diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-21 21:15:24 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-21 21:15:24 -0800 |
| commit | 412bfa5ceb6f1b5ce70fedc1ab581bf00ba28da6 (patch) | |
| tree | 211a0bd0eb28f3816cc9827fde3473e095b0d579 | |
| parent | d02b71e7fa5d0822bcbd93520631e1a78c6be70a (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68129-0.txt | 8180 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68129-0.zip | bin | 181492 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68129-h.zip | bin | 618978 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68129-h/68129-h.htm | 12621 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68129-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 324379 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68129-h/images/keats.jpg | bin | 96778 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68129-h/images/riverside.jpg | bin | 11810 -> 0 bytes |
10 files changed, 17 insertions, 20801 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5da2cf --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68129 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68129) diff --git a/old/68129-0.txt b/old/68129-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e1241e7..0000000 --- a/old/68129-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8180 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Carlyle's laugh, and other surprises, -by Thomas Wentworth Higginson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Carlyle's laugh, and other surprises - -Author: Thomas Wentworth Higginson - -Release Date: May 19, 2022 [eBook #68129] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARLYLE'S LAUGH, AND OTHER -SURPRISES *** - - - - - - -Thomas Wentworth Higginson - - -=WORKS.= Newly arranged. 7 Vols. 12mo, each, $2.00. - - 1. CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS. - 2. CONTEMPORARIES. - 3. ARMY LIFE IN A BLACK REGIMENT. - 4. WOMEN AND THE ALPHABET. - 5. STUDIES IN ROMANCE. - 6. OUTDOOR STUDIES; AND POEMS. - 7. STUDIES IN HISTORY AND LETTERS. - -=THE PROCESSION OF THE FLOWERS.= $1.25. - -=THE AFTERNOON LANDSCAPE.= Poems and Translations. $1.00. - -=THE MONARCH OF DREAMS.= 18mo, 50 cents. - -=MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.= In the American Men of Letters Series. 16mo, -$1.50. - -=HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.= In American Men of Letters Series. 16mo, $1.10, -_net._ Postage 10 cents. - -=PART OF A MAN’S LIFE.= Illustrated. Large 8vo, $2.50, _net._ Postage 18 -cents. - -=LIFE AND TIMES OF STEPHEN HIGGINSON.= Illustrated. Large crown 8vo, -$2.00, _net._ Postage extra. - -=CARLYLE’S LAUGH AND OTHER SURPRISES.= 12mo, $2.00, _net._ Postage 15 -cents. - -_EDITED WITH MRS. E. H. BIGELOW._ - -=AMERICAN SONNETS.= 18mo, $1.25. - -HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - -BOSTON AND NEW YORK - - - - -CARLYLE’S LAUGH - -AND OTHER SURPRISES - - - - - CARLYLE’S LAUGH - AND OTHER SURPRISES - - BY - THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - MDCCCCIX - - COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - _Published October 1909_ - - - - -NOTE - - -The two papers in this volume which bear the titles “A Keats Manuscript” -and “A Shelley Manuscript” are reprinted by permission from a work -called “Book and Heart,” by Thomas Wentworth Higginson, copyright, 1897, -by Harper and Brothers, with whose consent the essay entitled “One of -Thackeray’s Women” also is published. Leave has been obtained to reprint -the papers on Brown, Cooper, and Thoreau, from Carpenter’s “American -Prose,” copyrighted by the Macmillan Company, 1898. My thanks are also -due to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences for permission to -reprint the papers on Scudder, Atkinson, and Cabot; to the proprietors of -“Putnam’s Magazine” for the paper entitled “Emerson’s Foot-Note Person”; -to the proprietors of the New York “Evening Post” for the article -on George Bancroft from “The Nation”; to the editor of the “Harvard -Graduates’ Magazine” for the paper on “Göttingen and Harvard”; and to the -editors of the “Outlook” for the papers on Charles Eliot Norton, Julia -Ward Howe, Edward Everett Hale, William J. Rolfe, and “Old Newport Days.” -Most of the remaining sketches appeared originally in the “Atlantic -Monthly.” - - T. W. H. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. CARLYLE’S LAUGH 1 - - II. A SHELLEY MANUSCRIPT 13 - - III. A KEATS MANUSCRIPT 21 - - IV. MASSASOIT, INDIAN CHIEF 31 - - V. JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 45 - - VI. CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 55 - - VII. HENRY DAVID THOREAU 65 - - VIII. EMERSON’S “FOOT-NOTE PERSON,”—ALCOTT 75 - - IX. GEORGE BANCROFT 93 - - X. CHARLES ELIOT NORTON 119 - - XI. EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN 137 - - XII. EDWARD EVERETT HALE 157 - - XIII. A MASSACHUSETTS GENERAL, RUFUS SAXTON 173 - - XIV. ONE OF THACKERAY’S WOMEN 183 - - XV. JOHN BARTLETT 191 - - XVI. HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER 201 - - XVII. EDWARD ATKINSON 213 - - XVIII. JAMES ELLIOT CABOT 231 - - XIX. EMILY DICKINSON 247 - - XX. JULIA WARD HOWE 285 - - XXI. WILLIAM JAMES ROLFE 313 - - XXII. GÖTTINGEN AND HARVARD A CENTURY AGO 325 - - XXIII. OLD NEWPORT DAYS 349 - - XXIV. A HALF-CENTURY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE 367 - - - - -I - -CARLYLE’S LAUGH - - - - -CARLYLE’S LAUGH - - -None of the many sketches of Carlyle that have been published since -his death have brought out quite distinctly enough the thing which -struck me more forcibly than all else, when in the actual presence of -the man; namely, the peculiar quality and expression of his laugh. It -need hardly be said that there is a great deal in a laugh. One of the -most telling pieces of oratory that ever reached my ears was Victor -Hugo’s vindication, at the Voltaire Centenary in Paris, of that author’s -smile. To be sure, Carlyle’s laugh was not like that smile, but it was -something as inseparable from his personality, and as essential to the -account, when making up one’s estimate of him. It was as individually -characteristic as his face or his dress, or his way of talking or of -writing. Indeed, it seemed indispensable for the explanation of all of -these. I found in looking back upon my first interview with him, that -all I had known of Carlyle through others, or through his own books, for -twenty-five years, had been utterly defective,—had left out, in fact, the -key to his whole nature,—inasmuch as nobody had ever described to me his -laugh. - -It is impossible to follow the matter further without a little bit of -personal narration. On visiting England for the first time, in 1872, I -was offered a letter to Carlyle, and declined it. Like all of my own -generation, I had been under some personal obligations to him for his -early writings,—though in my case this debt was trifling compared with -that due to Emerson,—but his “Latter-Day Pamphlets” and his reported -utterances on American affairs had taken away all special desire to meet -him, besides the ungraciousness said to mark his demeanor toward visitors -from the United States. Yet, when I was once fairly launched in that -fascinating world of London society, where the American sees, as Willis -used to say, whole shelves of his library walking about in coats and -gowns, this disinclination rapidly softened. And when Mr. Froude kindly -offered to take me with him for one of his afternoon calls on Carlyle, -and further proposed that I should join them in their habitual walk -through the parks, it was not in human nature—or at least in American -nature—to resist. - -We accordingly went after lunch, one day in May, to Carlyle’s modest -house in Chelsea, and found him in his study, reading—by a chance very -appropriate for me—in Weiss’s “Life of Parker.” He received us kindly, -but at once began inveighing against the want of arrangement in the -book he was reading, the defective grouping of the different parts, and -the impossibility of finding anything in it, even by aid of the index. -He then went on to speak of Parker himself, and of other Americans -whom he had met. I do not recall the details of the conversation, but -to my surprise he did not say a single really offensive or ungracious -thing. If he did, it related less to my countrymen than to his own, for -I remember his saying some rather stern things about Scotchmen. But -that which saved these and all his sharpest words from being actually -offensive was this, that, after the most vehement tirade, he would -suddenly pause, throw his head back, and give as genuine and kindly a -laugh as I ever heard from a human being. It was not the bitter laugh -of the cynic, nor yet the big-bodied laugh of the burly joker; least of -all was it the thin and rasping cackle of the dyspeptic satirist. It was -a broad, honest, human laugh, which, beginning in the brain, took into -its action the whole heart and diaphragm, and instantly changed the worn -face into something frank and even winning, giving to it an expression -that would have won the confidence of any child. Nor did it convey the -impression of an exceptional thing that had occurred for the first time -that day, and might never happen again. Rather, it produced the effect -of something habitual; of being the channel, well worn for years, by -which the overflow of a strong nature was discharged. It cleared the -air like thunder, and left the atmosphere sweet. It seemed to say to -himself, if not to us, “Do not let us take this too seriously; it is my -way of putting things. What refuge is there for a man who looks below the -surface in a world like this, except to laugh now and then?” The laugh, -in short, revealed the humorist; if I said the genial humorist, wearing a -mask of grimness, I should hardly go too far for the impression it left. -At any rate, it shifted the ground, and transferred the whole matter to -that realm of thought where men play with things. The instant Carlyle -laughed, he seemed to take the counsel of his old friend Emerson, and to -write upon the lintels of his doorway, “Whim.” - -Whether this interpretation be right or wrong, it is certain that the -effect of this new point of view upon one of his visitors was wholly -disarming. The bitter and unlovely vision vanished; my armed neutrality -went with it, and there I sat talking with Carlyle as fearlessly as if -he were an old friend. The talk soon fell on the most dangerous of all -ground, our Civil War, which was then near enough to inspire curiosity; -and he put questions showing that he had, after all, considered the -matter in a sane and reasonable way. He was especially interested in the -freed slaves and the colored troops; he said but little, yet that was -always to the point, and without one ungenerous word. On the contrary, -he showed more readiness to comprehend the situation, as it existed -after the war, than was to be found in most Englishmen at that time. -The need of giving the ballot to the former slaves he readily admitted, -when it was explained to him; and he at once volunteered the remark that -in a republic they needed this, as the guarantee of their freedom. “You -could do no less,” he said, “for the men who had stood by you.” I could -scarcely convince my senses that this manly and reasonable critic was -the terrible Carlyle, the hater of “Cuffee” and “Quashee” and of all -republican government. If at times a trace of angry exaggeration showed -itself, the good, sunny laugh came in and cleared the air. - -We walked beneath the lovely trees of Kensington Gardens, then in -the glory of an English May; and I had my first sight of the endless -procession of riders and equipages in Rotten Row. My two companions -received numerous greetings, and as I walked in safe obscurity by their -side, I could cast sly glances of keen enjoyment at the odd combination -visible in their looks. Froude’s fine face and bearing became familiar -afterwards to Americans, and he was irreproachably dressed; while -probably no salutation was ever bestowed from an elegant passing carriage -on an odder figure than Carlyle. Tall, very thin, and slightly stooping; -with unkempt, grizzly whiskers pushed up by a high collar, and kept -down by an ancient felt hat; wearing an old faded frock coat, checked -waistcoat, coarse gray trousers, and russet shoes; holding a stout -stick, with his hands encased in very large gray woolen gloves,—this -was Carlyle. I noticed that, when we first left his house, his aspect -attracted no notice in the streets, being doubtless familiar in his own -neighborhood; but as we went farther and farther on, many eyes were -turned in his direction, and men sometimes stopped to gaze at him. Little -he noticed it, however, as he plodded along with his eyes cast down or -looking straight before him, while his lips poured forth an endless -stream of talk. Once and once only he was accosted, and forced to answer; -and I recall it with delight as showing how the unerring instinct of -childhood coincided with mine, and pronounced him not a man to be feared. - -We passed a spot where some nobleman’s grounds were being appropriated -for a public park; it was only lately that people had been allowed to -cross them, and all was in the rough, preparations for the change having -been begun. Part of the turf had been torn up for a road-way, but there -was a little emerald strip where three or four ragged children, the -oldest not over ten, were turning somersaults in great delight. As we -approached, they paused and looked shyly at us, as if uncertain of their -right on these premises; and I could see the oldest, a sharp-eyed little -London boy, reviewing us with one keen glance, as if selecting him in -whom confidence might best be placed. Now I am myself a child-loving -person; and I had seen with pleasure Mr. Froude’s kindly ways with -his own youthful household: yet the little _gamin_ dismissed us with -a glance and fastened on Carlyle. Pausing on one foot, as if ready -to take to his heels on the least discouragement, he called out the -daring question, “I say, mister, may we roll on this here grass?” The -philosopher faced round, leaning on his staff, and replied in a homelier -Scotch accent than I had yet heard him use, “Yes, my little fellow, -r-r-roll at discraytion!” Instantly the children resumed their antics, -while one little girl repeated meditatively, “He says we may roll at -discraytion!”—as if it were some new kind of ninepin-ball. - -Six years later, I went with my friend Conway to call on Mr. Carlyle once -more, and found the kindly laugh still there, though changed, like all -else in him, by the advance of years and the solitude of existence. It -could not be said of him that he grew old happily, but he did not grow -old unkindly, I should say; it was painful to see him, but it was because -one pitied him, not by reason of resentment suggested by anything on his -part. He announced himself to be, and he visibly was, a man left behind -by time and waiting for death. He seemed in a manner sunk within himself; -but I remember well the affectionate way in which he spoke of Emerson, -who had just sent him the address entitled “The Future of the Republic.” -Carlyle remarked, “I’ve just noo been reading it; the dear Emerson, he -thinks the whole warrld’s like himself; and if he can just get a million -people together and let them all vote, they’ll be sure to vote right and -all will go vara weel”; and then came in the brave laugh of old, but -briefer and less hearty by reason of years and sorrows. - -One may well hesitate before obtruding upon the public any such private -impressions of an eminent man. They will always appear either too -personal or too trivial. But I have waited in vain to see some justice -done to the side of Carlyle here portrayed; and since it has been very -commonly asserted that the effect he produced on strangers was that of -a rude and offensive person, it seems almost a duty to testify to the -very different way in which one American visitor saw him. An impression -produced at two interviews, six years apart, may be worth recording, -especially if it proved strong enough to outweigh all previous prejudice -and antagonism. - -In fine, I should be inclined to appeal from all Carlyle’s apparent -bitterness and injustice to the mere quality of his laugh, as giving -sufficient proof that the gift of humor underlay all else in him. All -his critics, I now think, treat him a little too seriously. No matter -what his labors or his purposes, the attitude of the humorist was always -behind. As I write, there lies before me a scrap from the original -manuscript of his “French Revolution,”—the page being written, after -the custom of English authors of half a century ago, on both sides of -the paper; and as I study it, every curl and twist of the handwriting, -every backstroke of the pen, every substitution of a more piquant word -for a plainer one, bespeaks the man of whim. Perhaps this quality came -by nature through a Scotch ancestry; perhaps it was strengthened by the -accidental course of his early reading. It may be that it was Richter -who moulded him, after all, rather than Goethe; and we know that Richter -was defined by Carlyle, in his very first literary essay, as “a humorist -and a philosopher,” putting the humorist first. The German author’s -favorite type of character—seen to best advantage in his Siebenkäs -of the “Blumen, Frucht, und Dornenstücke”—came nearer to the actual -Carlyle than most of the grave portraitures yet executed. He, as is -said of Siebenkäs, disguised his heart beneath a grotesque mask, partly -for greater freedom, and partly because he preferred whimsically to -exaggerate human folly rather than to share it (_dass er die menschliche -Thorheit mehr travestiere als nachahme_). Both characters might be -well summed up in the brief sentence which follows: “A humorist in -action is but a satirical improvisatore” (_Ein handelnder Humorist ist -blos ein satirischer Improvisatore_). This last phrase, “a satirical -improvisatore,” seems to me better than any other to describe Carlyle. - - - - -II - -A SHELLEY MANUSCRIPT - - - - -A SHELLEY MANUSCRIPT - - -Were I to hear to-morrow that the main library of Harvard University, -with every one of its 496,200 volumes, had been reduced to ashes, there -is in my mind no question what book I should most regret. It is that -unique, battered, dingy little quarto volume of Shelley’s manuscript -poems, in his own handwriting and that of his wife, first given by Miss -Jane Clairmont (Shelley’s “Constantia”) to Mr. Edward A. Silsbee, and -then presented by him to the library. Not only is it full of that aroma -of fascination which belongs to the actual handiwork of a master, but -its numerous corrections and interlineations make the reader feel that -he is actually traveling in the pathway of that delicate mind. Professor -George E. Woodberry had the use of it; he printed in the “Harvard -University Calendar” a facsimile of the “Ode to a Skylark” as given in -the manuscript, and has cited many of its various readings in his edition -of Shelley’s poems. But he has passed by a good many others; and some of -these need, I think, for the sake of all students of Shelley, to be put -in print, so that in case of the loss or destruction of the precious -volume, these fragments at least may be preserved. - -There occur in this manuscript the following variations from Professor -Woodberry’s text of “The Sensitive Plant”—variations not mentioned by -him, for some reason or other, in his footnotes or supplemental notes, -and yet not canceled by Shelley:— - - “Three days the flowers of the garden fair - Like stars when the moon is awakened, were.” - - III, 1-2. - - [_Moon_ is clearly _morn_ in the Harvard MS.] - - “And under the roots of the Sensitive Plant.” - - III, 100. - - [The prefatory _And_ is not in the Harvard MS.] - - “But the mandrakes and toadstools and docks and darnels - Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels.” - - III, 112. - - [The word _brambles_ appears for _mandrakes_ in the Harvard MS.] - -These three variations, all of which are interesting, are the only ones I -have noted as uncanceled in this particular poem, beyond those recorded -by Professor Woodberry. But there are many cases where the manuscript -shows, in Shelley’s own handwriting, variations subsequently canceled -by him; and these deserve study by all students of the poetic art. -His ear was so exquisite and his sense of the _balance_ of a phrase so -remarkable, that it is always interesting to see the path by which he -came to the final utterance, whatever that was. I have, therefore, copied -a number of these modified lines, giving, first, Professor Woodberry’s -text, and then the original form of language, as it appears in Shelley’s -handwriting, italicizing the words which vary, and giving the pages of -Professor Woodberry’s edition. The cancelation or change is sometimes -made in pen, sometimes in pencil; and it is possible that, in a few -cases, it may have been made by Mrs. Shelley. - - “Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky.” - - “Gazed through _its tears_ on the tender sky.” - - I, 36. - - “The beams which dart from many a star - Of the flowers whose hues they bear afar.” - - “The beams which dart from many a _sphere_ - Of the _starry_ flowers whose hues they bear.” - - I, 81-82. - - “The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie - Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high, - Then wander like spirits among the spheres - Each cloud faint with the fragrance it bears.” - - “The unseen clouds of the dew, which _lay_ - Like fire in the flowers till _dawning day_, - Then _walk_ like spirits among the spheres - Each _one_ faint with the _odor_ it bears.” - - I, 86-89. - - “Like windless clouds o’er a tender sky.” - - “Like windless clouds _in_ a tender sky.” - - I, 98. - - “Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress.” - - “Whose waves never _wrinkle_, though they impress.” - - I, 106. - - “Was as God is to the starry scheme,” - - “Was as _is God_ to the starry scheme.” - - I, 4. - - “As if some bright spirit for her sweet sake - Had deserted heaven while the stars were awake.” - - “As some bright spirit for her sweet sake - Had deserted _the_ heaven while the stars were awake.” - - II, 17-18. - - “The freshest her gentle hands could pull.” - - “The freshest her gentle hands could _cull_.” - - II, 46. - - “The sweet lips of the flowers and harm not, did she.” - - “The sweet lips of flowers,” etc. - - II, 51. - - “Edge of the odorous cedar bark.” - - “Edge of the odorous _cypress_ bark.” - - II, 56. - - “Sent through the pores of the coffin plank.” - - “_Ran_ through,” etc. - - III, 12. - - “Between the time of the wind and the snow.” - - “Between the _term_,” etc. [probably accidental]. - - III, 50. - - “Dammed it up with roots knotted like water-snakes.” - - “Dammed it with,” etc. - - III, 69. - - “At noon they were seen, at noon they were felt.” - - “At noon they were seen & noon they were felt.” - - III, 73. - - [“&” perhaps written carelessly for “at.”] - - “Their decay and sudden flight from frost.” - - “Their decay and sudden flight from _the_ frost.” - - III, 98. - - “To own that death itself must be.” - - “To _think_ that,” etc. - - III, 128. - -These comparisons are here carried no further than “The Sensitive Plant,” -except that there is a canceled verse of Shelley’s “Curse” against Lord -Eldon for depriving him of his children,—a verse so touching that I think -it should be preserved. The verse beginning— - - “By those unpractised accents of young speech,” - -opened originally as follows:— - - “By that sweet voice which who could understand - To frame to sounds of love and lore divine, - Not thou.” - -This was abandoned and the following substituted:— - - “By those pure accents which at my command - Should have been framed to love and lore divine, - Now like a lute, fretted by some rude hand, - Uttering harsh discords, they must echo thine.” - -This also was erased, and the present form substituted, although I -confess it seems to me both less vigorous and less tender. Professor -Woodberry mentions the change, but does not give the canceled verse. In -this and other cases I do not venture to blame him for the omission, -since an editor must, after all, exercise his own judgment. Yet I cannot -but wish that he had carried his citation, even of canceled variations, a -little further; and it is evident that some future student of poetic art -will yet find rich gleanings in the Harvard Shelley manuscript. - - - - -III - -A KEATS MANUSCRIPT - - - - -A KEATS MANUSCRIPT - - -“Touch it,” said Leigh Hunt, when he showed Bayard Taylor a lock of -brown silky hair, “and you will have touched Milton’s self.” The magic -of the lock of hair is akin to that recognized by nomadic and untamed -races in anything that has been worn close to the person of a great -or fortunate being. Mr. Leland, much reverenced by the gypsies, whose -language he spoke and whose lore he knew better than they know it, had a -knife about his person which was supposed by them to secure the granting -of any request if held in the hand. When he gave it away, it was like -the transfer of fairy power to the happy recipient. The same lucky spell -is attributed to a piece of the bride’s garter, in Normandy, or to pins -filched from her dress, in Sussex. For those more cultivated, the charm -of this transmitted personality is best embodied in autographs, and the -more unstudied and unpremeditated the better. In the case of a poet, -nothing can be compared with the interest inspired by the first draft -of a poem, with its successive amendments—the path by which his thought -attained its final and perfect utterance. Tennyson, for instance, was -said to be very indignant with those who bore away from his study certain -rough drafts of poems, justly holding that the world had no right to -any but the completed form. Yet this is what, as students of poetry, -we all instinctively wish to do. Rightly or wrongly, we long to trace -the successive steps. To some extent, the same opportunity is given -in successive editions of the printed work; but here the study is not -so much of changes in the poet’s own mind as of those produced by the -criticisms, often dull or ignorant, of his readers,—those especially who -fail to catch a poet’s very finest thought, and persuade him to dilute -it a little for their satisfaction. When I pointed out to Browning some -rather unfortunate alterations in his later editions, and charged him -with having made them to accommodate stupid people, he admitted the -offense and promised to alter them back again, although, of course, -he never did. But the changes in an author’s manuscript almost always -come either from his own finer perception and steady advance toward the -precise conveyance of his own thought, or else from the aid he receives -in this from some immediate friend or adviser—most likely a woman—who is -in close sympathy with his own mood. The charm is greatest, of course, in -seeing and studying and touching the original page, just as it is. For -this a photograph is the best substitute, since it preserves the original -for the eye, as does the phonograph for the ear. Even with the aid of -photography only, there is as much difference between the final corrected -shape and the page showing the gradual changes, as between the graceful -yacht lying in harbor, anchored, motionless, with sails furled, and the -same yacht as a winged creature, gliding into port. Let us now see, by -actual comparison, how one of Keats’s yachts came in. - -There lies before me a photograph of the first two stanzas of Keats’s -“Ode on Melancholy,” as they stood when just written. The manuscript -page containing them was given to John Howard Payne by George Keats, the -poet’s brother, who lived for many years at Louisville, Kentucky, and -died there; but it now belongs to Mr. R. S. Chilton, United States Consul -at Goderich, Ontario, who has kindly given me a photograph of it. The -verses are in Keats’s well-known and delicate handwriting, and exhibit -a series of erasures and substitutions which are now most interesting, -inasmuch as the changes in each instance enrich greatly the value of the -word-painting. - -To begin with, the title varies slightly from that first adopted, -and reads simply “On Melancholy,” to which the word “Ode” was later -prefixed by the printers. In the second line, where he had half written -“Henbane” for the material of his incantation, he blots it out and puts -“Wolfsbane,” instantly abandoning the tamer suggestion and bringing in -all the wildness and the superstition that have gathered for years around -the Loup-garou and the Wehr-wolf. This is plainly no amendment suggested -afterward by another person, but is due unmistakably to the quick action -of his own mind. There is no other change until the end of the first -stanza, where the last two lines were originally written thus:— - - “For shade to shade will come too heavily - And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.” - -It is noticeable that he originally wrote “down” for “drown,” and, in -afterward inserting the _r_, put it in the wrong place—after the _o_, -instead of before it. This was a slip of the pen only; but it was that -word “heavily” which cost him a struggle. The words “too heavily” were -next crossed out, and under them were written “too sleepily”; then -this last word was again erased, and the word “drowsily” was finally -substituted—the only expression in the English language, perhaps, which -could have precisely indicated the exact shade of debilitating languor he -meant. - -[Illustration] - -In the other stanza, it is noticeable that he spells “melancholy,” -through heedlessness, “melanancholy,” which gives a curious effect of -prolonging and deepening the incantation; and this error he does not -discover or correct. In the same way he spells “fit,” “fitt,” having -perhaps in mind the “fytte” of the earlier poets. These are trifles, but -when he alters the line, which originally stood,— - - “But when the melancholy fit shall come,” - -and for “come” substitutes “fall,” we see at once, besides the merit -of the soft alliteration, that he gives more of the effect of doom and -suddenness. “Come” was clearly too business like. Afterwards, instead of— - - “Then feed thy sorrow on a morning rose,” - -he substitutes for “feed” the inexpressibly more effective word “glut,” -which gives at once the exhaustive sense of wealth belonging so often to -Keats’s poetry, and seems to match the full ecstasy of color and shape -and fragrance that a morning rose may hold. Finally, in the line which -originally stood,— - - “Or on the rainbow of the dashing wave,” - -he strikes out the rather trite epithet “dashing,” and substitutes the -stronger phrase “salt-sand wave,” which is peculiar to him. - -All these changes are happily accepted in the common editions of Keats; -but these editions make two errors that are corrected by this manuscript, -and should henceforth be abandoned. In the line usually printed,— - - “Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be,” - -the autograph text gives “or” in the place of the second “nor,” a change -consonant with the best usage; and in the line,— - - “And hides the green hill in an April shroud,” - -the middle word is clearly not “hill,” but “hills.” This is a distinct -improvement, both because it broadens the landscape and because it averts -the jangle of the closing _ll_ with the final words “fall” and “all” in -previous lines. - -It is a fortunate thing that, in the uncertain destiny of all literary -manuscripts, this characteristic document should have been preserved for -us. It will be remembered that Keats himself once wrote in a letter that -his fondest prayer, next to that for the health of his brother Tom, would -be that some child of his brother George “should be the first American -poet.” This letter, printed by Milnes, was written October 29, 1818. -George Keats died about 1851, and his youngest daughter, Isabel, who was -thought greatly to resemble her uncle John, both in looks and genius, -died sadly at the age of seventeen. It is pleasant to think that we have, -through the care exercised by this American brother, an opportunity of -coming into close touch with the mental processes of that rare genius -which first imparted something like actual color to English words. To be -brought thus near to Keats suggests that poem by Browning where he speaks -of a moment’s interview with one who had seen Shelley, and compares it to -picking up an eagle’s feather on a lonely heath. - - - - -IV - -MASSASOIT, INDIAN CHIEF - - - - -MASSASOIT, INDIAN CHIEF - - There was paid on October 19, 1907, one of the few tributes - ever openly rendered by the white races to the higher type of - native Indian leaders. Such was that given by a large company - at Warren, Rhode Island, to Massasoit, the friendly Indian - Sachem who had first greeted the early Pilgrims, on their - arrival at Plymouth in 1620. The leading address was made by - the author of this volume. - - -The newspaper correspondents tell us that, when an inquiry was one day -made among visitors returning from the recent Jamestown Exposition, as to -the things seen by each of them which he or she would remember longest, -one man replied, “That life-size group in the Smithsonian building -which shows John Smith in his old cock-boat trading with the Indians. -He is giving them beads or something and getting baskets of corn in -exchange.”[1] This seemed to the speaker, and quite reasonably, the very -first contact with civilization on the part of the American Indians. -Precisely parallel to this is the memorial which we meet to dedicate, and -which records the first interview in 1620 between the little group of -Plymouth Pilgrims and Massasoit, known as the “greatest commander of the -country,” and “Sachem of the whole region north of Narragansett Bay.”[2] - -“Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate,” says the poet -Pope; and nothing is more remarkable in human history than the way in -which great events sometimes reach their climax at once, instead of -gradually working up to it. Never was this better illustrated than when -the Plymouth Pilgrims first met the one man of this region who could -guarantee them peace for fifty years, and did so. The circumstances seem -the simplest of the simple. - -The first hasty glance between the Plymouth Puritans and the Indians -did not take place, as you will recall, until the newcomers had been -four days on shore, when, in the words of the old chronicler, “they -espied five or sixe people with a Dogge coming towards them, who were -savages: who when they saw them ran into the Woods and whistled the -Dogge after them.” (This quadruped, whether large or small, had always -a capital letter in his name, while human savages had none, in these -early narratives.) When the English pursued the Indians, “they ran away -might and main.”[3] The next interview was a stormier one; four days -later, those same Pilgrims were asleep on board the “shallope” on the -morning of December 8, 1620 (now December 19), when they heard “a great -and strange cry,” and arrow-shots came flying amongst them which they -returned and one Indian “gave an extraordinary cry” and away they went. -After all was quiet, the Pilgrims picked up eighteen arrows, some “headed -with brass, some with hart’s horn” (deer’s horn), “and others with -eagles’ claws,”[4] the brass heads at least showing that those Indians -had met Englishmen before. - -Three days after this encounter at Namskeket,—namely, on December 22, -1620 (a date now computed as December 23),—the English landed at Patuxet, -now Plymouth. (I know these particulars as to dates, because I was -myself born on the anniversary of this first date, the 22d, and regarded -myself as a sort of brevet Pilgrim, until men, alleged to be scientific, -robbed me of one point of eminence in my life by landing the Pilgrims -on the 23d). Three months passed before the sight of any more Indians, -when Samoset came, all alone, with his delightful salutation, “Welcome, -Englishmen,” and a few days later (March 22, 1621), the great chief of -all that region, Massasoit, appeared on the scene. - -When he first made himself visible, with sixty men, on that day, upon -what is still known as Strawberry Hill, he asked that somebody be sent -to hold a parley with him. Edmund Winslow was appointed to this office, -and went forward protected only by his sword and armor, and carrying -presents to the Sachem. Winslow also made a speech of some length, -bringing messages (quite imaginary, perhaps, and probably not at all -comprehended) from King James, whose representative, the governor, wished -particularly to see Massasoit. It appears from the record, written -apparently by Winslow himself, that Massasoit made no particular reply -to this harangue, but paid very particular attention to Winslow’s sword -and armor, and proposed at once to begin business by buying them. This, -however, was refused, but Winslow induced Massasoit to cross a brook -between the English and himself, taking with him twenty of his Indians, -who were bidden to leave their bows and arrows behind them. Beyond the -brook, he was met by Captain Standish, with an escort of six armed men, -who exchanged salutations and attended him to one of the best, but -unfinished, houses in the village. Here a green rug was spread on the -floor and three or four cushions. The governor, Bradford, then entered -the house, followed by three or four soldiers and preceded by a flourish -from a drum and trumpet, which quite delighted and astonished the -Indians. It was a deference paid to their Sachem. He and the governor -then kissed each other, as it is recorded, sat down together, and regaled -themselves with an entertainment. The feast is recorded by the early -narrator as consisting chiefly of strong waters, a “thing the savages -love very well,” it is said; “and the Sachem took such a large draught of -it at once as made him sweat all the time he staied.”[5] - -A substantial treaty of peace was made on this occasion, one immortalized -by the fact that it was the first made with the Indians of New England. -It is the unquestioned testimony of history that the negotiation was -remembered and followed by both sides for half a century: nor was -Massasoit, or any of the Wampanoags during his lifetime, convicted of -having violated or having attempted to violate any of its provisions. -This was a great achievement! Do you ask what price bought all this? -The price practically paid for all the vast domain and power granted to -the white man consisted of the following items: “a pair of knives and -a copper chain with a jewel in it, for the grand Sachem; and for his -brother Quadequina, a knife, a jewel to hang in his ear, a pot of strong -waters, a good quantity of biscuit and a piece of butter.”[6] - -Fair words, the proverb says, butter no parsnips, but the fair words of -the white men had provided the opportunity for performing that process. -The description preserved of the Indian chief by an eye-witness is as -follows: “In his person he is a very lusty man in his best years, an able -body, grave of countenance and spare of speech; in his attire little or -nothing differing from the rest of his followers, only in a great chain -of white bone beads about his neck; and at it, behind his neck, hangs a -little bag of tobacco, which he drank, and gave us to drink (this being -the phrase for that indulgence in those days, as is found in Ben Jonson -and other authors). His face was painted with a sad red, like murrey (so -called from the color of the Moors) and oiled, both head and face, that -he looked greasily. All his followers likewise were in their faces, in -part or in whole painted, some black, some red, some yellow, and some -white, some with crosses and other antic works; some had skins on them -and some naked: all strong, tall men in appearance.”[7] - -All this which Dr. Young tells us would have been a good description of -an Indian party under Black Hawk, which was presented to the President -at Washington as late as 1837; and also, I can say the same of such a -party seen by myself, coming from a prairie in Kansas, then unexplored, -in 1856. - -The interchange of eatables was evidently at that period a pledge of good -feeling, as it is to-day. On a later occasion, Captain Standish, with -Isaac Alderton, went to visit the Indians, who gave them three or four -groundnuts and some tobacco. The writer afterwards says: “Our governor -bid them send the king’s kettle and filled it full of pease which pleased -them well, and so they went their way.” It strikes the modern reader as -if this were to make pease and peace practically equivalent, and as if -the parties needed only a pun to make friends. It is doubtful whether the -arrival of a conquering race was ever in the history of the world marked -by a treaty so simple and therefore noble. - -“This treaty with Massasoit,” says Belknap, “was the work of one day,” -and being honestly intended on both sides, was kept with fidelity as long -as Massasoit lived.[8] In September, 1639, Massasoit and his oldest son, -Mooanam, afterwards called Wamsutta, came into the court at Plymouth and -desired that this ancient league should remain inviolable, which was -accordingly ratified and confirmed by the government,[9] and lasted -until it was broken by Philip, the successor of Wamsutta, in 1675. It is -not my affair to discuss the later career of Philip, whose insurrection -is now viewed more leniently than in its own day; but the spirit of -it was surely quite mercilessly characterized by a Puritan minister, -Increase Mather, who, when describing a battle in which old Indian men -and women, the wounded and the helpless, were burned alive, said proudly, -“This day we brought five hundred Indian souls to hell.”[10] - -But the end of all was approaching. In 1623, Massasoit sent a messenger -to Plymouth to say that he was ill, and Governor Bradford sent Mr. -Winslow to him with medicines and cordials. When they reached a certain -ferry, upon Winslow’s discharging his gun, Indians came to him from a -house not far off who told him that Massasoit was dead and that day -buried. As they came nearer, at about half an hour before the setting -of the sun, another messenger came and told them that he was not dead, -though there was no hope that they would find him living. Hastening on, -they arrived late at night. - -“When we came thither,” Winslow writes, “we found the house so full of -men as we could scarce get in, though they used their best diligence to -make way for us. There were they in the midst of their charms for him, -making such a hellish noise as it distempered us that were well, and -therefore unlike to ease him that was sick. About him were six or eight -women, who chafed his arms, legs and thighs to keep heat in him. When -they had made an end of their charming, one told him that his friends, -the English, were come to see him. Having understanding left, but his -sight was wholly gone, he asked who was come. They told him Winsnow, -for they cannot pronounce the letter _l_, but ordinarily _n_ in place -thereof. He desired to speak with me. When I came to him and they told -him of it, he put forth his hand to me, which I took. When he said twice, -though very inwardly: ‘Keen Winsnow?’ which is to say ‘Art thou Winslow?’ -I answered: ‘Ahhe’; that is, ‘Yes.’ Then he doubled these words: ‘Matta -neen wonckanet nanem, Winsnow!’ That is to say: ‘Oh, Winslow, I shall -never see thee again!’ Then I called Hobbamock and desired him to tell -Massasowat that the governor, hearing of his sickness, was sorry for the -same; and though by many businesses he could not come himself, yet he -sent me with such things for him as he thought most likely to do good in -this extremity; and whereof if he pleased to take, I would presently -give him; which he desired, and having a confection of many comfortable -conserves on the point of my knife, I gave him some, which I could scarce -get through his teeth. When it was dissolved in his mouth, he swallowed -the juice of it; whereat those that were about him much rejoiced, saying -that he had not swallowed anything in two days before.”[11] - -Then Winslow tells how he nursed the sick chief, sending messengers -back to the governor for a bottle of drink, and some chickens from -which to make a broth for his patient. Meanwhile he dissolved some of -the confection in water and gave it to Massasoit to drink; within half -an hour the Indian improved. Before the messengers could return with -the chickens, Winslow made a broth of meal and strawberry-leaves and -sassafras-root, which he strained through his handkerchief and gave the -chief, who drank at least a pint of it. After this his sight mended more -and more, and all rejoiced that the Englishman had been the means of -preserving the life of Massasoit. At length the messengers returned with -the chickens, but Massasoit, “finding his stomach come to him, ... would -not have the chickens killed, but kept them for breed.” - -From far and near his followers came to see their restored chief, who -feelingly said: “Now I see the English are my friends and love me; and -whilst I live I will never forget this kindness they have showed me.” - -It would be interesting, were I to take the time, to look into the -relations of Massasoit with others, especially with Roger Williams; but -this has been done by others, particularly in the somewhat imaginative -chapter of my old friend, Mr. Butterworth, and I have already said -enough. Nor can I paint the background of that strange early society of -Rhode Island, its reaction from the stern Massachusetts rigor, and its -quaint and varied materials. In that new state, as Bancroft keenly said, -there were settlements “filled with the strangest and most incongruous -elements ... so that if a man had lost his religious opinions, he might -have been sure to find them again in some village in Rhode Island.” - -Meanwhile “the old benevolent sachem, Massasoit,” says Drake’s “Book -of the Indians,” “having died in the winter of 1661-2,” so died, a few -months after, his oldest son, Alexander. Then came by regular succession, -Philip, the next brother, of whom the historian Hubbard says that for his -“ambitious and haughty spirit he was nicknamed ‘King Philip.’” From this -time followed warlike dismay in the colonies, ending in Philip’s piteous -death. - -As a long-deferred memorial to Massasoit with all his simple and modest -virtues, a tablet has now been reverently dedicated, in the presence -of two of the three surviving descendants of the Indian chief, one of -these wearing his ancestral robes. The dedication might well close as it -did with the noble words of Young’s “Night Thoughts,” suited to such an -occasion:— - - “Each man makes his own stature, builds himself: - Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids; - Her monuments shall last when Egypt’s fall.” - - - - -V - -JAMES FENIMORE COOPER - - - - -JAMES FENIMORE COOPER - - “Cooper, whose name is with his country’s woven - First in her ranks; her Pioneer of mind.” - - -These were the words in which Fitz-Greene Halleck designated Cooper’s -substantial precedence in American novel-writing. Apart from this mere -priority in time,—he was born at Burlington, New Jersey, September 15, -1789, and died at Cooperstown, New York, September 14, 1851,—he rendered -the unique service of inaugurating three especial classes of fiction,—the -novel of the American Revolution, the Indian novel, and the sea novel. In -each case he wrote primarily for his own fellow countrymen, and achieved -fame first at their hands; and in each he produced a class of works -which, in spite of their own faults and of the somewhat unconciliatory -spirit of their writer, have secured a permanence and a breadth of range -unequaled in English prose fiction, save by Scott alone. To-day the sale -of his works in his own language remains unabated; and one has only to -look over the catalogues of European booksellers in order to satisfy -himself that this popularity continues, undiminished, through the medium -of translation. It may be safely said of him that no author of fiction -in the English language, except Scott, has held his own so well for half -a century after death. Indeed, the list of various editions and versions -of his writings in the catalogues of German booksellers often exceeds -that of Scott. This is not in the slightest degree due to his personal -qualities, for these made him unpopular, nor to personal manœuvring, for -this he disdained. He was known to refuse to have his works even noticed -in a newspaper for which he wrote, the “New York Patriot.” He never would -have consented to review his own books, as both Scott and Irving did, -or to write direct or indirect puffs of himself, as was done by Poe and -Whitman. He was foolishly sensitive to criticism, and unable to conceal -it; he was easily provoked to a quarrel; he was dissatisfied with either -praise or blame, and speaks evidently of himself in the words of the hero -of “Miles Wallingford,” when he says: “In scarce a circumstance of my -life that has brought me in the least under the cognizance of the public -have I ever been judged justly.” There is no doubt that he himself—or -rather the temperament given him by nature—was to blame for this, but the -fact is unquestionable. - -Add to this that he was, in his way and in what was unfortunately the -most obnoxious way, a reformer. That is, he was what may be called a -reformer in the conservative direction,—he belabored his fellow citizens -for changing many English ways and usages, and he wished them to change -these things back again, immediately. In all this he was absolutely -unselfish, but utterly tactless; and inasmuch as the point of view he -took was one requiring the very greatest tact, the defect was hopeless. -As a rule, no man criticises American ways so unsuccessfully as an -American who has lived many years in Europe. The mere European critic -is ignorant of our ways and frankly owns it, even if thinking the fact -but a small disqualification; while the American absentee, having -remained away long enough to have forgotten many things and never to -have seen many others, may have dropped hopelessly behindhand as to -the facts, yet claims to speak with authority. Cooper went even beyond -these professional absentees, because, while they are usually ready to -praise other countries at the expense of America, Cooper, with heroic -impartiality, dispraised all countries, or at least all that spoke -English. A thoroughly patriotic and high-minded man, he yet had no mental -perspective, and made small matters as important as great. Constantly -reproaching America for not being Europe, he also satirized Europe for -being what it was. - -As a result, he was for a time equally detested by the press of both -countries. The English, he thought, had “a national propensity to -blackguardism,” and certainly the remarks he drew from them did something -to vindicate the charge. When the London “Times” called him “affected, -offensive, curious, and ill-conditioned,” and “Fraser’s Magazine,” “a -liar, a bilious braggart, a full jackass, an insect, a grub, and a -reptile,” they clearly left little for America to say in that direction. -Yet Park Benjamin did his best, or his worst, when he called Cooper (in -Greeley’s “New Yorker”) “a superlative dolt and the common mark of scorn -and contempt of every well-informed American”; and so did Webb, when -he pronounced the novelist “a base-minded caitiff who had traduced his -country.” Not being able to reach his English opponents, Cooper turned -on these Americans, and spent years in attacking Webb and others through -the courts, gaining little and losing much through the long vicissitudes -of petty local lawsuits. The fact has kept alive their memory; but for -Lowell’s keener shaft, “Cooper has written six volumes to show he’s as -good as a lord,” there was no redress. The arrow lodged and split the -target. - -Like Scott and most other novelists, Cooper was rarely successful with -his main characters, but was saved by his subordinate ones. These were -strong, fresh, characteristic, human; and they lay, as I have already -said, in several different directions, all equally marked. If he did not -create permanent types in Harvey Birch the spy, Leather-Stocking the -woodsman, Long Tom Coffin the sailor, Chingachgook the Indian, then there -is no such thing as the creation of characters in literature. Scott was -far more profuse and varied, but he gave no more of life to individual -personages, and perhaps created no types so universally recognized. What -is most remarkable is that, in the case of the Indian especially, Cooper -was not only in advance of the knowledge of his own time, but of that of -the authors who immediately followed him. In Parkman and Palfrey, for -instance, the Indian of Cooper vanishes and seems wholly extinguished; -but under the closer inspection of Alice Fletcher and Horatio Hale, the -lost figure reappears, and becomes more picturesque, more poetic, more -thoughtful, than even Cooper dared to make him. The instinct of the -novelist turned out more authoritative than the premature conclusions of -a generation of historians. - -It is only women who can draw the commonplace, at least in English, and -make it fascinating. Perhaps only two English women have done this, Jane -Austen and George Eliot; while in France George Sand has certainly done -it far less well than it has been achieved by Balzac and Daudet. Cooper -never succeeded in it for a single instant, and even when he has an -admiral of this type to write about, he puts into him less of life than -Marryat imparts to the most ordinary midshipman. The talk of Cooper’s -civilian worthies is, as Professor Lounsbury has well said,—in what is -perhaps the best biography yet written of any American author,—“of a kind -not known to human society.” This is doubtless aggravated by the frequent -use of _thee_ and _thou_, yet this, which Professor Lounsbury attributes -to Cooper’s Quaker ancestry, was in truth a part of the formality -of the old period, and is found also in Brockden Brown. And as his -writings conform to their period in this, so they did in other respects: -describing every woman, for instance, as a “female,” and making her to -be such as Cooper himself describes the heroine of “Mercedes of Castile” -to be when he says, “Her very nature is made up of religion and female -decorum.” Scott himself could also draw such inane figures, yet in Jeanie -Deans he makes an average Scotch woman heroic, and in Meg Merrilies -and Madge Wildfire he paints the extreme of daring self-will. There is -scarcely a novel of Scott’s where some woman does not show qualities -which approach the heroic; while Cooper scarcely produced one where a -woman rises even to the level of an interesting commonplaceness. She may -be threatened, endangered, tormented, besieged in forts, captured by -Indians, but the same monotony prevails. So far as the real interest of -Cooper’s story goes, it might usually be destitute of a single “female,” -that sex appearing chiefly as a bundle of dry goods to be transported, or -as a fainting appendage to the skirmish. The author might as well have -written the romance of an express parcel. - -His long introductions he shared with the other novelists of the day, -or at least with Scott, for both Miss Austen and Miss Edgeworth are -more modern in this respect and strike more promptly into the tale. -His loose-jointed plots are also shared with Scott, but Cooper knows -as surely as his rival how to hold the reader’s attention when once -grasped. Like Scott’s, too, is his fearlessness in giving details, -instead of the vague generalizations which were then in fashion, and -to which his academical critics would have confined him. He is indeed -already vindicated in some respects by the advance of the art he -pursued; where he led the way, the best literary practice has followed. -The “Edinburgh Review” exhausted its heavy artillery upon him for his -accurate descriptions of costume and localities, and declared that they -were “an epilepsy of the fancy,” and that a vague general account would -have been far better. “Why describe the dress and appearance of an Indian -chief, down to his tobacco-stopper and button-holes?” We now see that it -is this very habit which has made Cooper’s Indian a permanent figure in -literature, while the Indians of his predecessor, Charles Brockden Brown, -were merely dusky spectres. “Poetry or romance,” continued the “Edinburgh -Review,” “does not descend into the particulars,” this being the same -fallacy satirized by Ruskin, whose imaginary painter produced a quadruped -which was a generalization between a pony and a pig. Balzac, who risked -the details of buttons and tobacco pipes as fearlessly as Cooper, said -of “The Pathfinder,” “Never did the art of writing tread closer upon the -art of the pencil. This is the school of study for literary landscape -painters.” He says elsewhere: “If Cooper had succeeded in the painting of -character to the same extent that he did in the painting of the phenomena -of nature, he would have uttered the last word of our art.” Upon such -praise as this the reputation of James Fenimore Cooper may well rest. - - - - -VI - -CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN - - - - -CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN - - -When, in 1834, the historian Jared Sparks undertook the publication -of a “Library of American Biography,” he included in the very first -volume—with a literary instinct most creditable to one so absorbed in -the severer paths of history—a memoir of Charles Brockden Brown by W. -H. Prescott. It was an appropriate tribute to the first imaginative -writer worth mentioning in America,—he having been born in Philadelphia, -Pennsylvania, on January 17, 1771, and died there of consumption on -February 22, 1810,—and to one who was our first professional author. He -was also the first to exert a positive influence, across the Atlantic, -upon British literature, laying thus early a few modest strands towards -an ocean-cable of thought. As a result of this influence, concealed -doors opened in lonely houses, fatal epidemics laid cities desolate, -secret plots were organized, unknown persons from foreign lands died -in garrets, usually leaving large sums of money; the honor of innocent -women was constantly endangered, though usually saved in time; people -were subject to somnambulism and general frenzy; vast conspiracies were -organized with small aims and smaller results. His books, published -between 1798 and 1801, made their way across the ocean with a promptness -that now seems inexplicable; and Mrs. Shelley, in her novel of “The Last -Man,” founds her whole description of an epidemic which nearly destroyed -the human race, on “the masterly delineations of the author of ‘Arthur -Mervyn.’” - -Shelley himself recognized his obligations to Brown; and it is to be -remembered that Brown himself was evidently familiar with Godwin’s -philosophical writings, and that he may have drawn from those of Mary -Wollstonecraft his advanced views as to the rights and education of -women, a subject on which his first book, “Alcuin,” offered the earliest -American protest. Undoubtedly his books furnished a point of transition -from Mrs. Radcliffe, of whom he disapproved, to the modern novel of -realism, although his immediate influence and, so to speak, his stage -properties, can hardly be traced later than the remarkable tale, also -by a Philadelphian, called “Stanley; or the Man of the World,” first -published in 1839 in London, though the scene was laid in America. This -book was attributed, from its profuse literary quotations, to Edward -Everett, but was soon understood to be the work of a very young man -of twenty-one, Horace Binney Wallace. In this book the influence of -Bulwer and Disraeli is palpable, but Brown’s concealed chambers and -aimless conspiracies and sudden mysterious deaths also reappear in full -force, not without some lingering power, and then vanish from American -literature forever. - -Brown’s style, and especially the language put by him into the mouths of -his characters, is perhaps unduly characterized by Professor Woodberry -as being “something never heard off the stage of melodrama.” What this -able critic does not sufficiently recognize is that the general style -of the period at which they were written was itself melodramatic; and -that to substitute what we should call simplicity would then have made -the picture unfaithful. One has only to read over the private letters -of any educated family of that period to see that people did not then -express themselves as they now do; that they were far more ornate in -utterance, more involved in statement, more impassioned in speech. Even a -comparatively terse writer like Prescott, in composing Brown’s biography -only sixty years ago, shows traces of the earlier period. Instead of -stating simply that his hero was a born Quaker, he says of him: “He was -descended from a highly respectable family, whose parents were of that -estimable sect who came over with William Penn, to seek an asylum where -they might worship their Creator unmolested, in the meek and humble -spirit of their own faith.” Prescott justly criticises Brown for saying, -“I was _fraught with the apprehension_ that my life was endangered”; or -“his brain seemed to swell beyond its _continent_”; or “I drew every bolt -that _appended_ to it”; or “on recovering from _deliquium_, you found it -where it had been dropped”; or for resorting to the circumlocution of -saying, “by a common apparatus that lay beside my head I could produce -a light,” when he really meant that he had a tinder-box. The criticism -on Brown is fair enough, yet Prescott himself presently takes us halfway -back to the florid vocabulary of that period, when, instead of merely -saying that his hero was fond of reading, he tells us that “from his -earliest childhood Brown gave evidence of studious propensities, being -frequently noticed by his father on his return from school poring over -some heavy tome.” If the tome in question was Johnson’s dictionary, as -it may have been, it would explain both Brown’s style of writing and the -milder amplifications of his biographer. Nothing is more difficult to -tell, in the fictitious literature of even a generation or two ago, where -a faithful delineation ends and where caricature begins. The four-story -signatures of Micawber’s letters, as represented by Dickens, go but -little beyond the similar courtesies employed in a gentlewoman’s letters -in the days of Anna Seward. All we can say is that within a century, for -some cause or other, English speech has grown very much simpler, and -human happiness has increased in proportion. - -In the preface to his second novel, “Edgar Huntley,” Brown announces it -as his primary purpose to be American in theme, “to exhibit a series of -adventures growing out of our own country,” adding, “That the field of -investigation opened to us by our own country should differ essentially -from those which exist in Europe may be readily conceived.” He protests -against “puerile superstition and exploded manners, Gothic castles and -chimeras,” and adds: “The incidents of Indian hostility and the perils of -the western wilderness are far more suitable.” All this is admirable, but -unfortunately the inherited thoughts and methods of the period hung round -him to cloy his style, even after his aim was emancipated. It is to be -remembered that almost all his imaginative work was done in early life, -before the age of thirty, and before his powers became mature. Yet with -all his drawbacks he had achieved his end, and had laid the foundation -for American fiction. - -With all his inflation of style, he was undoubtedly, in his way, a -careful observer. The proof of this is that he has preserved for us many -minor points of life and manners which make the Philadelphia of a century -ago now more familiar to us than is any other American city of that -period. He gives us the roving Indian; the newly arrived French musician -with violin and monkey; the one-story farmhouses, where boarders are -entertained at a dollar a week; the gray cougar amid caves of limestone. -We learn from him “the dangers and toils of a midnight journey in a -stage coach in America. The roads are knee deep in mire, winding through -crags and pits, while the wheels groan and totter and the curtain and -roof admit the wet at a thousand seams.” We learn the proper costume for -a youth of good fortune and family,—“nankeen coat striped with green, -a white silk waistcoat elegantly needle-wrought, cassimere pantaloons, -stockings of variegated silk, and shoes that in their softness vie with -satin.” When dressing himself, this favored youth ties his flowing locks -with a black ribbon. We find from him that “stage boats” then crossed -twice a day from New York to Staten Island, and we discover also with -some surprise that negroes were freely admitted to ride in stages in -Pennsylvania, although they were liable, half a century later, to be -ejected from street-cars. We learn also that there were negro free -schools in Philadelphia. All this was before 1801. - -It has been common to say that Brown had no literary skill, but it would -be truer to say that he had no sense of literary construction. So far -as skill is tested by the power to pique curiosity, Brown had it; his -chapters almost always end at a point of especial interest, and the next -chapter, postponing the solution, often diverts the interest in a wholly -new direction. But literary structure there is none: the plots are always -cumulative and even oppressive; narrative is inclosed in narrative; new -characters and complications come and go, while important personages -disappear altogether, and are perhaps fished up with difficulty, as with -a hook and line, on the very last page. There is also a total lack of -humor, and only such efforts at vivacity as this: “Move on, my quill! -wait not for my guidance. Reanimated with thy master’s spirit, all airy -light. A heyday rapture! A mounting impulse sways him; lifts him from -the earth.” There is so much of monotony in the general method, that one -novel seems to stand for all; and the same modes of solution reappear -so often,—somnambulism, ventriloquism, yellow fever, forged letters, -concealed money, secret closets,—that it not only gives a sense of -puerility, but makes it very difficult to recall, as to any particular -passage, from which book it came. - - - - -VII - -HENRY DAVID THOREAU - - - - -HENRY DAVID THOREAU - - -There has been in America no such instance of posthumous reputation as -in the case of Thoreau. Poe and Whitman may be claimed as parallels, but -not justly. Poe, even during his life, rode often on the very wave of -success, until it subsided presently beneath him, always to rise again, -had he but made it possible. Whitman gathered almost immediately a small -but stanch band of followers, who have held by him with such vehemence -and such flagrant imitation as to keep his name defiantly in evidence, -while perhaps enhancing the antagonism of his critics. Thoreau could -be egotistical enough, but was always high-minded; all was open and -aboveboard; one could as soon conceive of self-advertising by a deer -in the woods or an otter of the brook. He had no organized clique of -admirers, nor did he possess even what is called personal charm,—or at -least only that piquant attraction which he himself found in wild apples. -As a rule, he kept men at a distance, being busy with his own affairs. He -left neither wife nor children to attend to his memory; and his sister -seemed for a time to repress the publication of his manuscripts. Yet -this plain, shy, retired student, who when thirty-two years old carried -the unsold edition of his first book upon his back to his attic chamber; -who died at forty-four still unknown to the general public; this child of -obscurity, who printed but two volumes during his lifetime, has had ten -volumes of his writings published by others since his death, while four -biographies of him have been issued in America (by Emerson, Channing, -Sanborn, and Jones), besides two in England (by Page and Salt). - -Thoreau was born in Boston on July 12, 1817, but spent most of his life -in Concord, Massachusetts, where he taught school and was for three years -an inmate of the family of Ralph Waldo Emerson, practicing at various -times the art of pencil-making—his father’s occupation—and also of -surveying, carpentering, and housekeeping. So identified was he with the -place that Emerson speaks of it in one case as Thoreau’s “native town.” -Yet from that very familiarity, perhaps, the latter was underestimated -by many of his neighbors, as was the case in Edinburgh with Sir Walter -Scott, as Mrs. Grant of Laggan describes. - -When I was endeavoring, about 1870, to persuade Thoreau’s sister to let -some one edit his journals, I invoked the aid of Judge Hoar, then lord -of the manor in Concord, who heard me patiently through, and then said: -“Whereunto? You have not established the preliminary point. Why should -any one wish to have Thoreau’s journals printed?” Ten years later, four -successive volumes were made out of these journals by the late H. G. O. -Blake, and it became a question if the whole might not be published. -I hear from a local photograph dealer in Concord that the demand for -Thoreau’s pictures now exceeds that for any other local celebrity. In -the last sale catalogue of autographs which I have encountered, I find -a letter from Thoreau priced at $17.50, one from Hawthorne valued at -the same, one from Longfellow at $4.50 only, and one from Holmes at $3, -each of these being guaranteed as an especially good autograph letter. -Now the value of such memorials during a man’s life affords but a slight -test of his permanent standing,—since almost any man’s autograph can be -obtained for two postage-stamps if the request be put with sufficient -ingenuity;—but when this financial standard can be safely applied -more than thirty years after a man’s death, it comes pretty near to a -permanent fame. - -It is true that Thoreau had Emerson as the editor of four of his -posthumous volumes; but it is also true that he had against him the -vehement voice of Lowell, whose influence as a critic was at that -time greater than Emerson’s. It will always remain a puzzle why it was -that Lowell, who had reviewed Thoreau’s first book with cordiality in -the “Massachusetts Quarterly Review,” and had said to me afterwards, -on hearing him compared to Izaak Walton, “There is room for three or -four Waltons in Thoreau,” should have written the really harsh attack -on the latter which afterwards appeared, and in which the plain facts -were unquestionably perverted. To transform Thoreau’s two brief years -of study and observation at Walden, within two miles of his mother’s -door, into a life-long renunciation of his fellow men; to complain of -him as waiving all interest in public affairs when the great crisis of -John Brown’s execution had found him far more awake to it than Lowell -was,—this was only explainable by the lingering tradition of that savage -period of criticism, initiated by Poe, in whose hands the thing became -a tomahawk. As a matter of fact, the tomahawk had in this case its -immediate effect; and the English editor and biographer of Thoreau has -stated that Lowell’s criticism is to this day the great obstacle to the -acceptance of Thoreau’s writings in England. It is to be remembered, -however, that Thoreau was not wholly of English but partly of French -origin, and was, it might be added, of a sort of moral-Oriental, or -Puritan Pagan temperament. With a literary feeling even stronger than -his feeling for nature,—the proof of this being that he could not, like -many men, enjoy nature in silence,—he put his observations always on the -level of literature, while Mr. Burroughs, for instance, remains more upon -the level of journalism. It is to be doubted whether any author under -such circumstances would have been received favorably in England; just -as the poems of Emily Dickinson, which have shafts of profound scrutiny -that often suggest Thoreau, had an extraordinary success at home, but -fell hopelessly dead in England, so that the second volume was never even -published. - -Lowell speaks of Thoreau as “indolent”; but this is, as has been said, -like speaking of the indolence of a self-registering thermometer. Lowell -objects to him as pursuing “a seclusion that keeps him in the public -eye”; whereas it was the public eye which sought him; it was almost as -hard to persuade him to lecture (_crede experto_) as it was to get an -audience for him when he had consented. He never proclaimed the intrinsic -superiority of the wilderness, as has been charged, but pointed out -better than any one else has done its undesirableness as a residence, -ranking it only as “a resource and a background.” “The partially -cultivated country it is,” he says, “which has chiefly inspired, and -will continue to inspire, the strains of poets such as compose the mass -of any literature.” “What is nature,” he elsewhere says, “unless there -is a human life passing within it? Many joys and many sorrows are the -lights and shadows in which she shines most beautiful.” This is the real -and human Thoreau, who often whimsically veiled himself, but was plainly -enough seen by any careful observer. That he was abrupt and repressive -to bores and pedants, that he grudged his time to them and frequently -withdrew himself, was as true of him as of Wordsworth or Tennyson. If -they were allowed their privacy, though in the heart of England, an -American who never left his own broad continent might at least be allowed -his privilege of stepping out of doors. The Concord school-children never -quarreled with this habit, for he took them out of doors with him and -taught them where the best whortleberries grew. - -His scholarship, like his observation of nature, was secondary to his -function as poet and writer. Into both he carried the element of whim; -but his version of the “Prometheus Bound” shows accuracy, and his -study of birds and plants shows care. It must be remembered that he -antedated the modern school, classed plants by the Linnæan system, and -had necessarily Nuttall for his elementary manual of birds. Like all -observers, he left whole realms uncultivated; thus he puzzles in his -journal over the great brown paper cocoon of the _Attacus Cecropia_, -which every village boy brings home from the winter meadows. If he -has not the specialized habit of the naturalist of to-day, neither -has he the polemic habit; firm beyond yielding, as to the local facts -of his own Concord, he never quarrels with those who have made other -observations elsewhere; he is involved in none of those contests in which -palæontologists, biologists, astronomers, have wasted so much of their -lives. - -His especial greatness is that he gives us standing-ground below the -surface, a basis not to be washed away. A hundred sentences might -be quoted from him which make common observers seem superficial and -professed philosophers trivial, but which, if accepted, place the -realities of life beyond the reach of danger. He was a spiritual ascetic, -to whom the simplicity of nature was luxury enough; and this, in an age -of growing expenditure, gave him an unspeakable value. To him, life -itself was a source of joy so great that it was only weakened by diluting -it with meaner joys. This was the standard to which he constantly held -his contemporaries. “There is nowhere recorded,” he complains, “a simple -and irrepressible satisfaction with the gift of life, any memorable -praise of God.... If the day and the night are such that you greet them -with joy, and life emits a fragrance, like flowers and sweet-scented -herbs,—is more elastic, starry, and immortal,—that is your success.” This -was Thoreau, who died unmarried at Concord, Massachusetts, May 6, 1862. - - - - -VIII - -EMERSON’S “FOOT-NOTE PERSON,”—ALCOTT - - - - -EMERSON’S “FOOT-NOTE PERSON,”—ALCOTT - - -The phrase “foot-note person” was first introduced into our literature -by one of the most acute and original of the anonymous writers in the -“Atlantic Monthly” (July, 1906), one by whose consent I am permitted to -borrow it for my present purpose. Its originator himself suggests, as an -illustration of what he means, the close relation which existed through -life between Ralph Waldo Emerson and his less famous Concord neighbor, -Amos Bronson Alcott. The latter was doubtless regarded by the world -at large as a mere “foot-note” to his famous friend, while he yet was -doubtless the only literary contemporary to whom Emerson invariably and -candidly deferred, regarding him, indeed, as unequivocally the leading -philosophic or inspirational mind of his day. Let this “foot-note,” -then, be employed as the text for frank discussion of what was, perhaps, -the most unique and picturesque personality developed during the -Transcendental period of our American literature. Let us consider the -career of one who was born with as little that seemed advantageous in -his surroundings as was the case with Abraham Lincoln, or John Brown of -Ossawatomie, and who yet developed in the end an individuality as marked -as that of Poe or Walt Whitman. - -In looking back on the intellectual group of New England, eighty years -ago, nothing is more noticeable than its birth in a circle already -cultivated, at least according to the standard of its period. Emerson, -Channing, Bryant, Longfellow, Hawthorne, Holmes, Lowell, even Whittier, -were born into what were, for the time and after their own standard, -cultivated families. They grew up with the protection and stimulus of -parents and teachers; their early biographies offer nothing startling. -Among them appeared, one day, this student and teacher, more serene, -more absolutely individual, than any one of them. He had indeed, like -every boy born in New England, some drop of academic blood within -his traditions, but he was born in the house of his grandfather, a -poor farmer in Wolcott, Connecticut, on November 29, 1799. He went to -the most primitive of wayside schools, and was placed at fourteen as -apprentice in a clock factory; was for a few years a traveling peddler, -selling almanacs and trinkets; then wandered as far as North Carolina -and Virginia in a similar traffic; then became a half-proselyte among -Quakers in North Carolina; then a school-teacher in Connecticut; always -poor, but always thoughtful, ever gravitating towards refined society, -and finally coming under the influence of that rare and high-minded -man, the Rev. Samuel J. May, and placing himself at last in the still -more favored position of Emerson’s foot-note. When that took place, it -suddenly made itself clear to the whole Concord circle that there was not -one among them so serene, so equable, so dreamy, yet so constitutionally -a leader, as this wandering child of the desert. Of all the men known -in New England, he seemed the one least likely to have been a country -peddler. - -Mr. Alcott first visited Concord, as Mr. Cabot’s memoir of Emerson tells -us, in 1835, and in 1840 came there to live. But it was as early as May -19, 1837, that Emerson wrote to Margaret Fuller: “Mr. Alcott is the great -man. His book [‘Conversations on the Gospels’] does him no justice, and -I do not like to see it.... But he has more of the Godlike than any man -I have ever seen and his presence rebukes and threatens and raises. He -_is_ a teacher.... If he cannot make intelligent men feel the presence -of a superior nature, the worse for them; I can never doubt him.”