daniel, III, 16. 215. Che in la mente, etc. From Dante s 
 Inferno, Canto XV, lines 82-85 : 
 
 " For in my mind is fixed, and touches now 
 My heart the dear and good paternal image 
 Of you, when in the world from hour to hour 
 You taught me how a man becomes eternal." 
 
 (Longfellow s translation.) 
 
 White s Selborne. According to the Diet. Nat. Biog. this book, 
 which so arouses Lowell s enthusiasm, is " the only work on natural 
 history which has attained the rank of an English classic." Sel 
 borne is in Sussex county, about fifty miles southwest of London. 
 8. Fellow of Oriel. In English universities a student may be a 
 Fellow and receive a regular income from the institution for a much 
 longer period than is possible in America. Oriel, one of the colleges 
 of Oxford. 11. hobby-horse, now usually "hobby." A subject, 
 theory, occupation, to which a person devotes a great deal of time 
 and attention, without earning his living thereby. 13. Barrington, 
 Pennant (Thos.). White s book is in the form of letters to these 
 English naturalists and friends of his. 15. Izaak Walton, an 
 English writer immortalized by a book in praise of the sport of fish 
 ing The Complete Angler. 16. William Cowper (pronounced 
 Cooper), English poet. The following lines from his The Task, 
 Book VI, indicate what Lowell had in mind : 
 
 " I would not enter on my list of friends 
 (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, 
 
[pp. 259-263] NOTES 357 
 
 Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm." 
 
 26. his parishioners. White was minister as well as naturalist. 
 31. Annihilating, etc. From The Garden, by Andrew Marvell, Eng 
 lish poet (seventeenth century). 35. See great Diocletian walk, etc. 
 The editor is unable to place this passage. Lowell s reading covered 
 an enormous range, many apparently not striking passages stuck in 
 his memory, and he often failed to quote accurately. These facts make 
 very difficult the identification of many of his quotations and allusions. 
 The Roman emperor Diocletian after his abdication (305 A.D.) retired 
 to Salona (modern Spalato) in Dalmatia, where he built a magnificent 
 palace with extensive gardens. 39. revolt of the American colonies. 
 White s book was in preparation from 1773 to 1789. 47. Char 
 treuse, a Carthusian (austere) monastery ; hence, a quiet retreat. 
 54. fauna, animals inhabiting a region. 57. anthropophagous, man- 
 eating. 60. our share of owls. What does he mean here by 
 "owls"? 64. Francis Willoughby and John Hay were English 
 naturalists about a hundred years before White. 65. stilted plover. 
 " In the last week of last month, five of those most rare birds, too 
 uncommon to have obtained an English name, but known to natural 
 ists by the terms of himantopus, or loripes and charadrius himantopus 
 were shot. . . . One of these specimens I procured. . . . These 
 birds are of the plover family, and might, with propriety, be called 
 the stilt-plovers." Nat. Hist. Selb., Letter XCI. 78. Windsor 
 Castle, one of the English sovereign s residences, located about 
 twenty miles from London. 79. Royal Society, the most important 
 scientific organization in Great Britain. 90. Diogenes, Greek cynic 
 philosopher. 95. reconstruction. This essay was written in 1869, 
 when the "reconstruction" of the states of the Southern Confederacy 
 was taking place. 108. Martin, Benjamin, mathematician and 
 
 instrument maker, who graduated the thermometer used at Selborne. 
 118. abnegated, renounced. 131. graduation; Mercury. Lowell 
 was as fond of puns as was Holmes. 139. Barabas, a character in 
 Marlowe s Jew of Venice. 140. "Into what quarter," etc. See 
 the Jew, I, i, 39. 147. I have little doubt, etc. "This was written 
 before we had a Weather Bureau." (Lowell s note in the complete 
 edition of his works.) The Weather Bureau was not organized until 
 1891, but systematic work that led to its organization goes back to 
 1870. 167. cloaca maxima, the great sewer 
 
358 NOTES [pp. 264-274] 
 
 Democracy. 8. Piccadilly, one of the finest streets in London, 
 where fashionable people promenade. 28. Hudson. The sum oi 
 25,000 had been raised for a statue to the "railway king" while he 
 was alive ; but discovery that his methods were highly dishonorable 
 put an immediate stop to the movement. 29. Louis Napoleon, 
 nephew of the great Napoleon. He became president of France in 
 1848, and had himself proclaimed emperor in 1852. He imitated his 
 uncle s methods, but succeeded only in gaining the title of " Napoleon 
 the Little." 71. more famous tribune. See note on Webster, line 
 72. 98. Robert Lowe, Viscount Sherbrooke, British statesman ; liv 
 ing when Lowell spoke these words. 110. where two men ride," 
 etc. See Shakspere s Much Ado About Nothing, III, v, 40. The 
 "very sagacious person" is a foolish constable named Dogberry. 
 115. Henry George, a great politician of New York City, advocate 
 of the single tax. At the time of his death in 1898 he was a candi 
 date for mayor of the city, with what were thought to be excellent 
 chances of election. 118. a fortiori, for a stronger reason. 
 161. Be your own palace, etc. See John Donne s Letter to Sir Henry 
 Wotton, line 52. Donne wrote "thine own" and "thy gaol." 
 175. Our healing, etc. See 1 Kings, XIX, 9-18. 
 