[12] -It is suggested by Dr. W. T. Harris, one of the two joint biographers -of Alcott, that the description in the last chapter of Emerson’s book -styled “Nature,” finished in August, 1836, was derived from a study of -Mr. Alcott, and it is certain that there was no man among Emerson’s -contemporaries of whom thenceforward he spoke with such habitual -deference. Courteous to all, it was to Alcott alone that he seemed to -look up. Not merely Alcott’s abstract statements, but his personal -judgments, made an absolutely unique impression upon his more famous -fellow townsman. It is interesting to notice that Alcott, while staying -first in Concord, “complained of lack of simplicity in A⸺, B⸺, C⸺, and -D⸺ (late visitors from the city).” Emerson said approvingly to his son: -“Alcott is right touchstone to test them, litmus to detect the acid.”[13] -We cannot doubt that such a man’s own judgment was absolutely simple; and -such was clearly the opinion held by Emerson, who, indeed, always felt -somewhat easier when he could keep Alcott at his elbow in Concord. Their -mutual confidence reminds one of what was said long since by Dr. Samuel -Johnson, that poetry was like brown bread: those who made it in their own -houses never quite liked the taste of what they got elsewhere. - -And from the very beginning, this attitude was reciprocated. At another -time during that same early period (1837), Alcott, after criticising -Emerson a little for “the picture of vulgar life that he draws with a -Shakespearian boldness,” closes with this fine tribute to the intrinsic -qualities of his newly won friend: “Observe his style; it is full of -genuine phrases from the Saxon. He loves the simple, the natural; the -thing is sharply presented, yet graced by beauty and elegance. Our -language is a fit organ, as used by him; and we hear classic English once -more from northern lips. Shakespeare, Sidney, Browne, speak again to -us, and we recognize our affinity with the fathers of English diction. -Emerson is the only instance of original style among Americans. Who -writes like him? Who can? None of his imitators, surely. The day shall -come when this man’s genius shall shine beyond the circle of his own city -and nation. Emerson’s is destined to be the high literary name of this -age.”[14] - -No one up to that time, probably, had uttered an opinion of Emerson -quite so prophetic as this; it was not until four years later, in 1841, -that even Carlyle received the first volume of Emerson’s “Essays” and -said, “It is once more the voice of a man.” Yet from that moment Alcott -and Emerson became united, however inadequate their twinship might -have seemed to others. Literature sometimes, doubtless, makes strange -friendships. There is a tradition that when Browning was once introduced -to a new Chinese ambassador in London, the interpreter called attention -to the fact that they were both poets. Upon Browning’s courteously -asking how much poetry His Excellency had thus far written, he replied, -“Four volumes,” and when asked what style of poetic art he cultivated, -the answer was, “Chiefly the enigmatical.” It is reported that Browning -afterwards charitably or modestly added, “We felt doubly brothers -after that.” It may have been in a similar spirit that Emerson and his -foot-note might seem at first to have united their destinies. - -Emerson at that early period saw many defects in Alcott’s style, even so -far as to say that it often reminded him of that vulgar saying, “All stir -and no go”; but twenty years later, in 1855, he magnificently vindicated -the same style, then grown more cultivated and powerful, and, indeed, -wrote thus of it: “I have been struck with the late superiority Alcott -showed. His interlocutors were all better than he: he seemed childish and -helpless, not apprehending or answering their remarks aright, and they -masters of their weapons. But by and by, when he got upon a thought, -like an Indian seizing by the mane and mounting a wild horse of the -desert, he overrode them all, and showed such mastery, and took up Time -and Nature like a boy’s marble in his hand, as to vindicate himself.”[15] - -A severe test of a man’s depth of observation lies always in the analysis -he gives of his neighbor’s temperament; even granting this appreciation -to be, as is sometimes fairly claimed, a woman’s especial gift. It is a -quality which certainly marked Alcott, who once said, for instance, of -Emerson’s combination of a clear voice with a slender chest, that “some -of his organs were free, some fated.” Indeed, his power in the graphic -personal delineations of those about him was almost always visible, as -where he called Garrison “a phrenological head illuminated,” or said -of Wendell Phillips, “Many are the friends of his golden tongue.” This -quality I never felt more, perhaps, than when he once said, when dining -with me at the house of James T. Fields, in 1862, and speaking of a -writer whom I thought I had reason to know pretty well: “He has a love of -_wholeness_; in this respect far surpassing Emerson.” - -It is scarcely possible, for any one who recalls from his youth the -antagonism and satire called forth by Alcott’s “sayings” in the -early “Dial,” to avoid astonishment at their more than contemptuous -reception. Take, for example, in the very first number the fine saying on -“Enthusiasm,” thus:— - - “Believe, youth, that your heart is an oracle; trust her - instinctive auguries; obey her divine leadings; nor listen too - fondly to the uncertain echoes of your head. The heart is the - prophet of your soul, and ever fulfils her prophecies; reason - is her historian; but for the prophecy, the history would not - be.... Enthusiasm is the glory and hope of the world. It is the - life of sanctity and genius; it has wrought all miracles since - the beginning of time.” - -Or turn to the following (entitled: “IV. Immortality”):— - - “The grander my conception of being, the nobler my future. - There can be no sublimity of life without faith in the soul’s - eternity. Let me live superior to sense and custom, vigilant - alway, and I shall experience my divinity; my hope will be - infinite, nor shall the universe contain, or content me.” - -Or read this (“XII. Temptation”):— - - “Greater is he who is above temptation, than he who, being - tempted, overcomes. The latter but regains the state from - which the former has not fallen. He who is tempted has sinned. - Temptation is impossible to the holy.” - -Or this (“LXXXVIII. Renunciation”):— - - “Renounce the world, yourself; and you shall possess the world, - yourself, and God.” - -These are but fragments, here and there. For myself, I would gladly see -these “Orphic Sayings” reprinted to-morrow, and watch the astonishment of -men and women who vaguely recall the derision with which they were first -greeted more than sixty years ago. - -When it came to putting into action these high qualities, the stories -relating to Mr. Alcott which seem most improbable are those which are -unquestionably true, as is that of his way of dealing with a man in -distress who came to beg of him the loan of five dollars. To this Alcott -replied, after searching his pockets, that he had no such bank-note -about him, but could lend him ten dollars. This offer was accepted, and -Alcott did not even ask the borrower’s name, and could merely endure -the reproach or ridicule of his friends for six months; after which the -same man appeared and paid back the money, offering interest, which was -refused. The debtor turned out to be a well-known swindler, to whom this -trusting generosity had made a novel and manly appeal. - -Truth and honesty are apt to be classed in men’s minds together, but -the power of making money, or even of returning it when loaned, is -sometimes developed imperfectly among those who are in other respects -wise and good. A curious illustration of this may be found in the -published memoirs of Mr. Alcott (i, 349), but it is quite surpassed by -the following narrative, hitherto unpublished, of a subsequent interview, -even more picturesque, and apparently with the self-same creditor. I take -it from his MS. Diary, where it appears with the formality of arrangement -and beauty of handwriting which mark that extraordinary work. - - (MAMMON) - - _April, 1839._ Thursday, 18th.— - - Things seem strange to me out there in Time and Space. I am not - familiar with the order and usages of this realm. I am at home - in the kingdom of the Soul alone. - - This day, I passed along our great thoroughfare, gliding with - Emerson’s check in my pocket, into State Street; and stepped - into one of Mammon’s temples, for some of the world’s coin, - wherewith to supply bread for this body of mine, and those who - depend upon me. But I felt dishonored by resorting to these - haunts of Idolaters. I went not among them to dig in the mines - of Lucre, nor to beg at the doors of the God. It was the hour - for business on ’Change, which was swarming with worshippers. - Bevies of devotees were consulting on appropriate rites whereby - to honor their divinity. - - One of these devotees (cousin-german of my wife) accosted me, - as I was returning, and asked me to bring my oblation with - the others. Now I owed the publican a round thousand, which - he proffered me in days when his God prospered his wits; but - I had nothing for him. That small pittance which I had just - got snugly into my fob (thanks to my friend E⸺) was not for - him, but for my wife’s nurse, and came just in time to save - my wife from distrusting utterly the succors of Providence. I - told my man, that I had no money; but he might have me, if he - wanted me. No: I was bad stock in the market; and so he bid - me good-day. I left the buzz and hum of these devotees, who - represent old Nature’s relation to the Appetites and Senses, - and returned, with a sense of grateful relief, from this sally - into the Kingdom of Mammon, back to my domicile in the Soul. - -There was, however, strangely developed in Alcott’s later life an epoch -of positively earning money. His first efforts at Western lectures began -in the winter of 1853-54, and he returned in February, 1854. He was to -give a series of talks on the representative minds of New England, with -the circle of followers surrounding each; the subjects of his discourse -being Webster, Greeley, Garrison, Margaret Fuller, Theodore Parker, -Greenough, and Emerson; the separate themes being thus stated as seven, -and the number of conversations as only six. Terms for the course were -three dollars. By his daughter Louisa’s testimony he returned late at -night with a single dollar in his pocket, this fact being thus explained -in his own language: “Many promises were not kept and travelling is -costly; but I have opened the way, and another year shall do better.”[16] -At any rate, his daughter thus pathetically described his appearance at -this interview, as her mother wrote to a friend: “He looked as cold and -thin as an icicle; but as serene as God.”[17] - -There is an almost dramatic interest in transferring our imaginations -to the later visit he made westward, when he was eighty-one years old, -between October, 1880, and May, 1881. He then traveled more than five -thousand miles, lectured or held conversations at the rate of more than -one a day, Sundays included, and came back with a thousand dollars, -although more than half of his addresses had been gratuitous. For seven -years after this he was the nominal dean of the so-called “School of -Philosophy” in Concord, and for four years took an active part in its -lectures and discussions. His last written works were most appropriately -two sonnets on “Immortality,” this being the only theme remaining -inexhaustibly open. - -Perhaps no two persons in the world were in their intellectual method -more antipodal—to use one of Alcott’s favorite phrases—than himself and -Parker, though each stood near to Emerson and ostensibly belonged to -the same body of thinkers. In debate, the mere presence of Parker made -Alcott seem uneasy, as if yielding just cause for Emerson’s searching -inquiry, “Of what use is genius, if its focus be a little too short or -too long?” No doubt, Mr. Alcott might well be one of those to whom such -criticism could fitly be applied, just as it has been used to discourage -the printing of Thoreau’s whole journal. Is it not possible that Alcott’s -fame may yet be brought up gradually and securely, like Thoreau’s, from -those ample and beautifully written volumes which Alcott left behind him? - -Alcott doubtless often erred, at first, in the direction of inflation in -language. When the Town and Country Club was organized in Boston, and had -been, indeed, established “largely to afford a dignified occupation for -Alcott,” as Emerson said, Alcott wished to have it christened either the -Olympian Club or the Pan Club. Lowell, always quick at a joke, suggested -the substitution of “Club of Hercules” instead of “Olympian”; or else -that, inasmuch as the question of admitting women was yet undecided, “The -Patty-Pan” would be a better name. But if Alcott’s words were large, -he acted up to them. When the small assaulting party was driven back at -the last moment from the Court House doors in Boston, during the Anthony -Burns excitement, and the steps were left bare, the crowd standing back, -it was Alcott who came forward and placidly said to the ring-leader, -“Why are we not within?” On being told that the mob would not follow, -he walked calmly up the steps, alone, cane in hand. When a revolver -was fired from within, just as he had reached the highest step, and he -discovered himself to be still unsupported, he as calmly turned and -walked down without hastening a footstep. It was hard to see how Plato -or Pythagoras could have done the thing better. Again, at the outbreak -of the Civil War, when a project was formed for securing the defense of -Washington by a sudden foray into Virginia, it appears from his Diary -that he had been at the point of joining it, when it was superseded by -the swift progress of events, and so abandoned. - -The power of early sectarian training is apt to tell upon the later -years even of an independent thinker, and so it was with Alcott. In -his case a life-long ideal attitude passed back into something hard to -distinguish from old-fashioned Calvinism. This was especially noticeable -at the evening receptions of the Rev. Joseph Cook, who flattered Alcott -to the highest degree and was met at least halfway by the seer himself. -Having been present at one or two of these receptions, I can testify to -the disappointment inspired in Alcott’s early friends at his seeming -willingness to be made a hero in an attitude quite alien to that of his -former self. The “New International,” for instance, recognizes that -“in later years his manner became more formal and his always nebulous -teaching apparently more orthodox.” Be this as it may, the man whom -Emerson called “the most extraordinary man and highest genius of the -time,” and of whom he says, “As pure intellect I have never seen his -equal,” such a man needed only the fact of his unprotected footsteps -under fire up the stairs of the Boston Court House to establish him in -history as a truly all-round man,—unsurpassed among those of his own -generation even in physical pluck. - - - - -IX - -GEORGE BANCROFT - - - - -GEORGE BANCROFT - - -George Bancroft, who died in Washington, D. C., on January 17, 1891, -was born at Worcester, Massachusetts, October 3, 1800, being the son of -Aaron and Lucretia (Chandler) Bancroft. His first American ancestor in -the male line was John Bancroft, who came to this country from England, -arriving on June 12, 1632, and settling at Lynn, Massachusetts. There -is no evidence of any especial literary or scholarly tastes in his -early ancestors, although one at least among them became a subject for -literature, being the hero of one of Cotton Mather’s wonderful tales -of recovery from smallpox. Samuel Bancroft, grandfather of the great -historian, was a man in public station, and is described by Savage -as “possessing the gift of utterance in an eminent degree”; and the -historian’s father, Rev. Aaron Bancroft, D. D., was a man of mark. He was -born in 1755, fought at Lexington and Bunker Hill when almost a boy, was -graduated at Harvard College in 1778, studied for the ministry, preached -for a time in Nova Scotia, was settled at Worcester in 1788, and died -there in 1839. He was a member of the American Academy of Arts and -Sciences, was an Arminian in theology, and in later life was President -of the American Unitarian Association. He published various occasional -sermons, a volume of doctrinal discourses, and (in 1807) a “Life of -Washington,” which was reprinted in England, and rivaled in circulation -the larger work of Marshall, which appeared at about the same time. He -thus bequeathed literary tastes to his thirteen children; and though -only one of these reached public eminence, yet three of the daughters -were prominent for many years in Worcester, being in charge of a school -for girls, and highly esteemed; while another sister was well known in -Massachusetts and at Washington as the wife of Governor (afterwards -Senator) John Davis. - -George Bancroft was fitted for college at Exeter Academy, where he was -especially noted for his fine declamation. He entered Harvard College -in 1813, taking his degree in 1817. He was the classmate of four men -destined to be actively prominent in the great anti-slavery agitation a -few years later,—Samuel J. May, Samuel E. Sewall, David Lee Child, and -Robert F. Wallcut,—and of one prospective opponent of it, Caleb Cushing. -Other men of note in the class were the Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, D. D., the -Rev. Alva Woods, D. D., and Samuel A. Eliot, afterwards Treasurer of the -College and father of its recent President. Mr. Bancroft was younger than -any of these, and very probably the youngest in his class, being less -than seventeen at graduation. He was, however, second in rank, and it -happened that Edward Everett, then recently appointed Professor of Greek -Literature in that institution, had proposed that some young graduate of -promise should be sent to Germany for purposes of study, that he might -afterwards become one of the corps of Harvard instructors. Accordingly, -Bancroft was selected, and went, in the early summer of 1818, to -Göttingen. At that time the University had among its professors Eichhorn, -Heeren, and Blumenbach. He also studied at Berlin, where he knew -Schleiermacher, Savigny, and Wilhelm von Humboldt. At Jena he saw Goethe, -and at Heidelberg studied under Schlosser. This last was in the spring -of 1821, when he had already received his degree of Ph. D. at Göttingen -and was making the tour of Europe. At Paris he met Cousin, Constant, and -Alexander von Humboldt; he knew Manzoni at Milan, and Bunsen and Niebuhr -at Rome. The very mention of these names seems to throw his early career -far back into the past. Such experiences were far rarer then than now, -and the return from them into what was the village-like life of Harvard -College was a far greater change. Yet he came back at last and discharged -his obligations, in a degree, by a year’s service as Greek tutor. - -It was not, apparently, a satisfactory position, for although he -dedicated a volume of poems to President Kirkland, “with respect and -affection,” as to his “early benefactor and friend,” yet we have the -testimony of George Ticknor (in Miss Ticknor’s Life of J. G. Cogswell) -that Bancroft was “thwarted in every movement by the President.” Mr. -Ticknor was himself a professor in the college, and though his view -may not have been dispassionate, he must have had the opportunity of -knowledge. His statement is rendered more probable by the fact that he -records a similar discontent in the case of Professor J. G. Cogswell, who -was certainly a man of conciliatory temperament. By Ticknor’s account, -Mr. Cogswell, who had been arranging the Harvard College Library and -preparing the catalogue, was quite unappreciated by the Corporation, and -though Ticknor urged both him and Bancroft to stay, they were resolved -to leave, even if their proposed school came to nothing. The school -in question was the once famous “Round Hill” at Northampton, in which -enterprise Cogswell, then thirty-six, and Bancroft, then twenty-three, -embarked in 1823. The latter had already preached several sermons, and -seemed to be feeling about for his career; but it now appeared as if he -had found it. - -In embarking, however, he warbled a sort of swan-song at the close of -his academical life, and published in September, 1823, a small volume of -eighty pages, printed at the University Press, Cambridge, and entitled -“Poems by George Bancroft. Cambridge: Hilliard & Metcalf.” Some of these -were written in Switzerland, some in Italy, some, after his return home, -at Worcester; but almost all were European in theme, and neither better -nor worse than the average of such poems by young men of twenty or -thereabouts. The first, called “Expectation,” is the most noticeable, for -it contains an autobiographical glimpse of this young academical Childe -Harold setting forth on his pilgrimage:— - - “’Twas in the season when the sun - More darkly tinges spring’s fair brow, - And laughing fields had just begun - The summer’s golden hues to show. - Earth still with flowers was richly dight, - And the last rose in gardens glowed; - In heaven’s blue tent the sun was bright, - And western winds with fragrance flowed; - ’Twas then a youth bade home adieu; - And hope was young and life was new, - When first he seized the pilgrim’s wand - To roam the far, the foreign land. - - “There lives the marble, wrought by art. - That clime the youth would gain; he braves - The ocean’s fury, and his heart - Leaps in him, like the sunny waves - That bear him onward; and the light - Of hope within his bosom beams, - Like the phosphoric ray at night - That round the prow so cheerly gleams. - But still his eye would backward turn, - And still his bosom warmly burn, - As towards new worlds he ’gan to roam, - With love for Freedom’s Western home.” - -This is the opening poem; the closing words of the book, at the end of -the final “Pictures of Rome,” are in a distinctly patriotic strain:— - - “Farewell to Rome; how lovely in distress; - How sweet her gloom; how proud her wilderness! - Farewell to all that won my youthful heart, - And waked fond longings after fame. We part. - The weary pilgrim to his home returns; - For Freedom’s air, for Western climes he burns; - Where dwell the brave, the generous, and the free, - O! there is Rome; no other Rome for me.” - -It was in order to train these young children of the Republic—“the brave, -the generous, and the free”—that Bancroft entered upon the “Round Hill” -enterprise. - -This celebrated school belonged to that class of undertakings which are -so successful as to ruin their projectors. It began in a modest way; -nothing could be more sensible than the “Prospectus,”—a pamphlet of -twenty pages, issued at Cambridge, June 20, 1823. In this there is a -clear delineation of the defects then existing in American schools; and -a modest promise is given that, aided by the European experience of the -two founders, something like a French _collège_ or a German _gymnasium_ -might be created. There were to be not more than twenty pupils, who were -to be from nine to twelve on entering. A fine estate was secured at -Northampton, and pupils soon came in. - -Then followed for several years what was at least a very happy family. -The school was to be in many respects on the German plan: farm life, -friendly companionship, ten-mile rambles through the woods with the -teachers, and an annual walking tour in the same company. All instruction -was to be thorough; there was to be no direct emulation, and no flogging. -There remain good delineations of the school in the memoirs of Dr. -Cogswell, and in a paper by the late T. G. Appleton, one of the pupils. -It is also described by Duke Bernard of Saxe-Weimar in his “Travels.” -The material of the school was certainly fortunate. Many men afterwards -noted in various ways had their early training there: J. L. Motley, -H. W. Bellows, R. T. S. Lowell, F. Schroeder, Ellery Channing, G. E. -Ellis, Theodore Sedgwick, George C. Shattuck, S. G. Ward, R. G. Shaw, N. -B. Shurtleff, George Gibbs, Philip Kearney, R. G. Harper. At a dinner -given to Dr. Cogswell in 1864, the most profuse expressions of grateful -reminiscence were showered upon Mr. Bancroft, though he was then in -Europe. The prime object of the school, as stated by Mr. Ticknor, was -“to teach _more thoroughly_ than has ever been taught among us.” How far -this was accomplished can only be surmised; what is certain is that the -boys enjoyed themselves. They were admirably healthy, not having a case -of illness for sixteen months, and they were happy. When we say that, -among other delights, the boys had a large piece of land where they had a -boy-village of their own, a village known as Cronyville, a village where -each boy erected his own shanty and built his own chimney, where he could -roast apples and potatoes on a winter evening and call the neighbors -in,—when each boy had such absolute felicity as this, with none to molest -him or make him afraid, there is no wonder that the “old boys” were ready -to feast their kindly pedagogues forty years later. - -But to spread barracks for boys and crony villages over the delightful -hills of Northampton demanded something more than kindliness; it needed -much administrative skill and some money. Neither Cogswell nor Bancroft -was a man of fortune. Instead of twenty boys, they had at one time one -hundred and twenty-seven, nearly fifty of whom had to be kept through -the summer vacation. They had many Southern pupils and, as an apparent -consequence, many bad debts, Mr. Cogswell estimating a loss of two -thousand dollars from this cause in a single year; and sometimes they had -to travel southward to dun delinquent parents. The result of it all was -that Bancroft abandoned the enterprise after seven years, in the summer -of 1830; while Cogswell, who held on two years longer, retired with -health greatly impaired and a financial loss of twenty thousand dollars. -Thus ended the Round Hill School. - -While at Round Hill, Mr. Bancroft prepared some text-books for his -pupils, translating Heeren’s “Politics of Ancient Greece” (1824) and -Jacobs’s Latin Reader (1825),—the latter going through several editions. -His first article in the “North American Review,” then the leading -literary journal in the United States, appeared in October, 1823, and -was a notice of Schiller’s “Minor Poems,” with many translations. -From this time forward he wrote in almost every volume, but always on -classical or German themes, until in January, 1831, he took up “The -Bank of the United States,” and a few years later (October, 1835), “The -Documentary History of the Revolution.” These indicated the progress -of his historical studies, which had also begun at Round Hill, and -took form at last in his great history. The design of this monumental -work was as deliberate as Gibbon’s, and almost as vast; and the author -lived, like Gibbon, to see it accomplished. The first volume appeared in -1834, the second in 1837, the third in 1840, the fourth in 1852, and so -onward. Between these volumes was interspersed a variety of minor essays, -some of which were collected in a volume of “Literary and Historical -Miscellanies,” published in 1855. Bancroft also published, as a separate -work, a “History of the Formation of the Constitution of the United -States” (1882). - -While at Northampton, he was an ardent Democrat of the most theoretic -and philosophic type, and he very wisely sought to acquaint himself -with the practical side of public affairs. In 1826 he gave an address -at Northampton, defining his position and sympathies; in 1830 he was -elected to the Legislature, but declined to take his seat, and the next -year refused a nomination to the Senate. In 1835 he drew up an address -to the people of Massachusetts, made many speeches and prepared various -sets of resolutions, was flattered, traduced, caricatured. From 1838 to -1841 he was Collector of the Port of Boston; in 1844 he was Democratic -candidate for Governor of Massachusetts, but was defeated,—George N. -Briggs being his successful antagonist,—although he received more votes -than any Democratic candidate before him. In 1845 he was Secretary of -the Navy under President Polk. In all these executive positions he may -be said to have achieved success. It was, for instance, during his term -of office that the Naval Academy was established at Annapolis; it was he -who gave the first order to take possession of California; and he who, -while acting for a month as Secretary of War, gave the order to General -Taylor to march into Texas, thus ultimately leading to the annexation -of that state. This, however, identified him with a transaction justly -censurable, and indeed his whole political career occurred during the -most questionable period of Democratic subserviency to the slave power, -and that weakness was never openly—perhaps never sincerely—resisted by -him. This left a reproach upon his earlier political career which has, -however, been effaced by his literary life and his honorable career as a -diplomatist. In 1846 he was transferred from the Cabinet to the post of -Minister Plenipotentiary to Great Britain, where he contrived to combine -historical researches with public functions. In 1849 he returned to -this country—a Whig administration having been elected—and took up his -residence in New York. In February, 1866, he was selected by Congress to -pronounce a eulogy on President Lincoln, and in the following year he was -appointed Minister to Prussia, being afterwards successively accredited -to the North German Confederation and the German Empire. In these -positions he succeeded in effecting some important treaty provisions in -respect to the rights of naturalized German citizens residing in Germany. -He was recalled at his own request in 1874, and thenceforward resided in -Washington in the winter, and at Newport, Rhode Island, in summer. - -Dividing his life between these two abodes, he passed his later years -in a sort of existence more common in Europe than here,—the well-earned -dignity of the scholar who has also been, in his day, a man of affairs, -and who is yet too energetic to repose upon his laurels or waste much -time upon merely enjoying the meed of fame he has won. In both his winter -and summer abodes he had something of the flattering position of First -Citizen; he was free of all sets, an honored member of all circles. His -manners were often mentioned as “courtly,” but they never quite rose to -the level of either of the two classes of manner described by Tennyson:— - - “Kind nature is the best, those manners next - That fit us like a nature second-hand; - Which are indeed the manners of the great.” - -Neither of these descriptions exactly fitted Mr. Bancroft; his manners -were really of the composite sort, and curiously suggestive of the -different phases of his life. They were like that wonderful Japanese -lacquer-work, made up of twenty or thirty different coats or films, -usually laid on by several different workmen. There was at the foundation -the somewhat formal and literal manner of the scholar, almost of the -pedagogue: then one caught a glimpse of an executive, official style, -that seemed to date from the period when he ordered California to be -occupied; and over all there was a varnish of worldly courtesy, enhanced -by an evident pleasure in being admired, and broken by an occasional -outburst of rather blunt sincerity. - -But he matured and mellowed well; his social life at Washington was -more satisfactory to himself and others than that he led in New York; -he had voluntarily transplanted himself to a community which, with all -its faults and crudities, sets intellect above wealth, and readily -conceded the highest place to a man like Bancroft. Foreign ministers -came accredited to him as well as to the government; he was the friend -of every successive administration, and had as many guests as he cared -to see at his modest Sunday evening receptions. There he greeted every -one cordially, aided by a wife amply gifted in the amenities. He was kind -to everybody, and remembered the father or grandfather of anybody who -had any such ancestors whom it was desirable to mention. In summer, at -Newport, it was the same; his residence was like that described by his -imagination in one of his own early poems— - - “Where heaven lends her loveliest scene, - A softened air, a sky serene, - Along the shore where smiles the sea.” - -Unlike most Newport “cottages,” his house was within sight of the ocean; -between it and the sea lay the garden, and the “rose in Kenmure’s cap” -in the Scottish ballad was not a characteristic more invariable than the -same flower in Mr. Bancroft’s hand or buttonhole. His form was familiar, -too, on Bellevue Avenue, taking as regularly as any old-fashioned -Englishman his daily horseback exercise. At the same time he was one of -the few men who were capable, even in Newport, of doing daily the day’s -work; he rose fabulously early in the morning, and kept a secretary or -two always employed. Since John Quincy Adams, there has not been among us -such an example of laborious, self-exacting, seemingly inexhaustible old -age; and, unlike Adams, Mr. Bancroft kept his social side always fresh -and active, and did not have, like the venerable ex-President, to force -himself out in the evening in order “to learn the art of conversation.” -This combination, with his monumental literary work, will keep his memory -secure. It will possibly outlive that of many men of greater inspiration, -loftier aims, and sublimer qualities. - -Mr. Bancroft, as an historian, combined some of the greatest merits and -some of the profoundest defects ever united in a single author. His -merits are obvious enough. He had great enthusiasm for his subject. He -was profoundly imbued with that democratic spirit without which the -history of the United States cannot be justly written. He has the graphic -quality so wanting in Hildreth, and the piquancy whose absence makes -Prescott too smooth. He has a style essentially picturesque, whatever -may be its faults. The reader is compelled to admit that his resources -in the way of preparation are inexhaustible, and that his command -of them is astounding. One must follow him minutely, for instance, -through the history of the War for Independence, to appreciate in full -the consummate grasp of a mind which can deploy military events in a -narrative as a general deploys brigades in a field. Add to this the -capacity for occasional maxims to the highest degree profound and lucid, -in the way of political philosophy, and you certainly combine in one man -some of the greatest qualities of the historian. - -Against this are to be set very grave faults. In his earlier editions -there was an habitual pomposity and inflation of style which the sterner -taste of his later years has so modified that we must now condone it. -The same heroic revision has cut off many tame and commonplace remarks -as trite as those virtuous truisms by which second-rate actors bring -down the applause of the galleries at cheap theatres. Many needless -philosophical digressions have shared the same fate. But many faults -remain. There is, in the first place, that error so common with the -graphic school of historians,—the exaggerated estimate of manuscript or -fragmentary material at the expense of what is printed and permanent. -In many departments of history this dependence is inevitable; but, -unfortunately, Mr. Bancroft was not, except in the very earliest volumes -of his history, dealing with such departments. The loose and mythical -period of our history really ends with Captain John Smith. From the -moment when the Pilgrims landed, the main facts of American history are -to be found recorded in a series of carefully prepared documents, made -by men to whom the pen was familiar, and who were exceedingly methodical -in all their ways. The same is true of all the struggles which led to -the Revolution, and of all those which followed. They were the work of -honest-minded Anglo-Saxon men who, if they issued so much as a street -hand-bill, said just what they meant, and meant precisely what they -said. To fill the gaps in this solid documentary chain is, no doubt, -desirable,—to fill them by every passing rumor, every suggestion of a -French agent’s busy brain; but to substitute this inferior matter for -the firmer basis is wrong. Much of the graphic quality of Mr. Bancroft’s -writing is obtained by this means, and this portends, in certain -directions, a future shrinkage and diminution in his fame. - -A fault far more serious than this is one which Mr. Bancroft shared -with his historical contemporaries, but in which he far exceeded any -of them,—an utter ignoring of the very meaning and significance of a -quotation-mark. Others of that day sinned. The long controversy between -Jared Sparks and Lord Mahon grew out of this,—from the liberties taken -by Sparks in editing Washington’s letters. Professor Edward T. Channing -did the same thing in quoting the racy diaries of his grandfather, -William Ellery, and substituting, for instance, in a passage cited as -original, “We refreshed ourselves with meat and drink,” for the far -racier “We refreshed our Stomachs with Beefsteaks and Grogg.” Hildreth, -in quoting from the “Madison Papers,” did the same, for the sake not of -propriety, but of convenience; even Frothingham made important omissions -and variations, without indicating them, in quoting Hooke’s remarkable -sermon, “New England’s Teares.” But Bancroft is the chief of sinners in -this respect; when he quotes a contemporary document or letter, it is -absolutely impossible to tell, without careful verifying, whether what -he gives us between the quotation-marks is precisely what should be -there, or whether it is a compilation, rearrangement, selection, or even -a series of mere paraphrases of his own. It would be easy to illustrate -this abundantly, especially from the Stamp Act volume; but a single -instance will suffice. - -When, in 1684, an English fleet sailed into Boston harbor, ostensibly on -its way to attack the Dutch settlements on the Hudson, it left behind -a royal commission, against whose mission of interference the colonial -authorities at once protested, and they issued a paper, as one historian -has said, “in words so clear and dignified as to give a foretaste of -the Revolutionary state papers that were to follow a century later.” If -ever there was a document in our pre-Revolutionary history that ought -to be quoted precisely as it was written, or not at all, it was this -remonstrance. It thus begins in Bancroft’s version, and the words have -often been cited by others. He says of the colony of Massachusetts: -“Preparing a remonstrance, not against deeds of tyranny, but the -menace of tyranny, not against actual wrong, but against a principle -of wrong, on the 25th of October, it thus addressed King Charles II.” -The alleged address is then given, apparently in full, and then follows -the remark, “The spirit of the people corresponded with this address.” -It will hardly be believed that there never was any such address, and -that no such document was ever in existence as that so formally cited -here. Yet any one who will compare Bancroft’s draft with the original -in the Records of Massachusetts (volume iv, part 2, pages 168-169) will -be instantly convinced of this. Bancroft has simply taken phrases and -sentences here and there from a long document and rearranged, combined, -and, in some cases, actually paraphrased them in his own way. Logically -and rhetorically the work is his own. The colonial authorities adopted -their own way of composition, and he adopted his. In some sentences we -have Bancroft, not Endicott; the nineteenth century, not the seventeenth. -Whether the transformation is an improvement or not is not the question; -the thing cited is not the original. An accurate historian would no more -have issued such a restatement under the shelter of quotation-marks than -an accurate theologian would have rewritten the Ten Commandments and read -his improved edition from the pulpit. And it is a curious fact that while -Mr. Bancroft has amended so much else in his later editions, he has left -this passage untouched, and still implies an adherence to the tradition -that this is the way to write history. - -It is also to be noted that the evil is doubled when this practice is -combined with the other habit, already mentioned, of relying largely -upon manuscript authorities. If an historian garbles, paraphrases, -and rearranges when he is dealing with matter accessible to all, how -much greater the peril when he is dealing with what is in written -documents held under his own lock and key. It is not necessary to allege -intentional perversion, but we are, at the very least, absolutely at -the mercy of an inaccurate habit of mind. The importance of this point -is directly manifested on opening the leaves of Mr. Bancroft’s last -and perhaps most valuable book, “The History of the Constitution.” The -most important part of this book consists, by concession of all, in the -vast mass of selections from the private correspondence of the period: -for instance, of M. Otto, the French Ambassador. We do not hesitate to -say that, if tried by the standard of Mr. Bancroft’s previous literary -methods, this mass of correspondence, though valuable as suggestion, is -worthless as authority. Until it has been carefully collated and compared -with the originals, we do not know that a paragraph or a sentence of -it is left as the author wrote it; the system of paraphrase previously -exhibited throws the shadow of doubt over all. No person can safely cite -one of these letters in testimony; no person knows whether any particular -statement contained in it comes to us in the words of its supposed author -or of Mr. Bancroft. It is no answer to say that this loose method was the -method of certain Greek historians; if Thucydides composed speeches for -his heroes, it was at least known that he prepared them, and there was -not the standing falsehood of a quotation-mark. - -A drawback quite as serious is to be found in this, that Mr. Bancroft’s -extraordinary labors in old age were not usually devoted to revising -the grounds of his own earlier judgments, but to perfecting his own -style of expression, and to weaving in additional facts at those points -which especially interested him. Professor Agassiz used to say that -the greatest labor of the student of biology came from the enormous -difficulty of keeping up with current publications and the proceedings of -societies; a man could carry on his own observations, but he could not -venture to publish them without knowing all the latest statements made -by other observers. Mr. Bancroft had to encounter the same obstacle in -his historical work, and it must be owned that he sometimes ignored it. -Absorbed in his own great stores of material, he often let the work of -others go unobserved. It would be easy to multiply instances. Thus, the -controversies about Verrazzano’s explorations were conveniently settled -by omitting his name altogether; there was no revision of the brief early -statement that the Norse sagas were “mythological,” certainly one of the -least appropriate adjectives that could have been selected; Mr. Bancroft -never even read—up to within a few years of his death, at any rate—the -important monographs of Varnhagen in respect to Amerigo Vespucci; he -did not keep up with the publications of the historical societies. -Laboriously revising his whole history in 1876, and almost rewriting it -for the edition of 1884, he allowed the labors of younger investigators -to go on around him unobserved. The consequence is that much light has -been let in upon American history in directions where he has not so much -as a window; and there are points where his knowledge, vast as it is, -will be found to have been already superseded. In this view, that cannot -be asserted of him which the late English historian, Mr. J. R. Green, -proudly and justly claimed for himself: “I know what men will say of -me—he died learning.” But Mr. Bancroft at least died laboring, and in the -harness. - -Mr. Bancroft was twice married, first to Miss Sarah H. Dwight, who died -June 26, 1837, and in the following year to Mrs. Elizabeth (Davis) Bliss. -By the first marriage he had several children, of whom John Chandler -(Harvard, 1854) died in Europe, and George (Harvard, 1856) has spent most -of his life in foreign countries. - - - - -X - -CHARLES ELIOT NORTON - - - - -CHARLES ELIOT NORTON - - -It is a tradition in the city of Cambridge, Massachusetts, that Howells -used to exult, on arriving from his Western birthplace, in having at -length met for the first time, in Charles Eliot Norton, the only man he -had ever seen who had been cultivated up to the highest point of which -he was capable. To this the verdict of all Cambridge readily assented. -What the neighbors could not at that time foresee was that the man thus -praised would ever live to be an octogenarian, or that in doing so he -would share those attractions of constantly increasing mildness and -courtesy which are so often justly claimed for advancing years. There -was in him, at an earlier period, a certain amount of visible self-will, -and a certain impatience with those who dissented from him,—he would not -have been his father’s son had it been otherwise. But these qualities -diminished, and he grew serener and more patient with others as the years -went on. Happy is he who has lived long enough to say with Goethe, “It -is only necessary to grow old to become more indulgent. I see no fault -committed which I have not committed myself.” This milder and more -genial spirit increased constantly as Norton grew older, until it served -at last only to make his high-bred nature more attractive. - -He was born in Cambridge, November 16, 1827, and died in the very house -where he was born, October 21, 1908. He was descended, like several other -New England authors, from a line of Puritan clergymen. He was the son -of Professor Andrews Norton, of Harvard University, who was descended -from the Rev. John Norton, born in Ipswich, Massachusetts, in 1651. -The mother of the latter was the daughter of Emanuel Downing, and the -niece of Governor John Winthrop. Mrs. Bradstreet, the well-known Puritan -poetess, was also an ancestress of Charles Norton. His mother, Mrs. -Caroline (Eliot) Norton, had also her ancestry among the most cultivated -families in New England, the name of Eliot having been prominent for -successive generations in connection with Harvard College. His parents -had a large and beautiful estate in Cambridge, and were (if my memory -serves me right) the one family in Cambridge that kept a carriage,—a fact -the more impressed upon remembrance because it bore the initials “A. -& C. N.” upon the panels, the only instance I have ever seen in which -the two joint proprietorships were thus expressed. This, and the fact -that I learned by heart in childhood Wordsworth’s poem, “The White Doe -of Rylstone, or The Fate of the Nortons,” imparted to my youthful mind -a slight feeling of romance about the Cambridge household of that name, -which was not impaired by the fact that our parents on both sides were -intimate friends, that we lived in the same street (now called Kirkland -Street), and that I went to dancing-school at the Norton house. It is -perhaps humiliating to add that I disgraced myself on the very first -day by cutting off little Charlie’s front hair as a preliminary to the -dancing lesson. - -The elder Professor Norton was one of the most marked characters in -Cambridge, and, although never a clergyman, was professor in the -Theological School. It was said of him by George Ripley, with whom he had -a bitter contest, that “He often expressed rash and hasty judgments in -regard to the labors of recent or contemporary scholars, consulting his -prejudices, as it would seem, rather than competent authority. But in his -own immediate department of sacred learning he is entitled to the praise -of sobriety of thought and profoundness of investigation” (Frothingham’s -“Ripley,” 105). He was also a man of unusual literary tastes, and his -“Select Journal of Foreign Periodical Literature,” although too early -discontinued, took distinctly the lead of all American literary journals -up to that time. - -The very beginning of Charles Norton’s career would seem at first sight -singularly in contrast with his later pursuits, and yet doubtless had -formed, in some respects, an excellent preparation for them. Graduating -at Harvard in 1846, and taking a fair rank at graduation, he was soon -after sent into a Boston counting-house to gain a knowledge of the -East India trade. In 1849 he went as supercargo on a merchant ship -bound for India, in which country he traveled extensively, and returned -home through Europe in 1851. There are few more interesting studies in -the development of literary individuality than are to be found in the -successive works bearing Norton’s name, as one looks through the list -of them in the Harvard Library. The youth who entered upon literature -anonymously, at the age of twenty-five, as a compiler of hymns under -the title of “Five Christmas Hymns” in 1852, and followed this by “A -Book of Hymns for Young Persons” in 1854, did not even flinch from -printing the tragically Calvinistic verse which closes Addison’s famous -hymn, beginning “The Lord my pasture shall prepare,” with a conclusion -so formidable as death’s “gloomy horrors” and “dreadful shade.” In -1855 he edited, with Dr. Ezra Abbot, his father’s translations of the -Gospels with notes (2 vols.), and his “Evidences of the Genuineness of -the Gospels” (3 vols.). Charles Norton made further visits to Europe in -1855-57, and again resided there from 1868 until 1873; during which time -his rapidly expanding literary acquaintanceships quite weaned his mind -from the early atmosphere of theology. - -Although one of the writers in the very first number of the “Atlantic -Monthly,” he had no direct part in its planning. He wrote to me (January -9, 1899), “I am sorry that I can tell you nothing about the _primordia_ -of the ‘Atlantic.’ I was in Europe in 1856-57, whence I brought home -some MSS. for the new magazine.” It appears from his later statement in -the Anniversary Number that he had put all these manuscripts by English -authors in a trunk together, but that this trunk and all the manuscripts -were lost, except one accidentally left unpacked, which was a prose paper -by James Hannay on Douglas Jerrold, “who is hardly,” as Norton justly -says, “to be reckoned among the immortals.” Hannay is yet more thoroughly -forgotten. But this inadequate service in respect to foreign material -was soon more than balanced, as one sees on tracing the list of papers -catalogued under Norton’s name in the Atlantic Index. - -To appreciate the great variety and thorough preliminary preparation -of Norton’s mind, a student must take one of the early volumes of the -“Atlantic Monthly” and see how largely he was relied upon for literary -notices. If we examine, for instance, the fifth volume (1860), we find -in the first number a paper on Clough’s “Plutarch’s Lives,” comprising -ten pages of small print in double columns. There then follow in the same -volume papers on Hodson’s “Twelve Years of a Soldier’s Life in India,” on -“Friends in Council,” on Brooks’s “Sermons,” on Trollope’s “West Indies -and the Spanish Main,” on “Captain John Brown,” on Vernon’s “Dante,” -and one on “Model Lodging-Houses in Boston.” When we remember that his -“Notes of Travel and Study in Italy” was also published in Boston that -same year, being reviewed by some one in a notice of two pages in this -same volume of the “Atlantic,” we may well ask who ever did more of -genuine literary work in the same amount of time. This was, of course, -before he became Professor in the college (1874), and his preoccupation -in that way, together with his continuous labor on his translations of -Dante, explains why there are comparatively few entries under his name -in Atlantic Indexes for later years. Again, he and Lowell took charge of -the “North American Review” in 1864, and retained it until 1868, during -which period Norton unquestionably worked quite as hard as before, if we -may judge by the collective index to that periodical. - -It is to be noticed, however, that his papers in the “North American” are -not merely graver and more prolonged, but less terse and highly finished, -than those in the “Atlantic”; while in the development of his mind they -show even greater freedom of statement. He fearlessly lays down, for -instance, the following assertion, a very bold one for that period: -“So far as the most intelligent portion of society at the present day -is concerned, the Church in its actual constitution is an anachronism. -Much of the deepest and most religious life is led outside its wall, and -there is a constant and steady increase in those who not only find the -claims of the Church inconsistent with spiritual liberty, but also find -its services ill adapted to their wants.... It becomes more and more a -simple assemblage of persons gathered to go through with certain formal -ceremonies, the chief of which consists in listening to a man who is -seldom competent to teach.” It must be remembered that the expression -of such opinions to-day, when all his charges against the actual Church -may be found similarly stated by bishops and doctors of divinity, must -have produced a very different impression when made forty years ago by a -man of forty or thereabouts, who occupied twenty pages in saying it, and -rested in closing upon the calm basis, “The true worship of God consists -in the service of his children and devotion to the common interests of -men.” It may be that he who wrote these words never held a regular pew -in any church or identified himself, on the other hand, with any public -heretical organization, even one so moderate as the Free Religious -Association. Yet the fact that he devoted his Sunday afternoons for many -years to talking and Scripture reading in a Hospital for Incurables -conducted by Roman Catholics perhaps showed that it was safer to leave -such a man to go on his own course and reach the kingdom of heaven in his -own way. - -Norton never wrote about himself, if it could be avoided, unless his -recollections of early years, as read before the Cambridge Historical -Society, and reported in the second number of its proceedings, may -be regarded as an exception. Something nearest to this in literary -self-revelation is to be found, perhaps, in his work entitled “Letters of -John Ruskin,” published in 1904, and going back to his first invitation -from the elder Ruskin in 1855. This was on Norton’s first direct trip -to Europe, followed by a correspondence in which Ruskin writes to him, -February 25, 1861, “You have also done me no little good,” and other -phrases which show how this American, nine years younger than himself, -had already begun to influence that wayward mind. Their correspondence -was suspended, to be sure, by their difference of attitude on the -American Civil War; but it is pleasant to find that after ten months -of silence Ruskin wrote to Norton again, if bitterly. Later still, we -find successive letters addressed to Norton—now in England again—in this -loving gradation, “Dear Norton,” “My dearest Norton,” “My dear Charles,” -and “My dearest Charles,” and thenceforth the contest is won. Not all -completed, however, for in the last years of life Ruskin addressed -“Darling Charles,” and the last words of his own writing traced in pencil -“From your loving J. R.” - -I have related especially this one touching tale of friendship, because -it was the climax of them all, and the best illustration of the essential -Americanism of Norton’s career. - -He indeed afforded a peculiar and almost unique instance in New England, -not merely of a cultivated man who makes his home for life in the house -where he was born, but of one who has recognized for life the peculiar -associations of his boyhood and has found them still the best. While -Ruskin was pitying him for being doomed to wear out his life in America, -Norton with pleasure made his birthplace his permanent abode, and fully -recognized the attractions of the spot where he was born. “What a fine -microcosm,” he wrote to me (January 9, 1899), “Cambridge and Boston -and Concord made in the 40’s.” Norton affords in this respect a great -contrast to his early comrade, William Story, who shows himself in his -letters wholly detached from his native land, and finds nothing whatever -in his boyhood abode to attract him, although it was always found -attractive, not merely by Norton, but by Agassiz and Longfellow, neither -of whom was a native of Cambridge. - -The only safeguard for a solitary literary workman lies in the -sequestered house without a telephone. This security belonged for many -years to Norton, until the needs of a growing family made him a seller -of land, a builder of a high-railed fence, and at last, but reluctantly, -a subscriber to the telephone. It needs but little study of the cards -bearing his name in the catalogue of the Harvard Library to see on -how enormous a scale his work has been done in this seclusion. It is -then only that one remembers his eight volumes of delicately arranged -scrap-books extending from 1861 to 1866, and his six volumes of “Heart -of Oak” selections for childhood. There were comparatively few years of -his maturer life during which he was not editor of something, and there -was also needed much continuous labor in taking care of his personal -library. When we consider that he had the further responsibility of being -practically the literary executor or editor of several important men of -letters, as of Carlyle, Ruskin, Lowell, Curtis, and Clough; and that in -each case the work was done with absolute thoroughness; and that even in -summer he became the leading citizen of a country home and personally -engaged the public speakers who made his rural festals famous, it is -impossible not to draw the conclusion that no public man in America -surpassed the sequestered Norton in steadfastness of labor. - -It being made my duty in June, 1904, to read a poem before the Harvard -Phi Beta Kappa, I was tempted to include a few verses about individual -graduates, each of which was left, according to its subject, for the -audience to guess. The lines referring to Norton were as follows:— - - “There’s one I’ve watched from childhood, free of guile, - His man’s firm courage and his woman’s smile. - His portals open to the needy still, - He spreads calm sunshine over Shady Hill.” - -The reference to the combined manly and womanly qualities of Norton -spoke for itself, and won applause even before the place of residence -was uttered; and I received from Norton this recognition of the little -tribute:— - - ASHFIELD, 2 July, 1904. - - MY DEAR HIGGINSON,—Your friendly words about me in your Phi - Beta poem give me so much pleasure that I cannot refrain from - thanking you for them. I care for them specially as a memorial - of our hereditary friendship. They bring to mind my Mother’s - affection for your Mother, and for Aunt Nancy, who was as - dear an Aunt to us children at Shady Hill as she was to you - and your brothers and sisters. What dear and admirable women! - What simple, happy lives they led! No one’s heart will be more - deeply touched by your poem than mine. - -One most agreeable result of Norton’s Cambridge boyhood has not been -generally recognized by those who have written about him. His inherited -estate was so large that he led a life absolutely free in respect to the -study of nature, and as Lowell, too, had the same advantage, they could -easily compare notes. In answer to a criticism of mine with reference -to Longfellow’s poem, “The Herons of Elmwood,” on my theory that these -herons merely flew over Elmwood and only built their nests in what were -then the dense swamps east of Fresh Pond, he writes to me (January 4, -1899): “I cannot swear that I ever saw a heron’s nest at Elmwood. But -Lowell told me of their nesting there, and only a few weeks ago Mrs. -Burnett told me of the years when they had built in the pines and of -the time of their final desertion of the place.” To this he adds in a -note dated five days later: “As to the night-herons lighting on pines, -for many years they were in the habit of lighting and staying for hours -upon mine and then flying off towards the [Chelsea] beach.” This taste -accounts for the immense zest and satisfaction with which Norton edited a -hitherto unknown manuscript of the poet Gray’s on natural history, with -admirable illustrations taken from the original book, seeming almost -incredibly accurate from any but a professional naturalist, the book -being entitled, “The Poet Gray as a Naturalist with Selections from His -Notes on the Systema Naturæ of Linnæus with Facsimiles of Some of his -Drawings.” - -In the Charles Eliot Norton number of the “Harvard Graduates’ Magazine” -commemorating his eightieth birthday, Professor Palmer, with that -singular felicity which characterizes him, says of Norton: “He has been -an epitome of the world’s best thought brought to our own doors and -opened for our daily use.” Edith Wharton with equal felicity writes -from Norton’s well-known dwelling at Ashfield, whose very name, “High -Pasture,” gives a signal for what follows:— - - “Come up—come up; in the dim vale below - The autumn mist muffles the fading trees, - But on this keen hill-pasture, though the breeze - Has stretched the thwart boughs bare to meet the snow, - Night is not, autumn is not—but the flow - Of vast, ethereal and irradiate seas, - Poured from the far world’s flaming boundaries - In waxing tides of unimagined glow. - - “And to that height illumined of the mind - He calls us still by the familiar way, - Leaving the sodden tracks of life behind, - Befogged in failure, chilled with love’s decay— - Showing us, as the night-mists upward wind, - How on the heights is day and still more day.” - -But I must draw to a close, and shall do this by reprinting the very -latest words addressed by this old friend to me; these being written very -near his last days. Having been away from Cambridge all summer, I did -not know that he had been at Cambridge or ill, and on my writing to him -received this cheerful and serene answer, wholly illustrative of the man, -although the very fact that it was dictated was sadly ominous:— - - SHADY HILL, CAMBRIDGE, MASS., 6 October, 1908. - - MY DEAR HIGGINSON,—Your letter the other day from Ipswich gave - me great pleasure.... - - It had never occurred to me that you were associated with - Ipswich through your Appleton relatives. My association with - the old town, whose charm has not wholly disappeared under the - hard hoof of the invader, begins still earlier than yours, - for the William Norton who landed there in 1636 was my direct - ancestor; and a considerable part of his pretty love story - seems to have been transacted there. I did not know the story - until I came upon it by accident, imbedded in some of the - volumes of the multifarious publications of our historical - society. It amused me to find that John Norton, whose - reputation is not for romance or for soft-heartedness, took an - active interest in pleading his brother’s cause with Governor - Winthrop, whose niece, Lucy Downing, had won the susceptible - heart of W. N. - - My summer was a very peaceful and pleasant one here in my old - home till about six weeks ago, when I was struck down ... which - has left me in a condition of extreme muscular feebleness, but - has not diminished my interest in the world and its affairs. - Happily my eyes are still good for reading, and I have fallen - back, as always on similar occasions, on Shakespeare and Scott, - but I have read one or two new books also, the best of which, - and a book of highest quality, is the last volume of Morley’s - essays. - - But I began meaning only to thank you for your pleasant note - and to send a cheer to you from my slower craft as your gallant - three-master goes by it with all sails set.... - - Always cordially yours, - - C. E. NORTON. - - - - -XI - -EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN - - - - -EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN - - -The sudden death of Edmund Clarence Stedman at New York on January 18, -1908, came with a strange pathos upon the readers of his many writings, -especially as following so soon upon that of his life-long friend and -compeer, Aldrich. Stedman had been for some years an invalid, and had -received, in his own phrase, his “three calls,” that life would soon be -ended. He was born at Hartford, Connecticut, on October 8, 1833, and was -the second son of Colonel Edmund Burke Stedman and his wife Elizabeth -Clement (Dodge) Stedman. His great-grandfather was the Reverend Aaron -Cleveland, Jr., a Harvard graduate of 1735, and a man of great influence -in his day, who died in middle life under the hospitable roof of Benjamin -Franklin. Stedman’s mother was a woman of much literary talent, and -had great ultimate influence in the training of her son, although she -was early married again to the Honorable William B. Kinney, who was -afterwards the United States Minister to Turin. Her son, being placed in -charge of a great-uncle, spent his childhood in Norwich, Connecticut, and -entered Yale at sixteen, but did not complete his course there, although -in later life he was restored to his class membership and received the -degree of Master of Arts. He went early into newspaper work in Norwich -and then in New York, going to the front for a time as newspaper -correspondent during the Civil War. He abandoned journalism after ten -years or thereabouts, and became a member of the New York Stock Exchange -without giving up his literary life, a combination apt to be of doubtful -success. He married, at twenty, Laura Hyde Woodworth, who died before -him, as did one of his sons, leaving only one son and a granddaughter as -his heirs. His funeral services took place at the Church of the Messiah -on January 21, 1908, conducted by the Reverend Dr. Robert Collyer and the -Reverend Dr. Henry van Dyke. - -Those who happen to turn back to the number of the “Atlantic Monthly” -for January, 1898, will read with peculiar interest a remarkable paper -entitled “Our Two Most Honored Poets.” It bears no author’s name, even -in the Index, but is what we may venture to call, after ten years, a -singularly penetrating analysis of both Aldrich and Stedman. Of the -latter it is said: “His rhythmic sense is subtle, and he often attains -an aerial waywardness of melody which is of the very essence of the -lyric gift.” It also remarks most truly and sadly of Stedman that he -“is of those who have suffered the stress of the day.” The critic adds: -“Just now we felt grateful to Mr. Aldrich for putting all this [that is, -life’s tragedies] away in order that the clarity and sweetness of his art -might not suffer; now we feel something like reverence for the man [Mr. -Stedman] who, in conditions which make for contentment and acquiescence, -has not been able to escape these large afflictions.” But these two -gifted men have since passed away, Aldrich from a career of singular -contentment, Stedman after ten years of almost constant business failure -and a series of calamities relating to those nearest and dearest. - -One of the most prominent men in the New York literary organizations, -and one who knew Stedman intimately, writes me thus in regard to the -last years of his life: “As you probably know, Stedman died poor. Only -a few days ago he told me that after paying all the debts hanging over -him for years from the business losses caused by ⸺’s mismanagement, he -had not enough to live on, and must keep on with his literary work. For -this he had various plans, of which our conversations developed only a -possible rearrangement of his past writings; an article now and then for -the magazines (one, I am told, he left completed); and reminiscences -of his old friends among men of letters—for which last he had, during -eight months past, been overhauling letters and papers, but had written -nothing. He was ailing, he said—had a serious heart affection which -troubled him for years, and he found it a daily struggle to keep up -with the daily claims on his time. You know what he was, in respect of -letters,—and letters. He could always say ‘No’ with animation; but in -the case of claims on his time by poets and other of the writing class, -he never could do the negative. He both liked the claims and didn’t. The -men who claimed were dear to him, partly because he knew them, partly -because he was glad to know them. He wore himself quite out. His heart -was exhausted by his brain. It was a genuine case of heart-failure to do -what the head required.” - -There lies before me a mass of private letters to me from Stedman, -dating back to November 2, 1873, when he greeted me for the first time -in a kinship we had just discovered. We had the same great-grandfather, -though each connection was through the mother, we being alike -great-grandchildren of the Reverend Aaron Cleveland, Jr., from whom -President Grover Cleveland was also descended. At the time of this mutual -discovery Stedman was established in New York, and although I sometimes -met him in person, I can find no letters from him until after a period -of more than ten years, when he was engaged in editing his Library of -American Literature. He wrote to me afterwards, and often with quite -cousinly candor,—revealing frankly his cares, hopes, and sorrows, but -never with anything coarse or unmanly. All his enterprises were confided -to me so far as literature was concerned, and I, being nearly ten years -older, felt free to say what I thought of them. I wished, especially, -however, to see him carry out a project of translations from the Greek -pastoral poetry of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus. The few fragments -given at the end of his volumes had always delighted me and many other -students, while his efforts at the “Agamemnon” of Æschylus dealt with -passages too formidable in their power for any one but Edward FitzGerald -to undertake. - -After a few years of occasional correspondence, there came a lull. -Visiting New York rarely, I did not know of Stedman’s business -perplexities till they came upon me in the following letter, which was -apparently called out by one of mine written two months before. - - 71 West 54th Street, NEW YORK, July 12th, ’82. - - MY DEAR COLONEL,—I had gone over with “the majority” [that is, - to Europe], when your friendly card of May 9th was written, - and it finally reached me at Venice. In that city of light, - air, and heavenly noiselessness, my son and myself at last had - settled ourselves in ideal rooms, overlooking the Grand Canal. - We had seclusion, the Molo, the Lagoon, and a good café, and - pure and cheap Capri wine. Our books and papers were unpacked - for the first time, and I was ready to make an end of the big - and burdensome book which I ought to have finished a year ago. - _Dis aliter visum!