 LANIER. My Springs. 25. Note that perverse is here accented 
 on the first syllable. 52. Magdalen and Ruth; that is, for bad 
 women and good women. See Luke, VII, 36-50 (especially 37, 39) ; 
 and the book of Ruth (especially III, 11). 
 
 Chattahoochee. Habersham and Hall are counties in the north 
 eastern part of Georgia. As the poem implies, the river rises in 
 Habersham County. 44. It will be interesting for the student to com 
 pare Lanier s way of bringing out his moral with Bryant s. 
 
 [The editor regrets that arrangements could not be made with 
 Lanier s publishers to give the poet more adequate representation in 
 these readings.] 
 
 GRADY. The New South was delivered in December, 1886, at 
 the annual banquet of the New England Society of New York City. 
 He was thirty-six years old, the son of a Confederate soldier, and 
 the most prominent journalist in the South. 5. B. H. Hill, a 
 noted Georgia statesman. Tammany Hall, home of the "regular " 
 branch of the Democratic party in New York. 54. Cavalier, settler 
 of the Southern colonies ; Puritan, settler of New England. 
 64. Myles Standish, the Puritan leader who enforced the severe laws 
 
[pp. 275-285] NOTES 359 
 
 of his party. Longfellow s The Courtship of Miles Standish gives an 
 interesting presentation of his character. 84. Talmage, T. DeWitt 
 (died 1902), prominent preacher whose sermons were widely printed 
 and read week by week. 90. the first typical American. Cf. Lowell s 
 Commemoration Ode, section VI (page 245). 121. Appomattox 
 Court House, Virginia, where Lee surrendered, April 9, 1865. 
 132. cross, the Confederate flag. 158. Bill Arp, pen-name of 
 Charles H. Smith, a Georgia newspaper man and humorist, whose 
 letters during and after the war were very popular. The name 
 "Arp" he made from the initial letters of the phrase, "A Rebel 
 Private." 167. a kind of careless man about fire. Sherman burned 
 Atlanta on his famous " march to the sea." 186. Mason and Dixon s 
 line, boundary between Maryland and Pennsylvania, named for the 
 men who surveyed it. It was long referred to as the dividing line 
 between the Northern free states and the Southern slaveholding 
 states. 233. Toombs, Robert, noted Georgia soldier and statesman. 
 237. chattel, any sort of property except real estate. 266. Johnston, 
 Gen. Joseph E., one of the three or four greatest leaders of the Con 
 federates. 275. toad s head. See Shakspere s As You Like It, II, 
 i, 12-17. 331. city in which I live, Atlanta. 369. Those opened 
 eyes, etc. See Shakspere s 1 Henry IV, I, i, 9-15. "opened " is an 
 error for "opposed. 1 
 
 CURTIS. Prue and I is a sort of novel dealing with an obscure 
 New York bookkeeper and his wife. The extract is from the chapter 
 called Sea and Shore. 5. Earlier in the chapter we learn that the 
 supposed narrator " made the India Voyage " when a small boy, by ex 
 ploring a ship from India in some American port. 11. East India- 
 man, ship engaged in the East Indian trade. 28. top, short for 
 "topsail." 33. Parthenon, etc. Many marble ornaments of the 
 Parthenon at Athens were removed in the years 1803-1812 by Lord 
 Elgin, who afterwards sold them to the British government. They are 
 now among the greatest treasures of the British Museum. Curtis s 
 * unrifled " implies that Lord Elgin s conduct was not meritorious, 
 but most people think otherwise. See Thomas Bruce, seventh Earl 
 of Elgin, in Dictionary of National Biography. 37. Vittoria 
 Colonna, an Italian poet (1490-1547), who refused many suitors 
 both before marrying the man of her choice, and after his death. 
 Tasso, famous Italian poet of the sixteenth century. 38. Villa d^Este, 
 palace at Ferrara of Cardinal Luigi d Este, Tasso s patron. Beatrice, 
 
360 NOTES [pp. 285-292} 
 
 the inspiration of the Italian poet Dante s whole life (1265-1321), 
 and the central figure of his The New Life and of his Paradise, the 
 last section of The Divine Comedy. 40. Hotel Europa, Daniel? s, 
 Leone Bianco, popular resorts in Venice of the mid-nineteenth 
 century. 41. Marino Faliero, doge of Venice (14th century), 
 who had a young and very beautiful wife. 44. Ah t senza amare, 
 etc. : " Ah, there is no consolation to walk along the sea without 
 love." 49. you and Aurelia. Aurelia was a city belle whom the 
 narrator did not know but admired from a distance ; " you" was her 
 escort. St. Peter s, cathedral at Rome. 62. Eoxbury is now a 
 part of Boston. 76. A painted ship, etc. See Coleridge s Ancient 
 Mariner, lines 117-118. 
 
 Evils of Party Spirit. The address from which this selection is 
 taken was delivered before the graduating class of Union College, 
 Schenectady, New York, in 1877. It is one of the earliest and most 
 notable pleas for independence in politics. The present strong ten 
 dency toward independence is probably due in no small measure to 
 Curtis s continued preaching of the doctrine. 62. money-changers. 
 See John, II, 13-16. 92. Federalists. See any good history of the 
 United States for the party divisions during the early days of the 
 nation. 93. Jacobins, the extreme republicans of the French Revolu 
 tion. Robespierre and Marat were leaders of this party. 110. Castor 
 and Pollux, twins. To understand the passage fully, look up either 
 name in an encyclopedia or in a handbook of mythology. 123. whips. 
 A whip is a person designated by his party to enforce discipline. The 
 office and name originated in the British House of Commons, but are 
 now used also in the American House of Representatives. 125. one 
 Senator, James W. Grimes, of Iowa. Though ill, he dragged himself 
 to the trial, and two days after delivering his opinion in favor of Presi 
 dent Johnson s acquittal, was stricken with paralysis. 130, Inquisi 
 tion, a court of the Roman Catholic Church, the business of which 
 was to suppress heresy. It was finally abolished in 1834. 
 
 WHITTIER. To Garrison. William Lloyd Garrison was one of 
 the earliest and most vigorous opponents of slavery. He and Whittier 
 were lifelong devoted friends. 3. Before the actual outbreak of 
 hostilities Garrison was several times in danger of death at the hands 
 of mobs who disapproved his conduct. 
 
 Proem. 3. Spenser, Edmund, English poet of the time of Shak- 
 spere. Whittier has in mind Spenser s Amoretti, Prothalamion, and 
 
[pp. 292-303] NOTES 361 
 
 other lyric poems, rather than the better known Faerie Queene. 
 4. Sir Philip Sidney, contemporary and friend of Spenser, wrote a 
 romance called Arcadia, and many lyrics. 33. Marvell, see note 
 on Lowell s White s Selborne, line 31. 
 
 Ichabod. The title-name of this poem means "the glory is de 
 parted." (See 1 Samuel, IV, 21.) It was written after Webster s 
 Seventh of March Speech (1850), which supported Clay s Compromise 
 and the Fugitive Slave Law, and which most of the North considered an 
 act of treachery. Webster, however, had been the champion, not 
 of the anti-slavery forces, but of the Union ; and he believed to the 
 end that war could be avoided if the opposing parties would only 
 exercise enough patience. The Lost Occasion (p. 303) should be read 
 along with Ichabod. 
 
 Skipper Ireson. Years after this poem was written Whittier was 
 told that not Ireson but his crew committed the crime told of in 
 stanzas four and five. He had based the verses on a bit of rhyme of a 
 schoolmate. 3. Apuleius s Golden Ass was a young man who had 
 been transformed into the animal but retained his human conscious 
 ness. 4. Calender s horse. The Tale of the Third Calender in 
 the Arabian Nights tells of one Agib, who was entrusted with the 
 keys of a palace and given permission to enter every room but one. 
 He nevertheless entered that one, mounted a horse he found there, 
 and was carried through the air to Bagdad. The horse set him 
 down, and with a whisk of his tail knocked out Agib s right eye. 
 6. Al-Borak, the animal brought by Gabriel to carry Mahomet to 
 heaven, had the face and voice of a man, the cheeks of a horse, the 
 wings of an eagle. 8. Marblehead, coast town of Massachusetts. 
 6. Bacchus, god of wine. 30. Maenads, female attendants of 
 Bacchus. 35. Chaleur Bay, an inlet of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 
 
 Playmate. A tender recollection of a boyhood love Whittier 
 never married. I. Hamoth hill was near Amesbury, the poet s 
 home from 1836 to 1876; as were the "woods of Follymill" 
 (line 36). 59. The veery is a kind of thrush. 
 
 Laus Deo. "On hearing the bells ring on the passage of the 
 constitutional amendment abolishing slavery." (Whittier.) 
 19. See note on Lowell s Democracy, line 175. 27 ff. See 
 Exodus, XV, 21. 
 
 Lost Occasion. 3. Thou, Daniel Webster. See note on Icha 
 bod. This poem was written in 1880. 11. Olympian, godlike. 
 15. Phidias, the greatest sculptor of Greece. 17. Ccedmon, 
 
362 NOTES [pp. 304-308] 
 
 English poet of about the seventh century. 23. Norse god, Odin. 
 24. Talus, the groom of Sir Artegal in Spenser s Faerie Queene 
 (book V, canto 1, stanza xii), carried an iron flail, 
 
 " With which he threshed out falsehood, and did truth unfold." 
 51. See. Judges, XVI, 6-9. 74 ff. Mount Webster (3876 feet), 
 in the White Mountains, about sixty miles from Webster s birthplace. 
 
 WHITMAN. Whitman is the most individual poet in our literature ; 
 and his admirers assert that he must not be judged by the methods 
 used in judging other poets. John Burroughs, the most noted 
 American champion of the "sage of Camden," says: "We can 
 make little of Whitman unless we allow him to be a law unto him 
 self, seek him through the clues which he himself brings. When we 
 try him by current modes, current taste, ... we are disappointed." 
 Sydney Dobell, English critic, says: "It is the American poet s first 
 demand upon us that we shall dismiss our prepossessions in favor of 
 the poets of culture from our minds not asking whether he conforms 
 to the rules which we apply to them, but whether he has a new mes 
 sage for the world, which demands a new and freer method for its fit 
 expression. If we are not willing thus to reconsider our established 
 ideas as to the art of poetry, we had better conclude that Whitman 
 has no message for us, and concern ourselves no further about 
 him." 
 