_ The next morning I was awakened to receive - news, by wire, of a business loss which brought me home, - through the new Gothard tunnel and by the first steamer. Here I - am, patching up other people’s blunders, with the thermometer - in the nineties. I have lived through worse troubles, but - am in no very good humor. Let me renew the amenities of - life, by way of improving my disposition: and I’ll begin by - thanking you for calling my attention to the error _in re_ - Palfrey—which, of course, I shall correct. Another friend has - written me to say that Lowell’s father was a Unitarian—not a - Congregationalist. But Lowell himself told me, the other day, - that his father never would call himself a Unitarian, and that - he was old-fashioned in his home tenets and discipline. Mr. L. - [Lowell] was under pretty heavy pressure, as you know, when I - saw him, but holding his own with some composure—for a poet. - Again thanking you, I am, - - Always truly yrs., - - E. C. STEDMAN. - -This must have been answered by some further expression of solicitude, -for this reply came, two months later,— - - University Club, 370 Fifth Avenue, NEW YORK, - Sunday, Sept. 16, 1883. - - MY DEAR HIGGINSON,—There _is_ a good deal, say what you will, - in “moral support.” I have proved it during the last few weeks: - ’twould have been hard to get through with them, but for just - such words as yours. And I have had them in such abundance - that, despite rather poor displays of human nature in a sample - of my own manufacture, I am less than ever a pessimist. - - As for that which Sophocles pronounced the father of - meanness—πενία—both my wife and myself have been used to it - nearly all our lives, and probably shall have, now, to renew - our old acquaintance with it. Though somewhat demoralized by a - few years of Philistine comfort—the _Persicos apparatus_, &c.—I - think we shall get along with sufficient dignity. - - We have suffered more, however, than the money-loss, bad as - that is. And hence we are doubly grateful to those who, like - yourself, send a cheery voice to us at just this time. - - Ever sincerely yrs., - - EDMUND C. STEDMAN. - -During the next few years we had ample correspondence of a wholly -literary and cheerful tone. He became engaged upon his Library of -American Literature with a congenial fellow worker, Miss Ellen -Hutchinson, and I was only one of many who lent a hand or made -suggestions. He was working very hard, and once wrote that he was going -for a week to his boyhood home to rest. During all this period there was, -no doubt, the painful business entanglement in the background, but there -was also in the foreground the literary work whose assuaging influence -only one who has participated in it can understand. Then came another -blow in the death of his mother, announced to me as follows:— - - 44 East 26th St., NEW YORK, Dec. 8th, 1889. - - MY DEAR HIGGINSON,—Yes: I have been through a kind of Holy - Week, and have come out in so incorporeal a state that I strive - painfully, though most gratefully, to render thanks to some, at - least, of my beautiful mother’s friends and mine who have taken - note of her departure. I have always wished that she and you - could know more of each other—though nothing of yours escaped - her eager taste and judgment, for she was not only a natural - critic, but a very _clanswoman_, with a most loyal faith in - her blood and yours. Most of all, she was a typical woman, an - intensely human one, to the last, though made of no common - clay. She was of an age to die, and I am glad that her fine - intelligence was spared a season of dimness. Still, _I_ have - suffered a loss, and doubtless one that will last a lifetime. - - Sincerely yours, - - E. C. STEDMAN. - -The laborious volumes of literary selections having been completed, there -followed, still under the same pressure, another series of books yet -more ambitious. His “Victorian Poets” (1875, thirteenth edition 1887) -was followed by the “Poets of America” (1885), “A Victorian Anthology” -(1895), and “An American Anthology” (1900). These books were what gave -him his fame, the two former being original studies of literature, made -in prose; and the two latter being collections of poetry from the two -nations. - -If we consider how vast a labor was represented in all those volumes, -it is interesting to revert to that comparison between Stedman and his -friend Aldrich with which this paper began. Their literary lives led -them apart; that of Aldrich tending always to condensation, that of -Stedman to expansion. As a consequence, Aldrich seemed to grow younger -and younger with years and Stedman older; his work being always valuable, -but often too weighty, “living in thoughts, not breaths,” to adopt the -delicate distinction from Bailey’s “Festus.” There is a certain worth -in all that Stedman wrote, be it longer or shorter, but it needs a good -deal of literary power to retain the attention of readers so long as -some of his chapters demand. Opening at random his “Poets of America,” -one may find the author deep in a discussion of Lowell, for instance, -and complaining of that poet’s prose or verse. “Not compactly moulded,” -Stedman says, even of much of Lowell’s work. “He had a way, moreover, -of ‘dropping’ like his own bobolink, of letting down his fine passages -with odd conceits, mixed metaphors, and licenses which, as a critic, he -would not overlook in another. To all this add a knack of coining uncouth -words for special tints of meaning, when there are good enough counters -in the language for any poet’s need.” These failings, Stedman says, “have -perplexed the poet’s friends and teased his reviewers.” Yet Lowell’s -critic is more chargeable with diffuseness than is Lowell himself in -prose essays, which is saying a good deal. Stedman devotes forty-five -pages to Lowell and thirty-nine even to Bayard Taylor, while he gives to -Thoreau but a few scattered lines and no pretense at a chapter. There -are, unquestionably, many fine passages scattered through the book, -as where he keenly points out that the first European appreciation of -American literature was “almost wholly due to grotesque and humorous -exploits—a welcome such as a prince in his breathing-hour might give -to a new-found jester or clown”; and when he says, in reply to English -criticism, that there is “something worth an estimate in the division of -an ocean gulf, that makes us like the people of a new planet.” - -Turning back to Stedman’s earlier book, the “Victorian Poets,” one finds -many a terse passage, as where he describes Landor as a “royal Bohemian -in art,” or compares the same author’s death in Florence at ninety, a -banished man, to “the death of some monarch of the forest, most untamed -when powerless.” Such passages redeem a book from the danger of being -forgotten, but they cannot in the long run save it from the doom which -awaits too great diffuseness in words. During all this period of hard -work, he found room also for magazine articles, always thoroughly done. -Nowhere is there a finer analysis, on the whole, of the sources of -difficulty in Homeric translation than will be found in Stedman’s review -of Bryant’s translation of Homer, and nowhere a better vindication of a -serious and carefully executed book (“Atlantic Monthly,” May, 1872). He -wrote also an admirable volume of lectures on the “Nature and Elements of -Poetry” for delivery at Johns Hopkins University. - -As years went on, our correspondence inevitably grew less close. On -March 10, 1893, he wrote, “I am so driven at this season, ‘let alone’ -financial worries, that I have to write letters when and where I can.” -Then follows a gap of seven years; in 1900 his granddaughter writes on -October 25, conveying affectionate messages from him; two years after, -April 2, 1903, he writes himself in the same key, then adds, “Owing to -difficulties absolutely beyond my control, I have written scarcely a line -for myself since the Yale bicentennial [1901]”; and concludes, “I am -very warmly your friend and kinsman.” It was a full, easy, and natural -communication, like his old letters; but it was four years later when I -heard from him again as follows, in a letter which I will not withhold, -in spite of what may be well regarded as its over-sensitiveness and -somewhat exaggerated tone. - - 2643 Broadway, NEW YORK CITY, - Evening, March 20th, 1907. - - MY DEAR KINSMAN,—Although I have given you no reason to be - assured of it, you are still just the same to me in my honor - and affection—you are never, and you never have been, otherwise - in my thoughts than my kinsman (by your first recognition of - our consanguinity) and my friend; yes, and early teacher, for I - long ago told you that it was your essays that confirmed me, in - my youth, in the course I chose for myself. - - I am going on to Aldrich’s funeral, and with a rather lone - and heavy heart, since I began life here in New York with - him before the Civil War, and had every expectation that he - would survive me: not wholly on the score of my seniority, - but because I have had my “three calls” and more, and because - he has ever been so strong and young and debonair. Health, - happiness, ease, travel, all “things _waregan_,” seemed - his natural right. If I, too, wished for a portion of his - felicities, I never envied one to whom they came by the very - fitness of things. And I grieve the more for his death, because - it seems to violate that fitness. - - Now, I can’t think of meeting you on Friday without first - making this poor and inadequate attempt to set one thing - right. Your latest letter—I _was_, at least, moved by it to - address myself at once to a full reply, but was myself attacked - that day so sorely by the grippe that I went to bed before - completing it and was useless for weeks; the letter showed - me that you thought, as well you might, that I had been hurt - or vexed by something you had unwittingly done or written. I - can say little to-night but to confess that no act, word, or - writing, of yours from first to last has not seemed to contain - all the friendship, kindness, recognition, that I could ever - ask for.... Perhaps I have the ancestral infirmity of clinging - to my fealties for good and all; but, as I say, you are my - creditor in every way, and I constantly find myself in sympathy - with your writings, beliefs, causes, judgments.—Now I recall - it, the very choice you made of a little lyric of mine as - the one at my “high-water” mark gave me a fine sense of your - comprehension—it seemed to me a case of _rem acu tetigit_. I - am thoroughly satisfied to have one man—and that man _you_—so - quick to see just where I felt that I had been fortunate.... - - For some years, I venture to remind you, you have seen scarcely - anything of mine in print. Since 1900 I have had three long and - disabling illnesses, from two of which it was not thought I - could recover. Between these, what desperate failure of efforts - to “catch up.” Oh, I can’t tell you, the books, the letters, - the debts, the broken contracts. Then the deaths of my wife and - my son, and all the sorrows following; the break-up of my home, - and the labor of winding up so much without aid. But from all - the rack I have always kept, separated on my table, all your - letters and remembrances—each one adding more, in my mind, to - the explanation I had _not_ written you.... - - Your attached kinsman and friend, - - EDMUND C. STEDMAN. - -Stedman came from Mount Auburn to my house after the funeral of Aldrich, -with a look of utter exhaustion on his face such as alarmed me. A little -rest and refreshment brought him to a curious revival of strength and -animation; he talked of books, men, and adventures, in what was almost a -monologue, and went away in comparative cheerfulness with his faithful -literary associate, Professor George E. Woodberry. Yet I always associate -him with one of those touching letters which he wrote to me before the -age of the typewriter, more profusely than men now write, and the very -fact that we lived far apart made him franker in utterance. The following -letter came from Keep Rock, New Castle, New Hampshire, September 30, -1887:— - - “You are a ‘noble kinsman’ after all, of the sort from whom - one is very glad to get good words, and I have taken your - perception of a bit of verse as infallible, ever since you - picked out three little ‘Stanzas for Music’ as my one best - thing. Every one else had overlooked them, but I knew that—as - Holmes said of his ‘Chambered Nautilus’—they were written - ‘better than I could.’ By the way, if you will overhaul - Duyckinck’s ‘Encyclopedia of Literature’ _in re_ Dr. Samuel - Mitchill, you will see who first wrote crudely the ‘Chambered - Nautilus.’” - -Two years after, he wrote, April 9, 1889:— - - “The newspapers warn me that you are soon to go abroad.... - I must copy for you now the song which you have kindly - remembered so many years. In sooth, I have always thought well - of your judgment as to poetry, since you intimated (in ‘The - Commonwealth,’ was it not?) that these three stanzas of mine - were the thing worth having of my seldom-written verse. I - will write on the next page a passage which I lately found in - Hartmann (a wonderful man for a pessimist), and which conveys - precisely the idea of my song.” - -To this he adds as a quotation the passage itself:— - - “The souls which are near without knowing it, and which can - approach no nearer by ever so close an embrace than they - eternally are, pine for a blending which can never be theirs so - long as they remain distinct individuals.” - -The song itself, which he thought, as I did, his high-water mark, -here follows. Its closing verse appears to me unsurpassed in American -literature. - - STANZAS FOR MUSIC - - (From an Unfinished Drama) - - Thou art mine, thou hast given thy word; - Close, close in my arms thou art clinging; - Alone for my ear thou art singing - A song which no stranger hath heard: - But afar from me yet, like a bird, - Thy soul, in some region unstirred, - On its mystical circuit is winging. - - Thou art mine, I have made thee mine own; - Henceforth we are mingled forever: - But in vain, all in vain, I endeavor— - Though round thee my garlands are thrown, - And thou yieldest thy lips and thy zone— - To master the spell that alone - My hold on thy being can sever. - - Thou art mine, thou hast come unto me! - But thy soul, when I strive to be near it— - The innermost fold of thy spirit— - Is as far from my grasp, is as free, - As the stars from the mountain-tops be, - As the pearl, in the depths of the sea, - From the portionless king that would wear it. - - - - -XII - -EDWARD EVERETT HALE - - - - -EDWARD EVERETT HALE - - -The life of Edward Everett Hale has about it a peculiar interest as a -subject of study. The youngest member of his Harvard class,—that of -1839,—he was also the most distinguished among them and finally outlived -them all. Personal characteristics which marked him when a freshman in -college kept him young to the end of his days. When the Reverend Edward -Cummings came to Dr. Hale’s assistance in the South Congregational -Church, he was surprised to find practically no young people in the -parish, and still more surprised to know that their pastor was ignorant -of the fact. These parishioners were all young when Dr. Hale took them in -charge, and to him they had always remained so, for he had invested them -with his own fresh and undying spirit. - -Probably no man in America, except Beecher, aroused and stimulated quite -so many minds as Hale, and his personal popularity was unbounded. He had -strokes of genius, sometimes with unsatisfying results; yet failures -never stood in his way, but seemed to drop from his memory in a few -hours. An unsurpassable model in most respects, there were limitations -which made him in some minor ways a less trustworthy example. Such and -so curiously composed was Edward Everett Hale. He was the second son of -a large family of sons and daughters, his parents being Nathan and Sarah -Preston (Everett) Hale, and he was born in Boston, April 3, 1822. His -father was the editor of the leading newspaper in Boston, the “Daily -Advertiser,” and most of his children developed, in one way or another, -distinct literary tastes. The subject of this sketch had before him, as a -literary example and influence, the celebrated statesman and orator whose -name he bore, and who was his mother’s brother. - -My own recollections of him begin quite early. Nearly two years younger -than he, I was, like him, the youngest of my Harvard class, which was -two years later than his. My college remembrances of him are vivid and -characteristic. Living outside of the college yard, I was sometimes very -nearly late for morning prayers; and more than once on such occasions, -as I passed beneath the walls of Massachusetts Hall, then a dormitory, -there would spring from the doorway a tall, slim young student who had, -according to current report among the freshmen, sprung out of bed almost -at the last stroke of the bell, thrown his clothes over the stairway, -and jumped into them on the way down. This was Edward Everett Hale; and -this early vision was brought to my mind not infrequently in later life -by his way of doing maturer things. - -The same qualities which marked his personal appearance marked his -career. He was always ready for action, never stopped for trifles, always -lacked but little of being one of the heroes or men of genius of his -time. Nor can any one yet predict which of these will be the form finally -taken by his fame. His capacity for work was unlimited, and he perhaps -belonged to more societies and committees than any man living. In this -field his exhaustless energy had play, but his impetuous temperament -often proved a drawback, and brought upon him the criticism of men of -less talent but more accurate habits of mind. No denominational barriers -existed for him. Ready to officiate in all pulpits and welcome in all, he -left it unknown to the end of his life whether he did or did not believe -in the Bible miracles, for instance. Nor did anybody who talked with him -care much. His peculiar and attractive personality made him acceptable -to all sorts of people and to men of all creeds; for his extraordinary -versatility enabled him in his intercourse with other minds to adapt his -sympathy and his language to the individual modes of thought and belief -of each and all of them. - -Some of his finest literary achievements were those which he himself -had forgotten. Up to the last degree prolific, he left more than one -absolutely triumphant stroke behind him in literature. The best bit of -prose that I can possibly associate with him was a sketch in a newspaper -bearing the somewhat meaningless title “The Last Shake,” suggested by -watching the withdrawal of the last man with a hand-cart who was ever -allowed to shake carpets on Boston Common. He was, no doubt, a dusty and -forlorn figure enough. But to Hale’s ready imagination he stood for a -whole epoch of history, for the long procession of carpet-shakers who -were doing their duty there when Percy marched to Lexington, or when -the cannonade from Breed’s Hill was in the air. Summer and winter had -come and gone, sons had succeeded their fathers at their work, and the -beating of the carpets had gone on, undrowned by the rising city’s roar. -At last the more fastidious aldermen rebelled, the last shake was given, -and Edward Everett Hale wrote its elegy. I suppose I kept the little -newspaper cutting on my desk for five years, as a model of what wit and -sympathy could extract from the humblest theme. - -Another stroke was of quite a different character. Out of the myriad -translations of Homer, there is in all English literature but one version -known to me of even a single passage which gives in a high degree the -Homeric flavor. That passage is the description of the Descent of Neptune -(Iliad, Book XIII), and was preserved in Hale’s handwriting by his friend -Samuel Longfellow, with whom I edited the book “Thalatta,”—a collection -of sea poems. His classmate, Hale, had given it to him when first -written, and then had forgotten all about it. Had it not been printed by -us there, it might, sooner or later, have found its way into that still -unpublished magazine which Hale and I planned together, when we lived -near each other in Worcester, Massachusetts,—a periodical which was to -have been called the “Unfortunates’ Magazine,” and was to contain all the -prose and verse sent to us by neighbors or strangers with request to get -it published. I remember that we made out a title-page between us, with -a table of contents, all genuine, for the imaginary first number. Such -a book was to some extent made real in “Thalatta,” and the following is -Hale’s brilliant Homeric translation:— - - THE DESCENT OF NEPTUNE - - There sat he high retired from the seas; - There looked with pity on his Grecians beaten; - There burned with rage at the God-king who slew them. - Then rushed he forward from the rugged mountain; - He beat the forest also as he came downward, - And the high cliffs shook underneath his footsteps; - Three times he trod, his fourth step reached his sea-home. - - There was his palace in the deep sea-water, - Shining with gold and builded firm forever; - And there he yoked him his swift-footed horses - (Their hoofs are brazen, and their manes are golden) - With golden thongs; his golden goad he seizes; - He mounts upon his chariot and doth fly; - Yea, drives he forth his steeds into the billows. - - The sea-beasts from the depths rise under him— - They know their King: and the glad sea is parted, - That so his wheels may fly along unhinder’d. - Dry speeds between the waves his brazen axle:— - So bounding fast they bring him to his Grecians. - -Earlier than this, in his racy papers called “My College Days,” we get -another characteristic glimpse of Hale as a student. The Sunday afternoon -before being examined for admission to college, he reports that he read -the first six books of the Æneid (the last six having already been -mastered) at one fell swoop,—seated meantime on the ridge-pole of his -father’s house! - -More firmly than on any of these productions Hale’s literary fame now -rests on an anonymous study in the “Atlantic Monthly,” called “The Man -without a Country,” a sketch of such absolutely lifelike vigor that I, -reading it in camp during the Civil War, accepted it as an absolutely -true narrative, until I suddenly came across, in the very midst of it, -a phrase so wholly characteristic of its author that I sprang from my -seat, exclaiming “_Aut Cæsar aut nullus_; Edward Hale or nobody.” This -is the story on which the late eminent critic, Wendell P. Garrison, of -the “Nation,” once wrote (April 17, 1902), “There are some who look upon -it as the primer of Jingoism,” and he wrote to me ten years earlier, -February 19, 1892, “What will last of Hale, I apprehend, will be the -phrase ‘A man without a country,’ and perhaps the immoral doctrine taught -in it which leads to Mexican and Chilean wars—‘My country, right or -wrong.’” - -Be this as it may, there is no doubt that on this field Hale’s permanent -literary fame was won. It hangs to that as securely as does the memory -of Dr. Holmes to his “Chambered Nautilus.” It is the exiled hero of this -story who gives that striking bit of advice to boys: “And if you are ever -tempted to say a word or do a thing that shall put a bar between you and -your family, your home and your country, pray God in his mercy to take -you that instant home to his own heaven!” - -President James Walker, always the keenest of observers, once said of -Hale that he took sides upon every question while it was being stated. -This doubtless came, in part at least, from his having been reared in -a newspaper office, or, as he said more tersely, having been “cradled -in the sheets of the ‘Advertiser,’” and bred to strike promptly. His -strongest and weakest points seem to have been developed in his father’s -editorial office. Always ready to give unselfish sympathy, he could not -always dispense deliberate justice. One of his favorite sayings was -that his ideal of a committee was one which consisted of three persons, -one of whom should be in bed with chronic illness, another should be in -Europe, and he himself should be the third. It was one of his theories -that clergymen were made to do small duties neglected by others, and he -did them at a formidable sacrifice of time and in his own independent -and quite ungovernable way. Taking active part for the Nation during the -Civil War,—so active that his likeness appears on the Soldiers’ Monument -on Boston Common,—he did not actually go to the war itself as chaplain of -a regiment, as some of his friends desired; for they justly considered -him one of the few men qualified to fill that position heartily, through -his powerful voice, ready sympathy, and boundless willingness to make -himself useful in every direction. - -A very characteristic side of the man might always be seen in his -letters. The following was written in his own hurried handwriting in -recognition of his seventy-seventh birthday:— - - April 8, ’99. - - DEAR HIGGINSON,—Thanks for your card. It awaited me on my - return from North Carolina last night. - - Three score & ten as you know, has many advantages,—and as yet, - I find no drawbacks. - - Asa Gray said to me “It is great fun to be 70 years old. You do - not have to know everything!” - - I see that you can write intelligibly. - - I wish I could—But I cannot run a Typewriter more than a - Sewing-Machine. - - Will the next generation learn to write—any more than learn the - alphabet? - - With Love to all yours - - Truly & always - - E. E. HALE. - -This next letter was called out by the death of Major-General Rufus -Saxton, distinguished for his first arming of the freed slaves:— - - WASHINGTON, D. C., Feb. 29, 1908. - - DEAR HIGGINSON,—I have been reading with the greatest interest - your article on Gen. Saxton. - - It has reminded me of an incident here—the time of which I - cannot place. But I think you can;—and if you can I wish you - would write & tell me when it happened—and perhaps what came of - it. - - I was coming up in a street [car] when Charles Sumner came in & - took a seat opposite me—The car was not crowded. - - Every one knew him, and he really addressed the whole - car—though he affected to speak to me. But he meant to have - every one hear—& they did. He said substantially this,— - - “The most important order since the war began has been issued - at the War Department this morning. - - “Directions have been given for the manufacture of a thousand - pair of Red Breeches. They are to be patterned on the Red - Trousers of the Zouaves—and are to be the uniform of the First - Negro Regiment.” He surprised the car—(as he meant to). - - Now, 1. I cannot fix the date, can you? - - 2. Were the negro troops or any regiment of them ever clothed - in the Zouave Uniform? - - I remember there was a “Zouave” Regiment from New York City— - - [I had the pleasure of informing him that my regiment, which - he mentions, had been the only one disfigured by the scarlet - trousers, which were fortunately very soon worn out and gladly - banished. This was in August, 1862.] - -It may be well enough to end these extracts from his correspondence -with one of those bits of pure nonsense in which his impetuous nature -delighted. This was on occasion of his joining the Boston Authors’ Club:— - - ROXBURY, Mass., April 10, 1903. - - DEAR HIGGINSON,—One sometimes does what there is no need of - doing. What we call here a Duke of Northumberland day is a day - when one does what he darn chooses to do, without reference to - the obligations of the social order. Such is to-day. - - Did you ever hear the story of the graduate who never advanced - in his studies farther than that Pythagorean man did who never - could learn more than the first letters of the alphabet? I am - reminded of it by the elegant monogram of our Club. - - This young fellow’s friends were very eager to get him through - the university, so they sent him out from Boston in a - - C A B - - After two days he came - - B A C - - He then went to Cambridge on a three years’ course by taking - electives which didn’t require him to repeat the alphabet. - - He learned to smoke - - B A C C A - - and at the end of the time the College made him - - A B - - His friends then sent him to the Cuban War, and he came out a - Field Marshal, so that he was able to become a member of the - - A B C F M - - This was all I knew about him till this morning I have learned - that after publishing his military memoirs he became a member - of the - - B A C - [Boston Authors’ Club] - - I am sorry to say that he already drank the Lager which was - furnished him by the AMERICAN BOTTLING COMPANY - - So no more at present from your old companion in arms, - - EDWARD E HALE - A B 1839. - -These letters give a glimpse at the more impetuous and sunny aspects -of his life. Turning again to its severer duties, it is interesting to -notice that in conducting the funeral services of Mr. F. A. Hill, the -Secretary of the State Board of Education, Dr. Hale said in warm praise -of that able man: “He lived by the spirit; I do not think he cared for -method.” The same was Hale’s own theory also, or, at any rate, his -familiar practice. He believed, for instance, that the school hours of a -city should be very much shortened, yet never made it clear what pursuits -should take their places; for it was the habit of his fertile brain -to formulate schemes and allow others to work them out. Many of his -suggestions fell to the ground, but others bore rich fruit. Among these -latter are the various “Lend a Hand” clubs which have sprung up all over -the country, not confining themselves to sect or creed, and having as -their motto a brief verse of his writing. He went to no divinity school -to prepare himself for preaching, and at one time did not see clearly the -necessity of preliminary training for those who were to enter the pulpit. -If his friends undertook laboriously to correct any inaccuracies in his -published writings, he took every such correction with imperturbable -and sunny equanimity, and, taxed with error, readily admitted it. His -undeniable habit of rather hasty and inaccurate statement sprang from -his way of using facts simply as illustrations. They served to prove his -point or exemplify the principle for which he was contending. To verify -his statements would often have taken too much time, and from his point -of view was immaterial. It is hard for the academic mind, with its love -of system, to accept this method of working, and his contemporaries -sometimes regretted that he could not act with them in more business-like -ways. They were tempted to compare his aims and methods to those of -Eskimo dogs, each of which has to be harnessed separately to the sledge -which bears the driver, or else they turn and eat each other up. When it -came to the point, all of yesterday’s shortcomings were forgotten next -morning by him and every one else, in his readiness to be the world’s -errand-boy for little kindnesses. But in the presence, we will not say of -death, but of a life lived for others, which is deathless, the critic’s -task seems ungenerous and unmeaning. This man’s busy existence may not -always have run in the accepted grooves, but its prevailing note was -Love. If the rushing stream sometimes broke down the barriers of safety, -it proved more often a fertilizing Nile than a dangerous Mississippi. - -Followed and imitated by multitudes, justly beloved for his warmth of -heart and readiness of hand, he had a happy and busy life, sure to win -gratitude and affection when it ended, as it did at Roxbury on June 10, -1909. The children and the aged loved him almost to worshiping, and is -there, after all, a better test? - - - - -XIII - -A MASSACHUSETTS GENERAL, RUFUS SAXTON - - - - -A MASSACHUSETTS GENERAL, RUFUS SAXTON - - -Complaint has sometimes been made of Massachusetts that the state did not -provide a sufficient number of officers of high grade for the regular -army during the Civil War. Be that as it may, one of the most eminent of -such officers has just died, being indeed one whose actual fame may yet -outlast that of all the others by reason of its rare mingling of civil -and military service. - -General Rufus Saxton was born at Greenfield, Massachusetts, on October -19, 1824, graduated at the military academy in 1849, was made brevet -second lieutenant, Third United States Artillery, July 1, 1849, second -lieutenant, Fourth Artillery, September 12, 1850, and captain and -assistant quartermaster, May 13, 1861. He was chief quartermaster on the -staff of General Lyon in Missouri and subsequently on that of General -McClellan in western Virginia, and was on the expeditionary corps to Port -Royal, South Carolina. In May and June, 1862, he was ordered north and -placed in command of the defenses at Harper’s Ferry, where his services -won him a medal of honor; after which he was military governor of the -Department of the South, his headquarters being at Beaufort, South -Carolina; this service extended from July, 1862, to May 18, 1865, when -he rose to be colonel and brevet brigadier-general of volunteers. He was -mustered out of the volunteer service January 15, 1866, but rose finally -to be colonel and assistant quartermaster-general in the regular army, -March 10, 1882. He retired from active service October 19, 1888, having -been made on that date a brigadier-general on the retired list. This is -the brief summary of what was, in reality, a quite unique career. - -The portion of this honorable life upon which his personal fame will -doubtless be founded is that from 1862 to 1865, when he was military -governor of the Department of the South. In this capacity he first proved -possible the distribution of the vast body of free or fugitive slaves -over the Sea Islands, which had been almost deserted by their white -predecessors. This feat was accompanied by what was probably in the end -even more important,—the creation of black troops from that centre. The -leadership in this work might have belonged under other circumstances -to Major-General Hunter, of Washington, District of Columbia, who had -undertaken such a task in the same region (May 3, 1862); but General -Hunter, though he had many fine qualities, was a thoroughly impetuous -man; whimsical, changeable, and easily influenced by his staff officers, -few of whom had the slightest faith in the enterprise. He acted, -moreover, without authority from Washington, and his whole enterprise -had been soon disallowed by the United States government. This was the -position of things when General Saxton, availing himself of the fact -that one company of this Hunter regiment had not, like the rest, been -practically disbanded, made that the basis of a reorganization of it -under the same name (First South Carolina Infantry). This was done under -express authority from the War Department, dated August 25, 1862, with -the hope of making it a pioneer of a whole subsequent series of slave -regiments, as it was. The fact that General Saxton was a Massachusetts -man, as was the colonel whom he put in charge of the first regiment,—and -as were, indeed, most of the men prominent from beginning to end in the -enlistment of colored troops,—gave an unquestioned priority in the matter -to that state. - -It must be remembered that this was long before Governor Andrew had -received permission to recruit a colored regiment, the Fifty-Fourth -Massachusetts, whose first colonel was Robert Gould Shaw, a young hero -of Boston birth. The fact that this was the first black regiment -enlisted at the North has left a general impression in Massachusetts -that it was the first colored regiment; but this is an error of five -months, General Saxton’s authority having been dated August 25, 1862, -and that of Governor Andrew January 26, 1863. The whole number of black -soldiers enlisted during the war was 178,975 (Heitman’s “Historical -Register,” page 890), whose whole organization may fairly be attributed, -in a general way, to the success of General Saxton’s undertaking. In -making this claim, it must be borne in mind that the enlistments made by -General Butler at almost precisely the same time in New Orleans consisted -mainly of a quite exceptional class, the comparatively educated free -colored men of that region, the darkest of these being, as General Butler -himself once said, “of about the same complexion as the late Daniel -Webster.” Those New Orleans regiments would hardly have led to organizing -similar troops elsewhere, for want of similar material. Be this as -it may, the fact is that these South Carolina regiments, after their -number was increased by other colored regiments from various sources, -were unquestionably those who held the South Carolina coast, making -it possible for Sherman to lead his final march to the sea and thus -practically end the war. As an outcome of all this, General Saxton’s -name is quite sure to be long remembered. - -It is fair now to recognize the fact that this combination of civil -and military authority was not always what Saxton himself would have -selected. There were times when he chafed under what seemed to him -a non-military work and longed for the open field. It is perhaps -characteristic of his temperament, however, that at the outset he -preferred to be where the greatest obstacles were to be encountered, -and this he certainly achieved. It must be remembered that the early -organizers and officers of the colored troops fought in a manner with -ropes around their necks, both they and their black recruits having been -expressly denied by the Confederate government the usual privileges of -soldiers. They had also to encounter for a long time the disapproval of -many officers of high rank in the Union army, both regular and volunteer, -this often leading to a grudging bestowal of supplies (especially, -strange to say, of medical ones), and to a disproportionate share of -fatigue duty. This was hard indeed for Saxton to bear, and was increased -in his case by the fact that he had been almost the only cadet in his -time at West Point who was strong in anti-slavery feeling, and who thus -began with antagonisms which lasted into actual service. To these things -he was perhaps oversensitive, and he had to be defended against this -tendency, as he was, by an admirable wife and by an invaluable staff -officer and housemate, Brevet Major Edward W. Hooper, of Massachusetts, -who was his volunteer aide-de-camp and housemate. The latter was, as many -Bostonians will remember, of splendid executive ability, as shown by his -long subsequent service as steward and treasurer of Harvard University; a -man of rare organizing power, and of a cheerfulness which made him only -laugh away dozens of grievances that vexed General Saxton. - -As an organizer of troops General Saxton’s standard was very high, and he -assumed, as was proper, that a regiment made out of former slaves should -not merely follow good moral examples, but set them. As all men in that -day knew, there was a formidable variation in this respect in different -regiments, some of the volunteer officers whose military standard was the -highest being the lowest in their personal habits. General Saxton would -issue special orders from time to time to maintain a high tone morally in -the camp, as he did, indeed, in the whole region under his command. He -was never in entire harmony with General Gillmore, the military commander -of the department, whose interest was thought to lie chiefly in the -artillery service; and while very zealous and efficient in organizing -special expeditions for his own particular regiments, Saxton kept up, as -we thought at the time, a caution beyond what was necessary in protecting -the few colored regiments which he had personally organized. When the -Florida expedition was planned, which resulted in the sanguinary defeat -at Olustee, he heartily disapproved of the whole affair. This he carried -so far that when my own regiment was ordered on the expedition, as we all -greatly desired, when we had actually broken camp and marched down to -the wharf for embarkment in high exultation, we were stopped and turned -back by an order, just obtained by General Saxton from headquarters, -countermanding our march and sending us back to pitch our tents again. -It was not until some days later had brought the news of the disastrous -battle, and how defective was the judgment of those who planned it, that -General Saxton found himself vindicated in our eyes. The plain reason for -that defeat was that the Confederates, being on the mainland and having -railway communications, such as they were, could easily double from the -interior any force sent round by water outside. This was just what had -been pointed out beforehand by General Saxton, but his judgment had been -overruled. - -General Saxton was a man of fine military bearing and a most kindly and -agreeable face. Social in his habits, he was able to go about freely -for the rest of his life in the pleasant circle of retired military men -and their families in Washington. He and his wife had always the dream -of retiring from the greater gayety of the national metropolis to his -birthplace at Deerfield, Massachusetts. Going there one beautiful day -in early summer, with that thought in mind, they sat, so he told me, on -the peaceful piazza all the morning and looked out down the avenue of -magnificent elms which shade that most picturesque of village streets. -During the whole morning no wheels passed their place, except those -belonging to a single country farmer’s wagon. Finding the solitude to be -somewhat of a change after the vivacity of Washington, they decided to -go down to Greenfield and pass the afternoon. There they sat on a hotel -piazza under somewhat similar circumstances and saw only farmers’ wagons, -two or three. Disappointed in the reconnoissance, they went back to -Washington, and spent the rest of their days amid a happy and congenial -circle of friends. He died there February 23, 1908. To the present -writer, at least, the world seems unquestionably more vacant that Saxton -is gone. - - - - -XIV - -ONE OF THACKERAY’S WOMEN - - - - -ONE OF THACKERAY’S WOMEN - - -Some years since, there passed away, at Newport, Rhode Island, one who -could justly be classed with Thackeray’s women; one in whom Lady Kew -would have taken delight; one in whom she would have found wit and -memory and audacity rivaling her own; one who was at once old and young, -poor and luxurious, one of the loneliest of human beings, and yet one -of the most sociable. Miss Jane Stuart, the only surviving daughter -of Gilbert Stuart, the painter, had dwelt all her life on the edge of -art without being an artist, and at the brink of fashion without being -fashionable. Living at times in something that approached poverty, she -was usually surrounded by friends who were rich and generous; so that -she often fulfilled Motley’s famous early saying, that one could do -without the necessaries of life, but could not spare the luxuries. She -was an essential part of the atmosphere of Newport; living near the “Old -Stone Mill,” she divided its celebrity and, as all agreed, its doubtful -antiquity; for her most intimate friends could not really guess within -fifteen years how old she was, and strangers placed her anywhere from -sixty to eighty. Her modest cottage, full of old furniture and pictures, -was the resort of much that was fashionable on the days of her weekly -receptions; costly equipages might be seen before the door; and if, -during any particular season, she suspected a falling off in visitors, -she would try some new device,—a beautiful girl sitting in a certain -carved armchair beneath an emblazoned window, like Keats’s Madeline,—or, -when things grew desperate, a bench with a milk-pan and a pumpkin on -the piazza, to give an innocently rural air. “My dear,” she said on -that occasion, “I must try something: rusticity is the dodge for me”; -and so the piazza looked that summer like a transformation scene in -“Cinderella,” with the fairy godmother not far off. - -She inherited from her father in full the Bohemian temperament, and -cultivated it so habitually through life that it was in full flower at -a time when almost any other woman would have been repressed by age, -poverty, and loneliness. At seventy or more she was still a born mistress -of the revels, and could not be for five minutes in a house where a -charade or a mask was going on without tapping at the most private door -and plaintively imploring to be taken in as one of the conspirators. -Once in, there was nothing too daring, too grotesque, or too juvenile -for her to accept as her part, and successfully. In the modest winter -sports of the narrowed Newport circle, when wit and ingenuity had to be -invoked to replace the summer resources of wealth and display, she was -an indispensable factor. She had been known to enact a Proud Sister in -“Cinderella,” to be the performer on the penny whistle in the “Children’s -Symphony,” to march as the drum major of the Ku-Klux Klan with a muff for -a shako, and to be the gorilla of a menagerie, with an artificial head. -Nothing could make too great a demand upon her wit and vivacity, and her -very face had a droll plainness more effective for histrionic purposes -than a Grecian profile. She never lost dignity in these performances, -for she never had anything that could exactly be described by that name; -that was not her style. She had in its stead a supply of common sense -and ready adaptation that took the place, when needed, of all starched -decorum, and quite enabled her on serious occasions to hold her own. - -But her social resources were not confined to occasions where she was -one of an extemporized troupe: she was a host in herself; she had known -everybody; her memory held the adventures and scandals of a generation, -and these lost nothing on her lips. Then when other resources were -exhausted, and the candles had burned down, and the fire was low, and a -few guests lingered, somebody would be sure to say, “Now, Miss Jane, tell -us a ghost story.” With a little, a very little, of coy reluctance, she -would begin, in a voice at first commonplace, but presently dropping to a -sort of mystic tone; she seemed to undergo a change like the gypsy queen -in Browning’s “Flight of the Duchess”; she was no longer a plain, elderly -woman in an economical gown, but she became a medium, a solemn weaver of -spells so deep that they appeared to enchant herself. Whence came her -stories, I wonder? not ghost stories alone, but blood-curdling murders -and midnight terrors, of which she abated you not an item,—for she was -never squeamish,—tales that all the police records could hardly match. -Then, when she and her auditors were wrought up to the highest pitch, she -began to tell fortunes; and here also she seemed not so much a performer -as one performed upon,—a Delphic priestess, a Cassandra. I never shall -forget how she once made our blood run cold with the visions of coming -danger that she conjured around a young married woman on whom there soon -afterwards broke a wholly unexpected scandal that left her an exile in -a foreign land. No one ever knew, I believe, whether Miss Stuart spoke -at that time with knowledge; perhaps she hardly knew herself; she always -was, or affected to be, carried away beyond herself by these weird -incantations. - -She was not so much to be called affectionate or lovable as good-natured -and kindly; and with an undisguised relish for the comfortable things -of this world, and a very frank liking for the society of the rich and -great, she was yet constant, after a fashion, to humbler friends, and -liked to do them good turns. Much of her amiability took the form of -flattery,—a flattery so habitual that it lost all its grossness, and -became almost a form of good deeds. She was sometimes justly accused -of applying this to the wealthy and influential, but it was almost as -freely exercised where she had nothing to gain by it; and it gave to -the humblest the feeling that he was at least worth flattering. Even if -he had a secret fear that what she said of him behind his back might be -less encouraging, no matter: it was something to have been praised to his -face. It must be owned that her resources in the other direction were -considerable, and Lord Steyne himself might have applauded when she was -gradually led into mimicking some rich amateur who had pooh-poohed her -pictures, or some intrusive dame who had patronizingly inspected her -humble cot. It could not quite be said of her that her wit lived to play, -not wound; and yet, after all, what she got out of life was so moderate, -and so many women would have found her way of existence dreary enough, -that it was impossible to grudge her these trifling indulgences. - -Inheriting her father’s love of the brush, she had little of his talent; -her portraits of friends were generally transferred by degrees to dark -corners; but there existed an impression that she was a good copyist of -Stuart’s pictures, and she was at one time a familiar figure in Boston, -perched on a high stool, and copying those of his works which were -transferred for safe-keeping from Faneuil Hall to the Art Museum. On one -occasion, it was said, she grew tired of the long process of copying -and took home a canvas or two with the eyes unpainted, putting them in, -colored to please her own fancy, at Newport. Perhaps she invented this -legend for her own amusement, for she never spared herself, and, were she -to read this poor sketch of her, would object to nothing but the tameness -of its outlines. - - - - -XV - -JOHN BARTLETT - - - - -JOHN BARTLETT - - -In every university town such as Cambridge, Massachusetts, there is an -outside circle, beyond the institution itself, of cultivated men who -may or may not hold its degrees, but who contribute to the intellectual -atmosphere. One of the most widely known and generally useful of these -at Cambridge—whether in his active youth or in the patient and lonely -seclusion of his later years—was John Bartlett, best known as the author -of the dictionary entitled “Familiar Quotations.” - -He was born in Plymouth, June 14, 1820, was educated in the public -schools of that town, and in 1836 entered the bookbinding establishment -connected with the University bookstore in Cambridge, under John Owen, -who was Longfellow’s first publisher. In the next year Bartlett became -a clerk in the bookstore, and soon showed remarkable talent for the -business. In 1846 Mr. Owen failed, and Bartlett remained with his -successor, George Nichols, but became himself the proprietor in 1849. -He had shown himself in this position an uncommonly good publisher -and adviser of authors. He had there published three editions of -his “Familiar Quotations,” gradually enlarging the book from the -beginning. In 1859 he sold out to Sever & Francis. In 1862 he served as -volunteer naval paymaster for nine months with Captain Boutelle, his -brother-in-law, on board Admiral DuPont’s dispatch-boat. In August, -1863, he entered the publishing house of Little, Brown & Co., nominally -as clerk, but with the promise that in eighteen months, when the -existing partnership would end, he should be taken into the firm, which -accordingly took place in 1865. The fourth edition of his “Familiar -Quotations,” always growing larger, had meanwhile been published by -them, as well as an _édition de luxe_ of Walton’s “Complete Angler,” -in the preparation of which he made an especial and exceptionally fine -collection of works on angling, which he afterwards presented to the -Harvard College Library. His activity in the Waltonian sport is also -commemorated in Lowell’s poem, “To Mr. John Bartlett, who had sent me -a seven-pound trout.” He gave to the Library at the same time another -collection of books containing “Proverbs,” and still another on “Emblems.” - -After his becoming partner in the firm, the literary, manufacturing, and -advertising departments were assigned to him, and were retained until -he withdrew altogether. The fifth and sixth editions of his “Quotations” -were published by Little, Brown & Co., the seventh and eighth by -Routledge of London, the ninth by Little, Brown & Co. and Macmillan & -Co. of London, jointly; and of all these editions between two and three -hundred thousand copies must have been sold. Of the seventh and eighth -editions, as the author himself tells us, forty thousand copies were -printed apart from the English reprint. The ninth edition, published -in 1891, had three hundred and fifty pages more than its predecessor, -and the index was increased by more than ten thousand lines. In 1881 -Mr. Bartlett published his Shakespeare “Phrase-Book,” and in February, -1889, he retired from his firm to complete his indispensable Shakespeare -“Concordance,” which Macmillan & Co. published at their own risk in -London in 1894. - -All this immense literary work had the direct support and coöperation of -Mr. Bartlett’s wife, who was the daughter of Sidney Willard, professor -of Hebrew in Harvard University, and granddaughter of Joseph Willard, -President of Harvard from 1781 to 1804. She inherited from such an -ancestry the love of studious labor; and as they had no children, she and -her husband could pursue it with the greatest regularity. Both of them -had also been great readers for many years, and there is still extant a -manuscript book of John Bartlett’s which surpasses most books to be found -in these days, for it contains the life-long record of his reading. What -man or woman now living, for instance, can claim to have read Gibbon’s -“Decline and Fall” faithfully through, four times, from beginning to end? -We must, however, remember that this was accomplished by one who began by -reading a verse of the Bible aloud to his mother when he was but three -years old, and had gone through the whole of it at nine. - -There came an event in Bartlett’s life, however, which put an end -to all direct labors, when his wife and co-worker began to lose her -mental clearness, and all this joint task had presently to be laid -aside. For a time he tried to continue his work unaided; and she, with -unwearied patience and gentleness, would sit quietly beside him without -interference. But the malady increased, until she passed into that -melancholy condition described so powerfully by his neighbor and intimate -friend, James Russell Lowell,—though drawing from a different example,—in -his poem of “The Darkened Mind,” one of the most impressive, I think, -of his poems. While Bartlett still continued his habit of reading, the -writing had to be surrendered. His eyesight being erelong affected, the -reading also was abandoned, and after his wife’s death he lived for a -year or two one of the loneliest of lives. He grew physically lame, and -could scarcely cross the room unaided. A nervous trouble in the head -left him able to employ a reader less and less frequently, and finally -not at all. In a large and homelike parlor, containing one of the most -charming private libraries in Cambridge,—the books being beautifully -bound and lighting up the walls instead of darkening them,—he spent most -of the day reclining on the sofa, externally unemployed, simply because -employment was impossible. He had occasional visitors, and four of his -old friends formed what they called a “Bartlett Club,” meeting at his -house one evening in every week. Sometimes days passed, however, without -his receiving a visitor, he living alone in a room once gay with the -whist-parties which he and Lowell had formerly organized and carried on. - -His cheerful courage, however, was absolutely unbroken, and he came -forward to meet every guest with a look of sunshine. His voice and -manner, always animated and cheerful, remained the same. He had an -inexhaustible store of anecdotes and reminiscences, and could fill the -hour with talk without showing exhaustion. Seldom going out of the house, -unable to take more than very short drives, he dwelt absolutely in the -past, remembered the ways and deeds of all Cambridge and Boston literary -men, speaking genially of all and with malice of none. He had an endless -fund of good stories of personal experience. Were one to speak to him, -for instance, of Edward Everett, well known for the elaboration with -which he prepared his addresses, Bartlett would instantly recall how -Everett once came into his bookstore in search of a small pocket Bible -to be produced dramatically before a rural audience in a lecture; but in -this case finding none small enough, he chose a copy of Hoyle’s “Games” -instead, which was produced with due impressiveness when the time came. -Then he would describe the same Edward Everett, whom he once called -upon and found busy in drilling a few Revolutionary soldiers who were -to be on the platform during Everett’s famous Concord oration. These he -had drilled first to stand up and be admired at a certain point of the -oration, and then to sit down again, by signal, that the audience might -rather rise in their honor. Unfortunately, one man, who was totally deaf, -forgot the instructions and absolutely refused to sit down, because -the “squire” had told him to stand up. In a similar way, Bartlett’s -unimpaired memory held the whole circle of eminent men among whom he had -grown up from youth, and a casual visitor might infer from his cheery -manner that these comrades had just left the room. During his last -illness, mind and memory seemed equally unclouded until the very end, and -almost the last words he spoke were a caution to his faithful nurse not -to forget to pay the small sum due to a man who had been at work on his -driveway, he naming the precise sum due in dollars and cents. - -He died at Cambridge, Massachusetts, on the morning of December 3, 1905, -aged eighty-five. Was his career, after all, more to be pitied or envied? -He lived a life of prolonged and happy labor among the very choicest gems -of human thought, and died with patient fortitude after all visible human -joys had long been laid aside. - - - - -XVI - -HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER - - - - -HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER - - -It has been generally felt, I think, that no disrespect was shown to John -Fiske, when the New York “Nation” headed its very discriminating sketch -of him with the title “John Fiske, Popularizer”; and I should feel that -I showed no discourtesy, but on the contrary, did honor to Horace Elisha -Scudder, in describing him as Literary Workman. I know of no other man -in America, perhaps, who so well deserved that honorable name; no one, -that is, who, if he had a difficult piece of literary work to do, could -be so absolutely relied upon to do it carefully and well. Whatever it -was,—compiling, editing, arranging, translating, indexing,—his work -was uniformly well done. Whether this is the highest form of literary -distinction is not now the question. What other distinction he might have -won if he had shown less of modesty or self-restraint, we can never know. -It is true that his few thoroughly original volumes show something beyond -what is described in the limited term, workmanship. But that he brought -such workmanship up into the realm of art is as certain as that we may -call the cabinet-maker of the Middle Ages an artist. - -Mr. Scudder was born in Boston on October 16, 1838, the son of Charles -and Sarah Lathrop (Coit) Scudder, and died at Cambridge, Massachusetts, -on January 11, 1902. He was a graduate of Williams College, and after -graduation went to New York, where he spent three years as a teacher. -It was there that he wrote his first stories for children, entitled -“Seven Little People and their Friends” (New York, 1862). After his -father’s death he returned to Boston, and thenceforward devoted himself -almost wholly to literary pursuits. He prepared the “Life and Letters -of David Coit Scudder,” his brother, a missionary to India (New York, -1864); edited the “Riverside Magazine” for young people during its four -years’ existence (from 1867 to 1870); and published “Dream Children” and -“Stories from My Attic.” Becoming associated with Houghton, Mifflin, -and Company, he edited for them the “Atlantic Monthly” from 1890 to -1898, preparing for it also that invaluable Index, so important to -bibliographers; he also edited the “American Commonwealths” series, -and two detached volumes, “American Poems” (1879) and “American Prose” -(1880). He published also the “Bodley Books” (8 vols., Boston, 1875 -to 1887); “The Dwellers in Five Sisters’ Court” (1876); “Boston Town” -(1881); “Life of Noah Webster” (1882); “A History of the United States” -for schools (1884); “Men and Letters” (1887); “Life of George Washington” -(1889); “Literature in School” (1889); “Childhood in Literature and -Art” (1894), besides various books of which he was the editor or -compiler only. He was also for nearly six years (1877-82) a member of -the Cambridge School Committee; for five years (1884-89) of the State -Board of Education; for nine years (1889-98) of the Harvard University -visiting committee in English literature; and was at the time of his -death a trustee of Williams College, Wellesley College, and St. John’s -Theological School, these making all together a quarter of a century of -almost uninterrupted and wholly unpaid public service in the cause of -education. After May 28, 1889, he was a member of the American Academy, -until his death. This is the simple record of a most useful and admirable -life, filled more and more, as it went on, with gratuitous public -services and disinterested acts for others. - -As a literary workman, his nicety of method and regularity of life -went beyond those of any man I have known. Working chiefly at home, -he assigned in advance a certain number of hours daily as due to the -firm for which he labored; and he then kept carefully the record of -these hours, and if he took out a half hour for his own private work, -made it up. He had special work assigned by himself for a certain -time before breakfast, an interval which he daily gave largely to the -Greek Testament and at some periods to Homer, Thucydides, Herodotus, -and Xenophon; working always with the original at hand and writing out -translations or commentaries, always in the same exquisite handwriting -and at first contained in small thin note-books, afterwards bound in -substantial volumes, with morocco binding and proper lettering. All his -writings were thus handsomely treated, and the shelves devoted to his own -works, pamphlet or otherwise, were to the eye a very conservatory and -flower garden of literature; or like a chamberful of children to whom -even a frugal parent may allow himself the luxury of pretty clothes. -All his literary arrangements were neat and perfect, and represented -that other extreme from the celebrated collection of De Quincey in Dove -Cottage at Grasmere, where that author had five thousand books, by his -own statement, in a little room ten or twelve feet square; and his old -housekeeper explained it to me as perfectly practicable “because he had -no bookcases,” but simply piled them against the walls, leaving here and -there little gaps in which he put his money. - -In the delicate and touching dedication of Scudder’s chief work, “Men and -Letters,” to his friend Henry M. Alden, the well-known New York editor, -he says: “In that former state of existence when we were poets, you wrote -verses which I knew by heart and I read dreamy tales to you which you -speculated over as if they were already classics. Then you bound your -manuscript verses in a full blue calf volume and put it on the shelf, -and I woke to find myself at the desk of a literary workman.” Later, he -says of himself, “Fortunately, I have been able for the most part to -work out of the glare of publicity.” Yet even to this modest phrase he -adds acutely: “But there is always that something in us which whispers -_I_, and after a while the anonymous critic becomes a little tired of -listening to the whisper in his solitary cave, and is disposed to escape -from it by coming out into the light even at the risk of blinking a -little, and by suffering the ghostly voice to become articulate, though -the sound startle him. One craves company for his thought, and is not -quite content always to sit in the dark with his guests.” - -The work in which he best achieves the purpose last stated is undoubtedly -the collection of papers called by the inexpressive phrase “Men and -Letters”; a book whose title was perhaps a weight upon it, and which -yet contained some of the very best of American thought and criticism. -It manifests even more than his “Life of Lowell” that faculty of keen -summing up and epigrammatic condensation which became so marked in him -that it was very visible, I am assured, even in the literary councils of -his publishers, two members of which have told me that he often, after -a long discussion, so summed up the whole situation in a sentence or -two that he left them free to pass to something else. We see the same -quality, for instance, in his “Men and Letters,” in his papers on Dr. -Mulford and Longfellow. The first is an analysis of the life and literary -service of a man too little known because of early death, but of the -rarest and most exquisite intellectual qualities, Dr. Elisha Mulford, -author of “The Nation” and then of “The Republic of God.” In this, as -everywhere in the book, Mr. Scudder shows that epigrammatic quality which -amounted, whether applied to books or men, to what may be best described -as a quiet brilliancy. This is seen, for instance, when, in defending -Mulford from the imputation of narrowness, his friend sums up the whole -character of the man and saves a page of more detailed discussion by -saying, “He was narrow as a cañon is narrow, when the depth apparently -contracts the sides” (page 17). So in his criticism called “Longfellow -and his Art,” Scudder repeatedly expresses in a sentence what might well -have occupied a page, as where he says of Longfellow, “He was first -of all a composer, and he saw his subjects in their relations rather -than in their essence” (page 44). He is equally penetrating where he -says that Longfellow “brought to his work in the college no special -love of teaching,” but “a deep love of literature and that unacademic -attitude toward his work which was a liberalizing power” (page 66). He -touches equally well that subtle quality of Longfellow’s temperament, -so difficult to delineate, when he says of him: “He gave of himself -freely to his intimate friends, but he dwelt, nevertheless, in a charmed -circle, beyond the lines of which men could not penetrate” (page 68). -These admirable statements sufficiently indicate the rare quality of Mr. -Scudder’s work. - -So far as especial passages go, Mr. Scudder never surpassed the best -chapters of “Men and Letters,” but his one adequate and complete work as -a whole is undoubtedly, apart from his biographies, the volume entitled -“Childhood in Literature and Art” (1894). This book was based on a -course of Lowell lectures given by him in Boston, and is probably that -by which he himself would wish to be judged, at least up to the time of -his excellent biography of Lowell. He deals in successive chapters with -Greek, Roman, Hebrew, Mediæval, English, French, German, and American -literary art with great symmetry and unity throughout, culminating, of -course, in Hawthorne and analyzing the portraits of children drawn in his -productions. In this book one may justly say that he has added himself, -in a degree, to the immediate circle of those very few American writers -whom he commemorates so nobly at the close of his essay on “Longfellow -and his Art,” in “Men and Letters”: “It is too early to make a full -survey of the immense importance to American letters of the work done by -half-a-dozen great men in the middle of this century. The body of prose -and verse created by them is constituting the solid foundation upon which -other structures are to rise; the humanity which it holds is entering -into the life of the country, and no material invention, or scientific -discovery, or institutional prosperity, or accumulation of wealth will so -powerfully affect the spiritual well-being of the nation for generations -to come” (page 69). - -If it now be asked what prevented Horace Scudder from showing more fully -this gift of higher literature and led to his acquiescing, through life, -in a comparatively secondary function, I can find but one explanation, -and that a most interesting one to us in New England, as illustrating -the effect of immediate surroundings. His father, so far as I can -ascertain, was one of those Congregationalists of the milder type who, -while strict in their opinions, are led by a sunny temperament to be -genial with their households and to allow them innocent amusements. The -mother was a Congregationalist, firm but not severe in her opinions; -but always controlled by that indomitable New England conscience of the -older time, which made her sacrifice herself to every call of charity and -even to refuse, as tradition says, to have window curtains in her house, -inasmuch as many around her could not even buy blankets. Add to this -the fact that Boston was then a great missionary centre, that several -prominent leaders in that cause were of the Scudder family, and the house -was a sort of headquarters for them, and that Horace Scudder’s own elder -brother, whose memoirs he wrote, went as a missionary to India, dying -at his post. Speaking of his father’s family in his memoir, he says of -it, “In the conduct of the household, there was recognition of some more -profound meaning in life than could find expression in mere enjoyment of -living; while the presence of a real religious sentiment banished that -counterfeit solemnity which would hang over innocent pleasure like a -cloud” (Scudder’s “Life of David Coit Scudder,” page 4). By one bred in -such an atmosphere of self-sacrifice, that quality may well be imbibed; -it may even become a second nature, so that the instinctive demand for -self-assertion may become subordinate until many a man ends in finding -full contentment in doing perfectly the appointed work of every day. -If we hold as we should that it is character, not mere talent, which -ennobles life, we may well feel that there is something not merely -pardonable, but ennobling, in such a habit of mind. Viewed in this light, -his simple devotion to modest duty may well be to many of us rather a -model than a thing to be criticised. - - - - -XVII - -EDWARD ATKINSON - - - - -EDWARD ATKINSON - - -Edward Atkinson, a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences -since March 12, 1879, was born in Brookline, Massachusetts, on February -10, 1827, and died in Boston on December 11, 1905. He was descended on -his father’s side from the patriot minute-man, Lieutenant Amos Atkinson, -and on the maternal side from Stephen Greenleaf, a well-known fighter of -Indians in the colonial period; thus honestly inheriting on both sides -that combative spirit in good causes which marked his life. Owing to -the business reverses of his father, he was prevented from receiving, -as his elder brother, William Parsons Atkinson, had received, a Harvard -College education, a training which was also extended to all of Edward -Atkinson’s sons, at a later day. At fifteen he entered the employment -of Read and Chadwick, Commission Merchants, Boston, in the capacity of -office boy; but he rapidly rose to the position of book-keeper, and -subsequently became connected with several cotton manufacturing companies -in Lewiston, Maine, and elsewhere. He was for many years the treasurer -of a number of such corporations, and in 1878 became President of the -Boston Manufacturers’ Mutual Insurance Company. Such business was in a -somewhat chaotic state when he took hold of it, but he remained in its -charge until his death, having during this time organized, enlarged, and -perfected the mutual insurance of industrial concerns. In 1855 he married -Miss Mary Caroline Heath, of Brookline, who died in December, 1907. He is -survived by seven children,—Mrs. Ernest Winsor, E. W. Atkinson, Charles -H. Atkinson, William Atkinson, Robert W. Atkinson, Miss C. P. Atkinson, -and Mrs. R. G. Wadsworth. - -This gives the mere outline of a life of extraordinary activity and -usefulness which well merits a further delineation in detail. Mr. -Atkinson’s interest in public life began with a vote for Horace Mann in -1848. Twenty years after, speaking at Salem, he described himself as -never having been anything else than a Republican; but he was one of -those who supported Cleveland for President in 1884, and whose general -affinities were with the Democratic party. He opposed with especial vigor -what is often called “the imperial policy,” which followed the Cuban War, -and he conducted a periodical of his own from time to time, making the -most elaborate single battery which the war-party had to encounter. - -From an early period of life he was a profuse and vigorous pamphleteer, -his first pamphlet being published during the Civil War and entitled -“Cheap Cotton by Free Labor,” and this publication led to his -acquaintance with David R. Wells and Charles Nordhoff, thenceforth his -life-long friends. His early pamphlets were on the cotton question in -different forms (1863-76); he wrote on blockade-running (1865); on the -Pacific Railway (1871); and on mutual fire insurance (1885), this last -being based on personal experience as the head of a mutual company. He -was also, during his whole life, in print and otherwise, a strong and -effective fighter for sound currency. - -A large part of his attention from 1889 onward was occupied by -experiments in cooking and diet, culminating in an invention of his -own called “The Aladdin Oven.” This led him into investigations as -to the cost of nutrition in different countries, on which subject he -also wrote pamphlets. He soon was led into experiments so daring that -he claimed to have proved it possible to cook with it, in open air, a -five-course dinner for ten persons, and gave illustrations of this at -outdoor entertainments. He claimed that good nutrition could be had -for $1 per week, and that a family of five, by moderate management, -could be comfortably supported on $180 per year (Boston “Herald,” -October 8, 1891). These surprising figures unfortunately created among -the laboring-class a good deal of sharp criticism, culminating in the -mistaken inquiry, why he did not feed his own family at $180 a year, if -it was so easy? I can only say for one, that if the meals at that price -were like a dinner of which I partook at his own house with an invited -party, and at which I went through the promised five courses after seeing -them all prepared in the garden, I think that his standard of poverty -came very near to luxury. - -Mingled with these things in later years was introduced another valuable -department of instruction. He was more and more called upon to give -addresses, especially on manufactures, before Southern audiences, and -there was no disposition to criticise him for his anti-slavery record. -Another man could hardly be found whose knowledge of manufacturing and of -insurance combined made him so fit to give counsel in the new business -impulse showing itself at the South. He wrote much (1877) on cotton -goods, called for an international cotton exposition, and gave an address -at Atlanta, Georgia, which was printed in Boston in 1881. - -Looking now at Atkinson’s career with the eyes of a literary man, it -seems clear to me that no college training could possibly have added to -his power of accumulating knowledge or his wealth in the expression of -it. But the academic tradition might have best added to these general -statements in each case some simple address or essay which would bring -out clearly to the minds of an untrained audience the essential points of -each single theme. Almost everything he left is the talk of a specially -trained man to a limited audience, also well trained,—at least in the -particular department to which he addresses himself. The men to whom he -talks may not know how to read or write, but they are all practically -versed in the subjects of which he treats. He talks as a miner to miners, -a farmer to farmers, a cook to cooks; but among all of his papers which I -have examined, that in which he appears to the greatest advantage to the -general reader is his “Address before the Alumni of Andover Theological -Seminary” on June 9, 1886. Here he speaks as one representing a wholly -different pursuit from that of his auditors; a layman to clergymen, or -those aiming to become so. He says to them frankly at the outset, “I have -often thought [at church] that if a member of the congregation could -sometimes occupy the pulpit while the minister took his place in the pew, -it might be a benefit to both. The duty has been assigned to me to-day to -trace out the connection between morality and a true system of political -or industrial economy.” - -He goes on to remind them that the book which is said to rank next to the -Bible toward the benefit of the human race is Adam Smith’s “Wealth of -Nations,” and that the same Adam Smith wrote a book on moral philosophy, -which is now but little read. He therefore takes the former of Smith’s -books, not the latter, as his theme, and thus proceeds:— - - “I wonder how many among your number ever recall the fact that - it has been the richest manufacturers who have clothed the - naked at the least cost to them; that it is the great bonanza - farmer who now feeds the hungry at the lowest price; that - Vanderbilt achieved his great fortune by reducing the cost of - moving a barrel of flour a thousand miles,—from three dollars - and fifty cents to less than seventy cents. This was the great - work assigned to him, whether he knew it or not. His fortune - was but an incident,—the main object, doubtless, to himself, - but a trifling incident compared to what he saved others.”[18] - -He then goes on to show that whatever may be the tricks or wrongs of -commerce, they lie on the surface, and that every great success is based -upon very simple facts. - - “The great manufacturer [he says] who guides the operations - of a factory of a hundred thousand spindles, in which fifteen - hundred men, women, and children earn their daily bread, - himself works on a narrow margin of one fourth of a cent on - each yard of cloth. If he shall not have applied truth to every - branch of construction and of the operation of that factory, it - will fail and become worthless; and then with toilsome labor a - hundred and fifty thousand women might try to clothe themselves - and you, who are now clothed by the service of fifteen hundred - only. - - “Such is the disparity in the use of time, brought into - beneficent action by modern manufacturing processes. - - “The banker who deals in credit by millions upon millions - must possess truth of insight, truth of judgment, truth of - character. Probity and integrity constitute his capital, for - the very reason that the little margin which he seeks to gain - for his own service is but the smallest fraction of a per cent - upon each transaction. I supervise directly or indirectly the - insurance upon four hundred million dollars’ worth of factory - property. The products of these factories, machine-shops, and - other works must be worth six hundred million dollars a year. - It isn’t worth fifty cents on each hundred dollars to guarantee - their notes or obligations, while ninety-nine and one half per - cent of all the sales they make will be promptly paid when - due.”[19] - -He elsewhere turns from viewing the factory system with business eyes -alone to the consideration of it from the point of view of the laborer. -There is no want of sympathy, we soon find, in this man of inventions and -statistics. He thus goes on:— - - “The very manner in which this great seething, toiling, crowded - mass of laboring men and women bear the hardships of life leads - one to faith in humanity and itself gives confidence in the - future. If it were not that there is a Divine order even in - the hardships which seem so severe, and that even the least - religious, in the technical sense, have faith in each other, - the anarchist and nihilist might be a cause of dread. - - “As I walk through the great factories which are insured in the - company of which I am president, trying to find out what more - can be done to save them from destruction by fire, I wonder if - I myself should not strike, just for the sake of variety, if I - were a mule-spinner, obliged to bend over the machine, mending - the ends of the thread, while I walked ten or fifteen miles a - day without raising my eyes to the great light above. I wonder - how men and women bear the monotony of the workshop and of - the factory, in which the division of labor is carried to its - utmost, and in which they must work year in and year out, only - on some small part of a fabric or an implement, never becoming - capable of making the whole fabric or of constructing the whole - machine.”[20] - -We thus find him quite ready to turn his varied knowledge and his -executive power towards schemes for the relief of the operative, schemes -of which he left many. - -Mr. Atkinson, a year or two later (1890), wrote a similarly popularized -statement of social science for an address on “Religion and Life” before -the American Unitarian Association. In his usual matter-of-fact way, -he had prepared himself by inquiring at the headquarters of different -religious denominations for a printed creed of each. He first bought -an Episcopal creed at the Old Corner Bookstore for two cents, an -Orthodox creed at the Congregational Building for the same amount, then -a Methodist two-cent creed also, a Baptist creed for five cents, and -a Presbyterian one for ten, Unitarian and Universalist creeds being -furnished him for nothing; and then he proceeds to give some extracts -whose bigotry makes one shudder, and not wonder much that he expressed -sympathy mainly with the Catholics and the Jews, rather than with the -severer schools among Protestants. And it is already to be noticed how -much the tendency of liberal thought, during the last twenty years, has -been in the direction whither his sympathies went. - -As time went on, he had to undergo the test which awaits all Northern -public men visiting the Southern States, but not met by all in so simple -and straightforward a way as he. Those who doubt the capacity of the -mass of men in our former slave states to listen to plainness of speech -should turn with interest to Atkinson’s plain talk to the leading men of -Atlanta, Georgia, in October, 1880. He says, almost at the beginning: -“Now, gentlemen of the South, I am going to use free speech for a -purpose and to speak some plain words of truth and soberness to you.... -I speak, then, to you here and now as a Republican of Republicans, as an -Abolitionist of early time, a Free-Soiler of later date, and a Republican -of to-day.” And the record is that he was received with applause. He goes -on to say as frankly: “When slavery ended, not only were blacks made free -from the bondage imposed by others, but whites as well were redeemed by -the bondage they had imposed upon themselves.... When you study the past -system of slave labor with the present system of free labor, irrespective -of all personal considerations, you will be mad down to the soles of your -boots to think that you ever tolerated it; and when you have come to this -wholesome condition of mind, you will wonder how the devil you could have -been so slow in seeing it. [Laughter.]” - -Then he suddenly drops down to the solid fact and says: “Are you not -asking Northern men to come here, and do you not seek Northern capital? -If you suppose either will come here unless every man can say what he -pleases, as I do now, you are mistaken.” Then he goes on with his speech, -rather long as he was apt to make them, but addressing a community much -more leisurely than that which he had left at home; filling their minds -with statistics, directions, and methods, till at last, recurring to the -question of caste and color, he closes fearlessly: “As you convert the -darkness of oppression and slavery to liberty and justice, so shall you -be judged by men, and by Him who created all the nations of the earth.” - -After tracing the course and training of an eminent American at home, -it is often interesting to follow him into the new experiences of the -foreign traveler. In that very amusing book, “Notes from a Diary,” by -Grant Duff (later Sir Mountstuart Elphinstone Grant Duff), the author -writes that he came unexpectedly upon a breakfast (June, 1887), the -guests being “Atkinson, the New England Free Trader, Colonel Hay, and -Frederic Harrison, all of whom were well brought out by our host and -talked admirably.” I quote some extracts from the talk:— - -“Mr. Atkinson said that quite the best after-dinner speech he had ever -heard was from Mr. Samuel Longfellow, brother of the poet. An excellent -speech had been made by Mr. Longworth, and the proceedings should have -closed, when Mr. Longfellow was very tactlessly asked to address the -meeting, which he did in the words: ‘It is, I think, well known that -worth makes the man, but want of it the fellow,’ and sat down.” After -this mild beginning we have records of good talk. - - “Other subjects [Grant Duff says] were the hostility of the - Socialists in London to the Positivists and to the Trades - Unions; the great American fortunes and their causes, the rapid - melting away of some of them, the hindrance which they are to - political success; and servants in the United States, of whom - Atkinson spoke relatively, Colonel Hay absolutely, well, saying - that he usually kept his from six to eight years.... - - “Atkinson said that all the young thought and ability in - America is in favor of free trade, but that free trade has - not begun to make any way politically. Harrison remarked that - he was unwillingly, but ever more and more, being driven - to believe that the residuum was almost entirely composed - of people who would not work. Atkinson took the same view, - observing that during the war much was said about the misery - of the working-women of Boston. He offered admirable terms - if they would only go a little way into the country to work - in his factory. Forty were at last got together to have the - conditions explained—ten agreed to go next morning, of whom one - arrived at the station, and she would not go alone!” - -On another occasion we read in the “Diary”: - - “We talked of Father Taylor, and he [Atkinson] told us that the - great orator once began a sermon by leaning over the pulpit, - with his arms folded, and saying, ‘You people ought to be very - good, if you’re not, for you live in Paradise already.’ - - “The conversation, in which Sir Louis Malet took part, turned - to Mill’s economical heresies, especially that which relates to - the fostering of infant industries. Atkinson drew a striking - picture of the highly primitive economic condition of the - South before the war, and said that now factories of all kinds - are springing up throughout the country in spite of the keen - competition of the North. He cited a piece of advice given to - his brother by Theodore Parker, ‘Never try to lecture down to - your audience.’ This maxim is in strict accordance with an - opinion expressed by Hugh Miller, whom, having to address on - the other side of the Firth just the same sort of people as - those amongst whom he lived at Cromarty, I took as my guide in - this matter during the long period in which I was connected - with the Elgin Burghs. - - “Atkinson went on to relate that at the time of Mr. Hayes’s - election to the presidency there was great danger of an - outbreak, and he sat in council with General Taylor and Abraham - Hewitt, doing his best to prevent it. At length he exclaimed: - ‘Now I think we may fairly say that the war is over. Here are - we three acting together for a common object, and who are we? - You, Mr. Hewitt, are the leader of the Democratic party in New - York; I am an old Abolitionist who subscribed to furnish John - Brown and his companions with rifles; you, General Taylor, are - the last Confederate officer who surrendered an army, and you - surrendered it not because you were willing to do so, but, as - you yourself admit, because you couldn’t help it.’” - -The publication which will perhaps be much consulted in coming years as -the best periodical organ of that party in the nation which was most -opposed to the Philippine war will doubtless be the work issued by Mr. -Atkinson on his own responsibility and by his own editing, from June 3, -1899, to September, 1900, under the name of “The Anti-Imperialist.” It -makes a solid volume of about 400 octavo pages, and was conducted wholly -on Atkinson’s own responsibility, financially and otherwise, though a -large part of the expense was paid him by volunteers, to the extent of -$5,657.87 or more, covering an outlay of $5,870.62, this amount being -largely received in sums of one dollar, obtained under what is known as -the chain method. For this amount were printed more than 100,000 copies -of a series of pamphlets, of which the first two were withdrawn from -the mail as seditious under President McKinley’s administration. A more -complete triumph of personal independence was perhaps never seen in our -literature, and it is easy to recognize the triumph it achieved for a -high-minded and courageous as well as constitutionally self-willed man. -The periodical exerted an influence which lasts to this day, although the -rapidity of political change has now thrown it into the background for -all except the systematic student of history. It seemed to Mr. Atkinson, -at any rate, his crowning work. - -The books published by Edward Atkinson were the following: “The -Distribution of Profits,” 1885; “The Industrial Progress of the Nation,” -1889; “The Margin of Profit,” 1890; “Taxation and Work,” 1892; “Facts -and Figures the Basis of Economic Science,” 1894. This last was printed -at the Riverside Press, the others being issued by Putnam & Co., New -York. He wrote also the following papers in leading periodicals: “Is -Cotton our King?” (“Continental Monthly,” March, 1862); “Revenue Reform” -(“Atlantic,” October, 1871); “An American View of American Competition” -(“Fortnightly,” London, March, 1879); “The Unlearned Professions” -(“Atlantic,” June, 1880); “What makes the Rate of Interest” (“Forum,” -1880); “Elementary Instruction in the Mechanics Arts” (“Century,” May, -1881); “Leguminous Plants suggested for Ensilage” (“Agricultural,” 1882); -“Economy in Domestic Cookery” (“American Architect,” May, 1887); “Must -Humanity starve at Last?” “How can Wages be increased?” “The Struggle for -Subsistence,” “The Price of Life” (all in “Forum” for 1888); “How Society -reforms Itself,” and “The Problem of Poverty” (both in “Forum” for 1889); -“A Single Tax on Land” (“Century,” 1890); and many others. When the -amount of useful labor performed by the men of this generation comes to -be reviewed a century hence, it is doubtful whether a more substantial -and varied list will be found credited to the memory of any one in -America than that which attaches to the memory of Edward Atkinson. - - - - -XVIII - -JAMES ELLIOT CABOT - - - - -JAMES ELLIOT CABOT - - -Our late associate, Elliot Cabot, of whom I have been appointed to -write a sketch, was to me, from my college days, an object of peculiar -interest, on a variety of grounds. He was distantly related to me, in -more than one way, through the endless intermarriages of the old Essex -County families. Though two years and a half older, he was but one year -in advance of me in Harvard College. He and his chum, Henry Bryant, who -had been my schoolmate, were among the early founders of the Harvard -Natural History Society, then lately established, of which I was an -ardent member; and I have never had such a sensation of earthly glory -as when I succeeded Bryant in the responsible function of Curator of -Entomology in that august body. I used sometimes in summer to encounter -Cabot in the Fresh Pond marshes, then undrained, which he afterwards -described so delightfully in the “Atlantic Monthly” in his paper entitled -“Sedge Birds” (xxiii, 384). On these occasions he bore his gun, and I -only the humbler weapon of a butterfly net. After we had left college, I -looked upon him with envy as one of the early and successful aspirants -to that German post-collegiate education which was already earnestly -desired, but rarely attained, by the more studious among Harvard -graduates. After his return, I was brought more or less in contact with -him, at the close of the “Dial” period, and in the following years of -Transcendentalism; and, later still, I was actively associated with him -for a time in that group of men who have always dreamed of accomplishing -something through the Harvard Visiting Committee, and have retired from -it with hopes unaccomplished. Apart from his labors as Emerson’s scribe -and editor, he seemed to withdraw himself more and more from active -life as time went on, and to accept gracefully the attitude which many -men find so hard,—that of being, in a manner, superseded by the rising -generation. This he could do more easily, since he left a family of sons -to represent in various forms the tastes and gifts that were combined -in him; and he also left a manuscript autobiography, terse, simple, and -modest, like himself, to represent what was in its way a quite unique -career. Of this sketch I have been allowed to avail myself through the -courtesy of his sons. - -James Elliot Cabot was born in Boston June 18, 1821, his birthplace -being in Quincy Place, upon the slope of Fort Hill, in a house which -had belonged to his grandfather, Samuel Cabot, brother of George Cabot, -the well-known leader of the Federalists in his day. These brothers -belonged to a family originating in the Island of Jersey and coming early -to Salem, Massachusetts. Elliot Cabot’s father was also named Samuel, -while his mother was the eldest child of Thomas Handasyd Perkins and -Sarah Elliot; the former being best known as Colonel Perkins, who gave -his house and grounds on Pearl Street toward the foundation of the Blind -Asylum bearing his name, and also gave profuse gifts to other Boston -institutions; deriving meanwhile his military title from having held -command of the Boston Cadets. Elliot Cabot was, therefore, born and bred -in the most influential circle of the little city of that date, and he -dwelt in what was then the most attractive part of Boston, though long -since transformed into a business centre. - -His summers were commonly spent at Nahant, then a simple and somewhat -primitive seaside spot, and his childhood was also largely passed in the -house in Brookline built by Colonel Perkins for his daughter. Elliot -Cabot went to school in Boston under the well-known teachers of that -day,—Thayer, Ingraham, and Leverett. When twelve years old, during the -absence of his parents in Europe, he was sent to a boarding-school -in Brookline, but spent Saturday and Sunday with numerous cousins at -the house of Colonel Perkins, their common grandfather, who lived in a -large and hospitable manner, maintaining an ampler establishment than -is to be found in the more crowded Boston of to-day. This ancestor was -a man of marked individuality, and I remember hearing from one of his -grandchildren an amusing account of the scene which occurred, on one -of these Sunday evenings, after the delivery of a total abstinence -sermon by the Rev. Dr. Channing, of whose parish Colonel Perkins was -one of the leading members. The whole theory of total abstinence was -then an absolute innovation, and its proclamation, which came rather -suddenly from Dr. Channing, impressed Colonel Perkins much as it might -have moved one of Thackeray’s English squires; insomuch that he had a -double allowance of wine served out that evening to each of his numerous -grandsons in place of their accustomed wineglass of diluted beverage, and -this to their visible disadvantage as the evening went on. - -Elliot Cabot entered Harvard College in 1836 as Freshman, and though he -passed his entrance examinations well, took no prominent rank in his -class, but read all sorts of out-of-the-way books and studied natural -history. He was also an early reader of Carlyle’s “Sartor Resartus,” -then just published; and was, in general, quite disposed to pursue his -own course in mental culture. He belonged to the Hasty Pudding Club -and to the Porcellian Club, but spent much time with his classmates, -Henry Bryant and William Sohier, in shooting excursions, which had then -the charm of being strictly prohibited by the college. The young men -were obliged to carry their guns slung for concealment in two parts, -the barrels separated from the stock, under their cloaks, which were -then much worn instead of overcoats. This taste was strengthened by -the example of Cabot’s elder brother, afterwards Dr. Samuel Cabot, an -ornithologist; and as the latter was then studying medicine in Paris, -the young men used to send him quantities of specimens for purposes of -exchange. Dr. Henry Bryant is well remembered in Boston for the large -collection of birds given by him to the Boston Natural History Society. - -Soon after his graduation, in 1840, Elliot Cabot went abroad with the -object of joining his elder brother in Switzerland, visiting Italy, -wintering in Paris, and returning home in the spring; but this ended -in his going for the winter to Heidelberg instead, a place then made -fascinating to all young Americans through the glowing accounts -in Longfellow’s “Hyperion.” They were also joined by two other -classmates,—Edward Holker Welch, afterwards well known in the Roman -Catholic priesthood, and John Fenwick Heath, of Virginia, well remembered -by the readers of Lowell’s letters. All of these four were aiming at -the profession of the law, although not one of them, I believe, finally -devoted himself to its practice. Migrating afterwards to Berlin, after -the fashion of German students, they were admitted to the University on -their Harvard degrees by Ranke, the great historian, who said, as he -inspected their parchments, “Ah! the High School at Boston!” which they -thought showed little respect for President Quincy’s parchment, until -they found that “Hoch Schule” was the German equivalent for University. -There they heard the lectures of Schelling, then famous, whom they found -to be a little man of ordinary appearance, old, infirm, and taking snuff -constantly, as if to keep himself awake. Later they again removed, this -time to Göttingen, where Cabot busied himself with the study of Kant, -and also attended courses in Rudolph Wagner’s laboratory. Here he shared -more of the social life of his companions, frequented their Liederkränze, -learned to fence and to dance, and spent many evenings at students’ -festivals. - -Cabot sums up his whole European reminiscences as follows: “As I look -back over my residence in Europe, what strikes me is the waste of time -and energy from having had no settled purpose to keep my head steady. -I seem to have been always well employed and happy, but I had been -indulging a disposition to mental sauntering, and the picking up of -scraps, very unfavorable to my education. I was, I think, naturally -inclined to hover somewhat above the solid earth of practical life, and -thus to miss its most useful lessons. The result, I think, was to confirm -me in the vices of my mental constitution and to cut off what chance -there was of my accomplishing something worth while.” - -In March, 1843, he finally left Göttingen for home by way of Belgium and -England, and entered the Harvard Law School in the autumn, taking his -degree there two years later, in 1845. Renewing acquaintance with him -during this period, I found him to be, as always, modest and reticent in -manner, bearing unconsciously a certain European prestige upon him, which -so commanded the respect of a circle of young men that we gave him the -sobriquet of “Jarno,” after the well-known philosophic leader in Goethe’s -“Wilhelm Meister.” Whatever he may say of himself, I cannot help still -retaining somewhat of my old feeling about the mental training of the -man who, while in the Law School, could write a paper so admirable as -Cabot’s essay entitled “Immanuel Kant” (“Dial,” iv, 409), an essay which -seems to me now, as it then seemed, altogether the simplest and most -effective statement I have ever encountered of the essential principles -of that great thinker’s philosophy. I remember that when I told Cabot -that I had been trying to read Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason” in an -English translation, but could not understand it, he placidly replied -that he had read it twice in German and had thought he comprehended it, -but that Meiklejohn’s translation was beyond making out, so that I need -not be discouraged. - -After graduating from the Law School, he went for a year into a law -office in Boston, acting as senior partner to my classmate, Francis -Edward Parker, who, being a born lawyer, as Cabot was not, found it -for his own profit to sever the partnership at the end of a year, -while Cabot retired from the profession forever. His German training -had meanwhile made him well known to the leaders of a new literary -enterprise, originating with Theodore Parker and based upon a meeting -at Mr. Emerson’s house in 1849, the object being the organization of a -new magazine, which should be, in Theodore Parker’s phrase, “the ‘Dial’ -with a beard.” Liberals and reformers were present at the meeting, -including men so essentially diverse as Sumner and Thoreau. Parker -was, of course, to be the leading editor, and became such. Emerson -also consented, “rather weakly,” as Cabot says in his memoranda, to -appear, and contributed only the introductory address, while Cabot -himself agreed to act as corresponding secretary and business manager. -The “Massachusetts Quarterly Review” sustained itself with difficulty -for three years,—showing more of studious and systematic work than its -predecessor, the “Dial,” but far less of freshness and originality,—and -then went under. - -A more successful enterprise in which he was meanwhile enlisted was -a trip to Lake Superior with Agassiz, in 1850, when Cabot acted as -secretary and wrote and illustrated the published volume of the -expedition,—a book which was then full of fresh novelties, and which is -still very readable. Soon after his return, he went into his brother -Edward’s architect office in Boston to put his accounts in order, and -ultimately became a partner in the business, erecting various buildings. - -He was married on September 28, 1857, to Elizabeth Dwight, daughter -of Edmund Dwight, Esq., a woman of rare qualities and great public -usefulness, who singularly carried on the tradition of those Essex -County women of an earlier generation, who were such strong helpmates -to their husbands. Of Mrs. Cabot it might almost have been said, as was -said by John Lowell in 1826 of his cousin, Elizabeth Higginson, wife of -her double first cousin, George Cabot: “She had none of the advantages -of early education afforded so bountifully to the young ladies of the -present age; but she surpassed _all_ of them in the acuteness of her -observation, in the knowledge of human nature, and in her power of -expressing and defending the opinions which she had formed.”[21] Thus -Elliot Cabot writes of his wife: “From the time when the care of her -children ceased to occupy the most of her time, she gradually became one -of the most valuable of the town officials, as well as the unofficial -counselor of many who needed the unfailing succor of her inexhaustible -sympathy and practical helpfulness.” - -Cabot visited Europe anew after his marriage, and after his return, -served for nine years as a school-committee-man in Brookline, where he -resided. He afterwards did faithful duty for six years as chairman -of the examining committee of Harvard Overseers. He gave for a single -year a series of lectures on Kant at Harvard University, and for a time -acted as instructor in Logic there, which included a supervision of the -forensics or written discussions then in vogue. The Civil War aroused -his sympathies strongly, especially when his brother Edward and his -personal friend, Francis L. Lee, became respectively Lieutenant-Colonel -and Colonel of the 44th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry. Elliot Cabot -himself enlisted in a drill club, and did some work for the Sanitary -Commission. He also assisted greatly in organizing the Museum of Fine -Arts and in the administration of the Boston Athenæum. - -Though a life-long student, he wrote little for the press,—a fact which -recalls Theodore Parker’s remark about him, that he “could make a good -law argument, but could not address it to the jury.” He rendered, -however, a great and permanent service, far outweighing that performed -by most American authors of his time, as volunteer secretary to Ralph -Waldo Emerson, a task which constituted his main occupation for five or -six years. After Emerson’s death, Cabot also wrote his memoirs, by the -wish of the family,—a book which will always remain the primary authority -on the subject with which it deals, although it was justly criticised -by others for a certain restricted tone which made it seem to be, as -it really was, the work of one shy and reticent man telling the story -of another. In describing Emerson, the biographer often unconsciously -described himself also; and the later publications of Mr. Emerson’s -only son show clearly that there was room for a more ample and varied -treatment in order to complete the work. - -Under these circumstances, Cabot’s home life, while of even tenor, was a -singularly happy one. One of his strongest and life-long traits was his -love of children,—a trait which he also eminently shared with Emerson. -The group formed by him with two grandchildren in his lap, to whom he was -reading John Gilpin or Hans Andersen, is one which those who knew him at -home would never forget. It was characteristic also that in his German -copy of Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason,” already mentioned, there were -found some papers covered with drawings of horses and carts which had -been made to amuse some eager child. Akin to this was his strong love -of flowers, united with a rare skill in making beautiful shrubs grow -here and there in such places as would bring out the lines and curves of -his estate at Beverly. Even during the last summer of his life, he was -cutting new little vistas on the Beverly hills. His sketches of landscape -in water-color were also very characteristic both of his delicate and -poetic appreciation of nature and of his skill and interest in drawing. -In 1885, while in Italy, he used to draw objects seen from the car window -as he traveled; and often in the morning, when his family came down to -breakfast at hotels, they found that he had already made an exquisite -sketch in pencil of some tower or arch. - -His outward life, on the whole, seemed much akin to the lives led by -that considerable class of English gentlemen who adopt no profession, -dwelling mainly on their paternal estates, yet are neither politicians -nor fox-hunters; pursuing their own favorite studies, taking part from -time to time in the pursuits of science, art, or literature, even holding -minor public functions, but winning no widespread fame. He showed, on -the other hand, the freedom from prejudice, the progressive tendency, -and the ideal proclivities which belong more commonly to Americans. He -seemed to himself to have accomplished nothing; and yet he had indirectly -aided a great many men by the elevation of his tone and the breadth of -his intellectual sympathy. If he did not greatly help to stimulate the -thought of his time, he helped distinctly to enlarge and ennoble it. His -death occurred at Brookline, Massachusetts, on January 16, 1903. He died -as he had lived, a high-minded, stainless, and in some respects unique -type of American citizen. - - - - -XIX - -EMILY DICKINSON - - - - -EMILY DICKINSON - - -Few events in American literary history have been more curious than the -sudden rise of Emily Dickinson many years since into a posthumous fame -only more accentuated by the utterly recluse character of her life. The -lines which formed a prelude to the first volume of her poems are the -only ones that have yet come to light which indicate even a temporary -desire to come in contact with the great world of readers; for she seems -to have had no reference, in all the rest, to anything but her own -thought and a few friends. But for her only sister, it is very doubtful -if her poems would ever have been printed at all; and when published, -they were launched quietly and without any expectation of a wide -audience. Yet the outcome of it was that six editions of the volume were -sold within six months, a suddenness of success almost without a parallel -in American literature. - -On April 16, 1862, I took from the post-office the following letter:— - - MR. HIGGINSON,—Are you too deeply occupied to say if my verse - is alive? - - The mind is so near itself it cannot see distinctly, and I have - none to ask. - - Should you think it breathed, and had you the leisure to tell - me, I should feel quick gratitude. - - If I make the mistake, that you dared to tell me would give me - sincerer honor toward you. - - I inclose my name, asking you, if you please, sir, to tell me - what is true? - - That you will not betray me it is needless to ask, since honor - is its own pawn. - -The letter was postmarked “Amherst,” and it was in a handwriting so -peculiar that it seemed as if the writer might have taken her first -lessons by studying the famous fossil bird-tracks in the museum of -that college town. Yet it was not in the slightest degree illiterate, -but cultivated, quaint, and wholly unique. Of punctuation there was -little; she used chiefly dashes, and it has been thought better, in -printing these letters, as with her poems, to give them the benefit -in this respect of the ordinary usages; and so with her habit as to -capitalization, as the printers call it, in which she followed the Old -English and present German method of thus distinguishing every noun -substantive. But the most curious thing about the letter was the total -absence of a signature. It proved, however, that she had written her name -on a card, and put it under the shelter of a smaller envelope inclosed -in the larger; and even this name was written—as if the shy writer -wished to recede as far as possible from view—in pencil, not in ink. The -name was Emily Dickinson. Inclosed with the letter were four poems, two -of which have since been separately printed,—“Safe in their alabaster -chambers” and “I’ll tell you how the sun rose,” besides the two that here -follow. The first comprises in its eight lines a truth so searching that -it seems a condensed summary of the whole experience of a long life:— - - “We play at paste - Till qualified for pearl; - Then drop the paste - And deem ourself a fool. - - “The shapes, though, were similar - And our new hands - Learned gem-tactics, - Practicing sands.” - -Then came one which I have always classed among the most exquisite of her -productions, with a singular felicity of phrase and an aerial lift that -bears the ear upward with the bee it traces:— - - “The nearest dream recedes unrealized. - The heaven we chase, - Like the June bee - Before the schoolboy, - Invites the race, - Stoops to an easy clover, - Dips—evades—teases—deploys— - Then to the royal clouds - Lifts his light pinnace, - Heedless of the boy - Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky. - - “Homesick for steadfast honey,— - Ah! the bee flies not - Which brews that rare variety.” - -The impression of a wholly new and original poetic genius was as distinct -on my mind at the first reading of these four poems as it is now, after -half a century of further knowledge; and with it came the problem never -yet solved, what place ought to be assigned in literature to what is so -remarkable, yet so elusive of criticism. The bee himself did not evade -the schoolboy more than she evaded me; and even at this day I still stand -somewhat bewildered, like the boy. - -Circumstances, however, soon brought me in contact with an uncle of Emily -Dickinson, a gentleman not now living: a prominent citizen of Worcester, -Massachusetts, a man of integrity and character, who shared her -abruptness and impulsiveness, but certainly not her poetic temperament, -from which he was indeed singularly remote. He could tell but little of -her, she being evidently an enigma to him, as to me. It is hard to say -what answer was made by me, under these circumstances, to this letter. It -is probable that the adviser sought to gain time a little and find out -with what strange creature he was dealing. I remember to have ventured -on some criticism which she afterwards called “surgery,” and on some -questions, part of which she evaded, as will be seen, with a naïve skill -such as the most experienced and worldly coquette might envy. Her second -letter (received April 26, 1862) was as follows:— - - MR. HIGGINSON,—Your kindness claimed earlier gratitude, but I - was ill, and write to-day from my pillow. - - Thank you for the surgery; it was not so painful as I supposed. - I bring you others, as you ask, though they might not differ. - While my thought is undressed, I can make the distinction; but - when I put them in the gown, they look alike and numb. - - You asked how old I was? I made no verse, but one or two, until - this winter, sir. - - I had a terror since September, I could tell to none; and so - I sing, as the boy does of the burying ground, because I am - afraid. - - You inquire my books. For poets, I have Keats, and Mr. and - Mrs. Browning. For prose, Mr. Ruskin, Sir Thomas Browne, and - the Revelations. I went to school, but in your manner of the - phrase had no education. When a little girl, I had a friend - who taught me Immortality; but venturing too near, himself, he - never returned. Soon after my tutor died, and for several years - my lexicon was my only companion. Then I found one more, but he - was not contented I be his scholar, so he left the land. - - You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a - dog large as myself, that my father bought me. They are better - than beings because they know, but do not tell; and the noise - in the pool at noon excels my piano. - - I have a brother and sister; my mother does not care for - thought, and father, too busy with his briefs to notice what - we do. He buys me many books, but begs me not to read them, - because he fears they joggle the mind. They are religious, - except me, and address an eclipse, every morning, whom they - call their “Father.” - - But I fear my story fatigues you. I would like to learn. Could - you tell me how to grow, or is it unconveyed, like melody or - witchcraft? - - You speak of Mr. Whitman. I never read his book, but was told - that it was disgraceful. - - I read Miss Prescott’s “Circumstance,” but it followed me in - the dark, so I avoided her. - - Two editors of journals came to my father’s house this winter, - and asked me for my mind, and when I asked them “why” they said - I was penurious, and they would use it for the world. - - I could not weigh myself, myself. My size felt small to me. I - read your chapters in the “Atlantic,” and experienced honor for - you. I was sure you would not reject a confiding question. - - Is this, sir, what you asked me to tell you? Your friend, - - E. DICKINSON. - -It will be seen that she had now drawn a step nearer, signing her name, -and as my “friend.” It will also be noticed that I had sounded her about -certain American authors, then much read; and that she knew how to put -her own criticisms in a very trenchant way. With this letter came some -more verses, still in the same birdlike script, as for instance the -following:— - - “Your riches taught me poverty, - Myself a millionaire - In little wealths, as girls could boast, - Till, broad as Buenos Ayre, - You drifted your dominions - A different Peru, - And I esteemed all poverty - For life’s estate, with you. - - “Of mines, I little know, myself, - But just the names of gems, - The colors of the commonest, - And scarce of diadems - So much that, did I meet the queen, - Her glory I should know; - But this must be a different wealth, - To miss it, beggars so. - - “I’m sure ’tis India, all day, - To those who look on you - Without a stint, without a blame, - Might I but be the Jew! - I’m sure it is Golconda - Beyond my power to deem, - To have a smile for mine, each day, - How better than a gem! - - “At least, it solaces to know - That there exists a gold - Although I prove it just in time - Its distance to behold; - Its far, far treasure to surmise - And estimate the pearl - That slipped my simple fingers through - While just a girl at school!” - -Here was already manifest that defiance of form, never through -carelessness, and never precisely from whim, which so marked her. The -slightest change in the order of words—thus, “While yet at school, a -girl”—would have given her a rhyme for this last line; but no; she was -intent upon her thought, and it would not have satisfied her to make the -change. The other poem further showed, what had already been visible, a -rare and delicate sympathy with the life of nature:— - - “A bird came down the walk; - He did not know I saw; - He bit an angle-worm in halves - And ate the fellow raw. - - “And then he drank a dew - From a convenient grass, - And then hopped sidewise to a wall, - To let a beetle pass. - - “He glanced with rapid eyes - That hurried all around; - They looked like frightened beads, I thought; - He stirred his velvet head - - “Like one in danger, cautious. - I offered him a crumb, - And he unrolled his feathers - And rowed him softer home - - “Than oars divide the ocean, - Too silver for a seam— - Or butterflies, off banks of noon, - Leap, plashless as they swim.” - -It is possible that in a second letter I gave more of distinct praise or -encouragement, as her third is in a different mood. This was received -June 8, 1862. There is something startling in its opening image; and in -the yet stranger phrase that follows, where she apparently uses “mob” in -the sense of chaos or bewilderment: - - DEAR FRIEND,—Your letter gave no drunkenness, because I - tasted rum before. Domingo comes but once; yet I have had few - pleasures so deep as your opinion, and if I tried to thank you, - my tears would block my tongue. - - My dying tutor told me that he would like to live till I had - been a poet, but Death was much of mob as I could master, then. - And when, far afterward, a sudden light on orchards, or a new - fashion in the wind troubled my attention, I felt a palsy, - here, the verses just relieve. - - Your second letter surprised me, and for a moment, swung. I - had not supposed it. Your first gave no dishonor, because the - true are not ashamed. I thanked you for your justice, but could - not drop the bells whose jingling cooled my tramp. Perhaps the - balm seemed better, because you bled me first. I smile when you - suggest that I delay “to publish,” that being foreign to my - thought as firmament to fin. - - If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, - the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation - of my dog would forsake me then. My barefoot rank is better. - - You think my gait “spasmodic.” I am in danger, sir. You think - me “uncontrolled.” I have no tribunal. - - Would you have time to be the “friend” you should think I need? - I have a little shape: it would not crowd your desk, nor make - much racket as the mouse that dens your galleries. - - If I might bring you what I do—not so frequent to trouble - you—and ask you if I told it clear, ’twould be control to me. - The sailor cannot see the North, but knows the needle can. The - “hand you stretch me in the dark” I put mine in, and turn away. - I have no Saxon now:— - - As if I asked a common alms, - And in my wandering hand - A stranger pressed a kingdom, - And I, bewildered, stand; - As if I asked the Orient - Had it for me a morn, - And it should lift its purple dikes - And shatter me with dawn! - - But, will you be my preceptor, Mr. Higginson? - -With this came the poem since published in one of her volumes and -entitled “Renunciation”; and also that beginning “Of all the sounds -dispatched abroad,” thus fixing approximately the date of those two. I -must soon have written to ask her for her picture, that I might form some -impression of my enigmatical correspondent. To this came the following -reply, in July, 1862:— - - Could you believe me without? I had no portrait, now, but am - small, like the wren; and my hair is bold like the chestnut - bur; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass, that the guest - leaves. Would this do just as well? - - It often alarms father. He says death might occur and he has - moulds of all the rest, but has no mould of me; but I noticed - the quick wore off those things, in a few days, and forestall - the dishonor. You will think no caprice of me. - - You said “Dark.” I know the butterfly, and the lizard, and the - orchis. Are not those _your_ countrymen? - - I am happy to be your scholar, and will deserve the kindness I - cannot repay. - - If you truly consent, I recite now. Will you tell me my fault, - frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince than die. Men do - not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, sir, - and fracture within is more critical. And for this, preceptor, - I shall bring you obedience, the blossom from my garden, and - every gratitude I know. - - Perhaps you smile at me. I could not stop for that. My business - is circumference. An ignorance, not of customs, but if caught - with the dawn, or the sunset see me, myself the only kangaroo - among the beauty, sir, if you please, it afflicts me, and I - thought that instruction would take it away. - - Because you have much business, beside the growth of me, you - will appoint, yourself, how often I shall come, without your - inconvenience. - - And if at any time you regret you received me, or I prove a - different fabric to that you supposed, you must banish me. - - When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it - does not mean me, but a supposed person. - - You are true about the “perfection.” To-day makes Yesterday - mean. - - You spoke of “Pippa Passes.” I never heard anybody speak of - “Pippa Passes” before. You see my posture is benighted. - - To thank you baffles me. Are you perfectly powerful? Had I a - pleasure you had not, I could delight to bring it. - - YOUR SCHOLAR. - -This was accompanied by this strong poem, with its breathless conclusion. -The title is of my own giving:— - - THE SAINTS’ REST - - Of tribulation, these are they, - Denoted by the white; - The spangled gowns, a lesser rank - Of victors designate. - - All these did conquer; but the ones - Who overcame most times, - Wear nothing commoner than snow, - No ornaments but palms. - - “Surrender” is a sort unknown - On this superior soil; - “Defeat” an outgrown anguish, - Remembered as the mile - - Our panting ancle barely passed - When night devoured the road; - But we stood whispering in the house, - And all we said, was “Saved!” - - [Note by the writer of the verses.] I spelled ankle wrong. - -It would seem that at first I tried a little—a very little—to lead -her in the direction of rules and traditions; but I fear it was -only perfunctory, and that she interested me more in her—so to -speak—unregenerate condition. Still, she recognizes the endeavor. In this -case, as will be seen, I called her attention to the fact that while she -took pains to correct the spelling of a word, she was utterly careless of -greater irregularities. It will be seen by her answer that with her usual -naïve adroitness she turns my point:— - - DEAR FRIEND,—Are these more orderly? I thank you for the truth. - - I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when - I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare - and charred. - - I think you called me “wayward.” Will you help me improve? - - I suppose the pride that stops the breath, in the core of - woods, is not of ourself. - - You say I confess the little mistake, and omit the large. - Because I can see orthography; but the ignorance out of sight - is my preceptor’s charge. - - Of “shunning men and women,” they talk of hallowed things, - aloud, and embarrass my dog. He and I don’t object to them, if - they’ll exist their side. I think Carlo would please you. He is - dumb, and brave. I think you would like the chestnut tree I met - in my walk. It hit my notice suddenly, and I thought the skies - were in blossom. - - Then there’s a noiseless noise in the orchard that I let - persons hear. - - You told me in one letter you could not come to see me “now,” - and I made no answer; not because I had none, but did not think - myself the price that you should come so far. - - I do not ask so large a pleasure, lest you might deny me. - - You say, “Beyond your knowledge.” You would not jest with me, - because I believe you; but, preceptor, you cannot mean it? - - All men say “What” to me, but I thought it a fashion. - - When much in the woods, as a little girl, I was told that the - snake would bite me, that I might pick a poisonous flower, or - goblins kidnap me; but I went along and met no one but angels, - who were far shyer of me than I could be of them, so I haven’t - that confidence in fraud which many exercise. - - I shall observe your precept, though I don’t understand it, - always. - - I marked a line in one verse, because I met it after I made it, - and never consciously touch a paint mixed by another person. - - I do not let go it, because it is mine. Have you the portrait - of Mrs. Browning? - - Persons sent me three. If you had none, will you have mine? - - YOUR SCHOLAR. - -A month or two after this I entered the volunteer army of the Civil War, -and must have written to her during the winter of 1862-63 from South -Carolina or Florida, for the following reached me in camp:— - - AMHERST. - - DEAR FRIEND,—I did not deem that planetary forces annulled, but - suffered an exchange of territory, or world. - - I should have liked to see you before you became improbable. - War feels to me an oblique place. Should there be other - summers, would you perhaps come? - - I found you were gone, by accident, as I find systems are, - or seasons of the year, and obtain no cause, but suppose it - a treason of progress that dissolves as it goes. Carlo still - remained, and I told him. - - Best gains must have the losses’ test, - To constitute them gains. - - My shaggy ally assented. - - Perhaps death gave me awe for friends, striking sharp and - early, for I held them since in a brittle love, of more alarm - than peace. I trust you may pass the limit of war; and though - not reared to prayer, when service is had in church for our - arms, I include yourself.... I was thinking to-day, as I - noticed, that the “Supernatural” was only the Natural disclosed. - - Not “Revelation” ’tis that waits, - But our unfurnished eyes. - - But I fear I detain you. Should you, before this reaches you, - experience immortality, who will inform me of the exchange? - Could you, with honor, avoid death, I entreat you, sir. It - would bereave - - YOUR GNOME. - - I trust the “Procession of Flowers” was not a premonition. - -I cannot explain this extraordinary signature, substituted for the now -customary “Your Scholar,” unless she imagined her friend to be in some -incredible and remote condition, imparting its strangeness to her. -Swedenborg somewhere has an image akin to her “oblique place,” where he -symbolizes evil as simply an oblique angle. With this letter came verses, -most refreshing in that clime of jasmines and mockingbirds, on the -familiar robin:— - - THE ROBIN - - The robin is the one - That interrupts the morn - With hurried, few, express reports - When March is scarcely on. - - The robin is the one - That overflows the noon - With her cherubic quantity, - An April but begun. - - The robin is the one - That, speechless from her nest, - Submits that home and certainty - And sanctity are best. - -In the summer of 1863 I was wounded, and in hospital for a time, during -which came this letter in pencil, written from what was practically a -hospital for her, though only for weak eyes:— - - DEAR FRIEND,—Are you in danger? I did not know that you were - hurt. Will you tell me more? Mr. Hawthorne died. - - I was ill since September, and since April in Boston for a - physician’s care. He does not let me go, yet I work in my - prison, and make guests for myself. - - Carlo did not come, because that he would die in jail; and the - mountains I could not hold now, so I brought but the Gods. - - I wish to see you more than before I failed. Will you tell me - your health? I am surprised and anxious since receiving your - note. - - The only news I know - Is bulletins all day - From Immortality. - - Can you render my pencil? The physician has taken away my pen. - - I inclose the address from a letter, lest my figures fail. - - Knowledge of your recovery would excel my own. - - E. DICKINSON. - -Later this arrived:— - - DEAR FRIEND,—I think of you so wholly that I cannot resist to - write again, to ask if you are safe? Danger is not at first, - for then we are unconscious, but in the after, slower days. - - Do not try to be saved, but let redemption find you, as - it certainly will. Love is its own rescue; for we, at our - supremest, are but its trembling emblems. - - YOUR SCHOLAR. - -These were my earliest letters from Emily Dickinson, in their order. From -this time and up to her death (May 15, 1886) we corresponded at varying -intervals, she always persistently keeping up this attitude of “Scholar,” -and assuming on my part a preceptorship which it is almost needless -to say did not exist. Always glad to hear her “recite,” as she called -it, I soon abandoned all attempt to guide in the slightest degree this -extraordinary nature, and simply accepted her confidences, giving as much -as I could of what might interest her in return. - -Sometimes there would be a long pause, on my part, after which would come -a plaintive letter, always terse, like this:— - -“Did I displease you? But won’t you tell me how?” - -Or perhaps the announcement of some event, vast in her small sphere, as -this:— - - Amherst. - - Carlo died. - - E. Dickinson. - - Would you instruct me now? - -Or sometimes there would arrive an exquisite little detached strain, -every word a picture, like this:— - - THE HUMMING-BIRD - - A route of evanescence - With a revolving wheel; - A resonance of emerald; - A rush of cochineal. - And every blossom on the bush - Adjusts its tumbled head;— - The mail from Tunis, probably, - An easy morning’s ride. - -Nothing in literature, I am sure, so condenses into a few words -that gorgeous atom of life and fire of which she here attempts the -description. It is, however, needless to conceal that many of her -brilliant fragments were less satisfying. She almost always grasped -whatever she sought, but with some fracture of grammar and dictionary -on the way. Often, too, she was obscure, and sometimes inscrutable; and -though obscurity is sometimes, in Coleridge’s phrase, a compliment to the -reader, yet it is never safe to press this compliment too hard. - -Sometimes, on the other hand, her verses found too much favor for her -comfort, and she was urged to publish. In such cases I was sometimes put -forward as a defense; and the following letter was the fruit of some such -occasion: - - DEAR FRIEND,—Thank you for the advice. I shall implicitly - follow it. - - The one who asked me for the lines I had never seen. - - He spoke of “a charity.” I refused, but did not inquire. He - again earnestly urged, on the ground that in that way I might - “aid unfortunate children.” The name of “child” was a snare to - me, and I hesitated, choosing my most rudimentary, and without - criterion. - - I inquired of you. You can scarcely estimate the opinion to one - utterly guideless. Again thank you. - - YOUR SCHOLAR. - -Again came this, on a similar theme:— - - DEAR FRIEND,—Are you willing to tell me what is right? Mrs. - Jackson, of Colorado [“H. H.,” her early schoolmate], was with - me a few moments this week, and wished me to write for this. - [A circular of the “No Name Series” was inclosed.] I told her - I was unwilling, and she asked me why? I said I was incapable, - and she seemed not to believe me and asked me not to decide - for a few days. Meantime, she would write me. She was so - sweetly noble, I would regret to estrange her, and if you would - be willing to give me a note saying you disapproved it, and - thought me unfit, she would believe you. I am sorry to flee so - often to my safest friend, but hope he permits me. - -In all this time—nearly eight years—we had never met, but she had sent -invitations like the following:— - - AMHERST. - - DEAR FRIEND,—Whom my dog understood could not elude others. - - I should be so glad to see you, but think it an apparitional - pleasure, not to be fulfilled. I am uncertain of Boston. - - I had promised to visit my physician for a few days in May, but - father objects because he is in the habit of me. - - Is it more far to Amherst? - - You will find a minute host, but a spacious welcome.... - - If I still entreat you to teach me, are you much displeased? I - will be patient, constant, never reject your knife, and should - my slowness goad you, you knew before myself that - - Except the smaller size - No lives are round. - These hurry to a sphere - And show and end. - The larger slower grow - And later hang; - The summers of Hesperides - Are long. - -Afterwards, came this:— - - AMHERST. - - DEAR FRIEND,—A letter always feels to me like immortality - because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend. Indebted - in our talk to attitude and accent, there seems a spectral - power in thought that walks alone. I would like to thank you - for your great kindness, but never try to lift the words which - I cannot hold. - - Should you come to Amherst, I might then succeed, though - gratitude is the timid wealth of those who have nothing. I am - sure that you speak the truth, because the noble do, but your - letters always surprise me. - - My life has been too simple and stern to embarrass any. “Seen - of Angels,” scarcely my responsibility. - - It is difficult not to be fictitious in so fair a place, but - tests’ severe repairs are permitted all. - - When a little girl I remember hearing that remarkable passage - and preferring the “Power,” not