 If these statements hold, it should be easier for young readers, 
 who have fewer "prepossessions" and less fixed standards, to under 
 stand and appreciate Whitman than for those who have for many 
 years been reading and loving the "poets of culture." 
 
 A Child s Question. 8. hieroglyphic, secret sign. 11. Kanuck, 
 a Canadian ; Tuckahoe, a Virginian (see the Standard dictionary) ; 
 Cuff, a miserly old fellow. All three are slang. 
 
 Mannahatta. 1. my city, New York. 2. the aboriginal name. 
 The aboriginal Delawares of New York City were called "man- 
 hatanis," meaning " those who dwell upon an island." (New Inter. 
 Enc.) 7. high growths, etc., the " sky-scrapers." 16-18. Students 
 who have visited New York might check up Whitman s description 
 from their own observation. This is the sort of poem Robert Louis 
 Stevenson has. in mind when, in The Amateur Emigrant, he speaks 
 of " all that bustle, courage, action, and constant kaleidoscopic change 
 that Walt Whitman has seized and set forth in his vigorous, cheerful, 
 and loquacious verses." 
 
fljp. 308-318] NOTES 363 
 
 O Captain! Lee had surrendered, the Union was preserved, but 
 Lincoln had died by the assassin s hand. 
 
 When Lilacs. See Carpenter s Whitman (Eng. Men of Letters}, 
 page 105 : " . . . strange and beautiful hymn, in which Lincoln s 
 name is not mentioned, nor is there more than a faint reference to 
 him ; a threnody, therefore, of all that had died in the colossal 
 struggle, symbolized through him. A poem of three themes, it sings 
 of the lilac blossoms, sweet, and homely, and transient ; of the evening 
 star, shining luminous for all men, but slowly sinking to its rest ; of 
 the hermit thrush, Nature s one foreboding singer of the wilderness 
 -at twilight. The flower of the dooryard fades at the appointed time, 
 the star disappears according to its season, the bird sings of death as 
 <the deliveress of mankind, for the poet s trust is as strong as his 
 Jove, and he contemplates death with gratitude and with praise. 
 Further analysis fails." 
 
 Come, said my Soul. This poem appeared first as a sort of 
 preface to the 1876 edition of Leaves of Grass. In the edition of 
 1881 it was placed on the title-page and signed by the author. 
 
 HOLMES. The Height of the Ridiculous. 16. Any one who 
 doesn t appreciate the trifling jest may look up "printer s devil" in 
 the dictionary. 
 
 The Last Leaf. Holmes did outlive most of his close friends ; he 
 died in 1894, at the age of 85. 
 
 The Chambered Nautilus. This poem was "suggested by look 
 ing at a section of one of those chambered shells to which is given 
 the name of Pearly Nautilus. . . . [Such a section] 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 Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, No. 
 IV. The student should look up an illustration of the nautilus in 
 dictionary or encyclopedia in order to get the full meaning of the poem 
 on the natural side. Much use must be made of the dictionary few 
 poems will better repay detailed study. 
 
 4. purpled wings. Many purple wings or arms are attached to 
 the head of the nautilus. When alive, it can "fling" these out at 
 will. 5. The Sirens were sea nymphs who by their beautiful sing 
 ing lured sailors to destruction on the rocky shores they inhabited. 
 
 8. The webs of living gauze are the "purpled wings" of line 4. 
 
 9. When the animal dies, the shell is tossed about by the sea, and 
 
364 ; NOTES [pp. 318-328] 
 
 thus "wrecked." 11-12. dim dreaming life . . .frail tenant. These 
 expressions refer to the low order of life to which the nautilus be 
 longs. 14. irised, many-colored. 16. The coil was lustrous be 
 cause of the "irised ceiling." 22. heavenly message, given in the 
 last stanza. 26. Triton, trumpeter of Neptune, god of the sea. His 
 wreathed horn was a shell. 31. low-vaulted. The nautilus succes 
 sively dwelt in larger compartments of the spiral, which may be 
 thought of as rooms of higher vault or ceiling. Hence, its previous 
 mansions might be called "low-vaulted" by comparison. 32. Let 
 each new temple, . . . Shut thee from heaven, i.e. : " Let each new 
 temple, the dome (or roof) of which stands between thee and heaven 
 (i.e., the sky), be vaster than its predecessor." Or, leaving the fig 
 ure of speech: "Keep growing, intellectually and spiritually." 
 
 The Deacon s Masterpiece. Shay is colloquial for "chaise," a 
 light carriage. 11. George II was hardly a "drone." He was will 
 ing enough to work, but yielded the opportunity when he found a 
 prime minister more capable than himself. German hive. The 
 House of Hanover, which still rules England, is German in origin. 
 20. felloe (also written "felly"), wooden rim of wheel, thill, shaft. 
 22. thoroughbrace, leather strap used as spring, or to join C-springs. 
 See line 53. 45. ellum, provincial pronunciation of "elm." 92. en 
 core is restricted in English to a single use, where it means " again." 
 Here it has, of course, one of its other French meanings, " besides." 
 
 Parson TurelVs Legacy. 2. Legally Harvard is still only a 
 "college." 5. Edward Holyoke was president of Harvard from 
 1737 to 1769. 64. y e is the old abbreviation for " the," and should 
 be so read, not as if written "ye." Similarly, y f was frequently 
 written for the conjunction "that." In the quotation Holmes imi 
 tates the forms of the seventeenth century. 69. An English crown 
 is five shillings (about $1.25). 98. Triennial. From 1776 to 1875 
 Harvard published every three years a catalogue of officers and gradu 
 ates. Since 1880 the catalogue has appeared every five years and 
 been called the "Quinquennial." 118. cock-a-hoop, exultant. There 
 is an interesting discussion of this word in the New English (Oxford) 
 Dictionary. 147. Vice-Gub, Lieutenant-Governor. 
 
 All Here. Written for the thirty-eighth anniversary of Holmes s 
 class at Harvard the famous class of 1829. 20. triennial; see 
 note on line 98 of preceding poem. 21-22. In a list of names, de 
 ceased persons are usually indicated by stars. 24. The Boys, title 
 of Holmes s poem for the class reunion of 1851. 52. ubique om- 
 
[pp. 329-337] NOTES 365 
 
 ne s semper, everywhere all always. 70. Gracious Mother, Har 
 vard. The translation of "Alma Mater." 72. In pace, in peace. 
 
 The Broomstick Train. 11. Essex. Salein, the scene of the 
 witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century, is in Essex County. 
 So also are Ipswich Ewer, Cape Ann, Swampscott, Danvers, Beverly, 
 Wenham. Wilmington is just over the line in Middlesex. Chelsea 
 is a suburb of Boston. 41. Norman s Woe, a dangerous reef near 
 Gloucester, Massachusetts. See Longfellow s The Wreck of the 
 Hesperus. 53. See line 9. 77 ff. Recall the witch-scenes in Mac 
 beth, and compare the lists of attendant spirits or "familiars." 
 128 ff. The broomstick, it is hardly necessary to say, is the trolley ; 
 the careful man, the conductor ; the black cat s purr, the whirr of 
 the motor ; the gleam, the spark made when the trolley slips off the 
 wire. In Over the Teacups, written the same year as this poem 
 (1890), Holmes has a long passage on this subject, beginning : 
 " Look here ! There are crowds of people whirled through our 
 streets on these new-fashioned cars, with their witch-broomsticks 
 overhead, if they don t come from Salem, they ought to." The 
 first trolley line had been started four years before in Richmond, 
 Virginia. 
 
 Episode of the Pie. 10. cela va sans dire, that goes without say 
 ing. 22. stillicidium, the flowing of a liquid, drop by drop. 27. 
 Inferno, Italian for "hell," and the title of the first part of Dante s 
 great poem, The Divine Comedy. 39. Benjamin Franklin was 
 "our landlady s youngest." 40. " Quoiqu elle," etc.: Although it 
 is strongly made, this toy must not be handled roughly. 
 
 My Last Walk. 18. See Ruth, Chapter II. 40. single is used 
 here, of course, in the sense of " one." 70. Common, a large and 
 beautiful park in the heart of Boston. 87. Gingko, an Asiatic tree 
 having fan-shaped leaves. Also spelled "ginkgo"; the initial g is 
 sounded either hard or soft. 90. the old gentleman who sits oppo 
 site, i.e., opposite the Autocrat at the boarding-house table. He is 
 never named; but in the last chapter the Autocrat "took the 
 schoolmistress before the altar from the hands of the old gentleman 
 who used to sit opposite." (Italics are the editor s.) 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 
 
 Account of a Tempest Strachey, 
 4. 
 
 Adventure with Opechancanough 
 Smith, 1. 
 
 All Here Holmes, 327. 
 
 American Flag, The Drake, 116. 
 
 Annabel Lee Poe, 147. 
 
 Anonymous Revolutionary Songs, 
 56. 
 
 Anti-Slavery Mission, An Wool- 
 man, 49. 
 
 Apology, The Emerson, 192. 
 
 Ariel and the Alacrity, Fight of 
 Cooper, 103. 
 
 Aspects of the Pines Hayne, 136. 
 
 Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, 
 The Holmes, 333. 
 
 Axe and the Pine, The Hayne, 136. 
 
 BARLOW, JOEL, 61-62. 
 
 Battle of the Kegs, The Hopkin- 
 son, 53. 
 
 Bay Psalm Book, The, 9. 
 
 Beauregard s Appeal Hayne, 133. 
 
 Beleaguered City, The Longfel 
 low, 204. 
 
 Birds of Killingworth, The Long 
 fellow, 224. 
 
 Bixby, Mrs., Letter to Lincoln, 128. 
 
 BRADFORD, WILLIAM, 15-17. 
 
 BRADSTREET, ANNE, 12-15. 
 
 Broomstick Train, The Holmes, 
 329. 
 