knowing at the time that - “Kingdom” and “Glory” were included. - - You noticed my dwelling alone. To an emigrant, country is idle - except it be his own. You speak kindly of seeing me; could it - please your convenience to come so far as Amherst, I should be - very glad, but I do not cross my father’s ground to any house - or town. - - Of our greatest acts we are ignorant. You were not aware that - you saved my life. To thank you in person has been since then - one of my few requests.... You will excuse each that I say, - because no one taught me. - -At last, after many postponements, on August 16, 1870, I found myself -face to face with my hitherto unseen correspondent. It was at her -father’s house, one of those large, square, brick mansions so familiar in -our older New England towns, surrounded by trees and blossoming shrubs -without, and within exquisitely neat, cool, spacious, and fragrant with -flowers. After a little delay, I heard an extremely faint and pattering -footstep like that of a child, in the hall, and in glided, almost -noiselessly, a plain, shy little person, the face without a single good -feature, but with eyes, as she herself said, “like the sherry the guest -leaves in the glass,” and with smooth bands of reddish chestnut hair. She -had a quaint and nun-like look, as if she might be a German canoness of -some religious order, whose prescribed garb was white piqué, with a blue -net worsted shawl. She came toward me with two day-lilies, which she put -in a childlike way into my hand, saying softly, under her breath, “These -are my introduction,” and adding, also under her breath, in childlike -fashion, “Forgive me if I am frightened; I never see strangers, and -hardly know what I say.” But soon she began to talk, and thenceforward -continued almost constantly; pausing sometimes to beg that I would -talk instead, but readily recommencing when I evaded. There was not a -trace of affectation in all this; she seemed to speak absolutely for her -own relief, and wholly without watching its effect on her hearer. Led -on by me, she told much about her early life, in which her father was -always the chief figure,—evidently a man of the old type, _la vieille -roche_ of Puritanism,—a man who, as she said, read on Sunday “lonely and -rigorous books”; and who had from childhood inspired her with such awe, -that she never learned to tell time by the clock till she was fifteen, -simply because he had tried to explain it to her when she was a little -child, and she had been afraid to tell him that she did not understand, -and also afraid to ask any one else lest he should hear of it. Yet she -had never heard him speak a harsh word, and it needed only a glance at -his photograph to see how truly the Puritan tradition was preserved in -him. He did not wish his children, when little, to read anything but -the Bible; and when, one day, her brother brought her home Longfellow’s -“Kavanagh,” he put it secretly under the pianoforte cover, made signs -to her, and they both afterwards read it. It may have been before this, -however, that a student of her father’s was amazed to find that she and -her brother had never heard of Lydia Maria Child, then much read, and -he brought “Letters from New York,” and hid it in the great bush of -old-fashioned tree-box beside the front door. After the first book, she -thought in ecstasy, “This, then, is a book, and there are more of them.” -But she did not find so many as she expected, for she afterwards said to -me, “When I lost the use of my eyes, it was a comfort to think that there -were so few real books that I could easily find one to read me all of -them.” Afterwards, when she regained her eyes, she read Shakespeare, and -thought to herself, “Why is any other book needed?” - -She went on talking constantly and saying, in the midst of narrative, -things quaint and aphoristic. “Is it oblivion or absorption when things -pass from our minds?” “Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to -tell it.” “I find ecstasy in living; the mere sense of living is joy -enough.” When I asked her if she never felt any want of employment, not -going off the grounds and rarely seeing a visitor, she answered, “I never -thought of conceiving that I could ever have the slightest approach to -such a want in all future time”; and then added, after a pause, “I feel -that I have not expressed myself strongly enough,” although it seemed to -me that she had. She told me of her household occupations, that she made -all their bread, because her father liked only hers; then saying shyly, -“And people must have puddings,” this very timidly and suggestively, as -if they were meteors or comets. Interspersed with these confidences came -phrases so emphasized as to seem the very wantonness of over-statement, -as if she pleased herself with putting into words what the most -extravagant might possibly think without saying, as thus: “How do most -people live without any thoughts? There are many people in the world,—you -must have noticed them in the street,—how do they live? How do they -get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?” Or this crowning -extravaganza: “If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no -fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if -the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the -only ways I know it. Is there any other way?” - -I have tried to describe her just as she was, with the aid of notes taken -at the time; but this interview left our relation very much what it was -before;—on my side an interest that was strong and even affectionate, but -not based on any thorough comprehension; and on her side a hope, always -rather baffled, that I should afford some aid in solving her abstruse -problem of life. - -The impression undoubtedly made on me was that of an excess of tension, -and of something abnormal. Perhaps in time I could have got beyond that -somewhat overstrained relation which not my will, but her needs, had -forced upon us. Certainly I should have been most glad to bring it down -to the level of simple truth and every-day comradeship; but it was not -altogether easy. She was much too enigmatical a being for me to solve in -an hour’s interview, and an instinct told me that the slightest attempt -at direct cross-examination would make her withdraw into her shell; I -could only sit still and watch, as one does in the woods; I must name my -bird without a gun, as recommended by Emerson. - -After my visit came this letter:— - - Enough is so vast a sweetness, I suppose it never occurs, only - pathetic counterfeits. - - Fabulous to me as the men of the Revelations who “shall not - hunger any more.” Even the possible has its insoluble particle. - - After you went, I took “Macbeth” and turned to “Birnam Wood.” - Came twice “To Dunsinane.” I thought and went about my work.... - - The vein cannot thank the artery, but her solemn indebtedness - to him, even the stolidest admit, and so of me who try, whose - effort leaves no sound. - - You ask great questions accidentally. To answer them would be - events. I trust that you are safe. - - I ask you to forgive me for all the ignorance I had. I find no - nomination sweet as your low opinion. - - Speak, if but to blame your obedient child. - - You told me of Mrs. Lowell’s poems. Would you tell me where - I could find them, or are they not for sight? An article of - yours, too, perhaps the only one you wrote that I never knew. - It was about a “Latch.” Are you willing to tell me? [Perhaps “A - Sketch.”] - - If I ask too much, you could please refuse. Shortness to live - has made me bold. - - Abroad is close to-night and I have but to lift my hands to - touch the “Heights of Abraham.” - - DICKINSON. - -When I said, at parting, that I would come again some time, she replied, -“Say, in a long time; that will be nearer. Some time is no time.” We -met only once again, and I have no express record of the visit. We -corresponded for years, at long intervals, her side of the intercourse -being, I fear, better sustained; and she sometimes wrote also to my wife, -inclosing flowers or fragrant leaves with a verse or two. Once she sent -her one of George Eliot’s books, I think “Middlemarch,” and wrote, “I am -bringing you a little granite book for you to lean upon.” At other times -she would send single poems, such as these:— - - THE BLUE JAY - - No brigadier throughout the year - So civic as the jay. - A neighbor and a warrior too, - With shrill felicity - Pursuing winds that censure us - A February Day, - The brother of the universe - Was never blown away. - The snow and he are intimate; - I’ve often seen them play - When heaven looked upon us all - With such severity - I felt apology were due - To an insulted sky - Whose pompous frown was nutriment - To their temerity. - The pillow of this daring head - Is pungent evergreens; - His larder—terse and militant— - Unknown, refreshing things; - His character—a tonic; - His future—a dispute; - Unfair an immortality - That leaves this neighbor out. - - THE WHITE HEAT - - Dare you see a soul at the white heat? - Then crouch within the door; - Red is the fire’s common tint, - But when the vivid ore - - Has sated flame’s conditions, - Its quivering substance plays - Without a color, but the light - Of unanointed blaze. - - Least village boasts its blacksmith, - Whose anvil’s even din - Stands symbol for the finer forge - That soundless tugs within, - - Refining these impatient ores - With hammer and with blaze, - Until the designated light - Repudiate the forge. - -Then came the death of her father, that strong Puritan father who had -communicated to her so much of the vigor of his own nature, and who -bought her many books, but begged her not to read them. Mr. Edward -Dickinson, after service in the national House of Representatives and -other public positions, had become a member of the lower house of the -Massachusetts legislature. The session was unusually prolonged, and he -was making a speech upon some railway question at noon, one very hot day -(July 16, 1874), when he became suddenly faint and sat down. The house -adjourned, and a friend walked with him to his lodgings at the Tremont -House, where he began to pack his bag for home, after sending for a -physician, but died within three hours. Soon afterwards, I received the -following letter:— - - The last afternoon that my father lived, though with no - premonition, I preferred to be with him, and invented an - absence for mother, Vinnie [her sister] being asleep. He seemed - peculiarly pleased, as I oftenest stayed with myself; and - remarked, as the afternoon withdrew, he “would like it to not - end.” - - His pleasure almost embarrassed me, and my brother coming, I - suggested they walk. Next morning I woke him for the train, and - saw him no more. - - His heart was pure and terrible, and I think no other like it - exists. - - I am glad there is immortality, but would have tested it - myself, before entrusting him. Mr. Bowles was with us. With - that exception, I saw none. I have wished for you, since my - father died, and had you an hour unengrossed, it would be - almost priceless. Thank you for each kindness.... - -Later she wrote:— - - When I think of my father’s lonely life and lonelier death, - there is this redress— - - Take all away; - The only thing worth larceny - Is left—the immortality. - - My earliest friend wrote me the week before he died, “If I - live, I will go to Amherst; if I die, I certainly will.” - - Is your house deeper off? - - YOUR SCHOLAR. - -A year afterwards came this:— - - DEAR FRIEND,—Mother was paralyzed Tuesday, a year from the - evening father died. I thought perhaps you would care. - - YOUR SCHOLAR. - -With this came the following verse, having a curious seventeenth-century -flavor:— - - “A death-blow is a life-blow to some, - Who, till they died, did not alive become; - Who, had they lived, had died, but when - They died, vitality begun.” - -And later came this kindred memorial of one of the oldest and most -faithful friends of the family, Mr. Samuel Bowles, of the Springfield -“Republican”:— - - DEAR FRIEND,—I felt it shelter to speak to you. - - My brother and sister are with Mr. Bowles, who is buried this - afternoon. - - The last song that I heard—that was, since the birds—was “He - leadeth me, he leadeth me; yea, though I walk”—then the voices - stooped, the arch was so low. - -After this added bereavement the inward life of the diminished household -became only more concentrated, and the world was held farther and -farther away. Yet to this period belongs the following letter, written -about 1880, which has more of what is commonly called the objective or -external quality than any she ever wrote me; and shows how close might -have been her observation and her sympathy, had her rare qualities taken -a somewhat different channel:— - - DEAR FRIEND,—I was touchingly reminded of [a child who had - died] this morning by an Indian woman with gay baskets and - a dazzling baby, at the kitchen door. Her little boy “once - died,” she said, death to her dispelling him. I asked her what - the baby liked, and she said “to step.” The prairie before - the door was gay with flowers of hay, and I led her in. She - argued with the birds, she leaned on clover walls and they - fell, and dropped her. With jargon sweeter than a bell, she - grappled buttercups, and they sank together, the buttercups the - heaviest. What sweetest use of days! ’Twas noting some such - scene made Vaughan humbly say,— - - “My days that are at best but dim and hoary.” - - I think it was Vaughan.... - -And these few fragmentary memorials—closing, like every human biography, -with funerals, yet with such as were to Emily Dickinson only the stately -introduction to a higher life—may well end with her description of the -death of the very summer she so loved. - - “As imperceptibly as grief - The summer lapsed away, - Too imperceptible at last - To feel like perfidy. - - “A quietness distilled, - As twilight long begun, - Or Nature spending with herself - Sequestered afternoon. - - “The dusk drew earlier in, - The morning foreign shone, - A courteous yet harrowing grace - As guest that would be gone. - - “And thus without a wing - Or service of a keel - Our summer made her light escape - Into the Beautiful.” - - - - -XX - -JULIA WARD HOWE - - - - -JULIA WARD HOWE - - -Many years of what may be called intimacy with Mrs. Julia Ward Howe -do not impair one’s power of painting her as she is, and this for -two reasons: first, because she does not care to be portrayed in any -other way; and secondly, because her freshness of temperament is so -inexhaustible as to fix one’s attention always on what she said or did -not merely yesterday, but this morning. After knowing her more than forty -years, and having been fellow member or officer in half-a-dozen clubs -with her, first and last, during that time, I now see in her, not merely -the woman of to-day, but the woman who went through the education of -wifehood and motherhood, of reformer and agitator, and in all these was -educated by the experience of life. - -She lived to refute much early criticism or hasty judgment, and this -partly from inward growth, partly because the society in which she moved -was growing for itself and understood her better. The wife of a reformer -is apt to be tested by the obstacles her husband encounters; if she -is sympathetic, she shares his difficulties, and if not, is perhaps -criticised by the very same people for not sharing his zeal. Mrs. Howe, -moreover, came to Boston at a time when all New Yorkers were there -regarded with a slight distrust; she bore and reared five children, and -doubtless, like all good mothers, had methods of her own; she went into -company, and was criticised by cliques which did not applaud. Whatever -she did, she might be in many eyes the object of prejudice. Beyond all, -there was, I suspect, a slight uncertainty in her own mind that was -reflected in her early poems. - -From the moment when she came forward in the Woman Suffrage Movement, -however, there was a visible change; it gave a new brightness to her -face, a new cordiality in her manner, made her calmer, firmer; she found -herself among new friends and could disregard old critics. Nothing can be -more frank and characteristic than her own narrative of her first almost -accidental participation in a woman’s suffrage meeting. She had strayed -into the hall, still not half convinced, and was rather reluctantly -persuaded to take a seat on the platform, although some of her best -friends were there,—Garrison, Phillips, and James Freeman Clarke, her -pastor. But there was also Lucy Stone, who had long been the object of -imaginary disapproval; and yet Mrs. Howe, like every one else who heard -Lucy Stone’s sweet voice for the first time, was charmed and half won by -it. I remember the same experience at a New York meeting in the case of -Helen Hunt, who went to such a meeting on purpose to write a satirical -letter about it for the New York “Tribune,” but said to me, as we came -out together, “Do you suppose I could ever write a word against anything -which that woman wishes to have done?” Such was the influence of that -first meeting on Mrs. Howe. “When they requested me to speak,” she says, -“I could only say, I am with you. I have been with them ever since, and -have never seen any reason to go back from the pledge then given.” She -adds that she had everything to learn with respect to public speaking, -the rules of debate, and the management of her voice, she having hitherto -spoken in parlors only. In the same way she was gradually led into the -wider sphere of women’s congresses, and at last into the presidency of -the woman’s department at the great World’s Fair at New Orleans, in the -winter of 1883-84, at which she presided with great ability, organizing -a series of short talks on the exhibits, to be given by experts. While -in charge of this, she held a special meeting in the colored people’s -department, where the “Battle Hymn” was sung, and she spoke to them -of Garrison, Sumner, and Dr. Howe. Her daughter’s collection of books -written by women was presented to the Ladies’ Art Association of New -Orleans, and her whole enterprise was a singular triumph. In dealing with -public enterprises in all parts of the country she soon made herself -welcome everywhere. And yet this was the very woman who had written in -the “Salutatory” of her first volume of poems:— - - “I was born ’neath a clouded star, - More in shadow than light have grown; - Loving souls are not like trees - That strongest and stateliest shoot alone.” - -The truth is, that the life of a reformer always affords some training; -either giving it self-control or marring it altogether,—more frequently -the former; it was at any rate eminently so with her. It could be truly -said, in her case, that to have taken up reform was a liberal education. - -Added to this was the fact that as her children grew, they filled and -educated the domestic side of her life. One of her most attractive poems -is that in which she describes herself as going out for exercise on a -rainy day and walking round her house, looking up each time at the window -where her children were watching with merry eagerness for the successive -glimpses of her. This is the poem I mean:— - - THE HEART’S ASTRONOMY - - This evening, as the twilight fell, - My younger children watched for me; - Like cherubs in the window framed, - I saw the smiling group of three. - - While round and round the house I trudged, - Intent to walk a weary mile, - Oft as I passed within their range, - The little things would beck and smile. - - They watched me, as Astronomers, - Whose business lies in heaven afar, - Await, beside the slanting glass, - The reappearance of a star. - - Not so, not so, my pretty ones! - Seek stars in yonder cloudless sky, - But mark no steadfast path for me,— - A comet dire and strange am I. - - ... - - And ye, beloved ones, when ye know - What wild, erratic natures are, - Pray that the laws of heavenly force - Would hold and guide the Mother star. - -I remember well that household of young people in successive summers at -Newport, as they grew towards maturity; how they in turn came back from -school and college, each with individual tastes and gifts, full of life, -singing, dancing, reciting, poetizing, and one of them, at least, with a -talent for cookery which delighted all Newport; then their wooings and -marriages, always happy; their lives always busy; their temperaments so -varied. These are the influences under which “wild erratic natures” grow -calm. - -A fine training it was also, for these children themselves, to see their -mother one of the few who could unite all kinds of friendship in the same -life. Having herself the _entrée_ of whatever the fashion of Newport -could in those days afford; entertaining brilliant or showy guests from -New York, Washington, London, or Paris; her doors were as readily open -at the same time to the plainest or most modest reformer—abolitionist, -woman suffragist, or Quaker; and this as a matter of course, without -struggle. I remember the indignation over this of a young visitor from -Italy, one of her own kindred, who was in early girlhood so independently -un-American that she came to this country only through defiance. Her -brother had said to her after one of her tirades, “Why do you not go -there and see for yourself?” She responded, “So I will,” and sailed the -next week. Once arrived, she antagonized everything, and I went in one -day and found her reclining in a great armchair, literally half buried in -some forty volumes of Balzac which had just been given her as a birthday -present. She was cutting the leaves of the least desirable volume, and -exclaimed to me, “I take refuge in Balzac from the heartlessness of -American society.” Then she went on to denounce this society freely, -but always excepted eagerly her hostess, who was “too good for it”; and -only complained of her that she had at that moment in the house two -young girls, daughters of an eminent reformer, who were utterly out of -place, she said,—knowing neither how to behave, how to dress, nor how -to pronounce. Never in my life, I think, did I hear a denunciation more -honorable to its object, especially when coming from such a source. - -I never have encountered, at home or abroad, a group of people so -cultivated and agreeable as existed for a few years in Newport in the -summers. There were present, as intellectual and social forces, not -merely the Howes, but such families as the Bancrofts, the Warings, the -Partons, the Potters, the Woolseys, the Hunts, the Rogerses, the Hartes, -the Hollands, the Goodwins, Kate Field, and others besides, who were -readily brought together for any intellectual enjoyment. No one was the -recognized leader, though Mrs. Howe came nearest to it; but they met as -cheery companions, nearly all of whom have passed away. One also saw at -their houses some agreeable companions and foreign notabilities, as when -Mr. Bancroft entertained the Emperor and Empress of Brazil, passing under -an assumed name, but still attended by a veteran maid, who took occasion -to remind everybody that her Majesty was a Bourbon, with no amusing -result except that one good lady and experienced traveler bent one knee -for an instant in her salutation. The nearest contact of this circle with -the unequivocally fashionable world was perhaps when Mrs. William B. -Astor, the mother of the present representative of that name in England, -and herself a lover of all things intellectual, came among us. - -It was in the midst of all this circle that the “Town and Country Club” -was formed, of which Mrs. Howe was president and I had the humbler -functions of vice-president, and it was under its auspices that the -festival indicated in the following programme took place, at the always -attractive seaside house of the late Mr. and Mrs. John W. Bigelow, of -New York. The plan was modeled after the Harvard Commencement exercises, -and its Latin programme, prepared by Professor Lane, then one of the -highest classical authorities in New England, gave a list of speakers -and subjects, the latter almost all drawn from Mrs. Howe’s ready wit. - - Q · B · F · F · F · Q · S - Feminae Inlustrissimae - Praestantissimae · Doctissimae · Peritissimae - Omnium · Scientarvum · Doctrici - Omnium · Bonarum · Artium · Magistrae - Dominae - - IULIA · WARD · HOWE - Praesidi · Magnificentissimae - - Viro · Honoratissimo - Duci · Fortissimo - In · Litteris · Humanioribus · Optime · Versato - Domi · Militiaeque · Gloriam · Insignem · Nacto - Domino - Thomae · Wentworth · Higginsoni - Propraesidi · Vigilanti - - Necnon · Omnibus · Sodalibus - Societatis · Urbanoruralis - Feminis · et · Viris · Ornatissimis - - Aliisque · Omnibus · Ubicumque · Terrarum - Quibus · Hae · Litterae · Pervenerint - Salutem · In · Domino · Sempiternam - - Quoniam · Feminis · Praenobilissimis - Dominae · Annae · Bigelow - Dominae · Mariae · Annae · Mott - Clementia · Doctrina · Humanitate · Semper · Insignibus - Societatem · Urbanoruralem - Ad · Sollemnia · Festive · Concelebranda - - Invitare · Singulari · Benignitate · Placuit - Ergo - Per · Has · Litteras · Omnibus · Notum · Sit · Quod - Comitia · Sollemnia - In · Aedibus · Bigelovensibus - Novi Portus - Ante · Diem · Villi Kalendas · Septembres - Anno · Salutis · CIↃ · IↃ · CCC · L XXXI - Hora Quinta Postmeridiana - Qua · par · est · dignitate · habebuntur - - _Oratores hoc ordine dicturi sunt, praeter eos qui ualetudine - uel alia causa impediti excusantur._ - - I. Disquisitio Latina. “De Germanorum lingua et litteris.” - Carolus Timotheus Brooks. - - II. Disquisitio Theologica. “How to sacrifice an Irish Bull to - a Greek Goddess.” Thomas Wentworth Higginson. - - III. Dissertatio Rustica. “Social Small Potatoes; and how to - enlarge their eyes.” Georgius Edvardus Waring. - - IV. Thesis Rhinosophica. “Our Noses, and What to do with them.” - Francisca Filix Parton, Iacobi Uxor. - - V. Disquisitio Linguistica. “Hebrew Roots, with a plan of a new - Grubbarium.” Guilielmus Watson Goodwin. - - VI. Poema. “The Pacific Woman.” Franciscus Bret Harte. - - VII. Oratio Historica. “The Ideal New York Alderman.” Iacobus - Parton. - - Exercitationibus litterariis ad finem perductis, gradus - honorarii Praesidis auspiciis augustissimis rite conferentur. - - Mercurii Typis - -I remember how I myself distrusted this particular project, which was -wholly hers. When she began to plan out the “parts” in advance,—the Rev. -Mr. Brooks, the foremost of German translators, with his Teutonic themes; -the agricultural Waring with his potatoes; Harte on Pacific women; -Parton with his New York aldermen, and I myself with two recent papers -mingled in one,—I ventured to remonstrate. “They will not write these -Commencement orations,” I said. “Then I will write them,” responded Mrs. -Howe, firmly. “They will not deliver them,” I said. “Then I will deliver -them,” she replied; and so, in some cases, she practically did. She and I -presided, dividing between us the two parts of Professor Goodwin’s Oxford -gown for our official adornment, to enforce the dignity of the occasion, -and the _Societas Urbanoruralis_, or Town and Country Club, proved equal -to the occasion. An essay on “rhinosophy” was given by “Fanny Fern” -(Mrs. Parton), which was illustrated on the blackboard by this equation, -written slowly by Mrs. Howe and read impressively:— - - “Nose + nose + nose = proboscis - Nose - nose - nose = snub.” - -She also sang a song occasionally, and once called up a class for -recitations from Mother Goose in six different languages; Professor -Goodwin beginning with a Greek version of “The Man in the Moon,” and -another Harvard man (now Dr. Gorham Bacon) following up with - - “Heu! iter didilum - Felis cum fidulum - Vacca transiluit lunam. - Caniculus ridet - Quum talem videt - Et dish ambulavit cum spoonam.” - -The question being asked by Mrs. Howe whether this last line was in -strict accordance with grammar, the scholar gave the following rule: “The -conditions of grammar should always give way to exigencies of rhyme.” In -conclusion, two young girls, Annie Bigelow and Mariana Mott, were called -forward to receive graduate degrees for law and medicine; the former’s -announcement coming in this simple form: “Annie Bigelow, my little lamb, -I welcome you to a long career at the ba-a.” - -That time is long past, but “The Hurdy-Gurdy,” or any one of the later -children’s books by Mrs. Howe’s daughter, Mrs. Laura Richards, will -give a glimpse at the endless treasury of daring fun which the second -generation of that family inherited from their mother in her prime; which -last gift, indeed, has lasted pretty well to the present day. It was, we -must remember, never absolutely out of taste; but it must be owned that -she would fearlessly venture on half-a-dozen poor jokes for one good one. -Such a risk she feared not to take at any moment, beyond any woman I ever -knew. Nature gave her a perpetual youth, and what is youth if it be not -fearless? - -In her earlier Newport period she was always kind and hospitable, -sometimes dreamy and forgetful, not always tactful. Bright things always -came readily to her lips, and a second thought sometimes came too late -to withhold a bit of sting. When she said to an artist who had at one -time painted numerous portraits of one large and well-known family, -“Mr. ⸺, given age and sex, could you create a Cabot?” it gave no cause -for just complaint, because the family likeness was so pervasive that -he would have grossly departed from nature had he left it out. But I -speak rather of the perils of human intercourse, especially from a keen -and ready hostess, where there is not time to see clearly how one’s -hearers may take a phrase. Thus when, in the deep valley of what was -then her country seat, she was guiding her guests down, one by one, -she suddenly stopped beside a rock or fountain and exclaimed,—for she -never premeditated things,—“Now, let each of us tell a short story -while we rest ourselves here!” The next to arrive was a German baron -well known in Newport and Cambridge,—a great authority in entomology, -who always lamented that he had wasted his life by undertaking so large -a theme as the diptera or two-winged insects, whereas the study of any -one family of these, as the flies or mosquitoes, gave enough occupation -for a man’s whole existence,—and he, prompt to obedience, told a lively -little German anecdote. “Capital, capital!” said our hostess, clapping -her hands merrily and looking at two ladies just descended on the scene. -“Tell it again, Baron, for these ladies; _tell it in English_.” It was -accordingly done, but I judged from the ladies’ faces that they would -have much preferred to hear it in German, as others had done, even if -they missed nine tenths of the words. Very likely the speaker herself may -have seen her error at the next moment, but in a busy life one must run -many risks. I doubt not she sometimes lost favor with a strange guest, -in those days, by the very quickness which gave her no time for second -thought. Yet, after all, of what quickness of wit may not this be said? -Time, practice, the habit of speaking in public meetings or presiding -over them, these helped to array all her quick-wittedness on the side -of tact and courtesy. Mrs. Howe was one of the earliest contributors -to the “Atlantic Monthly.” Her poem “Hamlet at the Boston” appeared -in the second year of the magazine, in February, 1859, and her “Trip -to Cuba” appeared in six successive numbers in that and the following -volume. Her poem “The Last Bird” also appeared in one of these volumes, -after which there was an interval of two and a half years during which -her contributions were suspended. Several more of her poems came out in -volume viii (1861), and the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” in the number -for February, 1862 (ix, 145). During the next two years there appeared -six numbers of a striking series called “Lyrics of the Street.” Most of -these poems, with others, were included in a volume called “Later Lyrics” -(1865). She had previously, however, in 1853, published her first volume -of poems, entitled “Passion Flowers”; and these volumes were at a later -period condensed into one by her daughters, with some omissions,—not -always quite felicitous, as I think,—this definitive volume bearing the -name “From Sunset Ridge” (1898). - -Mrs. Howe, like her friend Dr. Holmes, has perhaps had the disappointing -experience of concentrating her sure prospects of fame on a single poem. -What the “Chambered Nautilus” represents in his published volumes, the -“Battle Hymn of the Republic” represents for her. In each case the poet -was happy enough to secure, through influences impenetrable, one golden -moment. Even this poem, in Mrs. Howe’s case, was not (although many -suppose otherwise) a song sung by all the soldiers. The resounding lyric -of “John Brown’s Body” reached them much more readily, but the “Battle -Hymn” will doubtless survive all the rest of the rather disappointing -metrical products of the war. For the rest of her poems, they are rarely -quite enough concentrated; they reach our ears attractively, but not with -positive mastery. Of the war songs, the one entitled “Our Orders” was -perhaps the finest,—that which begins,— - - “Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, - To deck our girls for gay delights! - The crimson flower of battle blooms, - And solemn marches fill the night.” - -“Hamlet at the Boston” is a strong and noble poem, as is “The Last Bird,” -which has a flavor of Bryant about it. “Eros has Warning” and “Eros -Departs” are two of the profoundest; and so is the following, which I -have always thought her most original and powerful poem after the “Battle -Hymn,” in so far that I ventured to supply a feebler supplement to it on -a late birthday. - -It is to be remembered that in the game of “Rouge et Noir” the -announcement by the dealer, “Rouge gagne,” implies that the red wins, -while the phrase “Donner de la couleur” means simply to follow suit and -accept what comes. - - ROUGE GAGNE - - The wheel is turned, the cards are laid; - The circle’s drawn, the bets are paid: - I stake my gold upon the red. - - The rubies of the bosom mine, - The river of life, so swift divine, - In red all radiantly shine. - - Upon the cards, like gouts of blood, - Lie dinted hearts, and diamonds good, - The red for faith and hardihood. - - In red the sacred blushes start - On errand from a virgin heart, - To win its glorious counterpart. - - The rose that makes the summer fair, - The velvet robe that sovereigns wear - The red revealment could not spare. - - And men who conquer deadly odds - By fields of ice and raging floods, - Take the red passion from the gods. - - Now Love is red, and Wisdom pale, - But human hearts are faint and frail - Till Love meets Love, and bids it hail. - - I see the chasm, yawning dread; - I see the flaming arch o’erhead: - I stake my life upon the red. - -This was my daring supplement, which appeared in the “Atlantic Monthly” -(Contributors’ Club) for October, 1906. - - LA COULEUR - - “I stake my life upon the red!” - With hair still golden on her head, - Dame Julia of the Valley said. - - But Time for her has plans not told, - And while her patient years unfold - They yield the white and not the gold. - - Where Alpine summits loftiest lie, - The brown, the green, the red pass by, - And whitest top is next the sky. - - And now with meeker garb bedight, - Dame Julia sings in loftier light, - “I stake my life upon the white!” - -Turning to Mrs. Howe’s prose works, one finds something of the same -obstruction, here and there, from excess of material. Her autobiography, -entitled “Reminiscences,” might easily, in the hands of Mr. M. D. -Conway, for instance, have been spread out into three or four interesting -octavos; but in her more hurried grasp it is squeezed into one volume, -where groups of delightful interviews with heroes at home and abroad -are crowded into some single sentence. Her lectures are better arranged -and less tantalizing, and it would be hard to find a book in American -literature better worth reprinting and distributing than the little -volume containing her two addresses on “Modern Society.” In wit, in -wisdom, in anecdote, I know few books so racy. Next to it is the lecture -“Is Polite Society Polite?” so keen and pungent that it is said a young -man was once heard inquiring for Mrs. Howe after hearing it, in a country -town, and when asked why he wished to see her, replied, “Well, I did -put my brother in the poorhouse, and now that I have heard Mrs. Howe, -I suppose that I must take him out.” In the large collection of essays -comprised in the same volume with this, there are papers on Paris and on -Greece which are full of the finest flavor of anecdote, sympathy, and -memory, while here and there in all her books one meets with glimpses of -Italy which remind one of that scene on the celebration of the birthday -of Columbus, when she sat upon the platform of Faneuil Hall, the only -woman, and gave forth sympathetic talk in her gracious way to the loving -Italian audience, which gladly listened to their own sweet tongue from -her. Then, as always, she could trust herself freely in speech, for she -never spoke without fresh adaptation to the occasion, and her fortunate -memory for words and names is unimpaired at ninety. - -Since I am here engaged upon a mere sketch of Mrs. Howe, not a formal -memoir, I have felt free to postpone until this time the details of -her birth and parentage. She was the daughter of Samuel and Julia Rush -(Cutler) Ward, and was born at the house of her parents in the Bowling -Green, New York city, on May 27, 1819. She was married on April 14, 1843, -at nearly twenty-four years of age, to Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, whom -she had met on visits to Boston. They soon went to Europe,—the first of -many similar voyages,—where her eldest daughter, Julia Romana, was born -during the next spring. This daughter was the author of a volume of poems -entitled “Stray Clouds,” and of a description of the Summer School of -Philosophy at Concord entitled “Philosophiæ Quæstor,” and was the founder -of a metaphysical club of which she was president. She became the wife -of the late Michael Anagnos, of Greek origin, her father’s successor -in charge of the Institution for the Blind, and the news of her early -death was received with general sorrow. Mrs. Howe’s second daughter was -named Florence Marion, became in 1871 the wife of David Prescott Hall, -of the New York Bar, and was author of “Social Customs” and “The Correct -Thing,” being also a frequent speaker before the women’s clubs. Mrs. -Howe’s third daughter, Mrs. Laura E. Richards, was married in the same -year to Henry Richards, of Gardiner, Maine, a town named for the family -of Mr. Richards’s mother, who established there a once famous school, the -Gardiner Lyceum. The younger Mrs. Richards is author of “Captain January” -and other stories of very wide circulation, written primarily for her -own children, and culminating in a set of nonsense books of irresistible -humor illustrated by herself. Mrs. Howe’s youngest daughter, Maud, -distinguished for her beauty and social attractiveness, is the wife of -Mr. John Elliott, an English artist, and has lived much in Italy, where -she has written various books of art and literature, of which “Atalanta -in the South” was the first and “Roma Beata” one of the last. Mrs. Howe’s -only son, Henry Marion, graduated at Harvard University in 1869 and from -the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in 1871, is a mining engineer -and expert, and is a professor in the School of Mines at Columbia -University. His book on “The Metallurgy of Steel” has won for him a high -reputation. It will thus be seen that Mrs. Howe has had the rare and -perhaps unequaled experience of being not merely herself an author, but -the mother of five children, all authors. She has many grandchildren, and -even a great-grandchild, whose future career can hardly be surmised. - -There was held, in honor of Mrs. Howe’s eighty-sixth birthday (May 27, -1905), a meeting of the Boston Authors’ Club, including a little festival -whose plan was taken from the annual Welsh festival of the Eistedfodd, -at which every bard of that nation brought four lines of verse—a sort -of four-leaved clover—to his chief. This being tried at short notice -for Mrs. Howe, there came in some sixty poems, of which I select a few, -almost at random, to make up the outcome of the festival, which last did -not perhaps suffer from the extreme shortness of the notice:— - - BIRTHDAY GREETINGS, LIMITED - - Why limit to one little four-line verse - Each birthday wish, for her we meet to honor? - Else it might take till mornrise to rehearse - All the glad homage we would lavish on her! - - JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE. - - THE “NONNA” OF MAGNA ITALIA - - Within the glow shed by her heart of gold, - Warm Southern sunshine cheers our Northern skies, - And pilgrim wanderers, homesick and a-cold, - Find their loved Italy in her welcoming eyes. - - VIDA D. SCUDDER. - - FIVE O’CLOCK WITH THE IMMORTALS - - The Sisters Three who spin our fate - Greet Julia Ward, who comes quite late; - How Greek wit flies! They scream with glee, - Drop thread and shears, and make the tea. - - E. H. CLEMENT. - - Hope now abiding, faith long ago, - Never a shadow between. - White of the lilacs and white of the snow, - Seventy and sixteen. - - MARY GRAY MORRISON. - - In English, French, Italian, German, Greek, - Our many-gifted President can speak. - Wit, Wisdom, world-wide Knowledge grace her tongue - And she is _only_ Eighty-six years young! - - NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. - - How to be gracious? How to be true? - Poet, and Seer, and Woman too? - To crown with Spring the Winter’s brow? - Here is the answer: _this_ is Howe. - - MARY ELIZABETH BLAKE. - - If man could change the universe - By force of epigrams in verse, - He’d smash some idols, I allow, - But who would alter Mrs. Howe? - - ROBERT GRANT. - - Lady who lovest and who livest Peace, - And yet didst write Earth’s noblest battle song - At Freedom’s bidding,—may thy fame increase - Till dawns the warless age for which we long! - - FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. - - Dot oldt Fader Time must be cutting some dricks, - Vhen he calls our goot Bresident’s age eighty-six. - An octogeranium! Who would suppose? - My dear Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, der time goes! - - YAWCOB STRAUSS (CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS). - - You, who are of the spring, - To whom Youth’s joys _must_ cling, - May all that Love can give - Beguile you long to live— - Our Queen of Hearts. - - LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. - - H ere, on this joyous day of days, - O deign to list my skill-less praise. - W hate’er be said with tongue or pen - E xtolling thee, I cry “Amen.” - - BEULAH MARIE DIX. - -Mrs. Howe was not apprised of the project in advance, and certainly had -not seen the verses; but was, at any rate, ready as usual, and this -sketch may well close with her cheery answer:— - - MRS. HOWE’S REPLY - - Why, bless you, I ain’t nothing, nor nobody, nor much, - If you look in your Directory you’ll find a thousand such. - I walk upon the level ground, I breathe upon the air, - I study at a table and reflect upon a chair. - - I know a casual mixture of the Latin and the Greek, - I know the Frenchman’s _parlez-vous_, and how the Germans speak; - Well can I add, and well subtract, and say twice two is four, - But of those direful sums and proofs remember nothing more. - - I wrote a poetry book one time, and then I wrote a play, - And a friend who went to see it said she fainted right away. - Then I got up high to speculate upon the Universe, - And folks who heard me found themselves no better and no worse. - - Yes, I’ve had a lot of birthdays and I’m growing very old, - That’s why they make so much of me, if once the truth were told. - And I love the shade in summer, and in winter love the sun, - And I’m just learning how to live, my wisdom’s just begun. - - Don’t trouble more to celebrate this natal day of mine, - But keep the grasp of fellowship which warms us more than wine. - Let us thank the lavish hand that gives world beauty to our eyes, - And bless the days that saw us young, and years that make us wise. - - - - -XXI - -WILLIAM JAMES ROLFE - - - - -WILLIAM JAMES ROLFE - - -The “man of one book” (_homo unius libri_) whom St. Thomas Aquinas -praised has now pretty nearly vanished from the world; and those men -are rare, especially in our versatile America, who have deliberately -chosen one department of literary work and pursued it without essential -variation up to old age. Of these, Francis Parkman was the most -conspicuous representative, and William James Rolfe is perhaps the -most noticeable successor,—a man who, upon a somewhat lower plane than -Parkman, has made for himself a permanent mark in a high region of -editorship, akin to that of Furnivall and a few compeers in England. A -teacher by profession all his life, his especial sphere has been the -English department, a department which he may indeed be said to have -created in our public schools, and thus indirectly in our colleges. - -William James Rolfe, son of John and Lydia Davis (Moulton) Rolfe, was -born on December 10, 1827, in Newburyport, Massachusetts, a rural city -which has been the home at different times of a number of literary and -public men, and is still, by its wide, elm-shaded chief avenue and ocean -outlook, found attractive by all visitors. Rolfe’s boyhood, however, -was passed mainly in Lowell, Massachusetts, where he was fitted for -college in the high school. He spent three years at Amherst College, -but found himself unable to afford to remain any longer, and engaged -in school-teaching as a means of immediate support. A bankrupt country -academy at Wrentham, about twenty-five miles from Boston, was offered to -him rent free if he would keep a school in it, and, for want of anything -better, he took it. He had to teach all the grammar and high school -branches, including the fitting of boys for college, and his pupils -ranged from ten years old to those two or three years older than himself. -He was the only teacher, and heard from sixteen to twenty classes a -day. Besides these, which included classes in Latin, French, Greek, and -German, he had pupils out of school in Spanish and Italian, adding to all -this the enterprise, then wholly new, of systematically teaching English -with the study of standard writers. This was apparently a thing never -done before that time in the whole United States. - -So marked was the impression made by his mode of teaching that it led -to his appointment as principal of the pioneer public high schools at -Dorchester, Massachusetts. He there required work in English of all his -pupils, boys and girls alike, including those who had collegiate aims. -At this time no English, as such, was required at any American college, -and it was only since 1846 that Harvard had introduced even a preliminary -examination, in which Worcester’s “Elements of History and Elements of -Geography” were added to the original departments of Latin, Greek, and -mathematics. Rolfe’s boys enjoyed the studies in English literature, -but feared lest they might fail in the required work in classics unless -they were excused from English. To relieve their anxiety and his own, -their teacher wrote to Professor Felton, afterwards President of Harvard, -telling him what his boys were doing in English, and asking permission -to omit some portion of his Greek Reader then required for admission. -Professor Felton replied, in substance, “Go ahead with the English -and let the Greek take care of itself.” As a result, all four of the -boys entered Harvard without conditions, and it is worth noticing that -they all testified that no part of their preparatory training was more -valuable to them in college than this in English. It is also noticeable -that the late Henry A. Clapp, of Boston, long eminent as a lecturer on -Shakespeare, was one of these boys. - -In the summer of 1857 Mr. Rolfe was invited to take charge of the high -school at Lawrence, Massachusetts, on a larger scale than the Dorchester -institution, and was again promoted after four years to Salem, and the -next year to be principal of the Cambridge high school, where he remained -until 1868. Since that time he has continued to reside in Cambridge, -and has devoted himself to editorial and literary work. His literary -labors from 1869 to the present day have been vast and varied. He has -been one of the editors of the “Popular Science News” (formerly the -Boston “Journal of Chemistry”), and for nearly twenty years has had -charge of the department of Shakespeareana in the “Literary World” and -the “Critic,” to which he has also added “Poet-Lore.” He has written -casual articles for other periodicals. In 1865 he published a handbook -of Latin poetry with J. H. Hanson, A. M., of Waterville, Maine. In -1867 he followed this by an American edition of Craik’s “English of -Shakespeare.” Between 1867 and 1869, in connection with J. A. Gillet, he -brought out the “Cambridge course” in physics, in six volumes. In 1870 -he edited Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice” with such success that by -1883 he had completed an edition of all the plays in forty volumes. It -has long been accepted as a standard critical authority, being quoted -as such by leading English and German editors. He was lately engaged -in a thorough revision of this edition, doing this task after he had -reached the age of seventy-five. He has also edited Scott’s complete -poems, as well as (separately) “The Lady of the Lake” and “The Lay of -the Last Minstrel”; an _édition de luxe_ of Tennyson’s works in twelve -volumes, and another, the Cambridge Edition, in one volume. He has edited -volumes of selections from Milton, Gray, Goldsmith, Wordsworth, and -Browning, with Mrs. Browning’s “Sonnets from the Portuguese.” He is also -the author of “Shakespeare the Boy,” with sketches of youthful life of -that period; “The Satchel Guide to Europe,” published anonymously for -twenty-eight years; and a book on the “Elementary Study of English.” With -his son, John C. Rolfe, Ph. D., Professor of Latin in the University of -Pennsylvania, he has edited Macaulay’s “Lays of Ancient Rome.” He has -published a series of elementary English classics in six volumes. He has -also supervised the publication of the “New Century _édition de luxe_” -of Shakespeare in twenty-four volumes, besides writing for it a “Life -of Shakespeare” which fills a volume of five hundred and fifty pages, -now published separately. It is safe to say that no other American, and -probably no Englishman, has rivaled him for the extent, variety, and -accuracy of his services as an editor. - -This work may be justly divided into two parts: that dealing mainly with -Shakespeare, and that with single minor authors whose complete or partial -work he has reprinted. In Shakespeare he has, of course, the highest -theme to dwell on, but also that in which he has been preceded by a vast -series of workmen. In these his function has not been so much that of -original and individual criticism as of judiciously compiling the work -of predecessors, this last fact being especially true since the printing -of the Furness edition. It is in dealing with the minor authors that he -has been led to the discovery, at first seeming almost incredible, that -the poems which most claimed the attention of the world have for that -very reason been gradually most changed and perverted in printing. Gray’s -“Elegy in a Country Churchyard,” for instance, has appeared in polyglot -editions; it has been translated fifteen times into French, thirteen into -Italian, twelve times into Latin, and so on down through Greek, German, -Portuguese, and Hebrew. No one poem in the English language, even by -Longfellow, equals it in this respect. The editions which appeared in -Gray’s own time were kept correct through his own careful supervision; -and the changes in successive editions were at first those made by -himself, usually improvements, as where he changed “some village Cato” -to “some village Hampden,” and substituted in the same verse “Milton” -for “Tully” and “Cromwell” for “Cæsar.” But there are many errors in -Pickering’s edition, and these have been followed by most American -copies. It may perhaps be doubted whether Dr. Rolfe is quite correct in -his opinion where he says in his preface to this ode, “No vicissitudes of -taste or fashion have affected its popularity”; it is pretty certain that -young people do not know it by heart so generally as they once did, and -Wordsworth pronounced its dialect often “unintelligible”; but we are all -under obligation to Dr. Rolfe for his careful revision of this text. - -Turning now to Scott’s “Lady of the Lake,” which would seem next in -familiarity to Gray’s “Elegy,” we find scores of corrections, made in -Rolfe’s, of errors that have crept gradually in since the edition of -1821. For instance, in Canto II, l. 685, every edition since 1821 has had -“I meant not all my _heart_ would say,” the correct reading being “my -_heat_ would say.” In Canto VI, l. 396, the Scottish “_boune_” has been -changed to “_bound_” and eight lines below, the old word “_barded_” has -become “_barbed_”; and these are but a few among many examples. - -When we turn to Shakespeare, we find less direct service of this kind -required than in the minor authors; less need of the microscope. At -any rate, the variations have all been thoroughly scrutinized, and no -flagrant changes have come to light since the disastrous attempt in -that direction of Mr. Collier in 1852. On the other hand, we come to a -new class of variations, which it would have been well perhaps to have -stated more clearly in the volumes where they occur; namely, the studied -omissions, in Rolfe’s edition, of all indecent words or phrases. There -is much to be said for and against this process of Bowdlerizing, as it -was formerly called; and those who recall the publication of the original -Bowdler experiment in this line, half a century ago, and the seven -editions which it went through from 1818 to 1861, can remember with what -disapproval such expurgation was long regarded. Even now it is to be -noticed that the new edition of reprints of the early folio Shakespeares, -edited by two ladies, Misses Clarke and Porter, adopts no such method. -Of course the objection to the process is on the obvious ground that -concealment creates curiosity, and the great majority of copies of -Shakespeare will be always unexpurgated, so that it is very easy to turn -to them. Waiving this point, and assuming the spelling to be necessarily -modernized, it is difficult to conceive of any school edition done more -admirably than the new issue of Mr. Rolfe’s volumes of Shakespeare’s -works. The type is clear, the paper good, and the notes and appendices -are the result of long experience. When one turns back, for instance, -to the old days of Samuel Johnson’s editorship, and sees the utter -triviality and dullness of half the annotations of that very able man, -one feels the vast space of time elapsed between his annotations and Dr. -Rolfe’s. This applies even to notes that seem almost trivial, and many a -suggestion or bit of explanation which seems to a mere private student -utterly wasted can be fully justified by cases in which still simpler -points have proved seriously puzzling in the school-room. - -It has been said that every Shakespeare critic ended with the desire to -be Shakespeare’s biographer, although fortunately most of them have been -daunted by discouragement or the unwillingness of booksellers. Here, -also, Mr. Rolfe’s persistent courage has carried him through, and his -work, aided by time and new discoveries, has probably portrayed, more -fully than that of any of his predecessors, the airy palace in which the -great enchanter dwelt. How far the occupant of the palace still remains -also a thing of air, we must leave for Miss Delia Bacon’s school of -heretics to determine. For myself, I prefer to believe, with Andrew Lang, -that “Shakespeare’s plays and poems were written by Shakespeare.” - - - - -XXII - -GÖTTINGEN AND HARVARD A CENTURY AGO - - - - -GÖTTINGEN AND HARVARD A CENTURY AGO - - “Whene’er with haggard eyes I view - This dungeon that I’m rotting in, - I think of those companions true - Who studied with me at the U- - niversity of Göttingen, - niversity of Göttingen.” - - -To the majority of Harvard graduates the chief association with Göttingen -is Canning’s once-famous squib, of which this is the first verse, in the -“Anti-Jacobin.” But the historical tie between the two universities is -far too close to be forgotten; and I have lately come into possession -of some quite interesting letters which demonstrate this. They show -conclusively how much the development of Harvard College was influenced, -nearly a century ago, by the German models, and how little in comparison -by Oxford and Cambridge; and as the letters are all from men afterwards -eminent, and pioneers in that vast band of American students who have -since studied in Germany, their youthful opinions will possess a peculiar -interest. - -The three persons through whom this influence most came were Joseph -Green Cogswell, Edward Everett, and George Ticknor, all then studying -at Göttingen. It happens that they had all been intimate in my -father’s family, and as he was very much interested in the affairs -of the college,—of which he became in 1818 the “Steward and Patron,” -and practically, as the Reverend A. P. Peabody assures us,[22] the -Treasurer,—they sent some of their appeals and arguments through him. -This paper will consist chiefly of extracts from these letters, which -speak for themselves as to the point of view in which the whole matter -presented itself. - -It will be well to bear in mind the following details as to the early -history of these three men, taking them in order of age. Cogswell was -born in 1786, graduated (Harvard) in 1806, was tutor in 1814-15 (having -previously tried mercantile life), and went abroad in 1816. Ticknor was -born in 1791, graduated (Dartmouth) in 1807, went to Germany in 1815, and -was appointed professor of Modern Languages at Harvard in 1817. Everett -was born in 1794, graduated (Harvard) in 1811, and went abroad on his -appointment as Greek professor (Harvard) in 1815. - -The first of these letters is from George Ticknor, and is a very -striking appeal in behalf of the Harvard College Library, which then -consisted of less than 20,000 volumes, although the largest in the United -States, with perhaps one exception. - - GÖTTINGEN, May 20, 1816. - - As you have talked a good deal in your letter about the college - and its prospects, I suppose I may be allowed to say a few - words about it in reply, though to be sure I have already - said more than was perhaps proper in one like myself, who am - not even a graduate there, and shall very probably get no - other answer to what I may venture to say hereafter than that - I should do better to mind my books, and let those who are - intrusted with the affairs of ye (_sic_) college take care - of them. I cannot, however, shut my eyes on the fact, that - one _very_ important and principal cause of the difference - between our University and the one here is the different - value we affix to a good library, and the different ideas we - have of what a good library is. In America we look on the - Library at Cambridge as a wonder, and I am sure nobody ever - had a more thorough veneration for it than I had; but it was - not necessary for me to be here six months to find out that - it is nearly or quite half a century behind the libraries of - Europe, and that it is much less remarkable that our stock of - learning is so small than that it is so great, considering the - means from which it is drawn are so inadequate. But what is - worse than the absolute poverty of our collections of books - is the relative inconsequence in which we keep them. We found - new professorships and build new colleges in abundance, but - we buy no books; and yet it is to me the most obvious thing - in the world that it would promote the cause of learning and - the reputation of the University ten times more to give six - thousand dollars a year to the Library than to found three - professorships, and that it would have been wiser to have spent - the whole sum that the new chapel had cost on books than on a - fine suite of halls. The truth is, when we build up a literary - Institution in America we think too much of convenience and - comfort and luxury and show; and too little of real, laborious - study and the means that will promote it. We have not yet - learnt that the Library is not only the first convenience of - a University, but that it is the very first necessity,—that - it is the life and spirit,—and that all other considerations - must yield to the prevalent one of increasing and opening it, - and opening it on the most liberal terms to _all_ who are - disposed to make use of it. I cannot better explain to you the - difference between our University in Cambridge and the one - here than by telling you that here I hardly say too much when - I say that it _consists_ in the Library, and that in Cambridge - the Library is one of the last things thought and talked - about,—that here they have forty professors and more than two - hundred thousand volumes to instruct them, and in Cambridge - twenty professors and less than twenty thousand volumes. This, - then, you see is the thing of which I am disposed to complain, - that we give comparatively so little attention and money to - the Library, which is, after all, the Alpha and Omega of the - whole establishment,—that we are mortified and exasperated - because we have no learned men, and yet make it _physically_ - impossible for our scholars to become such, and that to escape - from this reproach we appoint a multitude of professors, but - give them a library from which hardly one and _not_ one of them - can qualify himself to execute the duties of his office. You - will, perhaps, say that these professors do not complain. I - can only answer that you find the blind are often as gay and - happy as those who are blessed with sight; but take a Cambridge - professor, and let him live one year by a library as ample and - as liberally administered as this is; let him know what it is - to be forever sure of having the very book he wants either to - read or to refer to; let him in one word _know_ that he can - never be discouraged from pursuing any inquiry for want of - means, but on the contrary let him feel what it is to have all - the excitements and assistance and encouragements which those - who have gone before him in the same pursuits can give him, - and then at the end of this year set him down again under the - parsimonious administration of the Cambridge library,—and I - will promise you that he shall be as discontented and clamorous - as my argument can desire. - - But I will trouble you no more with my argument, though I - am persuaded that the further progress of learning among us - depends on the entire change of the system against which it is - directed. - -The next extract is from a letter of Cogswell’s, and gives a glimpse at -the actual work done by these young men:— - - GÖTTINGEN, March 8, 1817. - - I must tell you something about our colony at Göttingen before - I discuss other subjects, for you probably care little about - the University and its host of professors, except as they - operate upon us. First as to the Professor (Everett) and Dr. - Ticknor, as they are called here; everybody knows them in this - part of Germany, and also knows how to value them. For once - in my life I am proud to acknowledge myself an American on - the European side of the Atlantic: never was a country more - fortunate in its representation abroad than ours has been in - this instance; they will gain more for us in this respect than - even in the treasures of learning they will carry back. Little - as I have of patriotism, I delight to listen to the character - which is here given of my countrymen; I mean as countrymen, and - not as my particular friends: the despondency which it produces - in my own mind of ever obtaining a place by their sides is - more than counterbalanced by the gratification of my national - feelings, to say not a word of my individual attachment. You - must not think me extravagant, but I venture to say that the - notions which the European literati have entertained of - America will be essentially changed by G. and E.’s [Ticknor’s - and Everett’s] residence on the Continent; we were known to be - a brave, a rich, and an enterprising people, but that a scholar - was to be found among us, or any man who had a desire to be a - scholar, had scarcely been conceived. It will also be the means - of producing new correspondences and connections between the - men of the American and European sides of the Atlantic, and - spread much more widely among us a knowledge of the present - literature and science of this Continent. - - Deducting the time from the 13th of December to the 27th of - January during which I was confined to my room, I have been - pretty industrious; through the winter I behaved as well as - one could expect. German has been my chief study; to give it a - relief I have attended one hour a day to a lecture in Italian - on the Modern Arts, and, to feel satisfied that I had some - sober inquiry in hand, I have devoted another to Professor - Saalfeld’s course of European Statistics, so that I have - generally been able to count at night twelve hours of private - study and private instruction. This has only sharpened not - satisfied my appetite. I have laid out for myself a course of - more diligent labors the next semester. I shall then be at - least eight hours in the lecture rooms, beginning at six in - the morning. I must contrive, besides, to devote eight other - hours to private study. I am not in the least Germanized, and - yet it appalls me when I think of the difference between an - education here and in America. The great evil with us is, in - our primary schools, the best years for learning are trifled - and whiled away; boys learn nothing because they have no - instructors, because we demand of one the full [work?] of - ten, and because laziness is the first lesson which one gets - in all our great schools. I know very well that we want but - few closet scholars, few learned philologists, and few verbal - commentators; that all our systems of government and customs - and life suppose a preparation for making practical men,—men - who move, and are felt in the world; but all this could be - better done without wasting every year from infancy to manhood. - The system of education here is the very reverse of our own: - in America boys are let loose upon the work when they are - children, and fettered when they are sent to our college; here - they are cloistered, too much so I acknowledge, till they - can guide themselves, and then put at their own disposal at - the universities. Luther’s Reformation threw all the monkish - establishments in the Protestant countries into the hands of - the Princes, and they very wisely appropriated them to the - purposes of education, but unluckily they have retained more of - the monastic seclusion than they ought. The three great schools - in Saxony, Pforte, Meissen, and ⸺ are kept in convents, and the - boys enjoy little more than the liberty of a cloister. They are - all very famous, the first more particularly; out of it have - come half of the great scholars of the country. Still they are - essentially defective in the point above named. Just in the - neighborhood of Gotha is the admirable institution of Salzmann, - in a delightfully pleasant and healthy valley; his number is - limited to thirty-eight, and he has twelve instructors,—admits - no boy who does not bring with him the fairest character: when - once admitted they become his children, and the reciprocal - relation is cherished with corresponding tenderness and - respect. I should like to proceed a little farther in this - subject, but the bottom of my paper forbids. - -The following is from Ticknor again, and shows, though without giving -details, that the young men had extended their observations beyond -Göttingen:— - - GÖTTINGEN, November 30, 1816. - - DEAR SIR,—On returning here about a fortnight since, after a - journey through North Germany which had occupied us about two - months, I found your kind letter of August 4 waiting to welcome - me. I thank you for it with all my heart, and take the first - moment of leisure I can find in the busy commencement of a new - term, to answer it, that I may soon have the same pleasure - again. - - You say you wish to hear from me what hours of relaxation - I have, and what acquaintances I make, in this part of the - Continent. The first is very easily told, and the last would - not have been difficult before the journey from which I have - just returned; but now the number is more than I can write or - you willingly hear. However, I will answer both your inquiries - in the spirit in which they are made. - - As to relaxation, in the sense of the word in which I used to - employ it at home,—meaning the hours I lounged so happily away - when the weariness of the evening came, on your sofa, and the - time I used to pass with my friends in general, I know not how - or why, but always gayly and thoughtlessly,—of this sort of - relaxation I know nothing here but the end of an evening which - I occasionally permit myself to spend with Cogswell, whose - residence here has in this respect changed the whole color of - my life. During the last semester, I used to visit occasionally - at about twenty houses in Göttingen, chiefly as a means of - learning to speak the language. As the population here is so - changeable, and as every man is left to live exactly as he - chooses, it is customary for all those who wish to continue - their intercourse with the persons resident here to make a call - at the beginning of each semester, which is considered a notice - that they are still here and still mean to go into society. - I, however, feel no longer the necessity of visiting for the - purpose of learning German, and now that Cogswell is here - cannot desire it for any other purpose; have made visits only - to three or four of the professors, and shall, therefore, not - go abroad at all. As to exercise, however, I have enough. Three - times a day I must cross the city entirely to get my lessons. - I go out twice besides, a shorter distance for dinner and a - fourth lesson; and four times a week I take an hour’s exercise - for conscience’ sake and my mother’s in the riding-school. Four - times a week I make Cogswell a visit of half an hour after - dinner, and three times I spend from nine to ten in the evening - with him, so that I feel I am doing quite right and quite as - little as I ought to do in giving up the remaining thirteen - hours of the day to study, especially as I gave fourteen to it - last winter without injury. - - The journey we have lately taken was for the express purpose - of seeing all the universities or schools of any considerable - name in the country. This in a couple of months we easily - accomplished, and of course saw professors, directors, and - schoolmasters—men of great learning and men of little learning, - and