 BROWN, CHARLES BROCKDEN, 66-68. 
 
 BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN, 90-102. 
 
 CALHOUN, JOHN CALDWELL, 118- 
 120. 
 
 367 
 
 Calhoun s Resolutions, On the Lan 
 guage of Webster, 120. 
 Causes of the American Discontents 
 
 Franklin, 27. 
 Celia, To Godfrey, 63. 
 Chambered Nautilus, The Holmes, 
 
 318. 
 Character of Governor Bradford 
 
 Mather, 19. 
 
 Character of Peter Stuyvesant Ir 
 ving, 72. 
 
 Chattahoochee, Song of the Lanier, 
 271. 
 
 Cherokee Indian, Death Song of a 
 
 Freneau, 71. 
 
 Child s Question, A Whitman, 
 
 306. 
 
 Chloris, For Godfrey, 63. 
 Columbia Dwight, 58. 
 Columbus, The Vision of (extract) 
 
 Barlow, 61. 
 
 Come, said my Soul Whitman, 315. 
 Coming of the Birds, The Thoreau, 
 
 200. 
 Commemoration Ode (extracts) 
 
 Lowell, 240. 
 
 Concord Hymn Emerson, 192. 
 Constitution Not a Compact, The 
 
 (extract) Webster, 120. 
 Contemplations Bradstreet, 12. 
 COOPER, JAMES FENIMORE, 103-111. 
 Crane, Hanging of the Longfel 
 low, 231. 
 
 Crisis, The (extract) Paine, 40. 
 Cross of Snow, The Longfellow, 
 
 237. 
 
 Cry to Arms, A Timrod, 129. 
 CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIAM, 284-291. 
 
368 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 
 
 Day of Doom, The (extract) Wig- 
 glesworth, 9. 
 
 Deacon s Masterpiece, The 
 Holmes, 319. 
 
 Death of the Flowers, The Bryant, 
 97. 
 
 Death Song of a Cherokee Indian 
 Freneau, 71. 
 
 Democracy (extract) Lowell, 263. 
 
 Devil and Tom Walker, The lv- 
 ving, 75. 
 
 Dogood Papers (selection) Frank 
 lin, 24. 
 
 Dogood, Silence, On Drunkenness 
 Franklin, 24. 
 
 DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN, 116-117. 
 
 Drake, On the Death of Halleck, 
 112. 
 
 Drowne s Wooden Image Haw 
 thorne, 172. 
 
 DWIGHT, TIMOTHY, 58-59. 
 
 Edict by the King of Prussia, An 
 (abridged) Franklin, 31. 
 
 EDWARDS, JONATHAN, 21-24. 
 
 Elm, Under the Old (extracts) 
 Lowell, 248. 
 
 Emancipation from British Depen 
 dence (A Political Litany) Fre 
 neau, 68. 
 
 EMERSON, RALPH WALDO, 191-200. 
 
 Emerson the Lecturer (extract) 
 Lowell, 252. 
 
 Episode of the Pie Holmes, 333. 
 
 Eutaw Springs Freneau, 69. 
 
 Federalist, The (selection) Hamil 
 ton, 46. 
 
 First Inaugural (extract) Wash 
 ington, 42. 
 
 First Inaugural (extract) Lin 
 coln, 127. 
 
 Flower-life Timrod, 131. 
 
 Forest Hymn, A Bryant, 93. 
 
 Forgotten Hayne, 134. 
 
 FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN, 24-36. 
 
 Freedom, Stanzas on Lowell, 239. 
 
 FRENEAU, PHILIP, 68-72. 
 
 Fringed Gentian, To the Bryant, 
 
 Garrison, To William Lloyd "Whit- 
 tier, 291. 
 
 Gettysburg Address Lincoln , 127. 
 
 Gladness of Nature, The Bryant, 
 98. 
 
 GODFREY, THOMAS, 63-66. 
 
 GRADY, HENRY WOODFIN, 272-283. 
 
 HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE, 112-115. 
 HAMILTON, ALEXANDER, 46-49. 
 Hanging of the Crane Longfellow, 
 
 231. 
 
 Haunted Palace, The Poe, 140. 
 HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL, 159- 
 
 186. 
 
 HAYNE, PAUL HAMILTON, 133-137. 
 Height of the Ridiculous, The 
 
 Holmes, 315. 
 HENRY, PATRICK, 36-38. 
 Hiawatha s Wooing Longfellow, 
 
 216. 
 History of New England (extract) 
 
 Winthrop, 17. 
 HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL, 315- 
 
 337. 
 Honey Suckle, The Wild Freneau, 
 
 70. 
 
 HOPKINSON, FRANCIS, 53-56. 
 Humble-Bee, The Emerson, 193. 
 Hurricane, The Bryant, 101. 
 
 Ichabod Whittier, 293. 
 
 In School-Days Whittier, 302. 
 
 Ireson s Ride, Skipper Whittier, 
 
 295. 
 
 IRVING, WASHINGTON, 72-90. 
 Israfel Poe, 138. 
 
 JEFFERSON, THOMAS, 44-46. 
 Journal (extract) Woolman, 49. 
 Judgment of Infants Wiggles- 
 worth, 9. 
 
 Killingworth, Birds of, The Long 
 fellow, 224. 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 
 
 369 
 
 Knickerbocker s History (extract) 
 Irving, 72. 
 
 LANIER, SIDNEY, 269-272. 
 
 Last Walk with the Schoolmistress, 
 My Holmes, 335. 
 
 Laus Deo Whittier, 300. 
 
 Liberty or Death Henry, 36. 
 
 Liberty, The " Little Speech "on 
 Winthrop, 17. 
 
 Life at Merry Mount Bradford, 15. 
 
 LINCOLN, ABRAHAM, 125-129. 
 
 Litany, A Political Freneau, 68. 
 
 LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADS- 
 WORTH, 204-238. 
 
 Lost Occasion, The Whittier, 303. 
 
 Love, My Lowell, 238. 
 
 LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL, 238-269. 
 
 Magnalia (extract) Mather, 19. 
 
 Magnolia Cemetery, Ode at Tim- 
 rod, .130. 
 
 Maimed Nature Thoreau, 202. 
 
 Mannahatta Whitman, 307. 
 
 Marco Bozzaris Halleck, 112. 
 
 MATHER, COTTON, 19-21. 
 
 Maypole of Merry mount, The Haw 
 thorne, 159. 
 
 May to April Freneau, 72. 
 
 McFingal (extracts) Trumbull, 59. 
 
 Morella Poe, 149. 
 
 Mosses from an Old Manse (selec 
 tion) Hawthorne, 172. 
 
 MOTLEY, JOHN LOTHROP, 187-191. 
 
 My Garden Acquaintance (extract) 
 Lowell, 258. 
 
 Myself, Song of (extract) Whit 
 man, 306. 
 
 My Springs Lanier, 269. 
 
 Mysterious Voice, A Brown, 66. 
 
 Nature of Government, The Em 
 erson, 196. 
 
 Nautilus, The Chambered 
 Holmes, 318. 
 
 New South, 7%e Grady, 272. 
 
 Nullification, On (extract^ Cal- 
 houn, 118. 
 
 Captain! my Captain! Whit 
 man, 308. 
 
 Old Arm-Chair, the President s 
 Holmes, 322. 
 
 Old Elm, under the Lowell, 248. 
 
 One-hoss Shay, Holmes, 319. 
 
 OTIS, JAMES, 38-40. 
 
 PAINE, THOMAS, 40-42. 
 Party Spirit, Evils of Curtis, 286. 
 Paul Jones Anonymous, 56. 
 Pilot, The (extract) Cooper, 103. 
 Pines, Aspects of the Hayne, 136. 
 Pine, The Axe and the Hayne, 
 
 136. 
 
 Playmate, My Whittier, 298. 
 Plymouth Plantation, History of 
 
 (extract) Bradford, 15. 
 POE, EDGAR ALLAN, 137-158. 
 Poets Hayne, 137. 
 Political Litany, A Freneau, 68. 
 Politics (extract) Emerson, 196. 
 Prince of Parthia, The (extract) 
 
 Godfrey, 64. 
 Proem Whittier, 292. 
 Prue and I (extract) Curtis, 284. 
 Psalm, The Twenty-third Bay 
 
 Psalm Book, 9. 
 Public Duty of Educated Men, The 
 
 (extract) Curtis, 286. 
 
 Raven, The Poe, 141. 
 Rhodora, The Emerson, 191. 
 Riflemen s Song at Bennington 
 
 Anonymous, 57. 
 Rise of the Dutch Republic, Thu 
 
 (extract) Motley, 187. 
 Robert of Lincoln Bryant, 99. 
 
 School-Days, In Whittier, 302. 
 Shortest Speech Lincoln, 127. 
 Short-story, The Poe, 155. 
 Showing his Hand Lincoln, 125. 
 Sinners in the Hands of an Angry 
 
 God (extracts) Edwards, 21. 
 Skipper Ireson s Ride Whittier, 
 
 295. 
 SMITH, JOHN, 1-4. 
 
370 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 
 
 Speech on Leaving Springfield 
 
 Lincoln, 126. 
 
 Spring (extracts) Thoreau, 200. 
 STBACHEY, WILLIAM, 4-8. 
 Summary View of the Rights of 
 
 British America, A Jefferson, 
 
 44. 
 
 Tales of a Wayside Inn (selection) 
 
 Longfellow, 224. 
 Terminus Emerson, 195. 
 Thanatopsis Bryant, 90. 
 THOREAU, HENRY DAVID, 200-203. 
 Times that Try Men s Souls Paine, 
 
 40. 
 
 TIMROD, HENRY, 129-133. 
 Traveling, Advantages of Not 
 
 Curtis, 284. 
 True Relation, A (extract) Smith, 
 
 1. 
 
 TRUMBULL, JOHN, 59-61. 
 Turell s Legacy, Parson Holmes, 
 
 322. 
 Twenty-third Psalm Bay Psalm 
 
 Book, 9. 
 
 Twice Told Tales (selection) Haw 
 thorne, 159. 
 
 Ulalume Poe, 145. 
 
 Under the Old Elm (extracts) 
 Lowell, 248. 
 