men of no learning at all—in shoals. - -This is from Cogswell again, and is certainly a clarion appeal as to the -need of thoroughness in teaching and learning:— - - GÖTTINGEN, July 13, 1817. - - I hope that you and every other person interested in the - College are reconciled to Mr. Everett’s plan of remaining - longer in Europe than was at first intended, as I am sure - you would be do you know the use he makes of his time, and - the benefit you are all to derive from his learning. Before - I came to Göttingen I used to wonder why it was that he - wished to remain here so long; I now wonder he can consent - to leave so soon. The truth is, you all mistake the cause of - your impatience: you believe that it comes from a desire of - seeing him at work for and giving celebrity to the College, - but it arises from a wish to have him in your society, at - your dinner-tables, at your suppers, your clubs, and your - ladies, at your tea-parties (you perceive I am aiming at Boston - folks): however, all who have formed such expectations must be - disappointed; he will find that most of these gratifications - must be sacrificed to attain the objects of a scholar’s - ambition. What can men think when they say that two years are - sufficient to make a Greek scholar? Does not everybody know - that it is the labor of half a common life to learn to read - the language with tolerable facility? I remember to have heard - little Drisen say, a few days after I came here, that he had - been spending eighteen years, at least sixteen hours a day, - exclusively upon Greek, and that he could not now read a page - of the tragedians without a dictionary. When I went home I - struck Greek from the list of my studies; I now think no more - of attaining it than I do of becoming an astrologer. In fact, - the most heart-breaking circumstance attending upon human - knowledge is that a man can never go any farther than “to know - how little’s to be known”; it fills, then, the mind of scholars - with despair to look upon the map of science, as it does that - of the traveler to look upon the map of the earth, for both see - what a mere speck can be traveled over, and of that speck how - imperfect is the knowledge which is acquired. Let any one who - believes that he has penetrated the mysteries of all science, - and learnt the powers and properties of whatever is contained - in the kingdoms of air, earth, fire, and water, but just bring - his knowledge to the test; let him, for example, begin with - what seems the simplest of all inquiries, and enumerate the - plants which grow upon the surface of the globe, and call them - by their names, and, when he finds that this is beyond his - limits, let him descend to a single class and bring within - it all that the unfathomed caves of ocean and the unclimbed - mountains bear; and as this is also higher than he can reach, - let him go still lower and include only one family, or a - particular species, or an individual plant, and mark his points - of ignorance upon each, and then, if his pride of knowledge is - not humbled enough, let him take but a leaf or the smallest - part of the most common flower, and give a satisfactory - solution for many of the phenomena they exhibit. But, you will - ask, is Göttingen the only place for the acquisition of such - learning? No, not the only, but I believe far the best for - such learning as it is necessary for Mr. E. to fit him to make - Cambridge in some degree a Göttingen, and render it no longer - requisite to depend upon the latter for the formation of their - scholars: it is true that very few of what the Germans call - scholars are needed in America; if there would only be one - thorough one to begin with, the number would soon be sufficient - for all the uses which could be made of them, and for the - literary character of the country. This one, I say, could - never be formed there, because, in the first place, there is - no one who knows how it is to be done; secondly, there are no - books, and then, by the habits of desultory study practiced - there, are wholly incompatible with it. A man as a scholar - must be completely _upset_, to use a blacksmith’s phrase; he - must have learnt to give up his love of society and of social - pleasures, his interest in the common occurrences of life, in - the political and religious contentions of the country, and - in everything not directly connected with his single aim. Is - there any one willing to make such a sacrifice? This I cannot - answer, but I do assure you that it is the sacrifice made by - almost every man of classical learning in Germany, though to be - sure the sacrifice of the enjoyments of friendly intercourse - with mankind to letters is paying much less dear for fame here - than the same thing would be in America. For my own part I am - sorry I came here, because I was too old to be _upset_; like a - horseshoe worn thin, I shall break as soon as I begin to wear - on the other side: it makes me very restless at this period of - my life to find that I know nothing. I would not have wished to - have made the discovery unless I could at the same time have - been allowed to remain in some place where I could get rid of - my ignorance; and, now that I must go from Göttingen, I have no - hope of doing that. - -The following from Edward Everett carries the war yet farther into -Africa, and criticises not merely American colleges, but also secondary -schools:— - - GÖTTINGEN, September 17, 1817. - - You must not laugh at me for proceeding to business the first - thing, and informing you in some sort as an argument, that, if - I have been unreasonable in prolonging my stay here, I have - at least passed my time not wholly to disadvantage,—that I - received this morning my diploma as Doctor of Philosophy of - this University, the first American, and as far as I know, - Englishman, on whom it has ever been conferred. You will - perhaps have heard that it was my intention to have passed - from this University to that of Oxford, and to have spent this - winter there. I have altered this determination for the sake - of joining forces with Theodore Lyman at Paris this winter; - and as he proposes to pass the ensuing summer in traveling in - the South of France, I shall take that opportunity of going to - England. It is true I should have liked to have gone directly - from Göttingen to Oxford, to have kept the thread as it were - unbroken, and gone on with my studies without any interruption. - But I find, even at Paris, that I have no object there but - study; and Professor Gaisford, at Oxford, writes me that it - is every way better that I should be there in summer, as the - Library is open a greater part of the day. Meanwhile, I try to - feel duly grateful to Providence and my friends at home to whom - I owe the opportunity of resorting to the famous fountains of - European wisdom. The only painful feeling I carry with me is - that I may not have health, or strength, or ability to fulfill - the demands which such an opportunity will create and justify. - More is apt to be expected in such cases than it is possible - to perform; besides that, after the schoolmaster is prepared - for his duty, all depends upon whether the schoolboy is also - prepared for his. You must not allow any report to the contrary - to shake your faith in my good-will in the cause. Some remarks - which I committed to paper at the request of my brother upon - the subject of a National University,—an institution which by - exciting an emulation in our quarter would be the best thing - that could happen to Cambridge,—have, I hear, led some good men - to believe that I was for deserting the service at Cambridge - still more promptly than I had done at Boston,—a suggestion - certainly too absurd to have been made, or to need to have been - contradicted. However, still more important than all which - national or state universities can do themselves immediately, - is the necessity we must impose on the schools of reforming - and improving themselves, or, rather, are the steps we must - take to create good schools. All we have are bad, the common - reading and writing ones not excepted; but of schools which we - have to fit boys for college, I think the Boston Latin School - and the Andover Academy are the only ones that deserve the - name, and much I doubt if they deserve it. There is much truth - in the remark so constantly made that we are not old enough - for European perfection, but we are old enough to do well all - it is worth while to do at all; and if a child here in eight - years can read and speak Latin fluently, there is no reason - why our youth, after spending the same time on it, should - know little or nothing about it. Professional education with - us commences little or no earlier than it does here, and yet - we approach it in all departments with a quarter part of the - previous qualification which is here possessed. But also it is - the weakness of mankind to do more than he is obliged to. The - sort of obligation, to be sure, which is felt, differs with - different spirits, and one is content to be the first man in - his ward, one in his town, one in his county, another in his - state. To all these degrees of dignity the present education - is adequate; and we turn out reputable ministers, doctors, - lawyers, professors, and schoolmasters,—men who get to be as - wise at ye (_sic_) age of threescore as their fathers were at - sixty, and who transmit the concern of life to their children - in as good condition as they took it themselves. Meanwhile, the - physical and commercial progress of ye (_sic_) country goes on, - and more numerous doctors and more ministers are turned out, - not more learned ones, to meet it. I blushed burning red to - the ears the other day as a friend here laid his hand upon a - newspaper containing the address of the students at Baltimore - to Mr. Monroe, with the translation of it. It was less matter - that the translation was not English; my German friend could - not detect that. But that the original was not Latin I could - not, alas! conceal. It was, unfortunately, just like enough - to very bad Latin to make it impossible to pass it off for - Kickapoo or Pottawattamy, which I was at first inclined to - attempt. My German persisted in it that it was meant for Latin, - and I wished in my heart that the Baltimore lads would stick to - the example of their fathers and mob the Federalists, so they - would give over this inhuman violence on the poor old Romans. I - say nothing of ye (_sic_) address, for like all [illegible] it - seems to have been ye (_sic_) object, in the majority of those - productions, for those who made them to compliment, not the - President, but themselves. It is a pity Dr. Kirkland’s could - not have been published first, to serve as a model how they - might speak to the President without coldness on one side and - adulation on the other, and of themselves without intrusion or - forwardness. - -The following letter transfers Edward Everett to Oxford, and gives in -a somewhat trenchant way his unfavorable criticisms on the English -universities of that day. He subsequently sent his son to Cambridge, -England, but it was forty years later:— - - OXFORD, June 6, 1818. - - I have been over two Months in England, and am now visiting - Oxford, having passed a Week in Cambridge. There is more - teaching and more learning in our American Cambridge than - there is in both the English Universities together, tho’ - between them they have four times Our number of Students. The - misfortune for us is that our subjects are not so hopeful. We - are obliged to do at Cambridge [U. S.] that which is done at - Eton and Westminster, at Winchester, Rugby, and Harrow, as well - as at Oxford and Cambridge. Boys _may_ go to Eton at 6, and - do go often at 8, 10, and of Necessity before 12. They stay - there under excellent Masters, 6 Years, and then come to the - University. Whereas a smart clever boy with us, will learn out, - even at Mr. Gould’s, in 4 Years, and it was the boast of a very - distinguished Man Named Bird [Samuel Bird, H. C., 1809], who - was two Years before me at Cambridge, that he had fitted in - 160 days. And I really think that I could, in six months teach - a mature lad, who was willing to work hard, all the Latin and - Greek requisite for admission. - -This letter from Cogswell refers to George Bancroft, who was subsequently -sent out by Harvard College, after his graduation in 1817, that he might -be trained for the service of the institution. - - GÖTTINGEN, May 4th, 1819. - - It was truly generous and noble in the corporation to send out - young Bancroft in the manner I understand they did; he will - reward them for it. I thought very much of him, when I had - him under my charge at Cambridge, and now he appears to me - to promise a great deal more. I know not at whose suggestion - this was done, but from the wisdom of the measure, I should - conclude it must be the President’s; it is applying the remedy - exactly when it is most wanted, a taste once created for - classical learning at the College, and the means furnished for - cultivating it, and the long desired reform in education in my - opinion is virtually made; knowledge of every other kind may be - as well acquired among us, as the purposes to which it is to - be applied demand. We are not wanting in good lawyers or good - physicians, and if we could but form a body of men of taste and - letters, our literary reputation would not long remain at the - low stand which it now is. - -It appears from a letter of my father’s, fourteen years later (November -21, 1833), that, after four years abroad, Mr. Bancroft’s college career -was a disappointment, and he was evidently regarded as a man spoiled by -vanity and self-consciousness, and not commanding a strong influence over -his pupils. My father wrote of these two teachers:— - - CAMBRIDGE, MASS., 21 Nov., 1833. - - Cogswell at New York to negotiate. He is much better fitted - for a City. He loves society, bustle, fashion, polish, and - good living. He would do best in some Mercantile House as a - partner, say to Bankers like Prime, Ward, and King. He was at - first a Scholar, a Lawyer in Maine. His wife dying,—sister to - Dr. Nichols’ wife (Gilman),—Mr. C. went abroad. Was supercargo, - then a residing agent of Wm. Gray’s in Europe, Holland, France, - and Italy; was a good Merchant; expensive in his habits, he - did not accumulate; tired of roving, he accepted the office - of Librarian here. He would not manage things under control - of others, and so left College and sat up Round Hill School. - His partner, Bancroft,—an unsuccessful scholar, pet of Dr. - Kirkland’s, who like Everett had four years abroad, mostly - Germany, and at expense of College,—came here unfit for - anything. His manners, style of writing, Theology, etc., bad, - and as a Tutor only the laughing butt of all College. Such an - one was easily marked as unfit for a School. - -From whatever cause, he remained as tutor for one year only (1822-23), -leaving Cambridge for the Round Hill School. - -It would be curious to dwell on the later influence upon the college of -the other men from whom so much was reasonably expected. Ticknor, the -only one who was not a Harvard graduate, probably did most for Harvard -of them all, for he became professor of Modern Languages, and introduced -in that department the elective system, which there became really the -nucleus of the expanded system of later days. Everett, when President, -actually set himself against that method when the attempt had been -made to enlarge it under Quincy. Cogswell was librarian from 1821 to -1823; left Harvard for the Round Hill School, and became ultimately the -organizer of the Astor Library. Frederic Henry Hedge, who had studied in -Göttingen as a schoolboy and belonged to a younger circle, did not become -professor until many years later. - -But while the immediate results of personal service to the college on -the part of this group of remarkable men may have been inadequate,—since -even Ticknor, ere parting, had with the institution a disagreement never -yet fully elucidated,—yet their collective influence both on Harvard -University and on American education was enormous. They helped to break -up that intellectual sterility which had begun to show itself during -the isolation of a merely colonial life; they prepared the way for the -vast modern growth of colleges, schools, and libraries in this country, -and indirectly helped that birth of a literature which gave us Irving, -Cooper, Bryant, and the “North American Review”; and culminated later in -the brilliant Boston circle of authors, almost all of whom were Harvard -men, and all of whom had felt the Harvard influence. - - - - -XXIII - -OLD NEWPORT DAYS - - - - -OLD NEWPORT DAYS - - -It was my good fortune, after discharge from the army during the Civil -War, to dwell for a time under the hospitable roof of Mrs. Hannah Dame, -in Newport, Rhode Island. Passing out of the front door one day, just as -its bell rang, I saw before me one of the very handsomest men I had ever -beheld, as I thought. He wore civilian dress, but with an unmistakable -military air, and held out to me a card of introduction from a fellow -officer. He had been discharged from the army on the expiration of his -term of service with the regiment he had commanded in Frémont’s Mountain -Department. Being out of employment for a time, and unsettled, as many of -us were at that period, he came back to his early training as a market -gardener, and, having made the professional discovery that most of the -cabbages eaten in Boston were brought from New York, while nearly all -the cauliflowers sold in New York were sent thither from Boston, he -formed the plan of establishing a market garden midway between the two -cities, and supplying each place with its favorite vegetable. This he did -successfully for ten years, and then merged the enterprise in successive -newer ones. In these he sometimes failed, but in the last one he -succeeded where others had failed yet more completely, and astounded the -nation by bringing the streets of New York into decent cleanliness and -order for the first time on record. This man was Colonel George Edward -Waring. - -One of his minor achievements was that of organizing, at his house in -Newport, the most efficient literary circle I ever knew, at a time when -there were habitually more authors grouped in that city than anywhere -else in America. But before giving a sketch of these persons, let me -describe the house in which he received them. This house had been made -internally the most attractive in Newport by the combined taste of -himself and his wife, and was for a time the main centre of our simple -and cordial group. In his study and elsewhere on the walls he had placed -mottoes, taken partly from old English phrases and partly from the -original Dutch, remembered almost from the cradle as coming from his -Dutch maternal grandfather. Thus above his writing-desk the inscription -read, _Misérable à mon gré qui n’a chez soi où estre à soi_ (Alas for him -who hath no home which is a home!). Under the mantelpiece and above the -fireplace was the Dutch _Eigen haasd iss goud waard_ (One’s own hearth is -worth gold). In the dining-room there was inscribed above the fireplace, -“Old wood to burn, Old wine to drink, Old friends to trust.” Opposite -this was again the Dutch _Praatjes vullen den buik neit_ (Prattle does -not fill the box). On two sides of the room there were, “Now good -digestion wait on appetite, and health on both,” and also “In every feast -there are two guests to be entertained, the body and the soul.” In almost -every case the lettering of these mottoes was made into a decoration with -peacock’s feathers, and formed a series of charming welcomes quite in -harmony with the unfailing cordiality of the host and the fine and hearty -voice of the hostess. - -It was at this house that there were to be found gathered, more -frequently than anywhere else, the literary or artistic people who were -then so abundant in Newport,—where no other house was to be compared -with it except that of Mrs. Howe, who then lived in the country, and had -receptions and a world of her own. - -We had, for instance, Dr. J. G. Holland, now best known as the original -founder of the “Century Magazine,” then having but a fugitive literary -fame based on books written under the name of Timothy Titcomb and -entitled “Bitter-Sweet” and “Kathrina, Her Life and Mine.” He was -personally attractive because of his melodious voice, which made him -of peculiar value for singing on all boating excursions. There was -Edwin P. Whipple, a man reared in business, not literature; but with an -inexhaustible memory of books and a fertile gift for producing them, -especially those requiring personal anecdote and plenty of it. There was -Dr. O. W. Holmes, who came to Newport as the guest of the Astor family, -parents of the present English author of that name. At their house I -spent one evening with Holmes, who was in his most brilliant mood, at the -end of which he had talked himself into such an attack of asthma that he -had to bid adieu to Newport forever, after an early breakfast the next -morning. - -There was the Reverend Charles T. Brooks, a man of angelic face and -endless German translations, who made even Jean Paul readable and also -unbelievable. There was Professor George Lane, from Harvard, a man so -full of humor that people bought his new Latin Grammar merely for the -fun to be got out of its notes. There was La Farge, just passing through -the change which made a great artist out of a book-lover and a student -of languages. He alone on this list made Newport his home for years, -and reared his gifted and attractive children there, and it was always -interesting to see how, one by one, they developed into artists or -priests. - -There was George Boker, of Philadelphia, a young man of fortune, -handsome, indolent, as poetic as a rich young man could spare time to -be, and one whose letters now help to make attractive that most amusing -book, the “Memoirs of Charles Godfrey Leland.” There was my refined and -accomplished schoolmate and chum, Charles Perkins, who trained himself -in Italian art and tried rather ineffectually to introduce it into the -public schools of Boston and upon the outside of the Art Museum. There -was Tom Appleton, the man of two continents, and Clarence King, the -explorer of this one, and a charming story-teller, by the way. Let me -pause longer over one or two of these many visitors. - -One of them was long held the most readable of American biographers, but -is now being strangely forgotten,—the most American of all transplanted -Englishmen, James Parton, the historian. He has apparently dropped from -our current literature and even from popular memory. I can only attribute -this to a certain curious combination of strength and weakness which -was more conspicuous in him than in most others. He always appeared -to me the most absolutely truthful being I had ever encountered; no -temptation, no threats, could move him from his position; but when he -came in contact with a man of wholly opposite temperament, as, for -instance, General Benjamin F. Butler, the other seemed able to wind -Parton round his fingers. This would be the harder to believe had not -Butler exerted something of the same influence on Wendell Phillips, -another man of proud and yet trustful temperament. Furthermore, Parton -was absolutely enthralled in a similar way through his chief object of -literary interest, perhaps as being the man in the world most unlike -him, Voltaire. On the other hand, no one could be more devoted to -self-sacrifice than Parton when it became clear and needful. Day after -day one would see him driving in the roads around Newport, with his -palsy-stricken and helpless wife, ten years older than himself and best -known to the world as Fanny Fern,—he sitting upright as a flagstaff and -looking forward in deep absorption, settling some Voltairean problem a -hundred years older than his own domestic sorrow. - -I find in my diary (June 25, 1871) only this reference to one of the -disappointing visitors at Newport:— - -“Bret Harte is always simple and modest. He is terribly tired of ‘The -Heathen Chinee,’ and almost annoyed at its popularity when better things -of his have been less liked”—the usual experience of authors. - -I find again, May 15, 1871: “I went up last Wednesday night to the Grand -Army banquet [in Boston] and found it pleasant. The receptions of Hooker -and Burnside were especially ardent. At our table we were about to give -three cheers for Bret Harte as a man went up to the chief table. It -turned out to be Mayor Gaston.” This mistake, however, showed Harte’s -ready popularity at first, though some obstacles afterwards tended to -diminish it. Among these obstacles was to be included, no doubt, the San -Francisco newspapers, which were constantly showered among us from the -Pacific shores with all the details of the enormous debts which Bret -Harte had left behind him, and which he never in his life, so far as I -could hear, made a serious effort to discharge. Through some distrust -either of my friendship or of my resources, he never by any chance even -offered, I believe, to borrow a dollar of me; but our more generous -companion, George Waring, was not so fortunate. - -Another person, of nobler type, appears but imperfectly in my letters, -namely, Miss Charlotte Cushman. I find, to be sure, the following -penetrating touches from a companion who had always that quality, and -who says of Miss Cushman, in her diary: “She is very large, looks like -an elderly man, with gray hair and very red cheeks—full of action -and gesture—acts a dog just as well as a man or woman. She seems -large-hearted, kind, and very bright and quick—looks in splendid health. -She will be here for this month, but may take a house and return.” This -expectation was fulfilled, and I find that the same authority later -compared Miss Cushman in appearance to “an old boy given to eating apples -and snowballing”; and, again, gave this description after seeing Miss -Cushman’s new house: “The wildest turn of an insane kaleidoscope—the -petrified antics of a crazy coon—with a dance of intoxicated -lightning-rods breaking out over the roof.” This youthful impulsiveness -was a part of her, and I remember that once, as we were driving across -the first beach at Newport, Miss Cushman looked with delight across the -long strip of sand, which the advancing waves were rapidly diminishing, -as the little boys were being driven ashore by them, and exclaimed, “How -those children have enjoyed running their little risk of danger! I know -I did when I was a boy,” and there seemed nothing incongruous in the -remark, nor yet when she turned to me afterwards and asked, seriously, -whether I thought suicide absolutely unpardonable in a person proved to -be hopelessly destined to die of cancer,—a terror with which she was -long haunted. Again, I remember at one fashionable reception how Miss -Cushman came with John Gilbert, the veteran actor, as her guest, and how -much higher seemed their breeding, on the whole, than that of the mere -fashionables of a day. - -Kate Field, who has been somewhat unwisely canonized by an injudicious -annotator, was much in Newport, equally fearless in body and mind, and -perhaps rather limited than enlarged by early contact with Italy and Mrs. -Browning. She would come in from a manly boating-trip and fling herself -on the sofa of the daintiest hostess, where the subsequent arrival of the -best-bred guests did not disturb her from her position; but nothing would -have amused her more than the deification which she received after death -from some later adorers of her own sex. - -I find the following sketches of different Newport visitors in a letter -dated September 2, 1869:— - - “We had an elder poet in Mr. [William Cullen] Bryant, on whom - I called, and to my great surprise he returned it. I never saw - him before. There is a little hardness about him, and he seems - like one who has been habitually bored, but he is refined and - gentle—thinner, older, and more sunken than his pictures—eyes - not fine, head rather narrow and prominent; delicate in - outline. He is quite agreeable, and ⸺ chatted to him quite - easily. I saw him several times, but he does not warm one. - - “At Governor Morgan’s I went to a reception for the [General] - Grants. He is a much more noticeable man than I expected, and - I should think his head would attract attention anywhere, - and Richard Greenough [the sculptor] thought the same—and - so imperturbable—without even a segar! Mrs. Grant I found - intelligent and equable.... Sherman was there, too, the - antipodes of Grant; nervous and mobile, looking like a country - schoolmaster. He said to Bryant, in my hearing, ‘Yes, indeed! I - know Mr. Bryant; he’s one of the veterans! When I was a boy at - West Point he was a veteran. He used to edit a newspaper then!’ - - “This quite ignored Mr. Bryant’s poetic side, which Sherman - possibly may not have quite enjoyed. Far more interesting than - this, I thought, was a naval reception where Farragut was - given profuse honors, yet held them all as a trivial pleasure - compared to an interview with his early teacher, Mr. Charles - Folsom, the superintendent of the University Printing-Office at - Cambridge. To him the great admiral returned again and again, - and we saw them sitting with hands clasped, and serving well - enough, as some one suggested, for a group of ‘War and Peace,’ - such as the sculptors were just then portraying.” - -Most interesting, too, I found on one occasion, at Charles Perkins’s, the -companionship of two young Englishmen, James Bryce and Albert Dicey, -both since eminent, but then just beginning their knowledge of this -country. I vividly remember how Dicey came in rubbing his hands with -delight, saying that Bryce had just heard a boarder at the hotel where -he was staying say _Eurōpean_ twice, and had stopped to make a note of -it in his diary. But I cannot allow further space to them, nor even to -Mr. George Bancroft, about whom the reader will find a more ample sketch -in this volume (page 95). I will, however, venture to repeat one little -scene illustrating with what parental care he used to accompany young -ladies on horseback in his old age, galloping over the Newport beaches. -On one of these occasions, after he had dismounted to adjust his fair -companion’s stirrup, he was heard to say to her caressingly, “Don’t call -me Mr. Bancroft, call me George!” - -In regard to my friend, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe and her Newport life, I have -written so fully of her in the article on page 287 of this volume that I -shall hardly venture it again. Nor have I space in which to dwell on the -further value to our little Newport circle of such women as Katharine P. -Wormeley, the well-known translator of Balzac and Molière and the author -of “Hospital Transports” during the war; or of the three accomplished -Woolsey sisters, of whom the eldest, under the name of “Susan Coolidge,” -became a very influential writer for young people. She came first to -Newport as the intimate friend of Mrs. Helen Maria Fiske Hunt, who was -more generally known for many years as “H. H.” The latter came among us -as the widow of one of the most distinguished officers whom the West -Point service had reared. She was destined in all to spend five winters -at Newport, and entered upon her literary life practically at that time. -She lived there as happily, perhaps, as she could have dwelt in any town -which she could christen “Sleepy Hollow,” as she did Newport; and where -she could look from her window upon the fashionable avenue and see, she -said, such “Headless Horsemen” as Irving described as having haunted the -valley of that name. - -After her second marriage she lived far away at the middle and then at -the extreme western part of the continent, and we met but few times. She -wrote to me freely, however, and I cannot do better than close by quoting -from this brilliant woman’s very words her description of the manner in -which she wrote the tale “Ramona,” now apparently destined to be her -source of permanent fame. I do not know in literary history so vivid a -picture of what may well be called spiritual inspiration in an impetuous -woman’s soul. - - THE BERKELEY, February 5, 1884. - - I am glad you say you are rejoiced that I am writing a story. - But about the not hurrying it—I want to tell you something— You - know I have for three or four years longed to write a story - that should “tell” on the Indian question. But I knew I could - not do it, knew I had no background—no local color for it. - - Last Spring, in So. Cal. [Southern California] I began to feel - that I had—that the scene laid there—& the old Mexican life - mixed in with just enough Indian, to enable me to tell what had - happened to them—would be the very perfection of coloring. You - know I have now lived six months in So. Cal. - - Still I did not see my way clear; got no plot; till one morning - late last October, before I was wide awake, the whole plot - flashed into my mind—not a vague one—the whole story just as it - stands to-day: in less than five minutes: as if some one spoke - it. I sprang up, went to my husband’s room, and told him: I was - half frightened. From that time till I came here it haunted me, - becoming more and more vivid. I was impatient to get at it. - I wrote the first word of it Dec. 1st. As soon as I began it - seemed impossible to write fast enough. In spite of myself, I - write faster than I would write a letter. I write two thousand - to three thousand words in a morning, and I _cannot_ help it. - It racks me like a struggle with an outside power. I cannot - help being superstitious about it. I have never done _half_ - the amount of work in the same time. Ordinarily it would be a - simple impossibility. Twice since beginning it I have broken - down utterly for a while—with a cold ostensibly, but with great - nervous prostration added. What I have to endure in holding - myself away from it, afternoons, on the days I am compelled to - be in the house, no words can tell. It is like keeping away - from a lover, whose hand I can reach! - - Now you will ask what sort of English it is I write at this - lightning speed. So far as I can tell, the best I ever wrote! - I have read it aloud as I have gone on, to one friend of keen - literary perceptions and judgment, the most purely intellectual - woman I know—Mrs. Trimble. She says it is smooth, strong, - clear—“Tremendous” is her frequent epithet. I read the first - ten chapters to Miss Woolsey this last week—she has been - spending a few days with me ... but she says, “Far better than - anything you ever have done.” - - The success of it—if it succeeds—will be that I do not even - suggest my Indian history till the interest is so assured in - the heroine—and hero—that people will not lay the book down. - There is but one Indian in the story. - - Every now & then I force myself to stop & write a short story - or a bit of verse: I can’t bear the strain: but the instant I - open the pages of the other I write as I am writing now—as fast - as I could copy! What do you think? Am I possessed of a demon? - Is it a freak of mental disturbance, or what? - - I have the feeling that if I could only read it to you, you - would know. If it is as good as Mrs. Trimble, Mr. Jackson & - Miss Woolsey think, I shall be indeed rewarded, for it will - “tell.” But I can’t believe it is. I am uneasy about it—but try - as I may, all I can, I cannot write slowly for more than a few - moments. I sit down at 9.30 or 10, & it is one before I know - it. In good weather I then go out, after lunching, and keep - out, religiously till five: but there have not been more than - three out of eight good days all winter:—and the days when I am - shut up, in my room from two till five, alone—with my Ramona - and Alessandro, and cannot go along with them on their journey, - are maddening. - - Fifty-two last October and I’m not a bit steadier-headed, you - see, than ever! I don’t know whether to send this or burn it - up. Don’t laugh at me whatever you do. - - Yours always, - - H. J. - - - - -XXIV - -A HALF-CENTURY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE - - - - -A HALF-CENTURY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE - -(1857-1907) - - -I - -The brilliant French author, Stendhal, used to describe his ideal of -a happy life as dwelling in a Paris garret and writing endless plays -and novels. This might seem to any Anglo-American a fantastic wish; -and no doubt the early colonists on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, -after fighting through the Revolution by the aid of Rochambeau and his -Frenchmen, might have felt quite out of place had they followed their -triumphant allies back to Europe, in 1781, and inspected their way of -living. We can hardly wonder, on the other hand, that the accomplished -French traveler, Philarète Chasles, on visiting this country in 1851, -looked through the land in despair at not finding a humorist, although -the very boy of sixteen who stood near him at the rudder of a Mississippi -steam-boat may have been he who was destined to amuse the civilized world -under the name of Mark Twain.[23] - -That which was, however, to astonish most seriously all European -observers who were watching the dawn of the young American republic, -was its presuming to develop itself in its own original way, and not -conventionally. It was destined, as Cicero said of ancient Rome, to -produce its statesmen and orators first, and its poets later. Literature -was not inclined to show itself with much promptness, during and after -long years of conflict, first with the Indians, then with the mother -country. There were individual instances of good writing: Judge Sewall’s -private diaries, sometimes simple and noble, sometimes unconsciously -eloquent, often infinitely amusing; William Byrd’s and Sarah Knight’s -piquant glimpses of early Virginia travel; Cotton Mather’s quaint and -sometimes eloquent passages; Freneau’s poetry, from which Scott and -Campbell borrowed phrases. Behind all, there was the stately figure of -Jonathan Edwards standing gravely in the background, like a monk at the -cloister door, with his treatise on the “Freedom of the Will.” - -Thus much for the scanty literary product; but when we turn to look for -a new-born statesmanship in a nation equally new-born, the fact suddenly -strikes us that the intellectual strength of the colonists lay there. The -same discovery astonished England through the pamphlet works of Jay, -Lee, and Dickinson; destined to be soon followed up with a long series of -equally strong productions, to which Lord Chatham paid that fine tribute -in his speech before the House of Lords on January 20, 1775. “I must -declare and avow,” he said, “that in all my reading and observation—and -it has been my favorite study—I have read Thucydides and have studied -and admired the master-states of the world—for solidity of reasoning, -force of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication -of difficult circumstances, no nation, or body of men, can stand in -preference to the general Congress of Philadelphia.” Yet it is to be -noticed further that here, as in other instances, the literary foresight -in British criticism had already gone in advance of even the statesman’s -judgment, for Horace Walpole, the most brilliant of the literary men -of his time, had predicted to his friend Mason, two years before the -Declaration of Independence, that there would one day be a Thucydides in -Boston and a Xenophon in New York. - -It is interesting to know that such predictions were by degrees shadowed -forth even among children in America, as they certainly were among those -of us who, living in Cambridge as boys, were permitted the privilege of -looking over whole boxes of Washington’s yet unprinted letters in the -hands of our kind neighbor, Jared Sparks (1834-37); manuscripts whose -curved and varied signatures we had the inexhaustible boyish pleasure -of studying and comparing; as we had also that of enjoying the pithy -wisdom of Franklin in his own handwriting a few years later (1840), in -the hands of the same kind and neighborly editor. But it was not always -recognized by those who grew up in the new-born nation that in the mother -country itself a period of literary ebb tide was then prevailing. When -Fisher Ames, being laid on the shelf as a Federalist statesman, wrote the -first really important essay on American Literature,—an essay published -in 1809, after his death,—he frankly treated literature itself as merely -one of the ornaments of despotism. He wrote of it, “The time seems to -be near, and, perhaps, is already arrived, when poetry, at least poetry -of transcendent merit, will be considered among the lost arts. It is a -long time since England has produced a first-rate poet. If America had -not to boast at all what our parent country boasts no longer, it will -not be thought a proof of the deficiency of our genius.” Believing as -he did, that human freedom could never last long in a democracy, Ames -thought that perhaps, when liberty had given place to an emperor, this -monarch might desire to see splendor in his court, and to occupy his -subjects with the cultivation of the arts and sciences. At any rate, he -maintained, “After some ages we shall have many poor and a few rich, many -grossly ignorant, a considerable number learned, and a few eminently -learned. Nature, never prodigal of her gifts, will produce some men -of genius, who will be admired and imitated.” The first part of this -prophecy failed, but the latter part fulfilled itself in a manner quite -unexpected. - - -II - -The point unconsciously ignored by Fisher Ames, and by the whole -Federalist party of his day, was that there was already being created on -this side of the ocean, not merely a new nation, but a new temperament. -How far this temperament was to arise from a change of climate, and how -far from a new political organization, no one could then foresee, nor -is its origin yet fully analyzed; but the fact itself is now coming to -be more and more recognized. It may be that Nature said, at about that -time, “‘Thus far the English is my best race; but we have had Englishmen -enough; now for another turning of the globe, and a further novelty. We -need something with a little more buoyancy than the Englishman: let us -lighten the structure, even at some peril in the process. Put in one -drop more of nervous fluid and make the American.’ With that drop, a new -range of promise opened on the human race, and a lighter, finer, more -highly organized type of mankind was born.” This remark, which appeared -first in the “Atlantic Monthly,” called down the wrath of Matthew Arnold, -who missed the point entirely in calling it “tall talk” or a species -of brag, overlooking the fact that it was written as a physiological -caution addressed to this nervous race against overworking its children -in school. In reality, it was a point of the greatest importance. If -Americans are to be merely duplicate Englishmen, Nature might have -said, the experiment is not so very interesting, but if they are to -represent a new human type, the sooner we know it, the better. No one -finally did more toward recognizing this new type than did Matthew Arnold -himself, when he afterwards wrote, in 1887, “Our countrymen [namely, the -English], with a thousand good qualities, are really, perhaps, a good -deal wanting in lucidity and flexibility”; and again in the same essay, -“The whole American nation may be called ‘intelligent,’ that is to say, -‘quick.’”[24] This would seem to yield the whole point between himself -and the American writer whom he had criticised, and who happened to be -the author of this present volume. - -One of the best indications of this very difference of temperament, even -to this day, is the way in which American journalists and magazinists -are received in England, and their English compeers among ourselves. -An American author connected with the “St. Nicholas Magazine” was told -by a London publisher, within my recollection, that the plan of the -periodical was essentially wrong. “The pages of riddles at the end, for -instance,” he said, “no child would ever guess them”; and although the -American assured him that they were guessed regularly every month in -twenty thousand families or more, the publisher still shook his head. As -to the element of humor itself, it used to be the claim of a brilliant -New York talker that he had dined through three English counties on -the strength of the jokes which he had found in the corners of an old -American “Farmer’s Almanac” which he had happened to put into his trunk -when packing for his European trip. - -From Brissot and Volney, Chastellux and Crèvecœur, down to Ampère and -De Tocqueville, there was a French appreciation, denied to the English, -of this lighter quality; and this certainly seems to indicate that the -change in the Anglo-American temperament had already begun to show -itself. Ampère especially notices what he calls “une veine européenne” -among the educated classes. Many years after, when Mrs. Frances Anne -Kemble, writing in reference to the dramatic stage, pointed out that the -theatrical instinct of Americans created in them an affinity for the -French which the English, hating exhibitions of emotion and self-display, -did not share, she recognized in our nation this tinge of the French -temperament, while perhaps giving to it an inadequate explanation. - - -III - -The local literary prominence given, first to Philadelphia by Franklin -and Brockden Brown, and then to New York by Cooper and Irving, was -in each case too detached and fragmentary to create more than these -individual fames, however marked or lasting these may be. It required -time and a concentrated influence to constitute a literary group in -America. Bryant and Channing, with all their marked powers, served only -as a transition to it. Yet the group was surely coming, and its creation -has perhaps never been put in so compact a summary as that made by -that clear-minded ex-editor of the “Atlantic Monthly,” the late Horace -Scudder. He said, “It is too early to make a full survey of the immense -importance to American letters of the work done by half-a-dozen great -men in the middle of this century. The body of prose and verse created -by them is constituting the solid foundation upon which other structures -are to rise; the humanity which it holds is entering into the life of -the country, and no material invention, or scientific discovery, or -institutional prosperity, or accumulation of wealth will so powerfully -affect the spiritual well-being of the nation for generations to come.” - -The geographical headquarters of this particular group was Boston, of -which Cambridge and Concord may be regarded for this purpose as suburbs. -Such a circle of authors as Emerson, Hawthorne, Longfellow, Lowell, -Whittier, Alcott, Thoreau, Parkman, and others had never before met in -America; and now that they have passed away, no such local group anywhere -remains: nor has the most marked individual genius elsewhere—such, for -instance, as that of Poe or Whitman—been the centre of so conspicuous a -combination. The best literary representative of this group of men in -bulk was undoubtedly the “Atlantic Monthly,” to which almost every one -of them contributed, and of which they made up the substantial opening -strength. - -With these there was, undoubtedly, a secondary force developed at that -period in a remarkable lecture system, which spread itself rapidly over -the country, and in which most of the above authors took some part and -several took leading parts, these lectures having much formative power -over the intellect of the nation. Conspicuous among the lecturers also -were such men as Gough, Beecher, Chapin, Whipple, Holland, Curtis, and -lesser men who are now collectively beginning to fade into oblivion. -With these may be added the kindred force of Abolitionists, headed by -Wendell Phillips and Frederick Douglass, whose remarkable powers drew to -their audiences many who did not agree with them. Women like Lucretia -Mott, Anna Dickinson, and Lucy Stone joined the force. These lectures -were inseparably linked with literature as a kindred source of popular -education; they were subject, however, to the limitation of being rather -suggestive than instructive, because they always came in a detached -way and so did not favor coherent thinking. The much larger influence -now exerted by courses of lectures in the leading cities does more to -strengthen the habit of consecutive thought than did the earlier system; -and such courses, joined with the great improvement in public schools, -are assisting vastly in the progress of public education. The leader -who most distinguished himself in this last direction was, doubtless, -Horace Mann, who died in 1859. The influence of American colleges, while -steadily maturing into universities all over the country, has made itself -felt more and more obviously, especially as these colleges have with -startling suddenness and comprehensiveness extended their privileges to -women also, whether in the form of coeducation or of institutions for -women only. - -For many years, the higher intellectual training of Americans was -obtained almost entirely through periods of study in Europe, especially -in Germany. Men, of whom Everett, Ticknor, Cogswell, and Bancroft were -the pioneers, beginning in 1818 or thereabouts, discovered that Germany -and not England must be made our national model in this higher education; -and this discovery was strengthened by the number of German refugees, -often highly trained men, who sought this country for political safety. -The influence of German literature on the American mind was undoubtedly -at its highest point half a century ago, and the passing away of the -great group of German authors then visible was even more striking than -have been the corresponding changes in England and America; but the -leadership of Germany in purely scientific thought and invention has -kept on increasing, so that the mental tie between that nation and our -own was perhaps never stronger than now. - -In respect to literature, the increased tendency to fiction, everywhere -visible, has nowhere been more marked than in America. Since the days of -Cooper and Mrs. Stowe, the recognized leader in this department has been -Mr. Howells; that is, if we base leadership on higher standards than that -of mere comparison of sales. The actual sale of copies in this department -of literature has been greater in certain cases than the world has before -seen; but it has rarely occurred that books thus copiously multiplied -have taken very high rank under more deliberate criticism. In some cases, -as in that of Bret Harte, an author has won fame in early life by the -creation of a few striking characters, and has then gone on reproducing -them without visible progress; and this result has been most apt to occur -wherever British praise has come in strongly, that being often more -easily won by a few interesting novelties than by anything deeper in the -way of local coloring or permanent delineation. - - -IV - -It is sometimes said that there was never yet a great migration which did -not result in some new form of national genius; and this should be true -in America, if anywhere. He who lands from Europe on our shores perceives -a difference in the sky above his head; the height seems greater, the -zenith farther off, the horizon wall steeper. With this result on the -one side, and the vast and constant mixture of races on the other, there -must inevitably be a change. No portion of our immigrant body desires to -retain its national tongue; all races wish their children to learn the -English language as soon as possible, yet no imported race wishes its -children to take the British race, as such, for models. Our newcomers -unconsciously say with that keen thinker, David Wasson, “The Englishman -is undoubtedly a wholesome figure to the mental eye; but will not twenty -million copies of him do, for the present?” The Englishman’s strong point -is his vigorous insularity; that of the American his power of adaptation. -Each of these attitudes has its perils. The Englishman stands firmly on -his feet, but he who merely does this never advances. The American’s -disposition is to step forward even at the risk of a fall. Washington -Irving, who seemed at first to so acute a French observer as Chasles -a mere reproduction of Pope and Addison, wrote to John Lothrop Motley -two years before his own death, “You are properly sensible of the high -calling of the American press,—that rising tribunal before which the -whole world is to be summoned, its history to be revised and rewritten, -and the judgment of past ages to be canceled or confirmed.” For one who -can look back sixty years to a time when the best literary periodical -in America was called “The Albion,” it is difficult to realize how the -intellectual relations of the two nations are now changed. M. D. Conway -once pointed out that the English magazines, such as the “Contemporary -Review” and the “Fortnightly,” were simply circular letters addressed -by a few cultivated gentlemen to the fellow members of their respective -London clubs. Where there is an American periodical, on the other hand, -the most striking contribution may proceed from a previously unknown -author, and may turn out to have been addressed practically to all the -world. - -So far as the intellectual life of a nation exhibits itself in -literature, England may always have one advantage over us,—if advantage -it be,—that of possessing in London a recognized publishing centre, -where authors, editors, and publishers are all brought together. In -America, the conditions of our early political activity have supplied us -with a series of such centres, in a smaller way, beginning, doubtless, -with Philadelphia, then changing to New York, then to Boston, and again -reverting, in some degree, to New York. I say “in some degree” because -Washington has long been the political centre of the nation, and tends -more and more to occupy the same central position in respect to science, -at least; while Western cities, notably Chicago and San Francisco, -tend steadily to become literary centres for the wide regions they -represent. Meanwhile the vast activities of journalism, the readiness of -communication everywhere, the detached position of colleges, with many -other influences, decentralize literature more and more. Emerson used to -say that Europe stretched to the Alleghanies, but this at least has been -corrected, and the national spirit is coming to claim the whole continent -for its own. - -There is undoubtedly a tendency in the United States to transfer -intellectual allegiance, for a time, to science rather than to -literature. This may be only a swing of the pendulum; but its temporary -influence has nowhere been better defined or characterized than by the -late Clarence King, formerly director of the United States Geological -Survey, who wrote thus a little before his death: “With all its novel -modern powers and practical sense, I am forced to admit that the purely -scientific brain is miserably mechanical; it seems to have become a -splendid sort of self-directed machine, an incredible automaton, grinding -on with its analyses or constructions. But for pure sentiment, for all -that spontaneous, joyous Greek waywardness of fancy, for the temperature -of passion and the subtler thrill of ideality, you might as well look to -a wrought-iron derrick.” - -Whatever charges can be brought against the American people, no one has -yet attributed to them any want of self-confidence or self-esteem; and -though this trait may be sometimes unattractive, the philosophers agree -that it is the only path to greatness. “The only nations which ever come -to be called historic,” says Tolstoi in his “Anna Karenina,” “are those -which recognize the importance and worth of their own institutions.” -Emerson, putting the thing more tersely, as is his wont, says that “no -man can do anything well who does not think that what he does is the -centre of the visible universe.” The history of the American republic -was really the most interesting in the world, from the outset, were it -only from the mere fact that however small its scale, it yet showed a -self-governing people in a condition never before witnessed on the globe; -and so to this is now added the vaster contemplation of it as a nation of -seventy millions rapidly growing more and more. If there is no interest -in the spectacle of such a nation, laboring with all its might to build -up an advanced civilization, then there is nothing interesting on earth. -The time will come when all men will wonder, not that Americans attached -so much importance to their national development at this period, but -that they appreciated it so little. Canon Zincke has computed that in -1980 the English-speaking population of the globe will number, at the -present rate of progress, one thousand millions, and that of this number -eight hundred millions will dwell in the United States. No plans can -be too far-seeing, no toils and sacrifices too great, in establishing -this vast future civilization. It is in this light, for instance, that -we must view the immense endowments of Mr. Carnegie, which more than -fulfill the generalization of the acute author of a late Scotch novel, -“The House with Green Shutters,” who says that while a Scotchman has all -the great essentials for commercial success, “his combinations are rarely -Napoleonic until he becomes an American.” - -When one looks at the apparently uncertain, but really tentative steps -taken by the trustees of the Carnegie Institution at Washington, one -sees how much must yet lie before us in our provisions for intellectual -progress. The numerical increase of our common schools and universities -is perhaps as rapid as is best, and the number of merely scientific -societies is large, but the provision for the publication of works of -real thought and literature is still far too small. The endowment of the -Smithsonian Institution now extends most comprehensively over all the -vast historical work in American history, now so widely undertaken, and -the Carnegie Institution bids fair to provide well for purely scientific -work and the publication of its results. But the far more difficult task -of developing and directing pure literature is as yet hardly attempted. -Our magazines tend more and more to become mainly picture-books, and -our really creative authors are geographically scattered and, for the -most part, wholesomely poor. We should always remember, moreover, what -is true especially in these works of fiction, that not only individual -books, but whole schools of them, emerge and disappear, like the flash of -a revolving light; you must make the most of it while you have it. “The -highways of literature are spread over,” said Holmes, “with the shells -of dead novels, each of which has been swallowed at a mouthful by the -public, and is done with.” - -In America, as in England, the leading literary groups are just now to be -found less among the poets than among the writers of prose fiction. Of -these younger authors, we have in America such men as Winston Churchill, -Robert Grant, Hamlin Garland, Owen Wister, Arthur S. Pier, and George -Wasson; any one of whom may at any moment surprise us by doing something -better than the best he has before achieved. The same promise of a high -standard is visible in women, among whom may be named not merely those of -maturer standing, as Harriet Prescott Spofford, who is the leader, but -her younger sisters, Mary Wilkins Freeman, Edith Wharton, and Josephine -Preston Peabody. The drama also is advancing with rapid steps, and is -likely to be still more successful in such hands as those of William -Vaughn Moody, Ridgely Torrence, and Percy McKaye. The leader of English -dramatic criticism, William Archer, found within the last year, as he -tells us, no less than eight or nine notable American dramas in active -representation on the stage, whereas eight years earlier there was but -one. - -Similar signs of promise are showing themselves in the direction of -literature, social science, and higher education generally, all of which -have an honored representative, still in middle life, in Professor -George E. Woodberry. Professor Newcomb has just boldly pointed out that -we have intellectually grown, as a nation, “from the high school of our -Revolutionary ancestors to the college; from the college we have grown -to the university stage. Now we have grown to a point where we need -something beyond the university.” What he claims for science is yet more -needed in the walks of pure literature, and is there incomparably harder -to attain, since it has there to deal with that more subtle and vaster -form of mental action which culminates in Shakespeare instead of Newton. -This higher effort, which the French Academy alone even attempts,—however -it may fail in the accomplished results,—may at least be kept before us -as an ideal for American students and writers, even should its demands be -reduced to something as simple as those laid down by Coleridge when he -announced his ability to “inform the dullest writer how he might write -an interesting book.” “Let him,” says Coleridge, “relate the events of -his own life with honesty, not disguising the feeling that accompanied -them.”[25] Thus simple, it would seem, are the requirements for a really -good book; but, alas! who is to fulfill them? Yet if anywhere, why not in -America? - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] _Outlook_, October, 1907. - -[2] Bancroft’s _History of the United States_, i, 247. - -[3] E. W. Pierce’s _Indian Biography_. - -[4] Young’s _Chronicles of the Pilgrims_, 158. - -[5] Thatcher’s _Lives of Indians_, i, 119. - -[6] Thatcher’s _Lives of Indians_, i, 120. - -[7] Young’s _Chronicles of the Pilgrims_, 194. - -[8] Belknap’s _American Biography_, ii, 214. - -[9] Young’s _Chronicles of the Pilgrims_, 194, note. - -[10] E. W. Pierce’s _Indian Biography_, 22. - -[11] E. W. Pierce’s _Indian Biography_, 25. - -[12] Sanborn and Harris’s _Alcott_, ii, 566. - -[13] _Emerson in Concord_, 120. - -[14] Sanborn and Harris’s _Alcott_, i, 264. - -[15] Sanborn and Harris’s _Alcott_, i, 262. - -[16] Sanborn and Harris’s _Alcott_, ii, 477. - -[17] _Memoirs_, ii, 473. - -[18] _Address before the Alumni of Andover_, 1. - -[19] _Address before the Alumni of Andover_, 10. - -[20] _Address to Workingmen in Providence_, April 11, 1886, p. 19. - -[21] Lodge’s _George Cabot_, 12, note. - -[22] _Harvard Reminiscences_, by Andrew Preston Peabody, D. D., LL. D., -p. 18. - -[23] “Toute l’Amérique ne possède pas un humoriste.” _Études sur la -Littérature et les Mœurs des Anglo-Américains_, Paris, 1851. - -[24] _Nineteenth Century_, xxii, 324, 319. - -[25] _Quarterly Review_, xcviii, 456. - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS - U . S . A - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARLYLE'S LAUGH, AND OTHER -SURPRISES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/68129-0.zip b/old/68129-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index cd11c76..0000000 --- a/old/68129-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68129-h.zip b/old/68129-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4ec400b..0000000 --- a/old/68129-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68129-h/68129-h.htm b/old/68129-h/68129-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 90f6d76..0000000 --- a/old/68129-h/68129-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12621 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Carlyle’s Laugh and other surprises, by Thomas Wentworth Higginson. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - -<style type="text/css"> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2,h3,h4 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -h2.nobreak { - page-break-before: avoid; -} - -hr.chap { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -div.chapter { - page-break-before: always; -} - -ul { - list-style-type: none; -} - -li { - margin-top: .5em; - padding-left: 2em; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -p { - margin-top: 0.5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - text-indent: 1em; -} - -table { - margin: 1em auto 1em auto; - max-width: 40em; - border-collapse: collapse; -} - -td { - padding-left: 2.25em; - padding-right: 0.25em; - vertical-align: top; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.tdr { - text-align: right; -} - -.tdpg { - vertical-align: bottom; - text-align: right; -} - -.adbox { - border: thin solid black; - margin: auto; - max-width: 30em; - padding: 0.5em; -} - -.blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 10%; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: 3em auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.footnotes { - margin-top: 1em; - border: dashed 1px; -} - -.footnote { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - font-size: 0.9em; -} - -.footnote .label { - position: absolute; - right: 84%; - text-align: right; -} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: none; -} - -.gothic { - font-family: 'Old English Text MT', 'Old English', serif; -} - -.hanging { - padding-left: 2em; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.noindent { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.poetry-container { - text-align: center; - margin: 1em; -} - -.poetry { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .stanza { - margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; -} - -.poetry .verse { - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.poetry .indent0 { - text-indent: -3em; -} - -.poetry .indent2 { - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.poetry .indent4 { - text-indent: -1em; -} - -.poetry .indent6 { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.right { - text-align: right; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.allsmcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; - text-transform: lowercase; -} - -div.titlepage { - margin: auto; - max-width: 30em; - padding: 0.5em; -} - -p.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.tp-top { - border-top: double black; -} - -.tp { - border-top: thin solid black; -} - -.x-ebookmaker img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 5%; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Carlyle's laugh, and other surprises, by Thomas Wentworth Higginson</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Carlyle's laugh, and other surprises</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Thomas Wentworth Higginson</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 19, 2022 [eBook #68129]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARLYLE'S LAUGH, AND OTHER SURPRISES ***</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p> - -<div class="adbox"> - -<p class="center larger gothic">Thomas Wentworth Higginson</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>WORKS.</b> Newly arranged. 7 Vols. 12mo, each, $2.00.</p> - -<ul> -<li>1. <span class="smcap">Cheerful Yesterdays.</span></li> -<li>2. <span class="smcap">Contemporaries.</span></li> -<li>3. <span class="smcap">Army Life in a Black Regiment.</span></li> -<li>4. <span class="smcap">Women and the Alphabet.</span></li> -<li>5. <span class="smcap">Studies in Romance.</span></li> -<li>6. <span class="smcap">Outdoor Studies; and Poems.</span></li> -<li>7. <span class="smcap">Studies in History and Letters.</span></li> -</ul> - -<p class="hanging"><b>THE PROCESSION OF THE FLOWERS.</b> $1.25.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>THE AFTERNOON LANDSCAPE.</b> Poems and -Translations. $1.00.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>THE MONARCH OF DREAMS.</b> 18mo, 50 cents.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.</b> In the American -Men of Letters Series. 16mo, $1.50.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.</b> In American Men of -Letters Series. 16mo, $1.10, <i>net.</i> Postage 10 cents.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>PART OF A MAN’S LIFE.</b> Illustrated. Large 8vo, -$2.50, <i>net.</i> Postage 18 cents.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>LIFE AND TIMES OF STEPHEN HIGGINSON.</b> -Illustrated. Large crown 8vo, $2.00, <i>net.</i> Postage -extra.</p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>CARLYLE’S LAUGH AND OTHER SURPRISES.</b> -12mo, $2.00, <i>net.</i> Postage 15 cents.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>EDITED WITH MRS. E. H. BIGELOW.</i></p> - -<p class="hanging"><b>AMERICAN SONNETS.</b> 18mo, $1.25.</p> - -<p class="center">HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smcap">Boston and New York</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p> - -<h1>CARLYLE’S LAUGH<br /> -<span class="smaller">AND OTHER SURPRISES</span></h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<div class="tp-top"> - -<p class="titlepage larger">CARLYLE’S LAUGH<br /> -<span class="smaller">AND OTHER SURPRISES</span></p> - -</div> - -<div class="tp"> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON</p> - -</div> - -<div class="tp"> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/riverside.jpg" width="150" height="200" alt="" /> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="tp"> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BOSTON AND NEW YORK</span><br /> -HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smaller"><span class="gothic">The Riverside Press Cambridge</span><br /> -MDCCCCIX</span></p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p> - -<p class="center smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON</p> - -<p class="center smaller">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p> - -<p class="center smaller"><i>Published October 1909</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">NOTE</h2> - -</div> - -<p>The two papers in this volume which bear the -titles “A Keats Manuscript” and “A Shelley -Manuscript” are reprinted by permission from -a work called “Book and Heart,” by Thomas -Wentworth Higginson, copyright, 1897, by -Harper and Brothers, with whose consent the -essay entitled “One of Thackeray’s Women” -also is published. Leave has been obtained -to reprint the papers on Brown, Cooper, and -Thoreau, from Carpenter’s “American Prose,” -copyrighted by the Macmillan Company, 1898. -My thanks are also due to the American -Academy of Arts and Sciences for permission -to reprint the papers on Scudder, Atkinson, -and Cabot; to the proprietors of “Putnam’s -Magazine” for the paper entitled “Emerson’s -Foot-Note Person”; to the proprietors of the -New York “Evening Post” for the article on -George Bancroft from “The Nation”; to the -editor of the “Harvard Graduates’ Magazine” -for the paper on “Göttingen and Harvard”; -and to the editors of the “Outlook” for the -papers on Charles Eliot Norton, Julia Ward -Howe, Edward Everett Hale, William J. Rolfe, -and “Old Newport Days.” Most of the remaining -sketches appeared originally in the “Atlantic -Monthly.”</p> - -<p class="right">T. W. H.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> - -</div> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.</td> - <td>CARLYLE’S LAUGH</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#I_CARLYLES_LAUGH">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.</td> - <td>A SHELLEY MANUSCRIPT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#II_A_SHELLEY_MANUSCRIPT">13</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td>A KEATS MANUSCRIPT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#III_A_KEATS_MANUSCRIPT">21</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td>MASSASOIT, INDIAN CHIEF</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IV_MASSASOIT_INDIAN_CHIEF">31</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V.</td> - <td>JAMES FENIMORE COOPER</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#V_JAMES_FENIMORE_COOPER">45</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI.</td> - <td>CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VI_CHARLES_BROCKDEN_BROWN">55</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII.</td> - <td>HENRY DAVID THOREAU</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VII_HENRY_DAVID_THOREAU">65</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> - <td>EMERSON’S “FOOT-NOTE PERSON,”—ALCOTT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VIII_EMERSONS_FOOT-NOTE_PERSONALCOTT">75</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IX.</td> - <td>GEORGE BANCROFT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IX_GEORGE_BANCROFT">93</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">X.</td> - <td>CHARLES ELIOT NORTON</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#X_CHARLES_ELIOT_NORTON">119</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XI.</td> - <td>EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XI_EDMUND_CLARENCE_STEDMAN">137</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XII.</td> - <td>EDWARD EVERETT HALE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XII_EDWARD_EVERETT_HALE">157</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> - <td>A MASSACHUSETTS GENERAL, RUFUS SAXTON</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIII_A_MASSACHUSETTS_GENERAL_RUFUS_SAXTON">173</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> - <td>ONE OF THACKERAY’S WOMEN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIV_ONE_OF_THACKERAYS_WOMEN">183</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XV.</td> - <td>JOHN BARTLETT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XV_JOHN_BARTLETT">191</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> - <td>HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVI_HORACE_ELISHA_SCUDDER">201</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> - <td>EDWARD ATKINSON</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVII_EDWARD_ATKINSON">213</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> - <td>JAMES ELLIOT CABOT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVIII_JAMES_ELLIOT_CABOT">231</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> - <td>EMILY DICKINSON</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIX_EMILY_DICKINSON">247</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XX.</td> - <td>JULIA WARD HOWE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XX_JULIA_WARD_HOWE">285</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> - <td>WILLIAM JAMES ROLFE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXI_WILLIAM_JAMES_ROLFE">313</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> - <td>GÖTTINGEN AND HARVARD A CENTURY AGO</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXII_GOTTINGEN_AND_HARVARD_A_CENTURY_AGO">325</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> - <td>OLD NEWPORT DAYS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXIII_OLD_NEWPORT_DAYS">349</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> - <td>A HALF-CENTURY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXIV_A_HALF-CENTURY_OF_AMERICAN_LITERATURE">367</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I_CARLYLES_LAUGH">I<br /> -<span class="smaller">CARLYLE’S LAUGH</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> - -<h3>CARLYLE’S LAUGH</h3> - -</div> - -<p>None of the many sketches of Carlyle that -have been published since his death have brought -out quite distinctly enough the thing which -struck me more forcibly than all else, when in -the actual presence of the man; namely, the -peculiar quality and expression of his laugh. It -need hardly be said that there is a great deal -in a laugh. One of the most telling pieces of -oratory that ever reached my ears was Victor -Hugo’s vindication, at the Voltaire Centenary -in Paris, of that author’s smile. To be sure, -Carlyle’s laugh was not like that smile, but it -was something as inseparable from his personality, -and as essential to the account, when -making up one’s estimate of him. It was as individually -characteristic as his face or his dress, -or his way of talking or of writing. Indeed, -it seemed indispensable for the explanation of -all of these. I found in looking back upon my -first interview with him, that all I had known -of Carlyle through others, or through his own -books, for twenty-five years, had been utterly -defective,—had left out, in fact, the key to his -whole nature,—inasmuch as nobody had ever -described to me his laugh.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span></p> - -<p>It is impossible to follow the matter further -without a little bit of personal narration. On visiting -England for the first time, in 1872, I was -offered a letter to Carlyle, and declined it. Like -all of my own generation, I had been under some -personal obligations to him for his early writings,—though -in my case this debt was trifling -compared with that due to Emerson,—but his -“Latter-Day Pamphlets” and his reported utterances -on American affairs had taken away -all special desire to meet him, besides the ungraciousness -said to mark his demeanor toward -visitors from the United States. Yet, when I -was once fairly launched in that fascinating -world of London society, where the American -sees, as Willis used to say, whole shelves of his -library walking about in coats and gowns, this -disinclination rapidly softened. And when Mr. -Froude kindly offered to take me with him for -one of his afternoon calls on Carlyle, and further -proposed that I should join them in their -habitual walk through the parks, it was not in -human nature—or at least in American nature—to -resist.</p> - -<p>We accordingly went after lunch, one day in -May, to Carlyle’s modest house in Chelsea, -and found him in his study, reading—by a -chance very appropriate for me—in Weiss’s -“Life of Parker.” He received us kindly, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -at once began inveighing against the want of -arrangement in the book he was reading, the -defective grouping of the different parts, and -the impossibility of finding anything in it, even -by aid of the index. He then went on to speak -of Parker himself, and of other Americans whom -he had met. I do not recall the details of the -conversation, but to my surprise he did not say -a single really offensive or ungracious thing. If -he did, it related less to my countrymen than to -his own, for I remember his saying some rather -stern things about Scotchmen. But that which -saved these and all his sharpest words from being -actually offensive was this, that, after the -most vehement tirade, he would suddenly pause, -throw his head back, and give as genuine and -kindly a laugh as I ever heard from a human -being. It was not the bitter laugh of the cynic, -nor yet the big-bodied laugh of the burly joker; -least of all was it the thin and rasping cackle -of the dyspeptic satirist. It was a broad, honest, -human laugh, which, beginning in the brain, -took into its action the whole heart and diaphragm, -and instantly changed the worn face -into something frank and even winning, giving -to it an expression that would have won -the confidence of any child. Nor did it convey -the impression of an exceptional thing that had -occurred for the first time that day, and might<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -never happen again. Rather, it produced the -effect of something habitual; of being the channel, -well worn for years, by which the overflow -of a strong nature was discharged. It cleared -the air like thunder, and left the atmosphere -sweet. It seemed to say to himself, if not to -us, “Do not let us take this too seriously; it -is my way of putting things. What refuge is -there for a man who looks below the surface in a -world like this, except to laugh now and then?” -The laugh, in short, revealed the humorist; if -I said the genial humorist, wearing a mask of -grimness, I should hardly go too far for the impression -it left. At any rate, it shifted the ground, -and transferred the whole matter to that realm -of thought where men play with things. The -instant Carlyle laughed, he seemed to take the -counsel of his old friend Emerson, and to write -upon the lintels of his doorway, “Whim.”</p> - -<p>Whether this interpretation be right or wrong, -it is certain that the effect of this new point of -view upon one of his visitors was wholly disarming. -The bitter and unlovely vision vanished; -my armed neutrality went with it, and there I -sat talking with Carlyle as fearlessly as if he -were an old friend. The talk soon fell on the -most dangerous of all ground, our Civil War, -which was then near enough to inspire curiosity; -and he put questions showing that he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -had, after all, considered the matter in a sane -and reasonable way. He was especially interested -in the freed slaves and the colored troops; -he said but little, yet that was always to the -point, and without one ungenerous word. On the -contrary, he showed more readiness to comprehend -the situation, as it existed after the war, -than was to be found in most Englishmen at -that time. The need of giving the ballot to the -former slaves he readily admitted, when it was -explained to him; and he at once volunteered -the remark that in a republic they needed this, -as the guarantee of their freedom. “You could -do no less,” he said, “for the men who had -stood by you.” I could scarcely convince my -senses that this manly and reasonable critic was -the terrible Carlyle, the hater of “Cuffee” and -“Quashee” and of all republican government. -If at times a trace of angry exaggeration showed -itself, the good, sunny laugh came in and cleared -the air.</p> - -<p>We walked beneath the lovely trees of Kensington -Gardens, then in the glory of an English -May; and I had my first sight of the endless -procession of riders and equipages in Rotten -Row. My two companions received numerous -greetings, and as I walked in safe obscurity by -their side, I could cast sly glances of keen enjoyment -at the odd combination visible in their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -looks. Froude’s fine face and bearing became -familiar afterwards to Americans, and he was irreproachably -dressed; while probably no salutation -was ever bestowed from an elegant passing -carriage on an odder figure than Carlyle. Tall, -very thin, and slightly stooping; with unkempt, -grizzly whiskers pushed up by a high collar, -and kept down by an ancient felt hat; wearing -an old faded frock coat, checked waistcoat, -coarse gray trousers, and russet shoes; holding -a stout stick, with his hands encased in very -large gray woolen gloves,—this was Carlyle. -I noticed that, when we first left his house, his -aspect attracted no notice in the streets, being -doubtless familiar in his own neighborhood; -but as we went farther and farther on, many -eyes were turned in his direction, and men -sometimes stopped to gaze at him. Little he -noticed it, however, as he plodded along with -his eyes cast down or looking straight before -him, while his lips poured forth an endless -stream of talk. Once and once only he was -accosted, and forced to answer; and I recall -it with delight as showing how the unerring -instinct of childhood coincided with mine, and -pronounced him not a man to be feared.</p> - -<p>We passed a spot where some nobleman’s -grounds were being appropriated for a public -park; it was only lately that people had been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -allowed to cross them, and all was in the rough, -preparations for the change having been begun. -Part of the turf had been torn up for a road-way, -but there was a little emerald strip where -three or four ragged children, the oldest not over -ten, were turning somersaults in great delight. -As we approached, they paused and looked shyly -at us, as if uncertain of their right on these premises; -and I could see the oldest, a sharp-eyed -little London boy, reviewing us with one keen -glance, as if selecting him in whom confidence -might best be placed. Now I am myself a child-loving -person; and I had seen with pleasure -Mr. Froude’s kindly ways with his own youthful -household: yet the little <i>gamin</i> dismissed -us with a glance and fastened on Carlyle. Pausing -on one foot, as if ready to take to his heels -on the least discouragement, he called out the -daring question, “I say, mister, may we roll -on this here grass?” The philosopher faced -round, leaning on his staff, and replied in a -homelier Scotch accent than I had yet heard -him use, “Yes, my little fellow, r-r-roll at discraytion!” -Instantly the children resumed their -antics, while one little girl repeated meditatively, -“He says we may roll at discraytion!”—as if -it were some new kind of ninepin-ball.</p> - -<p>Six years later, I went with my friend Conway -to call on Mr. Carlyle once more, and found the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -kindly laugh still there, though changed, like all -else in him, by the advance of years and the -solitude of existence. It could not be said of him -that he grew old happily, but he did not grow -old unkindly, I should say; it was painful to see -him, but it was because one pitied him, not by -reason of resentment suggested by anything on -his part. He announced himself to be, and he -visibly was, a man left behind by time and waiting -for death. He seemed in a manner sunk -within himself; but I remember well the affectionate -way in which he spoke of Emerson, who -had just sent him the address entitled “The -Future of the Republic.” Carlyle remarked, -“I’ve just noo been reading it; the dear Emerson, -he thinks the whole warrld’s like himself; -and if he can just get a million people together -and let them all vote, they’ll be sure to vote -right and all will go vara weel”; and then came -in the brave laugh of old, but briefer and less -hearty by reason of years and sorrows.</p> - -<p>One may well hesitate before obtruding upon -the public any such private impressions of an -eminent man. They will always appear either too -personal or too trivial. But I have waited in vain -to see some justice done to the side of Carlyle -here portrayed; and since it has been very commonly -asserted that the effect he produced on -strangers was that of a rude and offensive person,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -it seems almost a duty to testify to the very -different way in which one American visitor -saw him. An impression produced at two interviews, -six years apart, may be worth recording, -especially if it proved strong enough to outweigh -all previous prejudice and antagonism.</p> - -<p>In fine, I should be inclined to appeal from all -Carlyle’s apparent bitterness and injustice to -the mere quality of his laugh, as giving sufficient -proof that the gift of humor underlay all else -in him. All his critics, I now think, treat him -a little too seriously. No matter what his labors -or his purposes, the attitude of the humorist -was always behind. As I write, there lies before -me a scrap from the original manuscript of his -“French Revolution,”—the page being written, -after the custom of English authors of half -a century ago, on both sides of the paper; and -as I study it, every curl and twist of the handwriting, -every backstroke of the pen, every substitution -of a more piquant word for a plainer -one, bespeaks the man of whim. Perhaps this -quality came by nature through a Scotch ancestry; -perhaps it was strengthened by the accidental -course of his early reading. It may be -that it was Richter who moulded him, after all, -rather than Goethe; and we know that Richter -was defined by Carlyle, in his very first literary -essay, as “a humorist and a philosopher,” putting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -the humorist first. The German author’s -favorite type of character—seen to best advantage -in his Siebenkäs of the “Blumen, Frucht, -und Dornenstücke”—came nearer to the actual -Carlyle than most of the grave portraitures yet -executed. He, as is said of Siebenkäs, disguised -his heart beneath a grotesque mask, partly for -greater freedom, and partly because he preferred -whimsically to exaggerate human folly -rather than to share it (<i>dass er die menschliche -Thorheit mehr travestiere als nachahme</i>). Both -characters might be well summed up in the -brief sentence which follows: “A humorist in -action is but a satirical improvisatore” (<i>Ein -handelnder Humorist ist blos ein satirischer -Improvisatore</i>). This last phrase, “a satirical -improvisatore,” seems to me better than any -other to describe Carlyle.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II_A_SHELLEY_MANUSCRIPT">II<br /> -<span class="smaller">A SHELLEY MANUSCRIPT</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> - -<h3>A SHELLEY MANUSCRIPT</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Were I to hear to-morrow that the main -library of Harvard University, with every one -of its 496,200 volumes, had been reduced to -ashes, there is in my mind no question what -book I should most regret. It is that unique, -battered, dingy little quarto volume of Shelley’s -manuscript poems, in his own handwriting and -that of his wife, first given by Miss Jane Clairmont -(Shelley’s “Constantia”) to Mr. Edward -A. Silsbee, and then presented by him to the -library. Not only is it full of that aroma of fascination -which belongs to the actual handiwork -of a master, but its numerous corrections and -interlineations make the reader feel that he is -actually traveling in the pathway of that delicate -mind. Professor George E. Woodberry had -the use of it; he printed in the “Harvard University -Calendar” a facsimile of the “Ode to -a Skylark” as given in the manuscript, and has -cited many of its various readings in his edition -of Shelley’s poems. But he has passed by -a good many others; and some of these need, I -think, for the sake of all students of Shelley, -to be put in print, so that in case of the loss or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -destruction of the precious volume, these fragments -at least may be preserved.</p> - -<p>There occur in this manuscript the following -variations from Professor Woodberry’s text of -“The Sensitive Plant”—variations not mentioned -by him, for some reason or other, in his -footnotes or supplemental notes, and yet not -canceled by Shelley:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Three days the flowers of the garden fair</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like stars when the moon is awakened, were.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 1-2.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="hanging">[<i>Moon</i> is clearly <i>morn</i> in the Harvard MS.]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And under the roots of the Sensitive Plant.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 100.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="hanging">[The prefatory <i>And</i> is not in the Harvard MS.]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“But the mandrakes and toadstools and docks and darnels</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 112.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="hanging">[The word <i>brambles</i> appears for <i>mandrakes</i> in the -Harvard MS.]</p> - -</div> - -<p>These three variations, all of which are interesting, -are the only ones I have noted as uncanceled -in this particular poem, beyond those -recorded by Professor Woodberry. But there -are many cases where the manuscript shows, in -Shelley’s own handwriting, variations subsequently -canceled by him; and these deserve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -study by all students of the poetic art. His ear -was so exquisite and his sense of the <i>balance</i> of -a phrase so remarkable, that it is always interesting -to see the path by which he came to -the final utterance, whatever that was. I have, -therefore, copied a number of these modified -lines, giving, first, Professor Woodberry’s text, -and then the original form of language, as it appears -in Shelley’s handwriting, italicizing the -words which vary, and giving the pages of Professor -Woodberry’s edition. The cancelation or -change is sometimes made in pen, sometimes in -pencil; and it is possible that, in a few cases, -it may have been made by Mrs. Shelley.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Gazed through <i>its tears</i> on the tender sky.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">I</span>, 36.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The beams which dart from many a star</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of the flowers whose hues they bear afar.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The beams which dart from many a <i>sphere</i></div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of the <i>starry</i> flowers whose hues they bear.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">I</span>, 81-82.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then wander like spirits among the spheres</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Each cloud faint with the fragrance it bears.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The unseen clouds of the dew, which <i>lay</i></div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like fire in the flowers till <i>dawning day</i>,</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">Then <i>walk</i> like spirits among the spheres</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Each <i>one</i> faint with the <i>odor</i> it bears.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">I</span>, 86-89.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Like windless clouds o’er a tender sky.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Like windless clouds <i>in</i> a tender sky.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">I</span>, 98.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Whose waves never <i>wrinkle</i>, though they impress.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">I</span>, 106.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Was as God is to the starry scheme,”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Was as <i>is God</i> to the starry scheme.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">I</span>, 4.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“As if some bright spirit for her sweet sake</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Had deserted heaven while the stars were awake.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“As some bright spirit for her sweet sake</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Had deserted <i>the</i> heaven while the stars were awake.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">II</span>, 17-18.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The freshest her gentle hands could pull.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The freshest her gentle hands could <i>cull</i>.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">II</span>, 46.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The sweet lips of the flowers and harm not, did she.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The sweet lips of flowers,” etc.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">II</span>, 51.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Edge of the odorous cedar bark.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Edge of the odorous <i>cypress</i> bark.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">II</span>, 56.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Sent through the pores of the coffin plank.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“<i>Ran</i> through,” etc.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 12.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Between the time of the wind and the snow.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Between the <i>term</i>,” etc. [probably accidental].</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 50.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Dammed it up with roots knotted like water-snakes.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Dammed it with,” etc.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 69.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“At noon they were seen, at noon they were felt.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“At noon they were seen & noon they were felt.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 73.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="hanging">[“&” perhaps written carelessly for “at.”]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Their decay and sudden flight from frost.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Their decay and sudden flight from <i>the</i> frost.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 98.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“To own that death itself must be.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“To <i>think</i> that,” etc.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="allsmcap">III</span>, 128.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div></div> - -<p>These comparisons are here carried no further -than “The Sensitive Plant,” except that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -there is a canceled verse of Shelley’s “Curse” -against Lord Eldon for depriving him of his -children,—a verse so touching that I think it -should be preserved. The verse beginning—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“By those unpractised accents of young speech,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">opened originally as follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“By that sweet voice which who could understand</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To frame to sounds of love and lore divine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Not thou.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">This was abandoned and the following substituted:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“By those pure accents which at my command</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Should have been framed to love and lore divine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Now like a lute, fretted by some rude hand,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Uttering harsh discords, they must echo thine.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">This also was erased, and the present form substituted, -although I confess it seems to me both -less vigorous and less tender. Professor Woodberry -mentions the change, but does not give the -canceled verse. In this and other cases I do not -venture to blame him for the omission, since -an editor must, after all, exercise his own judgment. -Yet I cannot but wish that he had carried -his citation, even of canceled variations, -a little further; and it is evident that some -future student of poetic art will yet find rich -gleanings in the Harvard Shelley manuscript.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III_A_KEATS_MANUSCRIPT">III<br /> -<span class="smaller">A KEATS MANUSCRIPT</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> - -<h3>A KEATS MANUSCRIPT</h3> - -</div> - -<p>“Touch it,” said Leigh Hunt, when he -showed Bayard Taylor a lock of brown silky -hair, “and you will have touched Milton’s self.” -The magic of the lock of hair is akin to that -recognized by nomadic and untamed races in -anything that has been worn close to the person -of a great or fortunate being. Mr. Leland, much -reverenced by the gypsies, whose language he -spoke and whose lore he knew better than they -know it, had a knife about his person which was -supposed by them to secure the granting of any -request if held in the hand. When he gave it -away, it was like the transfer of fairy power -to the happy recipient. The same lucky spell -is attributed to a piece of the bride’s garter, in -Normandy, or to pins filched from her dress, in -Sussex. For those more cultivated, the charm -of this transmitted personality is best embodied -in autographs, and the more unstudied and unpremeditated -the better. In the case of a poet, nothing -can be compared with the interest inspired -by the first draft of a poem, with its successive -amendments—the path by which his thought -attained its final and perfect utterance. Tennyson,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -for instance, was said to be very indignant -with those who bore away from his study certain -rough drafts of poems, justly holding that -the world had no right to any but the completed -form. Yet this is what, as students of -poetry, we all instinctively wish to do. Rightly -or wrongly, we long to trace the successive -steps. To some extent, the same opportunity is -given in successive editions of the printed work; -but here the study is not so much of changes -in the poet’s own mind as of those produced -by the criticisms, often dull or ignorant, of his -readers,—those especially who fail to catch a -poet’s very finest thought, and persuade him to -dilute it a little for their satisfaction. When I -pointed out to Browning some rather unfortunate -alterations in his later editions, and charged -him with having made them to accommodate -stupid people, he admitted the offense and -promised to alter them back again, although, -of course, he never did. But the changes in an -author’s manuscript almost always come either -from his own finer perception and steady advance -toward the precise conveyance of his own -thought, or else from the aid he receives in this -from some immediate friend or adviser—most -likely a woman—who is in close sympathy with -his own mood. The charm is greatest, of course, -in seeing and studying and touching the original<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -page, just as it is. For this a photograph is the -best substitute, since it preserves the original -for the eye, as does the phonograph for the ear. -Even with the aid of photography only, there is -as much difference between the final corrected -shape and the page showing the gradual changes, -as between the graceful yacht lying in harbor, -anchored, motionless, with sails furled, and the -same yacht as a winged creature, gliding into -port. Let us now see, by actual comparison, how -one of Keats’s yachts came in.</p> - -<p>There lies before me a photograph of the first -two stanzas of Keats’s “Ode on Melancholy,” -as they stood when just written. The manuscript -page containing them was given to John -Howard Payne by George Keats, the poet’s -brother, who lived for many years at Louisville, -Kentucky, and died there; but it now belongs -to Mr. R. S. Chilton, United States Consul at -Goderich, Ontario, who has kindly given me a -photograph of it. The verses are in Keats’s well-known -and delicate handwriting, and exhibit a -series of erasures and substitutions which are -now most interesting, inasmuch as the changes -in each instance enrich greatly the value of the -word-painting.</p> - -<p>To begin with, the title varies slightly from -that first adopted, and reads simply “On Melancholy,” -to which the word “Ode” was later prefixed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -by the printers. In the second line, where -he had half written “Henbane” for the material -of his incantation, he blots it out and puts -“Wolfsbane,” instantly abandoning the tamer -suggestion and bringing in all the wildness and -the superstition that have gathered for years -around the Loup-garou and the Wehr-wolf. -This is plainly no amendment suggested afterward -by another person, but is due unmistakably -to the quick action of his own mind. There is -no other change until the end of the first stanza, -where the last two lines were originally written -thus:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“For shade to shade will come too heavily</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">It is noticeable that he originally wrote “down” -for “drown,” and, in afterward inserting the <i>r</i>, -put it in the wrong place—after the <i>o</i>, instead -of before it. This was a slip of the pen only; -but it was that word “heavily” which cost him -a struggle. The words “too heavily” were next -crossed out, and under them were written “too -sleepily”; then this last word was again erased, -and the word “drowsily” was finally substituted—the -only expression in the English language, -perhaps, which could have precisely indicated -the exact shade of debilitating languor -he meant.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> -<img src="images/keats.jpg" width="600" height="950" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span></p> - -<p>In the other stanza, it is noticeable that -he spells “melancholy,” through heedlessness, -“melanancholy,” which gives a curious effect -of prolonging and deepening the incantation; -and this error he does not discover or correct. -In the same way he spells “fit,” “fitt,” having -perhaps in mind the “fytte” of the earlier poets. -These are trifles, but when he alters the line, -which originally stood,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“But when the melancholy fit shall come,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">and for “come” substitutes “fall,” we see at -once, besides the merit of the soft alliteration, -that he gives more of the effect of doom and -suddenness. “Come” was clearly too business -like. Afterwards, instead of—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Then feed thy sorrow on a morning rose,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">he substitutes for “feed” the inexpressibly more -effective word “glut,” which gives at once the -exhaustive sense of wealth belonging so often -to Keats’s poetry, and seems to match the full -ecstasy of color and shape and fragrance that -a morning rose may hold. Finally, in the line -which originally stood,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Or on the rainbow of the dashing wave,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">he strikes out the rather trite epithet “dashing,” -and substitutes the stronger phrase “salt-sand -wave,” which is peculiar to him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span></p> - -<p>All these changes are happily accepted in -the common editions of Keats; but these editions -make two errors that are corrected by -this manuscript, and should henceforth be -abandoned. In the line usually printed,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">the autograph text gives “or” in the place of -the second “nor,” a change consonant with the -best usage; and in the line,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And hides the green hill in an April shroud,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">the middle word is clearly not “hill,” but “hills.” -This is a distinct improvement, both because it -broadens the landscape and because it averts -the jangle of the closing <i>ll</i> with the final words -“fall” and “all” in previous lines.</p> - -<p>It is a fortunate thing that, in the uncertain -destiny of all literary manuscripts, this characteristic -document should have been preserved -for us. It will be remembered that Keats himself -once wrote in a letter that his fondest -prayer, next to that for the health of his brother -Tom, would be that some child of his -brother George “should be the first American -poet.” This letter, printed by Milnes, was -written October 29, 1818. George Keats died -about 1851, and his youngest daughter, Isabel, -who was thought greatly to resemble her uncle<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -John, both in looks and genius, died sadly at the -age of seventeen. It is pleasant to think that we -have, through the care exercised by this American -brother, an opportunity of coming into -close touch with the mental processes of that -rare genius which first imparted something -like actual color to English words. To be -brought thus near to Keats suggests that poem -by Browning where he speaks of a moment’s -interview with one who had seen Shelley, and -compares it to picking up an eagle’s feather on -a lonely heath.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV_MASSASOIT_INDIAN_CHIEF">IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">MASSASOIT, INDIAN CHIEF</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p> - -<h3>MASSASOIT, INDIAN CHIEF</h3> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>There was paid on October 19, 1907, one of the few tributes ever -openly rendered by the white races to the higher type of native Indian -leaders. Such was that given by a large company at Warren, -Rhode Island, to Massasoit, the friendly Indian Sachem who had -first greeted the early Pilgrims, on their arrival at Plymouth in 1620. -The leading address was made by the author of this volume.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The newspaper correspondents tell us that, -when an inquiry was one day made among -visitors returning from the recent Jamestown -Exposition, as to the things seen by each of -them which he or she would remember longest, -one man replied, “That life-size group in the -Smithsonian building which shows John Smith -in his old cock-boat trading with the Indians. -He is giving them beads or something and -getting baskets of corn in exchange.”<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> This -seemed to the speaker, and quite reasonably, -the very first contact with civilization on the -part of the American Indians. Precisely parallel -to this is the memorial which we meet to dedicate, -and which records the first interview in -1620 between the little group of Plymouth -Pilgrims and Massasoit, known as the “greatest -commander of the country,” and “Sachem<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -of the whole region north of Narragansett -Bay.”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>“Heaven from all creatures hides the book -of fate,” says the poet Pope; and nothing is -more remarkable in human history than the -way in which great events sometimes reach -their climax at once, instead of gradually working -up to it. Never was this better illustrated -than when the Plymouth Pilgrims first met the -one man of this region who could guarantee -them peace for fifty years, and did so. The circumstances -seem the simplest of the simple.</p> - -<p>The first hasty glance between the Plymouth -Puritans and the Indians did not take place, as -you will recall, until the newcomers had been -four days on shore, when, in the words of the -old chronicler, “they espied five or sixe people -with a Dogge coming towards them, who were -savages: who when they saw them ran into the -Woods and whistled the Dogge after them.” -(This quadruped, whether large or small, had -always a capital letter in his name, while -human savages had none, in these early narratives.) -When the English pursued the Indians, -“they ran away might and main.”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> The next -interview was a stormier one; four days later, -those same Pilgrims were asleep on board the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -“shallope” on the morning of December 8, 1620 -(now December 19), when they heard “a great -and strange cry,” and arrow-shots came flying -amongst them which they returned and one -Indian “gave an extraordinary cry” and away -they went. After all was quiet, the Pilgrims -picked up eighteen arrows, some “headed with -brass, some with hart’s horn” (deer’s horn), -“and others with eagles’ claws,”<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> the brass -heads at least showing that those Indians had -met Englishmen before.</p> - -<p>Three days after this encounter at Namskeket,—namely, -on December 22, 1620 (a date -now computed as December 23),—the English -landed at Patuxet, now Plymouth. (I know these -particulars as to dates, because I was myself -born on the anniversary of this first date, the -22d, and regarded myself as a sort of brevet -Pilgrim, until men, alleged to be scientific, -robbed me of one point of eminence in my life -by landing the Pilgrims on the 23d). Three -months passed before the sight of any more -Indians, when Samoset came, all alone, with his -delightful salutation, “Welcome, Englishmen,” -and a few days later (March 22, 1621), the great -chief of all that region, Massasoit, appeared on -the scene.</p> - -<p>When he first made himself visible, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -sixty men, on that day, upon what is still known -as Strawberry Hill, he asked that somebody -be sent to hold a parley with him. Edmund -Winslow was appointed to this office, and -went forward protected only by his sword and -armor, and carrying presents to the Sachem. -Winslow also made a speech of some length, -bringing messages (quite imaginary, perhaps, -and probably not at all comprehended) from -King James, whose representative, the governor, -wished particularly to see Massasoit. It -appears from the record, written apparently by -Winslow himself, that Massasoit made no particular -reply to this harangue, but paid very -particular attention to Winslow’s sword and -armor, and proposed at once to begin business -by buying them. This, however, was refused, -but Winslow induced Massasoit to cross a brook -between the English and himself, taking with -him twenty of his Indians, who were bidden -to leave their bows and arrows behind them. -Beyond the brook, he was met by Captain -Standish, with an escort of six armed men, -who exchanged salutations and attended him to -one of the best, but unfinished, houses in the -village. Here a green rug was spread on the -floor and three or four cushions. The governor, -Bradford, then entered the house, followed by -three or four soldiers and preceded by a flourish<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -from a drum and trumpet, which quite delighted -and astonished the Indians. It was a deference -paid to their Sachem. He and the governor -then kissed each other, as it is recorded, -sat down together, and regaled themselves with -an entertainment. The feast is recorded by the -early narrator as consisting chiefly of strong -waters, a “thing the savages love very well,” it -is said; “and the Sachem took such a large -draught of it at once as made him sweat all the -time he staied.”<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<p>A substantial treaty of peace was made on -this occasion, one immortalized by the fact that -it was the first made with the Indians of New -England. It is the unquestioned testimony of -history that the negotiation was remembered -and followed by both sides for half a century: -nor was Massasoit, or any of the Wampanoags -during his lifetime, convicted of having -violated or having attempted to violate any of -its provisions. This was a great achievement! -Do you ask what price bought all this? The -price practically paid for all the vast domain -and power granted to the white man consisted -of the following items: “a pair of knives and a -copper chain with a jewel in it, for the grand -Sachem; and for his brother Quadequina, a -knife, a jewel to hang in his ear, a pot of strong<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -waters, a good quantity of biscuit and a piece -of butter.”<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - -<p>Fair words, the proverb says, butter no parsnips, -but the fair words of the white men had -provided the opportunity for performing that -process. The description preserved of the Indian -chief by an eye-witness is as follows: “In his -person he is a very lusty man in his best years, -an able body, grave of countenance and spare of -speech; in his attire little or nothing differing -from the rest of his followers, only in a great -chain of white bone beads about his neck; and -at it, behind his neck, hangs a little bag of -tobacco, which he drank, and gave us to drink -(this being the phrase for that indulgence in -those days, as is found in Ben Jonson and other -authors). His face was painted with a sad red, -like murrey (so called from the color of the -Moors) and oiled, both head and face, that he -looked greasily. All his followers likewise were -in their faces, in part or in whole painted, some -black, some red, some yellow, and some white, -some with crosses and other antic works; some -had skins on them and some naked: all strong, -tall men in appearance.”<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>All this which Dr. Young tells us would have -been a good description of an Indian party under<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -Black Hawk, which was presented to the President -at Washington as late as 1837; and also, -I can say the same of such a party seen by -myself, coming from a prairie in Kansas, then -unexplored, in 1856.</p> - -<p>The interchange of eatables was evidently at -that period a pledge of good feeling, as it is -to-day. On a later occasion, Captain Standish, -with Isaac Alderton, went to visit the Indians, -who gave them three or four groundnuts and -some tobacco. The writer afterwards says: -“Our governor bid them send the king’s kettle -and filled it full of pease which pleased them -well, and so they went their way.” It strikes -the modern reader as if this were to make pease -and peace practically equivalent, and as if the -parties needed only a pun to make friends. It -is doubtful whether the arrival of a conquering -race was ever in the history of the world marked -by a treaty so simple and therefore noble.</p> - -<p>“This treaty with Massasoit,” says Belknap, -“was the work of one day,” and being honestly -intended on both sides, was kept with fidelity -as long as Massasoit lived.<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> In September, 1639, -Massasoit and his oldest son, Mooanam, afterwards -called Wamsutta, came into the court at -Plymouth and desired that this ancient league -should remain inviolable, which was accordingly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -ratified and confirmed by the government,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> and -lasted until it was broken by Philip, the successor -of Wamsutta, in 1675. It is not my -affair to discuss the later career of Philip, whose -insurrection is now viewed more leniently than -in its own day; but the spirit of it was surely -quite mercilessly characterized by a Puritan minister, -Increase Mather, who, when describing -a battle in which old Indian men and women, -the wounded and the helpless, were burned -alive, said proudly, “This day we brought five -hundred Indian souls to hell.”<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> - -<p>But the end of all was approaching. In 1623, -Massasoit sent a messenger to Plymouth to say -that he was ill, and Governor Bradford sent Mr. -Winslow to him with medicines and cordials. -When they reached a certain ferry, upon Winslow’s -discharging his gun, Indians came to him -from a house not far off who told him that -Massasoit was dead and that day buried. As -they came nearer, at about half an hour before -the setting of the sun, another messenger came -and told them that he was not dead, though -there was no hope that they would find him living. -Hastening on, they arrived late at night.</p> - -<p>“When we came thither,” Winslow writes, -“we found the house so full of men as we could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -scarce get in, though they used their best diligence -to make way for us. There were they in -the midst of their charms for him, making such -a hellish noise as it distempered us that were -well, and therefore unlike to ease him that was -sick. About him were six or eight women, who -chafed his arms, legs and thighs to keep heat -in him. When they had made an end of their -charming, one told him that his friends, the -English, were come to see him. Having understanding -left, but his sight was wholly gone, he -asked who was come. They told him Winsnow, -for they cannot pronounce the letter <i>l</i>, but ordinarily -<i>n</i> in place thereof. He desired to speak -with me. When I came to him and they told -him of it, he put forth his hand to me, which -I took. When he said twice, though very inwardly: -‘Keen Winsnow?’ which is to say ‘Art -thou Winslow?’ I answered: ‘Ahhe’; that is, -‘Yes.’ Then he doubled these words: ‘Matta -neen wonckanet nanem, Winsnow!’ That is to -say: ‘Oh, Winslow, I shall never see thee again!’ -Then I called Hobbamock and desired him to -tell Massasowat that the governor, hearing of -his sickness, was sorry for the same; and though -by many businesses he could not come himself, -yet he sent me with such things for him -as he thought most likely to do good in this -extremity; and whereof if he pleased to take, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -would presently give him; which he desired, -and having a confection of many comfortable -conserves on the point of my knife, I gave him -some, which I could scarce get through his -teeth. When it was dissolved in his mouth, he -swallowed the juice of it; whereat those that -were about him much rejoiced, saying that -he had not swallowed anything in two days -before.”<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> - -<p>Then Winslow tells how he nursed the sick -chief, sending messengers back to the governor -for a bottle of drink, and some chickens from -which to make a broth for his patient. Meanwhile -he dissolved some of the confection in -water and gave it to Massasoit to drink; within -half an hour the Indian improved. Before the -messengers could return with the chickens, -Winslow made a broth of meal and strawberry-leaves -and sassafras-root, which he strained -through his handkerchief and gave the chief, -who drank at least a pint of it. After this his -sight mended more and more, and all rejoiced -that the Englishman had been the means of -preserving the life of Massasoit. At length the -messengers returned with the chickens, but -Massasoit, “finding his stomach come to him, -... would not have the chickens killed, but -kept them for breed.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p> - -<p>From far and near his followers came to see -their restored chief, who feelingly said: “Now I -see the English are my friends and love me; -and whilst I live I will never forget this kindness -they have showed me.”</p> - -<p>It would be interesting, were I to take the -time, to look into the relations of Massasoit -with others, especially with Roger Williams; -but this has been done by others, particularly -in the somewhat imaginative chapter of my old -friend, Mr. Butterworth, and I have already -said enough. Nor can I paint the background of -that strange early society of Rhode Island, its -reaction from the stern Massachusetts rigor, -and its quaint and varied materials. In that -new state, as Bancroft keenly said, there were -settlements “filled with the strangest and -most incongruous elements ... so that if a -man had lost his religious opinions, he might -have been sure to find them again in some village -in Rhode Island.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile “the old benevolent sachem, -Massasoit,” says Drake’s “Book of the Indians,” -“having died in the winter of 1661-2,” so -died, a few months after, his oldest son, Alexander. -Then came by regular succession, Philip, -the next brother, of whom the historian Hubbard -says that for his “ambitious and haughty -spirit he was nicknamed ‘King Philip.’” From<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -this time followed warlike dismay in the colonies, -ending in Philip’s piteous death.</p> - -<p>As a long-deferred memorial to Massasoit -with all his simple and modest virtues, a tablet -has now been reverently dedicated, in the presence -of two of the three surviving descendants -of the Indian chief, one of these wearing his -ancestral robes. The dedication might well -close as it did with the noble words of Young’s -“Night Thoughts,” suited to such an occasion:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Each man makes his own stature, builds himself:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Her monuments shall last when Egypt’s fall.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V_JAMES_FENIMORE_COOPER">V<br /> -<span class="smaller">JAMES FENIMORE COOPER</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p> - -<h3>JAMES FENIMORE COOPER</h3> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Cooper, whose name is with his country’s woven</div> - <div class="verse indent0">First in her ranks; her Pioneer of mind.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>These were the words in which Fitz-Greene -Halleck designated Cooper’s substantial precedence -in American novel-writing. Apart from -this mere priority in time,—he was born at Burlington, -New Jersey, September 15, 1789, and -died at Cooperstown, New York, September 14, -1851,—he rendered the unique service of inaugurating -three especial classes of fiction,—the -novel of the American Revolution, the Indian -novel, and the sea novel. In each case he wrote -primarily for his own fellow countrymen, and -achieved fame first at their hands; and in each -he produced a class of works which, in spite of -their own faults and of the somewhat unconciliatory -spirit of their writer, have secured a permanence -and a breadth of range unequaled in English -prose fiction, save by Scott alone. To-day -the sale of his works in his own language remains -unabated; and one has only to look over the catalogues -of European booksellers in order to -satisfy himself that this popularity continues, undiminished, -through the medium of translation.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -It may be safely said of him that no author of -fiction in the English language, except Scott, -has held his own so well for half a century after -death. Indeed, the list of various editions and -versions of his writings in the catalogues of -German booksellers often exceeds that of Scott. -This is not in the slightest degree due to his -personal qualities, for these made him unpopular, -nor to personal manœuvring, for this he -disdained. He was known to refuse to have his -works even noticed in a newspaper for which -he wrote, the “New York Patriot.” He never -would have consented to review his own books, -as both Scott and Irving did, or to write direct -or indirect puffs of himself, as was done by -Poe and Whitman. He was foolishly sensitive -to criticism, and unable to conceal it; he was -easily provoked to a quarrel; he was dissatisfied -with either praise or blame, and speaks evidently -of himself in the words of the hero of “Miles -Wallingford,” when he says: “In scarce a circumstance -of my life that has brought me in the -least under the cognizance of the public have I -ever been judged justly.” There is no doubt -that he himself—or rather the temperament -given him by nature—was to blame for this, -but the fact is unquestionable.</p> - -<p>Add to this that he was, in his way and in what -was unfortunately the most obnoxious way, a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -reformer. That is, he was what may be called -a reformer in the conservative direction,—he -belabored his fellow citizens for changing many -English ways and usages, and he wished them -to change these things back again, immediately. -In all this he was absolutely unselfish, but utterly -tactless; and inasmuch as the point of -view he took was one requiring the very greatest -tact, the defect was hopeless. As a rule, no -man criticises American ways so unsuccessfully -as an American who has lived many years -in Europe. The mere European critic is ignorant -of our ways and frankly owns it, even if -thinking the fact but a small disqualification; -while the American absentee, having remained -away long enough to have forgotten many things -and never to have seen many others, may have -dropped hopelessly behindhand as to the facts, -yet claims to speak with authority. Cooper -went even beyond these professional absentees, -because, while they are usually ready to praise -other countries at the expense of America, -Cooper, with heroic impartiality, dispraised all -countries, or at least all that spoke English. A -thoroughly patriotic and high-minded man, he -yet had no mental perspective, and made small -matters as important as great. Constantly reproaching -America for not being Europe, he -also satirized Europe for being what it was.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span></p> - -<p>As a result, he was for a time equally detested -by the press of both countries. The English, -he thought, had “a national propensity to blackguardism,” -and certainly the remarks he drew -from them did something to vindicate the charge. -When the London “Times” called him “affected, -offensive, curious, and ill-conditioned,” -and “Fraser’s Magazine,” “a liar, a bilious -braggart, a full jackass, an insect, a grub, and -a reptile,” they clearly left little for America -to say in that direction. Yet Park Benjamin -did his best, or his worst, when he called Cooper -(in Greeley’s “New Yorker”) “a superlative -dolt and the common mark of scorn and contempt -of every well-informed American”; and -so did Webb, when he pronounced the novelist -“a base-minded caitiff who had traduced his -country.” Not being able to reach his English -opponents, Cooper turned on these Americans, -and spent years in attacking Webb and others -through the courts, gaining little and losing -much through the long vicissitudes of petty -local lawsuits. The fact has kept alive their -memory; but for Lowell’s keener shaft, “Cooper -has written six volumes to show he’s as good -as a lord,” there was no redress. The arrow -lodged and split the target.</p> - -<p>Like Scott and most other novelists, Cooper -was rarely successful with his main characters,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -but was saved by his subordinate ones. These -were strong, fresh, characteristic, human; and -they lay, as I have already said, in several different -directions, all equally marked. If he did not -create permanent types in Harvey Birch the -spy, Leather-Stocking the woodsman, Long -Tom Coffin the sailor, Chingachgook the Indian, -then there is no such thing as the creation of -characters in literature. Scott was far more profuse -and varied, but he gave no more of life to -individual personages, and perhaps created no -types so universally recognized. What is most -remarkable is that, in the case of the Indian especially, -Cooper was not only in advance of the -knowledge of his own time, but of that of the -authors who immediately followed him. In Parkman -and Palfrey, for instance, the Indian of -Cooper vanishes and seems wholly extinguished; -but under the closer inspection of Alice Fletcher -and Horatio Hale, the lost figure reappears, and -becomes more picturesque, more poetic, more -thoughtful, than even Cooper dared to make -him. The instinct of the novelist turned out -more authoritative than the premature conclusions -of a generation of historians.</p> - -<p>It is only women who can draw the commonplace, -at least in English, and make it fascinating. -Perhaps only two English women have -done this, Jane Austen and George Eliot; while<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -in France George Sand has certainly done it -far less well than it has been achieved by Balzac -and Daudet. Cooper never succeeded in it for -a single instant, and even when he has an admiral -of this type to write about, he puts into -him less of life than Marryat imparts to the -most ordinary midshipman. The talk of Cooper’s -civilian worthies is, as Professor Lounsbury has -well said,—in what is perhaps the best biography -yet written of any American author,—“of -a kind not known to human society.” This -is doubtless aggravated by the frequent use of -<i>thee</i> and <i>thou</i>, yet this, which Professor Lounsbury -attributes to Cooper’s Quaker ancestry, -was in truth a part of the formality of the old -period, and is found also in Brockden Brown. -And as his writings conform to their period in -this, so they did in other respects: describing -every woman, for instance, as a “female,” and -making her to be such as Cooper himself describes -the heroine of “Mercedes of Castile” -to be when he says, “Her very nature is made -up of religion and female decorum.” Scott himself -could also draw such inane figures, yet in -Jeanie Deans he makes an average Scotch -woman heroic, and in Meg Merrilies and Madge -Wildfire he paints the extreme of daring self-will. -There is scarcely a novel of Scott’s where -some woman does not show qualities which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -approach the heroic; while Cooper scarcely -produced one where a woman rises even to the -level of an interesting commonplaceness. She -may be threatened, endangered, tormented, besieged -in forts, captured by Indians, but the -same monotony prevails. So far as the real interest -of Cooper’s story goes, it might usually -be destitute of a single “female,” that sex -appearing chiefly as a bundle of dry goods to -be transported, or as a fainting appendage to -the skirmish. The author might as well have -written the romance of an express parcel.</p> - -<p>His long introductions he shared with the -other novelists of the day, or at least with Scott, -for both Miss Austen and Miss Edgeworth are -more modern in this respect and strike more -promptly into the tale. His loose-jointed plots -are also shared with Scott, but Cooper knows as -surely as his rival how to hold the reader’s attention -when once grasped. Like Scott’s, too, is -his fearlessness in giving details, instead of the -vague generalizations which were then in fashion, -and to which his academical critics would -have confined him. He is indeed already vindicated -in some respects by the advance of the art -he pursued; where he led the way, the best -literary practice has followed. The “Edinburgh -Review” exhausted its heavy artillery upon him -for his accurate descriptions of costume and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -localities, and declared that they were “an epilepsy -of the fancy,” and that a vague general -account would have been far better. “Why -describe the dress and appearance of an Indian -chief, down to his tobacco-stopper and button-holes?” -We now see that it is this very habit -which has made Cooper’s Indian a permanent -figure in literature, while the Indians of his predecessor, -Charles Brockden Brown, were merely -dusky spectres. “Poetry or romance,” continued -the “Edinburgh Review,” “does not descend -into the particulars,” this being the same fallacy -satirized by Ruskin, whose imaginary painter -produced a quadruped which was a generalization -between a pony and a pig. Balzac, who -risked the details of buttons and tobacco pipes -as fearlessly as Cooper, said of “The Pathfinder,” -“Never did the art of writing tread -closer upon the art of the pencil. This is the -school of study for literary landscape painters.” -He says elsewhere: “If Cooper had succeeded -in the painting of character to the same extent -that he did in the painting of the phenomena -of nature, he would have uttered the last word -of our art.” Upon such praise as this the reputation -of James Fenimore Cooper may well -rest.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI_CHARLES_BROCKDEN_BROWN">VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span></p> - -<h3>CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN</h3> - -</div> - -<p>When, in 1834, the historian Jared Sparks -undertook the publication of a “Library of -American Biography,” he included in the very -first volume—with a literary instinct most -creditable to one so absorbed in the severer -paths of history—a memoir of Charles Brockden -Brown by W. H. Prescott. It was an appropriate -tribute to the first imaginative writer -worth mentioning in America,—he having been -born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on January -17, 1771, and died there of consumption -on February 22, 1810,—and to one who was -our first professional author. He was also the -first to exert a positive influence, across the -Atlantic, upon British literature, laying thus -early a few modest strands towards an ocean-cable -of thought. As a result of this influence, -concealed doors opened in lonely houses, fatal -epidemics laid cities desolate, secret plots were -organized, unknown persons from foreign lands -died in garrets, usually leaving large sums of -money; the honor of innocent women was constantly -endangered, though usually saved in -time; people were subject to somnambulism and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -general frenzy; vast conspiracies were organized -with small aims and smaller results. His books, -published between 1798 and 1801, made their -way across the ocean with a promptness that -now seems inexplicable; and Mrs. Shelley, in her -novel of “The Last Man,” founds her whole -description of an epidemic which nearly destroyed -the human race, on “the masterly delineations -of the author of ‘Arthur Mervyn.’”</p> - -<p>Shelley himself recognized his obligations to -Brown; and it is to be remembered that Brown -himself was evidently familiar with Godwin’s -philosophical writings, and that he may have -drawn from those of Mary Wollstonecraft his -advanced views as to the rights and education -of women, a subject on which his first book, -“Alcuin,” offered the earliest American protest. -Undoubtedly his books furnished a point -of transition from Mrs. Radcliffe, of whom he -disapproved, to the modern novel of realism, although -his immediate influence and, so to speak, -his stage properties, can hardly be traced later -than the remarkable tale, also by a Philadelphian, -called “Stanley; or the Man of the World,” first -published in 1839 in London, though the scene -was laid in America. This book was attributed, -from its profuse literary quotations, to Edward -Everett, but was soon understood to be the work -of a very young man of twenty-one, Horace<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -Binney Wallace. In this book the influence of -Bulwer and Disraeli is palpable, but Brown’s concealed -chambers and aimless conspiracies and -sudden mysterious deaths also reappear in full -force, not without some lingering power, and -then vanish from American literature forever.</p> - -<p>Brown’s style, and especially the language put -by him into the mouths of his characters, is perhaps -unduly characterized by Professor Woodberry -as being “something never heard off the -stage of melodrama.” What this able critic does -not sufficiently recognize is that the general -style of the period at which they were written -was itself melodramatic; and that to substitute -what we should call simplicity would then have -made the picture unfaithful. One has only to -read over the private letters of any educated -family of that period to see that people did not -then express themselves as they now do; that -they were far more ornate in utterance, more -involved in statement, more impassioned in -speech. Even a comparatively terse writer like -Prescott, in composing Brown’s biography only -sixty years ago, shows traces of the earlier -period. Instead of stating simply that his hero -was a born Quaker, he says of him: “He was -descended from a highly respectable family, -whose parents were of that estimable sect who -came over with William Penn, to seek an asylum<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -where they might worship their Creator -unmolested, in the meek and humble spirit of -their own faith.” Prescott justly criticises Brown -for saying, “I was <i>fraught with the apprehension</i> -that my life was endangered”; or “his -brain seemed to swell beyond its <i>continent</i>”; -or “I drew every bolt that <i>appended</i> to it”; or -“on recovering from <i>deliquium</i>, you found it -where it had been dropped”; or for resorting to -the circumlocution of saying, “by a common -apparatus that lay beside my head I could produce -a light,” when he really meant that he had -a tinder-box. The criticism on Brown is fair -enough, yet Prescott himself presently takes us -halfway back to the florid vocabulary of that -period, when, instead of merely saying that his -hero was fond of reading, he tells us that “from -his earliest childhood Brown gave evidence of -studious propensities, being frequently noticed -by his father on his return from school poring -over some heavy tome.” If the tome in -question was Johnson’s dictionary, as it may -have been, it would explain both Brown’s style -of writing and the milder amplifications of his -biographer. Nothing is more difficult to tell, in -the fictitious literature of even a generation or -two ago, where a faithful delineation ends and -where caricature begins. The four-story signatures -of Micawber’s letters, as represented by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -Dickens, go but little beyond the similar courtesies -employed in a gentlewoman’s letters in -the days of Anna Seward. All we can say is -that within a century, for some cause or other, -English speech has grown very much simpler, -and human happiness has increased in proportion.</p> - -<p>In the preface to his second novel, “Edgar -Huntley,” Brown announces it as his primary -purpose to be American in theme, “to exhibit -a series of adventures growing out of our own -country,” adding, “That the field of investigation -opened to us by our own country should -differ essentially from those which exist in Europe -may be readily conceived.” He protests -against “puerile superstition and exploded manners, -Gothic castles and chimeras,” and adds: -“The incidents of Indian hostility and the -perils of the western wilderness are far more -suitable.” All this is admirable, but unfortunately -the inherited thoughts and methods of -the period hung round him to cloy his style, -even after his aim was emancipated. It is to be -remembered that almost all his imaginative -work was done in early life, before the age of -thirty, and before his powers became mature. -Yet with all his drawbacks he had achieved his -end, and had laid the foundation for American -fiction.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span></p> - -<p>With all his inflation of style, he was undoubtedly, -in his way, a careful observer. The -proof of this is that he has preserved for us -many minor points of life and manners which -make the Philadelphia of a century ago now -more familiar to us than is any other American -city of that period. He gives us the roving Indian; -the newly arrived French musician with -violin and monkey; the one-story farmhouses, -where boarders are entertained at a dollar a -week; the gray cougar amid caves of limestone. -We learn from him “the dangers and -toils of a midnight journey in a stage coach in -America. The roads are knee deep in mire, -winding through crags and pits, while the -wheels groan and totter and the curtain and -roof admit the wet at a thousand seams.” We -learn the proper costume for a youth of good -fortune and family,—“nankeen coat striped -with green, a white silk waistcoat elegantly -needle-wrought, cassimere pantaloons, stockings -of variegated silk, and shoes that in their -softness vie with satin.” When dressing himself, -this favored youth ties his flowing locks -with a black ribbon. We find from him that -“stage boats” then crossed twice a day from -New York to Staten Island, and we discover -also with some surprise that negroes were freely -admitted to ride in stages in Pennsylvania,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -although they were liable, half a century later, -to be ejected from street-cars. We learn also -that there were negro free schools in Philadelphia. -All this was before 1801.</p> - -<p>It has been common to say that Brown had -no literary skill, but it would be truer to say -that he had no sense of literary construction. -So far as skill is tested by the power to pique -curiosity, Brown had it; his chapters almost -always end at a point of especial interest, and -the next chapter, postponing the solution, often -diverts the interest in a wholly new direction. -But literary structure there is none: the plots -are always cumulative and even oppressive; -narrative is inclosed in narrative; new characters -and complications come and go, while important -personages disappear altogether, and -are perhaps fished up with difficulty, as with -a hook and line, on the very last page. There is -also a total lack of humor, and only such efforts -at vivacity as this: “Move on, my quill! wait -not for my guidance. Reanimated with thy -master’s spirit, all airy light. A heyday rapture! -A mounting impulse sways him; lifts -him from the earth.” There is so much of -monotony in the general method, that one novel -seems to stand for all; and the same modes of -solution reappear so often,—somnambulism,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -ventriloquism, yellow fever, forged letters, concealed -money, secret closets,—that it not only -gives a sense of puerility, but makes it very -difficult to recall, as to any particular passage, -from which book it came.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII_HENRY_DAVID_THOREAU">VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">HENRY DAVID THOREAU</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span></p> - -<h3>HENRY DAVID THOREAU</h3> - -</div> - -<p>There has been in America no such instance -of posthumous reputation as in the case of -Thoreau. Poe and Whitman may be claimed as -parallels, but not justly. Poe, even during his -life, rode often on the very wave of success, -until it subsided presently beneath him, always -to rise again, had he but made it possible. -Whitman gathered almost immediately a small -but stanch band of followers, who have held by -him with such vehemence and such flagrant -imitation as to keep his name defiantly in evidence, -while perhaps enhancing the antagonism -of his critics. Thoreau could be egotistical -enough, but was always high-minded; all was -open and aboveboard; one could as soon conceive -of self-advertising by a deer in the woods -or an otter of the brook. He had no organized -clique of admirers, nor did he possess even -what is called personal charm,—or at least only -that piquant attraction which he himself found -in wild apples. As a rule, he kept men at a distance, -being busy with his own affairs. He left -neither wife nor children to attend to his memory; -and his sister seemed for a time to repress<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -the publication of his manuscripts. Yet this -plain, shy, retired student, who when thirty-two -years old carried the unsold edition of his -first book upon his back to his attic chamber; -who died at forty-four still unknown to the -general public; this child of obscurity, who -printed but two volumes during his lifetime, -has had ten volumes of his writings published -by others since his death, while four biographies -of him have been issued in America (by Emerson, -Channing, Sanborn, and Jones), besides -two in England (by Page and Salt).</p> - -<p>Thoreau was born in Boston on July 12, 1817, -but spent most of his life in Concord, Massachusetts, -where he taught school and was for -three years an inmate of the family of Ralph -Waldo Emerson, practicing at various times the -art of pencil-making—his father’s occupation—and -also of surveying, carpentering, and -housekeeping. So identified was he with the -place that Emerson speaks of it in one case as -Thoreau’s “native town.” Yet from that very -familiarity, perhaps, the latter was underestimated -by many of his neighbors, as was the -case in Edinburgh with Sir Walter Scott, as -Mrs. Grant of Laggan describes.</p> - -<p>When I was endeavoring, about 1870, to persuade -Thoreau’s sister to let some one edit his -journals, I invoked the aid of Judge Hoar, then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -lord of the manor in Concord, who heard me patiently -through, and then said: “Whereunto? -You have not established the preliminary point. -Why should any one wish to have Thoreau’s -journals printed?” Ten years later, four successive -volumes were made out of these journals -by the late H. G. O. Blake, and it became a -question if the whole might not be published. -I hear from a local photograph dealer in Concord -that the demand for Thoreau’s pictures -now exceeds that for any other local celebrity. -In the last sale catalogue of autographs which -I have encountered, I find a letter from Thoreau -priced at $17.50, one from Hawthorne valued -at the same, one from Longfellow at $4.50 only, -and one from Holmes at $3, each of these being -guaranteed as an especially good autograph letter. -Now the value of such memorials during -a man’s life affords but a slight test of his permanent -standing,—since almost any man’s -autograph can be obtained for two postage-stamps -if the request be put with sufficient ingenuity;—but -when this financial standard can -be safely applied more than thirty years after -a man’s death, it comes pretty near to a permanent -fame.</p> - -<p>It is true that Thoreau had Emerson as the -editor of four of his posthumous volumes; but -it is also true that he had against him the vehement<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -voice of Lowell, whose influence as a critic -was at that time greater than Emerson’s. It will -always remain a puzzle why it was that Lowell, -who had reviewed Thoreau’s first book with cordiality -in the “Massachusetts Quarterly Review,” -and had said to me afterwards, on hearing him -compared to Izaak Walton, “There is room for -three or four Waltons in Thoreau,” should have -written the really harsh attack on the latter -which afterwards appeared, and in which the -plain facts were unquestionably perverted. To -transform Thoreau’s two brief years of study -and observation at Walden, within two miles of -his mother’s door, into a life-long renunciation -of his fellow men; to complain of him as waiving -all interest in public affairs when the great -crisis of John Brown’s execution had found him -far more awake to it than Lowell was,—this -was only explainable by the lingering tradition -of that savage period of criticism, initiated by -Poe, in whose hands the thing became a tomahawk. -As a matter of fact, the tomahawk had -in this case its immediate effect; and the English -editor and biographer of Thoreau has stated -that Lowell’s criticism is to this day the great -obstacle to the acceptance of Thoreau’s writings -in England. It is to be remembered, however, -that Thoreau was not wholly of English -but partly of French origin, and was, it might<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -be added, of a sort of moral-Oriental, or Puritan -Pagan temperament. With a literary feeling -even stronger than his feeling for nature,—the -proof of this being that he could not, like many -men, enjoy nature in silence,—he put his observations -always on the level of literature, -while Mr. Burroughs, for instance, remains -more upon the level of journalism. It is to be -doubted whether any author under such circumstances -would have been received favorably -in England; just as the poems of Emily Dickinson, -which have shafts of profound scrutiny -that often suggest Thoreau, had an extraordinary -success at home, but fell hopelessly dead in -England, so that the second volume was never -even published.</p> - -<p>Lowell speaks of Thoreau as “indolent”; -but this is, as has been said, like speaking of -the indolence of a self-registering thermometer. -Lowell objects to him as pursuing “a seclusion -that keeps him in the public eye”; whereas it -was the public eye which sought him; it was -almost as hard to persuade him to lecture (<i>crede -experto</i>) as it was to get an audience for him -when he had consented. He never proclaimed -the intrinsic superiority of the wilderness, as -has been charged, but pointed out better than -any one else has done its undesirableness as a -residence, ranking it only as “a resource and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -a background.” “The partially cultivated country -it is,” he says, “which has chiefly inspired, -and will continue to inspire, the strains of poets -such as compose the mass of any literature.” -“What is nature,” he elsewhere says, “unless -there is a human life passing within it? Many -joys and many sorrows are the lights and shadows -in which she shines most beautiful.” This -is the real and human Thoreau, who often -whimsically veiled himself, but was plainly -enough seen by any careful observer. That he -was abrupt and repressive to bores and pedants, -that he grudged his time to them and frequently -withdrew himself, was as true of him as of -Wordsworth or Tennyson. If they were allowed -their privacy, though in the heart of England, -an American who never left his own broad continent -might at least be allowed his privilege -of stepping out of doors. The Concord school-children -never quarreled with this habit, for -he took them out of doors with him and taught -them where the best whortleberries grew.</p> - -<p>His scholarship, like his observation of nature, -was secondary to his function as poet -and writer. Into both he carried the element -of whim; but his version of the “Prometheus -Bound” shows accuracy, and his study of birds -and plants shows care. It must be remembered -that he antedated the modern school, classed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -plants by the Linnæan system, and had necessarily -Nuttall for his elementary manual of -birds. Like all observers, he left whole realms -uncultivated; thus he puzzles in his journal -over the great brown paper cocoon of the <i>Attacus -Cecropia</i>, which every village boy brings -home from the winter meadows. If he has not -the specialized habit of the naturalist of to-day, -neither has he the polemic habit; firm beyond -yielding, as to the local facts of his own Concord, -he never quarrels with those who have -made other observations elsewhere; he is involved -in none of those contests in which palæontologists, -biologists, astronomers, have wasted -so much of their lives.</p> - -<p>His especial greatness is that he gives us -standing-ground below the surface, a basis not -to be washed away. A hundred sentences might -be quoted from him which make common observers -seem superficial and professed philosophers -trivial, but which, if accepted, place the -realities of life beyond the reach of danger. -He was a spiritual ascetic, to whom the simplicity -of nature was luxury enough; and this, in -an age of growing expenditure, gave him an -unspeakable value. To him, life itself was a -source of joy so great that it was only weakened -by diluting it with meaner joys. This was the -standard to which he constantly held his contemporaries.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -“There is nowhere recorded,” he -complains, “a simple and irrepressible satisfaction -with the gift of life, any memorable praise -of God.... If the day and the night are such -that you greet them with joy, and life emits a -fragrance, like flowers and sweet-scented herbs,—is -more elastic, starry, and immortal,—that -is your success.” This was Thoreau, who died -unmarried at Concord, Massachusetts, May 6, -1862.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII_EMERSONS_FOOT-NOTE_PERSONALCOTT">VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">EMERSON’S “FOOT-NOTE PERSON,”—ALCOTT</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> - -<h3>EMERSON’S “FOOT-NOTE PERSON,”—ALCOTT</h3> - -</div> - -<p>The phrase “foot-note person” was first introduced -into our literature by one of the most -acute and original of the anonymous writers in -the “Atlantic Monthly” (July, 1906), one by -whose consent I am permitted to borrow it -for my present purpose. Its originator himself -suggests, as an illustration of what he means, -the close relation which existed through life -between Ralph Waldo Emerson and his less -famous Concord neighbor, Amos Bronson Alcott. -The latter was doubtless regarded by -the world at large as a mere “foot-note” to his -famous friend, while he yet was doubtless the -only literary contemporary to whom Emerson -invariably and candidly deferred, regarding him, -indeed, as unequivocally the leading philosophic -or inspirational mind of his day. Let this -“foot-note,” then, be employed as the text for -frank discussion of what was, perhaps, the most -unique and picturesque personality developed -during the Transcendental period of our American -literature. Let us consider the career of one -who was born with as little that seemed advantageous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -in his surroundings as was the case -with Abraham Lincoln, or John Brown of Ossawatomie, -and who yet developed in the end an -individuality as marked as that of Poe or Walt -Whitman.</p> - -<p>In looking back on the intellectual group -of New England, eighty years ago, nothing is -more noticeable than its birth in a circle already -cultivated, at least according to the standard of -its period. Emerson, Channing, Bryant, Longfellow, -Hawthorne, Holmes, Lowell, even Whittier, -were born into what were, for the time -and after their own standard, cultivated families. -They grew up with the protection and stimulus -of parents and teachers; their early biographies -offer nothing startling. Among them -appeared, one day, this student and teacher, -more serene, more absolutely individual, than -any one of them. He had indeed, like every boy -born in New England, some drop of academic -blood within his traditions, but he was born in -the house of his grandfather, a poor farmer in -Wolcott, Connecticut, on November 29, 1799. -He went to the most primitive of wayside -schools, and was placed at fourteen as apprentice -in a clock factory; was for a few years -a traveling peddler, selling almanacs and trinkets; -then wandered as far as North Carolina -and Virginia in a similar traffic; then became<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -a half-proselyte among Quakers in North Carolina; -then a school-teacher in Connecticut; -always poor, but always thoughtful, ever gravitating -towards refined society, and finally coming -under the influence of that rare and high-minded -man, the Rev. Samuel J. May, and -placing himself at last in the still more favored -position of Emerson’s foot-note. When that -took place, it suddenly made itself clear to the -whole Concord circle that there was not one -among them so serene, so equable, so dreamy, -yet so constitutionally a leader, as this wandering -child of the desert. Of all the men known -in New England, he seemed the one least likely -to have been a country peddler.</p> - -<p>Mr. Alcott first visited Concord, as Mr. -Cabot’s memoir of Emerson tells us, in 1835, -and in 1840 came there to live. But it was as -early as May 19, 1837, that Emerson wrote to -Margaret Fuller: “Mr. Alcott is the great man. -His book [‘Conversations on the Gospels’] -does him no justice, and I do not like to see it.... -But he has more of the Godlike than any -man I have ever seen and his presence rebukes -and threatens and raises. He <i>is</i> a teacher.... -If he cannot make intelligent men feel the presence -of a superior nature, the worse for them; -I can never doubt him.”<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> It is suggested by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -Dr. W. T. Harris, one of the two joint biographers -of Alcott, that the description in the last -chapter of Emerson’s book styled “Nature,” -finished in August, 1836, was derived from a -study of Mr. Alcott, and it is certain that there -was no man among Emerson’s contemporaries -of whom thenceforward he spoke with such habitual -deference. Courteous to all, it was to Alcott -alone that he seemed to look up. Not merely -Alcott’s abstract statements, but his personal -judgments, made an absolutely unique impression -upon his more famous fellow townsman. It -is interesting to notice that Alcott, while staying -first in Concord, “complained of lack of -simplicity in A⸺, B⸺, C⸺, and D⸺ -(late visitors from the city).” Emerson said approvingly -to his son: “Alcott is right touchstone -to test them, litmus to detect the acid.”<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> -We cannot doubt that such a man’s own judgment -was absolutely simple; and such was -clearly the opinion held by Emerson, who, -indeed, always felt somewhat easier when he -could keep Alcott at his elbow in Concord. -Their mutual confidence reminds one of what -was said long since by Dr. Samuel Johnson, -that poetry was like brown bread: those who -made it in their own houses never quite liked -the taste of what they got elsewhere.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> - -<p>And from the very beginning, this attitude -was reciprocated. At another time during that -same early period (1837), Alcott, after criticising -Emerson a little for “the picture of vulgar -life that he draws with a Shakespearian boldness,” -closes with this fine tribute to the intrinsic -qualities of his newly won friend: “Observe -his style; it is full of genuine phrases -from the Saxon. He loves the simple, the natural; -the thing is sharply presented, yet graced -by beauty and elegance. Our language is a fit -organ, as used by him; and we hear classic -English once more from northern lips. Shakespeare, -Sidney, Browne, speak again to us, and -we recognize our affinity with the fathers of -English diction. Emerson is the only instance -of original style among Americans. Who writes -like him? Who can? None of his imitators, -surely. The day shall come when this man’s -genius shall shine beyond the circle of his own -city and nation. Emerson’s is destined to be -the high literary name of this age.”<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p> - -<p>No one up to that time, probably, had uttered -an opinion of Emerson quite so prophetic as -this; it was not until four years later, in 1841, -that even Carlyle received the first volume -of Emerson’s “Essays” and said, “It is once -more the voice of a man.” Yet from that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -moment Alcott and Emerson became united, -however inadequate their twinship might have -seemed to others. Literature sometimes, doubtless, -makes strange friendships. There is a -tradition that when Browning was once introduced -to a new Chinese ambassador in London, -the interpreter called attention to the fact that -they were both poets. Upon Browning’s courteously -asking how much poetry His Excellency -had thus far written, he replied, “Four -volumes,” and when asked what style of poetic -art he cultivated, the answer was, “Chiefly the -enigmatical.” It is reported that Browning -afterwards charitably or modestly added, “We -felt doubly brothers after that.” It may have -been in a similar spirit that Emerson and his -foot-note might seem at first to have united -their destinies.</p> - -<p>Emerson at that early period saw many defects -in Alcott’s style, even so far as to say that it -often reminded him of that vulgar saying, “All -stir and no go”; but twenty years later, in 1855, -he magnificently vindicated the same style, then -grown more cultivated and powerful, and, indeed, -wrote thus of it: “I have been struck with the -late superiority Alcott showed. His interlocutors -were all better than he: he seemed childish -and helpless, not apprehending or answering -their remarks aright, and they masters of their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -weapons. But by and by, when he got upon a -thought, like an Indian seizing by the mane and -mounting a wild horse of the desert, he overrode -them all, and showed such mastery, and took up -Time and Nature like a boy’s marble in his hand, -as to vindicate himself.”<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p> - -<p>A severe test of a man’s depth of observation -lies always in the analysis he gives of his neighbor’s -temperament; even granting this appreciation -to be, as is sometimes fairly claimed, a -woman’s especial gift. It is a quality which certainly -marked Alcott, who once said, for instance, -of Emerson’s combination of a clear voice with -a slender chest, that “some of his organs were -free, some fated.” Indeed, his power in the -graphic personal delineations of those about him -was almost always visible, as where he called -Garrison “a phrenological head illuminated,” -or said of Wendell Phillips, “Many are the -friends of his golden tongue.” This quality I -never felt more, perhaps, than when he once said, -when dining with me at the house of James T. -Fields, in 1862, and speaking of a writer whom -I thought I had reason to know pretty well: -“He has a love of <i>wholeness</i>; in this respect far -surpassing Emerson.”</p> - -<p>It is scarcely possible, for any one who recalls -from his youth the antagonism and satire called<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -forth by Alcott’s “sayings” in the early “Dial,” -to avoid astonishment at their more than contemptuous -reception. Take, for example, in the -very first number the fine saying on “Enthusiasm,” -thus:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Believe, youth, that your heart is an oracle; trust -her instinctive auguries; obey her divine leadings; -nor listen too fondly to the uncertain echoes of your -head. The heart is the prophet of your soul, and -ever fulfils her prophecies; reason is her historian; -but for the prophecy, the history would not be.... -Enthusiasm is the glory and hope of the world. -It is the life of sanctity and genius; it has wrought -all miracles since the beginning of time.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Or turn to the following (entitled: “IV. Immortality”):—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The grander my conception of being, the nobler -my future. There can be no sublimity of life without -faith in the soul’s eternity. Let me live superior -to sense and custom, vigilant alway, and I shall experience -my divinity; my hope will be infinite, -nor shall the universe contain, or content me.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Or read this (“XII. Temptation”):—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Greater is he who is above temptation, than -he who, being tempted, overcomes. The latter but -regains the state from which the former has not -fallen. He who is tempted has sinned. Temptation -is impossible to the holy.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> - -<p>Or this (“LXXXVIII. Renunciation”):—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Renounce the world, yourself; and you shall -possess the world, yourself, and God.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>These are but fragments, here and there. For -myself, I would gladly see these “Orphic Sayings” -reprinted to-morrow, and watch the astonishment -of men and women who vaguely recall -the derision with which they were first greeted -more than sixty years ago.</p> - -<p>When it came to putting into action these -high qualities, the stories relating to Mr. Alcott -which seem most improbable are those which are -unquestionably true, as is that of his way of dealing -with a man in distress who came to beg of -him the loan of five dollars. To this Alcott replied, -after searching his pockets, that he had -no such bank-note about him, but could lend him -ten dollars. This offer was accepted, and Alcott -did not even ask the borrower’s name, and could -merely endure the reproach or ridicule of his -friends for six months; after which the same -man appeared and paid back the money, offering -interest, which was refused. The debtor -turned out to be a well-known swindler, to whom -this trusting generosity had made a novel and -manly appeal.</p> - -<p>Truth and honesty are apt to be classed in -men’s minds together, but the power of making -money, or even of returning it when loaned, is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -sometimes developed imperfectly among those -who are in other respects wise and good. A curious -illustration of this may be found in the -published memoirs of Mr. Alcott (i, 349), but -it is quite surpassed by the following narrative, -hitherto unpublished, of a subsequent interview, -even more picturesque, and apparently with the -self-same creditor. I take it from his MS. Diary, -where it appears with the formality of arrangement -and beauty of handwriting which mark -that extraordinary work.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">(MAMMON)</p> - -<p class="center"><i>April, 1839.</i> Thursday, 18th.—</p> - -<p>Things seem strange to me out there in Time and -Space. I am not familiar with the order and usages -of this realm. I am at home in the kingdom of the -Soul alone.</p> - -<p>This day, I passed along our great thoroughfare, -gliding with Emerson’s check in my pocket, into -State Street; and stepped into one of Mammon’s -temples, for some of the world’s coin, wherewith to -supply bread for this body of mine, and those who -depend upon me. But I felt dishonored by resorting -to these haunts of Idolaters. I went not among them -to dig in the mines of Lucre, nor to beg at the doors -of the God. It was the hour for business on ’Change, -which was swarming with worshippers. Bevies of devotees -were consulting on appropriate rites whereby -to honor their divinity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span></p> - -<p>One of these devotees (cousin-german of my wife) -accosted me, as I was returning, and asked me to -bring my oblation with the others. Now I owed -the publican a round thousand, which he proffered -me in days when his God prospered his wits; but -I had nothing for him. That small pittance which I -had just got snugly into my fob (thanks to my friend -E⸺) was not for him, but for my wife’s nurse, -and came just in time to save my wife from distrusting -utterly the succors of Providence. I told my man, -that I had no money; but he might have me, if he -wanted me. No: I was bad stock in the market; -and so he bid me good-day. I left the buzz and hum -of these devotees, who represent old Nature’s relation -to the Appetites and Senses, and returned, -with a sense of grateful relief, from this sally into -the Kingdom of Mammon, back to my domicile -in the Soul.</p> - -</div> - -<p>There was, however, strangely developed in -Alcott’s later life an epoch of positively earning -money. His first efforts at Western lectures began -in the winter of 1853-54, and he returned in -February, 1854. He was to give a series of talks -on the representative minds of New England, -with the circle of followers surrounding each; the -subjects of his discourse being Webster, Greeley, -Garrison, Margaret Fuller, Theodore Parker, -Greenough, and Emerson; the separate themes -being thus stated as seven, and the number of -conversations as only six. Terms for the course<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -were three dollars. By his daughter Louisa’s testimony -he returned late at night with a single dollar -in his pocket, this fact being thus explained -in his own language: “Many promises were not -kept and travelling is costly; but I have opened -the way, and another year shall do better.”<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> At -any rate, his daughter thus pathetically described -his appearance at this interview, as her mother -wrote to a friend: “He looked as cold and thin -as an icicle; but as serene as God.”<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> - -<p>There is an almost dramatic interest in transferring -our imaginations to the later visit he -made westward, when he was eighty-one years -old, between October, 1880, and May, 1881. He -then traveled more than five thousand miles, -lectured or held conversations at the rate of -more than one a day, Sundays included, and -came back with a thousand dollars, although -more than half of his addresses had been gratuitous. -For seven years after this he was the -nominal dean of the so-called “School of Philosophy” -in Concord, and for four years took -an active part in its lectures and discussions. -His last written works were most appropriately -two sonnets on “Immortality,” this being the -only theme remaining inexhaustibly open.</p> - -<p>Perhaps no two persons in the world were in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -their intellectual method more antipodal—to -use one of Alcott’s favorite phrases—than -himself and Parker, though each stood near to -Emerson and ostensibly belonged to the same -body of thinkers. In debate, the mere presence -of Parker made Alcott seem uneasy, as if yielding -just cause for Emerson’s searching inquiry, -“Of what use is genius, if its focus be a little -too short or too long?” No doubt, Mr. Alcott -might well be one of those to whom such criticism -could fitly be applied, just as it has been -used to discourage the printing of Thoreau’s -whole journal. Is it not possible that Alcott’s -fame may yet be brought up gradually and -securely, like Thoreau’s, from those ample and -beautifully written volumes which Alcott left -behind him?</p> - -<p>Alcott doubtless often erred, at first, in the -direction of inflation in language. When the -Town and Country Club was organized in Boston, -and had been, indeed, established “largely -to afford a dignified occupation for Alcott,” as -Emerson said, Alcott wished to have it christened -either the Olympian Club or the Pan -Club. Lowell, always quick at a joke, suggested -the substitution of “Club of Hercules” instead -of “Olympian”; or else that, inasmuch as the -question of admitting women was yet undecided, -“The Patty-Pan” would be a better name. But<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -if Alcott’s words were large, he acted up to them. -When the small assaulting party was driven -back at the last moment from the Court House -doors in Boston, during the Anthony Burns -excitement, and the steps were left bare, the -crowd standing back, it was Alcott who came -forward and placidly said to the ring-leader, -“Why are we not within?” On being told that -the mob would not follow, he walked calmly -up the steps, alone, cane in hand. When a revolver -was fired from within, just as he had -reached the highest step, and he discovered -himself to be still unsupported, he as calmly -turned and walked down without hastening a -footstep. It was hard to see how Plato or -Pythagoras could have done the thing better. -Again, at the outbreak of the Civil War, when -a project was formed for securing the defense -of Washington by a sudden foray into Virginia, -it appears from his Diary that he had been at -the point of joining it, when it was superseded -by the swift progress of events, and so abandoned.</p> - -<p>The power of early sectarian training is apt -to tell upon the later years even of an independent -thinker, and so it was with Alcott. In his -case a life-long ideal attitude passed back into -something hard to distinguish from old-fashioned -Calvinism. This was especially noticeable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -at the evening receptions of the Rev. Joseph -Cook, who flattered Alcott to the highest degree -and was met at least halfway by the seer -himself. Having been present at one or two of -these receptions, I can testify to the disappointment -inspired in Alcott’s early friends at his -seeming willingness to be made a hero in an -attitude quite alien to that of his former self. -The “New International,” for instance, recognizes -that “in later years his manner became -more formal and his always nebulous teaching -apparently more orthodox.” Be this as it may, -the man whom Emerson called “the most extraordinary -man and highest genius of the -time,” and of whom he says, “As pure intellect -I have never seen his equal,” such a man -needed only the fact of his unprotected footsteps -under fire up the stairs of the Boston -Court House to establish him in history as a -truly all-round man,—unsurpassed among those -of his own generation even in physical pluck.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX_GEORGE_BANCROFT">IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">GEORGE BANCROFT</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p> - -<h3>GEORGE BANCROFT</h3> - -</div> - -<p>George Bancroft, who died in Washington, -D. C., on January 17, 1891, was born at Worcester, -Massachusetts, October 3, 1800, being the -son of Aaron and Lucretia (Chandler) Bancroft. -His first American ancestor in the male line was -John Bancroft, who came to this country from -England, arriving on June 12, 1632, and settling -at Lynn, Massachusetts. There is no evidence -of any especial literary or scholarly tastes in his -early ancestors, although one at least among -them became a subject for literature, being the -hero of one of Cotton Mather’s wonderful tales -of recovery from smallpox. Samuel Bancroft, -grandfather of the great historian, was a man -in public station, and is described by Savage as -“possessing the gift of utterance in an eminent -degree”; and the historian’s father, Rev. Aaron -Bancroft, D. D., was a man of mark. He was -born in 1755, fought at Lexington and Bunker -Hill when almost a boy, was graduated at Harvard -College in 1778, studied for the ministry, -preached for a time in Nova Scotia, was settled -at Worcester in 1788, and died there in 1839. -He was a member of the American Academy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -of Arts and Sciences, was an Arminian in -theology, and in later life was President of the -American Unitarian Association. He published -various occasional sermons, a volume of doctrinal -discourses, and (in 1807) a “Life of Washington,” -which was reprinted in England, and -rivaled in circulation the larger work of Marshall, -which appeared at about the same time. -He thus bequeathed literary tastes to his thirteen -children; and though only one of these -reached public eminence, yet three of the daughters -were prominent for many years in Worcester, -being in charge of a school for girls, and -highly esteemed; while another sister was well -known in Massachusetts and at Washington as -the wife of Governor (afterwards Senator) John -Davis.</p> - -<p>George Bancroft was fitted for college at -Exeter Academy, where he was especially noted -for his fine declamation. He entered Harvard -College in 1813, taking his degree in 1817. He -was the classmate of four men destined to be -actively prominent in the great anti-slavery -agitation a few years later,—Samuel J. May, -Samuel E. Sewall, David Lee Child, and Robert -F. Wallcut,—and of one prospective opponent -of it, Caleb Cushing. Other men of note in the -class were the Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, D. D., -the Rev. Alva Woods, D. D., and Samuel A.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -Eliot, afterwards Treasurer of the College and -father of its recent President. Mr. Bancroft -was younger than any of these, and very probably -the youngest in his class, being less than -seventeen at graduation. He was, however, -second in rank, and it happened that Edward -Everett, then recently appointed Professor of -Greek Literature in that institution, had proposed -that some young graduate of promise -should be sent to Germany for purposes of -study, that he might afterwards become one of -the corps of Harvard instructors. Accordingly, -Bancroft was selected, and went, in the early -summer of 1818, to Göttingen. At that time the -University had among its professors Eichhorn, -Heeren, and Blumenbach. He also studied at -Berlin, where he knew Schleiermacher, Savigny, -and Wilhelm von Humboldt. At Jena he saw -Goethe, and at Heidelberg studied under Schlosser. -This last was in the spring of 1821, when -he had already received his degree of Ph. D. at -Göttingen and was making the tour of Europe. -At Paris he met Cousin, Constant, and Alexander -von Humboldt; he knew Manzoni at -Milan, and Bunsen and Niebuhr at Rome. The -very mention of these names seems to throw -his early career far back into the past. Such -experiences were far rarer then than now, and -the return from them into what was the village-like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -life of Harvard College was a far greater -change. Yet he came back at last and discharged -his obligations, in a degree, by a year’s -service as Greek tutor.</p> - -<p>It was not, apparently, a satisfactory position, -for although he dedicated a volume of poems -to President Kirkland, “with respect and affection,” -as to his “early benefactor and friend,” -yet we have the testimony of George Ticknor -(in Miss Ticknor’s Life of J. G. Cogswell) that -Bancroft was “thwarted in every movement by -the President.” Mr. Ticknor was himself a professor -in the college, and though his view may -not have been dispassionate, he must have had -the opportunity of knowledge. His statement -is rendered more probable by the fact that he -records a similar discontent in the case of Professor -J. G. Cogswell, who was certainly a man -of conciliatory temperament. By Ticknor’s account, -Mr. Cogswell, who had been arranging the -Harvard College Library and preparing the catalogue, -was quite unappreciated by the Corporation, -and though Ticknor urged both him and -Bancroft to stay, they were resolved to leave, -even if their proposed school came to nothing. -The school in question was the once famous -“Round Hill” at Northampton, in which enterprise -Cogswell, then thirty-six, and Bancroft, -then twenty-three, embarked in 1823. The latter<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -had already preached several sermons, and -seemed to be feeling about for his career; but -it now appeared as if he had found it.</p> - -<p>In embarking, however, he warbled a sort of -swan-song at the close of his academical life, and -published in September, 1823, a small volume -of eighty pages, printed at the University Press, -Cambridge, and entitled “Poems by George Bancroft. -Cambridge: Hilliard & Metcalf.” Some -of these were written in Switzerland, some in -Italy, some, after his return home, at Worcester; -but almost all were European in theme, -and neither better nor worse than the average -of such poems by young men of twenty or thereabouts. -The first, called “Expectation,” is the -most noticeable, for it contains an autobiographical -glimpse of this young academical Childe -Harold setting forth on his pilgrimage:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“’Twas in the season when the sun</div> - <div class="verse indent2">More darkly tinges spring’s fair brow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And laughing fields had just begun</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The summer’s golden hues to show.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Earth still with flowers was richly dight,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the last rose in gardens glowed;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In heaven’s blue tent the sun was bright,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And western winds with fragrance flowed;</div> - <div class="verse indent4">’Twas then a youth bade home adieu;</div> - <div class="verse indent6">And hope was young and life was new,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">When first he seized the pilgrim’s wand</div> - <div class="verse indent6">To roam the far, the foreign land.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“There lives the marble, wrought by art.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That clime the youth would gain; he braves</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The ocean’s fury, and his heart</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Leaps in him, like the sunny waves</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That bear him onward; and the light</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of hope within his bosom beams,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like the phosphoric ray at night</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That round the prow so cheerly gleams.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">But still his eye would backward turn,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">And still his bosom warmly burn,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">As towards new worlds he ’gan to roam,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">With love for Freedom’s Western home.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>This is the opening poem; the closing words -of the book, at the end of the final “Pictures -of Rome,” are in a distinctly patriotic strain:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Farewell to Rome; how lovely in distress;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How sweet her gloom; how proud her wilderness!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Farewell to all that won my youthful heart,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And waked fond longings after fame. We part.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The weary pilgrim to his home returns;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For Freedom’s air, for Western climes he burns;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where dwell the brave, the generous, and the free,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O! there is Rome; no other Rome for me.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">It was in order to train these young children -of the Republic—“the brave, the generous, -and the free”—that Bancroft entered upon -the “Round Hill” enterprise.</p> - -<p>This celebrated school belonged to that class -of undertakings which are so successful as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -to ruin their projectors. It began in a modest -way; nothing could be more sensible than the -“Prospectus,”—a pamphlet of twenty pages, -issued at Cambridge, June 20, 1823. In this -there is a clear delineation of the defects then -existing in American schools; and a modest -promise is given that, aided by the European -experience of the two founders, something like -a French <i>collège</i> or a German <i>gymnasium</i> might -be created. There were to be not more than -twenty pupils, who were to be from nine to -twelve on entering. A fine estate was secured -at Northampton, and pupils soon came in.</p> - -<p>Then followed for several years what was -at least a very happy family. The school was -to be in many respects on the German plan: -farm life, friendly companionship, ten-mile rambles -through the woods with the teachers, and -an annual walking tour in the same company. -All instruction was to be thorough; there was -to be no direct emulation, and no flogging. -There remain good delineations of the school -in the memoirs of Dr. Cogswell, and in a paper -by the late T. G. Appleton, one of the pupils. -It is also described by Duke Bernard of Saxe-Weimar -in his “Travels.” The material of the -school was certainly fortunate. Many men afterwards -noted in various ways had their early -training there: J. L. Motley, H. W. Bellows,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -R. T. S. Lowell, F. Schroeder, Ellery Channing, -G. E. Ellis, Theodore Sedgwick, George C. -Shattuck, S. G. Ward, R. G. Shaw, N. B. Shurtleff, -George Gibbs, Philip Kearney, R. G. Harper. -At a dinner given to Dr. Cogswell in 1864, the -most profuse expressions of grateful reminiscence -were showered upon Mr. Bancroft, though -he was then in Europe. The prime object of -the school, as stated by Mr. Ticknor, was “to -teach <i>more thoroughly</i> than has ever been taught -among us.” How far this was accomplished can -only be surmised; what is certain is that the -boys enjoyed themselves. They were admirably -healthy, not having a case of illness for sixteen -months, and they were happy. When we -say that, among other delights, the boys had a -large piece of land where they had a boy-village -of their own, a village known as Cronyville, a -village where each boy erected his own shanty -and built his own chimney, where he could -roast apples and potatoes on a winter evening -and call the neighbors in,—when each boy had -such absolute felicity as this, with none to molest -him or make him afraid, there is no wonder -that the “old boys” were ready to feast their -kindly pedagogues forty years later.</p> - -<p>But to spread barracks for boys and crony -villages over the delightful hills of Northampton -demanded something more than kindliness;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -it needed much administrative skill and some -money. Neither Cogswell nor Bancroft was a -man of fortune. Instead of twenty boys, they -had at one time one hundred and twenty-seven, -nearly fifty of whom had to be kept through the -summer vacation. They had many Southern -pupils and, as an apparent consequence, many -bad debts, Mr. Cogswell estimating a loss of -two thousand dollars from this cause in a single -year; and sometimes they had to travel southward -to dun delinquent parents. The result of -it all was that Bancroft abandoned the enterprise -after seven years, in the summer of 1830; -while Cogswell, who held on two years longer, -retired with health greatly impaired and a financial -loss of twenty thousand dollars. Thus ended -the Round Hill School.</p> - -<p>While at Round Hill, Mr. Bancroft prepared -some text-books for his pupils, translating Heeren’s -“Politics of Ancient Greece” (1824) and -Jacobs’s Latin Reader (1825),—the latter going -through several editions. His first article in the -“North American Review,” then the leading -literary journal in the United States, appeared -in October, 1823, and was a notice of Schiller’s -“Minor Poems,” with many translations. From -this time forward he wrote in almost every volume, -but always on classical or German themes, -until in January, 1831, he took up “The Bank<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> -of the United States,” and a few years later -(October, 1835), “The Documentary History of -the Revolution.” These indicated the progress -of his historical studies, which had also begun at -Round Hill, and took form at last in his great -history. The design of this monumental work -was as deliberate as Gibbon’s, and almost as -vast; and the author lived, like Gibbon, to see -it accomplished. The first volume appeared in -1834, the second in 1837, the third in 1840, the -fourth in 1852, and so onward. Between these -volumes was interspersed a variety of minor essays, -some of which were collected in a volume -of “Literary and Historical Miscellanies,” published -in 1855. Bancroft also published, as a -separate work, a “History of the Formation of -the Constitution of the United States” (1882).</p> - -<p>While at Northampton, he was an ardent -Democrat of the most theoretic and philosophic -type, and he very wisely sought to acquaint -himself with the practical side of public affairs. -In 1826 he gave an address at Northampton, -defining his position and sympathies; in 1830 -he was elected to the Legislature, but declined -to take his seat, and the next year refused a -nomination to the Senate. In 1835 he drew up -an address to the people of Massachusetts, made -many speeches and prepared various sets of -resolutions, was flattered, traduced, caricatured.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> -From 1838 to 1841 he was Collector of the Port -of Boston; in 1844 he was Democratic candidate -for Governor of Massachusetts, but was -defeated,—George N. Briggs being his successful -antagonist,—although he received more -votes than any Democratic candidate before -him. In 1845 he was Secretary of the Navy -under President Polk. In all these executive -positions he may be said to have achieved success. -It was, for instance, during his term of -office that the Naval Academy was established -at Annapolis; it was he who gave the first order -to take possession of California; and he who, -while acting for a month as Secretary of War, -gave the order to General Taylor to march into -Texas, thus ultimately leading to the annexation -of that state. This, however, identified -him with a transaction justly censurable, and -indeed his whole political career occurred during -the most questionable period of Democratic -subserviency to the slave power, and that weakness -was never openly—perhaps never sincerely—resisted -by him. This left a reproach -upon his earlier political career which has, -however, been effaced by his literary life and -his honorable career as a diplomatist. In 1846 -he was transferred from the Cabinet to the -post of Minister Plenipotentiary to Great Britain, -where he contrived to combine historical<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -researches with public functions. In 1849 he -returned to this country—a Whig administration -having been elected—and took up his residence -in New York. In February, 1866, he was -selected by Congress to pronounce a eulogy on -President Lincoln, and in the following year he -was appointed Minister to Prussia, being afterwards -successively accredited to the North German -Confederation and the German Empire. -In these positions he succeeded in effecting -some important treaty provisions in respect to -the rights of naturalized German citizens residing -in Germany. He was recalled at his own -request in 1874, and thenceforward resided in -Washington in the winter, and at Newport, -Rhode Island, in summer.</p> - -<p>Dividing his life between these two abodes, -he passed his later years in a sort of existence -more common in Europe than here,—the well-earned -dignity of the scholar who has also been, -in his day, a man of affairs, and who is yet too -energetic to repose upon his laurels or waste -much time upon merely enjoying the meed of -fame he has won. In both his winter and summer -abodes he had something of the flattering -position of First Citizen; he was free of all -sets, an honored member of all circles. His -manners were often mentioned as “courtly,” -but they never quite rose to the level of either<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -of the two classes of manner described by -Tennyson:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Kind nature is the best, those manners next</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That fit us like a nature second-hand;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Which are indeed the manners of the great.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Neither of these descriptions exactly fitted -Mr. Bancroft; his manners were really of the -composite sort, and curiously suggestive of -the different phases of his life. They were -like that wonderful Japanese lacquer-work, made -up of twenty or thirty different coats or films, -usually laid on by several different workmen. -There was at the foundation the somewhat formal -and literal manner of the scholar, almost -of the pedagogue: then one caught a glimpse -of an executive, official style, that seemed to -date from the period when he ordered California -to be occupied; and over all there was a varnish -of worldly courtesy, enhanced by an evident -pleasure in being admired, and broken by an -occasional outburst of rather blunt sincerity.</p> - -<p>But he matured and mellowed well; his social -life at Washington was more satisfactory to -himself and others than that he led in New -York; he had voluntarily transplanted himself -to a community which, with all its faults and -crudities, sets intellect above wealth, and readily -conceded the highest place to a man like Bancroft.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -Foreign ministers came accredited to him -as well as to the government; he was the friend -of every successive administration, and had as -many guests as he cared to see at his modest -Sunday evening receptions. There he greeted -every one cordially, aided by a wife amply gifted -in the amenities. He was kind to everybody, -and remembered the father or grandfather of -anybody who had any such ancestors whom it -was desirable to mention. In summer, at Newport, -it was the same; his residence was like -that described by his imagination in one of his -own early poems—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Where heaven lends her loveliest scene,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A softened air, a sky serene,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Along the shore where smiles the sea.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Unlike most Newport “cottages,” his house -was within sight of the ocean; between it and -the sea lay the garden, and the “rose in Kenmure’s -cap” in the Scottish ballad was not a -characteristic more invariable than the same -flower in Mr. Bancroft’s hand or buttonhole. -His form was familiar, too, on Bellevue Avenue, -taking as regularly as any old-fashioned -Englishman his daily horseback exercise. At -the same time he was one of the few men who -were capable, even in Newport, of doing daily -the day’s work; he rose fabulously early in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -morning, and kept a secretary or two always -employed. Since John Quincy Adams, there has -not been among us such an example of laborious, -self-exacting, seemingly inexhaustible old -age; and, unlike Adams, Mr. Bancroft kept his -social side always fresh and active, and did not -have, like the venerable ex-President, to force -himself out in the evening in order “to learn -the art of conversation.” This combination, -with his monumental literary work, will keep -his memory secure. It will possibly outlive that -of many men of greater inspiration, loftier aims, -and sublimer qualities.</p> - -<p>Mr. Bancroft, as an historian, combined some -of the greatest merits and some of the profoundest -defects ever united in a single author. -His merits are obvious enough. He had great -enthusiasm for his subject. He was profoundly -imbued with that democratic spirit without -which the history of the United States cannot -be justly written. He has the graphic quality -so wanting in Hildreth, and the piquancy whose -absence makes Prescott too smooth. He has a -style essentially picturesque, whatever may be -its faults. The reader is compelled to admit that -his resources in the way of preparation are -inexhaustible, and that his command of them -is astounding. One must follow him minutely, -for instance, through the history of the War for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -Independence, to appreciate in full the consummate -grasp of a mind which can deploy military -events in a narrative as a general deploys -brigades in a field. Add to this the capacity -for occasional maxims to the highest degree -profound and lucid, in the way of political philosophy, -and you certainly combine in one man -some of the greatest qualities of the historian.</p> - -<p>Against this are to be set very grave faults. -In his earlier editions there was an habitual -pomposity and inflation of style which the -sterner taste of his later years has so modified -that we must now condone it. The same heroic -revision has cut off many tame and commonplace -remarks as trite as those virtuous truisms -by which second-rate actors bring down the applause -of the galleries at cheap theatres. Many -needless philosophical digressions have shared -the same fate. But many faults remain. There -is, in the first place, that error so common with -the graphic school of historians,—the exaggerated -estimate of manuscript or fragmentary -material at the expense of what is printed and -permanent. In many departments of history -this dependence is inevitable; but, unfortunately, -Mr. Bancroft was not, except in the very -earliest volumes of his history, dealing with -such departments. The loose and mythical period -of our history really ends with Captain John<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -Smith. From the moment when the Pilgrims -landed, the main facts of American history are -to be found recorded in a series of carefully -prepared documents, made by men to whom the -pen was familiar, and who were exceedingly -methodical in all their ways. The same is true -of all the struggles which led to the Revolution, -and of all those which followed. They were the -work of honest-minded Anglo-Saxon men who, -if they issued so much as a street hand-bill, said -just what they meant, and meant precisely what -they said. To fill the gaps in this solid documentary -chain is, no doubt, desirable,—to fill -them by every passing rumor, every suggestion -of a French agent’s busy brain; but to substitute -this inferior matter for the firmer basis is wrong. -Much of the graphic quality of Mr. Bancroft’s -writing is obtained by this means, and this portends, -in certain directions, a future shrinkage -and diminution in his fame.</p> - -<p>A fault far more serious than this is one -which Mr. Bancroft shared with his historical -contemporaries, but in which he far exceeded -any of them,—an utter ignoring of the very -meaning and significance of a quotation-mark. -Others of that day sinned. The long controversy -between Jared Sparks and Lord Mahon grew out -of this,—from the liberties taken by Sparks in -editing Washington’s letters. Professor Edward<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -T. Channing did the same thing in quoting the -racy diaries of his grandfather, William Ellery, -and substituting, for instance, in a passage cited -as original, “We refreshed ourselves with meat -and drink,” for the far racier “We refreshed -our Stomachs with Beefsteaks and Grogg.” -Hildreth, in quoting from the “Madison Papers,” -did the same, for the sake not of propriety, but -of convenience; even Frothingham made important -omissions and variations, without indicating -them, in quoting Hooke’s remarkable -sermon, “New England’s Teares.” But Bancroft -is the chief of sinners in this respect; -when he quotes a contemporary document or -letter, it is absolutely impossible to tell, without -careful verifying, whether what he gives us -between the quotation-marks is precisely what -should be there, or whether it is a compilation, -rearrangement, selection, or even a series of -mere paraphrases of his own. It would be easy -to illustrate this abundantly, especially from the -Stamp Act volume; but a single instance will -suffice.</p> - -<p>When, in 1684, an English fleet sailed into -Boston harbor, ostensibly on its way to attack -the Dutch settlements on the Hudson, it left -behind a royal commission, against whose mission -of interference the colonial authorities at -once protested, and they issued a paper, as one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -historian has said, “in words so clear and dignified -as to give a foretaste of the Revolutionary -state papers that were to follow a century -later.” If ever there was a document in our pre-Revolutionary -history that ought to be quoted -precisely as it was written, or not at all, it was -this remonstrance. It thus begins in Bancroft’s -version, and the words have often been cited -by others. He says of the colony of Massachusetts: -“Preparing a remonstrance, not against -deeds of tyranny, but the menace of tyranny, -not against actual wrong, but against a principle -of wrong, on the 25th of October, it thus addressed -King Charles II.” The alleged address -is then given, apparently in full, and then follows -the remark, “The spirit of the people corresponded -with this address.” It will hardly be -believed that there never was any such address, -and that no such document was ever in existence -as that so formally cited here. Yet any -one who will compare Bancroft’s draft with the -original in the Records of Massachusetts (volume -iv, part 2, pages 168-169) will be instantly -convinced of this. Bancroft has simply taken -phrases and sentences here and there from a -long document and rearranged, combined, and, -in some cases, actually paraphrased them in his -own way. Logically and rhetorically the work -is his own. The colonial authorities adopted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -their own way of composition, and he adopted -his. In some sentences we have Bancroft, not -Endicott; the nineteenth century, not the seventeenth. -Whether the transformation is an improvement -or not is not the question; the thing -cited is not the original. An accurate historian -would no more have issued such a restatement -under the shelter of quotation-marks than an -accurate theologian would have rewritten the -Ten Commandments and read his improved -edition from the pulpit. And it is a curious fact -that while Mr. Bancroft has amended so much -else in his later editions, he has left this passage -untouched, and still implies an adherence -to the tradition that this is the way to write -history.</p> - -<p>It is also to be noted that the evil is doubled -when this practice is combined with the other -habit, already mentioned, of relying largely -upon manuscript authorities. If an historian -garbles, paraphrases, and rearranges when he -is dealing with matter accessible to all, how -much greater the peril when he is dealing with -what is in written documents held under his -own lock and key. It is not necessary to allege -intentional perversion, but we are, at the very -least, absolutely at the mercy of an inaccurate -habit of mind. The importance of this point is -directly manifested on opening the leaves of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> -Mr. Bancroft’s last and perhaps most valuable -book, “The History of the Constitution.” The -most important part of this book consists, by -concession of all, in the vast mass of selections -from the private correspondence of the period: -for instance, of M. Otto, the French Ambassador. -We do not hesitate to say that, if tried by -the standard of Mr. Bancroft’s previous literary -methods, this mass of correspondence, though -valuable as suggestion, is worthless as authority. -Until it has been carefully collated and compared -with the originals, we do not know that -a paragraph or a sentence of it is left as the -author wrote it; the system of paraphrase previously -exhibited throws the shadow of doubt -over all. No person can safely cite one of these -letters in testimony; no person knows whether -any particular statement contained in it comes -to us in the words of its supposed author or of -Mr. Bancroft. It is no answer to say that this -loose method was the method of certain Greek -historians; if Thucydides composed speeches -for his heroes, it was at least known that he -prepared them, and there was not the standing -falsehood of a quotation-mark.</p> - -<p>A drawback quite as serious is to be found -in this, that Mr. Bancroft’s extraordinary labors -in old age were not usually devoted to revising -the grounds of his own earlier judgments, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -to perfecting his own style of expression, and to -weaving in additional facts at those points which -especially interested him. Professor Agassiz -used to say that the greatest labor of the student -of biology came from the enormous difficulty -of keeping up with current publications -and the proceedings of societies; a man could -carry on his own observations, but he could not -venture to publish them without knowing all -the latest statements made by other observers. -Mr. Bancroft had to encounter the same obstacle -in his historical work, and it must be owned -that he sometimes ignored it. Absorbed in his -own great stores of material, he often let the -work of others go unobserved. It would be easy -to multiply instances. Thus, the controversies -about Verrazzano’s explorations were conveniently -settled by omitting his name altogether; -there was no revision of the brief early statement -that the Norse sagas were “mythological,” -certainly one of the least appropriate -adjectives that could have been selected; Mr. -Bancroft never even read—up to within a few -years of his death, at any rate—the important -monographs of Varnhagen in respect to Amerigo -Vespucci; he did not keep up with the publications -of the historical societies. Laboriously -revising his whole history in 1876, and almost -rewriting it for the edition of 1884, he allowed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -the labors of younger investigators to go on -around him unobserved. The consequence is -that much light has been let in upon American -history in directions where he has not so much -as a window; and there are points where his -knowledge, vast as it is, will be found to have -been already superseded. In this view, that cannot -be asserted of him which the late English -historian, Mr. J. R. Green, proudly and justly -claimed for himself: “I know what men will -say of me—he died learning.” But Mr. Bancroft -at least died laboring, and in the harness.</p> - -<p>Mr. Bancroft was twice married, first to Miss -Sarah H. Dwight, who died June 26, 1837, and -in the following year to Mrs. Elizabeth (Davis) -Bliss. By the first marriage he had several children, -of whom John Chandler (Harvard, 1854) -died in Europe, and George (Harvard, 1856) -has spent most of his life in foreign countries.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="X_CHARLES_ELIOT_NORTON">X<br /> -<span class="smaller">CHARLES ELIOT NORTON</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> - -<h3>CHARLES ELIOT NORTON</h3> - -</div> - -<p>It is a tradition in the city of Cambridge, -Massachusetts, that Howells used to exult, on -arriving from his Western birthplace, in having -at length met for the first time, in Charles Eliot -Norton, the only man he had ever seen who -had been cultivated up to the highest point of -which he was capable. To this the verdict of all -Cambridge readily assented. What the neighbors -could not at that time foresee was that the -man thus praised would ever live to be an octogenarian, -or that in doing so he would share -those attractions of constantly increasing mildness -and courtesy which are so often justly -claimed for advancing years. There was in him, -at an earlier period, a certain amount of visible -self-will, and a certain impatience with those -who dissented from him,—he would not have -been his father’s son had it been otherwise. But -these qualities diminished, and he grew serener -and more patient with others as the years went -on. Happy is he who has lived long enough to -say with Goethe, “It is only necessary to grow -old to become more indulgent. I see no fault -committed which I have not committed myself.”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -This milder and more genial spirit increased -constantly as Norton grew older, until it served -at last only to make his high-bred nature more -attractive.</p> - -<p>He was born in Cambridge, November 16, -1827, and died in the very house where he was -born, October 21, 1908. He was descended, like -several other New England authors, from a -line of Puritan clergymen. He was the son of -Professor Andrews Norton, of Harvard University, -who was descended from the Rev. John -Norton, born in Ipswich, Massachusetts, in 1651. -The mother of the latter was the daughter of -Emanuel Downing, and the niece of Governor -John Winthrop. Mrs. Bradstreet, the well-known -Puritan poetess, was also an ancestress -of Charles Norton. His mother, Mrs. Caroline -(Eliot) Norton, had also her ancestry among -the most cultivated families in New England, -the name of Eliot having been prominent for -successive generations in connection with Harvard -College. His parents had a large and beautiful -estate in Cambridge, and were (if my memory -serves me right) the one family in Cambridge -that kept a carriage,—a fact the more impressed -upon remembrance because it bore the initials -“A. & C. N.” upon the panels, the only instance -I have ever seen in which the two joint proprietorships -were thus expressed. This, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -the fact that I learned by heart in childhood -Wordsworth’s poem, “The White Doe of Rylstone, -or The Fate of the Nortons,” imparted -to my youthful mind a slight feeling of romance -about the Cambridge household of that name, -which was not impaired by the fact that our -parents on both sides were intimate friends, -that we lived in the same street (now called -Kirkland Street), and that I went to dancing-school -at the Norton house. It is perhaps humiliating -to add that I disgraced myself on the -very first day by cutting off little Charlie’s front -hair as a preliminary to the dancing lesson.</p> - -<p>The elder Professor Norton was one of the -most marked characters in Cambridge, and, -although never a clergyman, was professor in -the Theological School. It was said of him by -George Ripley, with whom he had a bitter contest, -that “He often expressed rash and hasty -judgments in regard to the labors of recent or -contemporary scholars, consulting his prejudices, -as it would seem, rather than competent -authority. But in his own immediate department -of sacred learning he is entitled to the praise of -sobriety of thought and profoundness of investigation” -(Frothingham’s “Ripley,” 105). He was -also a man of unusual literary tastes, and his -“Select Journal of Foreign Periodical Literature,” -although too early discontinued, took distinctly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -the lead of all American literary journals -up to that time.</p> - -<p>The very beginning of Charles Norton’s career -would seem at first sight singularly in contrast -with his later pursuits, and yet doubtless -had formed, in some respects, an excellent preparation -for them. Graduating at Harvard in -1846, and taking a fair rank at graduation, he -was soon after sent into a Boston counting-house -to gain a knowledge of the East India trade. -In 1849 he went as supercargo on a merchant -ship bound for India, in which country he traveled -extensively, and returned home through -Europe in 1851. There are few more interesting -studies in the development of literary -individuality than are to be found in the successive -works bearing Norton’s name, as one -looks through the list of them in the Harvard -Library. The youth who entered upon literature -anonymously, at the age of twenty-five, as -a compiler of hymns under the title of “Five -Christmas Hymns” in 1852, and followed this -by