 Union as a Safeguard, The Ham 
 ilton, 46. 
 
 Union, Real Character of the Cal- 
 houn, 118. 
 
 WASHINGTON, GEORGE, 42-44. 
 Waterfowl, To a Bryant, 92. 
 Wayside Inn, Tales of a (selection) 
 
 Longfellow, 224. 
 WEBSTER, DANIEL, 120-125. 
 When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard 
 
 Bloom d (extracts) Whitman, 
 
 309. 
 
 Whistle, The Franklin, 34. 
 White s " Selborne" Lowell, 258. 
 WHITMAN, WALT, 306-315. 
 WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF, 291- 
 
 305. 
 
 Why Silent? Timrod, 132. 
 Wieland (extract) Brown, 66. 
 
 WlGGLESWORTH, MlCHAEL, 9-12. 
 
 William the Silent, Tour of Mot 
 ley, 187. 
 
 WINTHROP, JOHN, 17-19. 
 WOOLMAN, JOHN, 49-53. 
 Writs of Assistance, On the Otis, 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF POEMS 
 
 All day, on bole and limb the axes 
 ring, 136. 
 
 A song unto Liberty s brave Buc 
 caneer, 56. 
 
 As unto the bow the cord is, 216. 
 
 At Eutaw Springs the valiant died, 
 69. 
 
 At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
 112. 
 
 Build me straight, O worthy Master, 
 
 205. 
 
 Burly, dozing humble-bee, 193. 
 By the rude bridge that arched the 
 
 flood, 192. 
 
 Champion of those who groan be 
 neath, 291. 
 
 Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 
 58. 
 
 Come, said my soul, 315. 
 
 Facts respecting an old arm-chair, 
 
 322. 
 Fair flower, that dost so comely 
 
 grow, 70. 
 For Chloris long I sigh d in vain, 
 
 63. 
 Forgotten! Can it be a few swift 
 
 rounds, 134. 
 
 Gallants attend and hear a friend, 
 
 53. 
 Green be the turf above thee, 112. 
 
 Have you heard of the wonderful 
 
 one-boss shay, 319. 
 Helen, thy beauty is to me, 137. 
 Ho ! woodsmen of the mountain side, 
 
 129. 
 
 I have read, in some old, marvelloiis 
 
 tale, 204. 
 
 I love the old melodious lays, 292. 
 In Heaven a spirit doth dwell, 138. 
 In May, when sea-winds pierced our 
 
 solitudes, 191. 
 
 In the greenest of our valleys, 140. 
 In the heart of the Hills of Life, I 
 
 know, 269. 
 In the long, sleepless watches of the 
 
 night, 237. 
 
 I saw him once before, 316. 
 Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 
 
 98. 
 I think that, next to your sweet eyes, 
 
 131. 
 
 It is done, 300. 
 It is not what we say or sing, 
 
 327. 
 
 It is time to be old, 195. 
 It was many and many a year ago, 
 
 147. 
 It was the season when through all 
 
 the land, 224. 
 I was asking for something specific 
 
 and perfect for my city, 307. 
 I wrote some lines once on a time, 
 
 315. 
 
 Libera nos, Domine, Deliver us, O 
 
 Lord, 68. 
 Look out ! Look out, boys ! clear the 
 
 track, 329. 
 Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh, 
 
 101. 
 
 Men! whose boast it is that ye, 
 
 239. 
 Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
 
 99. 
 
 371 
 
372 INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF POEMS 
 
 Not as all other women are, 238. 
 
 O Captain! my Captain! our fear 
 ful trip is done, 308. 
 
 Of all the rides since the birth of 
 time, 295. 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, 141. 
 
 Out of the hills of Habersham, 271. 
 
 Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, 
 130. 
 
 So fallen! so lost! the light with 
 drawn, 293. 
 
 Some die too late and some too soon, 
 303. 
 
 Some thunder on the heights of song, 
 their race, 137. 
 
 Some time now past in the Autum 
 nal Tide, 12, 
 
 Still sits the school-house by the 
 road, 302. 
 
 Tall, sombre, grim against the morn 
 ing sky, 136. 
 
 The groves were God s first temples, 
 93. 
 
 The lights are out, and gone are all 
 the guests, 231. 
 
 The Lord to mee a shepheard is, 9. 
 
 The melancholy days are come, 97. 
 The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, 
 
 298. 
 The skies they were ashen and sober, 
 
 145. 
 The sun sets in night, and the stars 
 
 shun the day, 71. 
 Think me not unkind and rude, 
 
 192. 
 This is the ship of pearl, which, poets 
 
 feign, 318. 
 Thou blossom bright with autumn 
 
 dew, 98. 
 To him who in the love of Nature 
 
 holds, 90. 
 
 When Freedom from her mountain 
 
 height, 116. 
 
 When in Celia s heavenly eye, 63. 
 When lilacs last in the dooryard 
 
 bloom d, 309. 
 
 Whither, midst falling dew, 92. 
 Why am I silent from year to year, 
 
 132. 
 
 Why come ye hither, stranger, 57. 
 Without your showers I breed no 
 
 flowers, 72. 
 
 Yea ! since the need is bitter, 133. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY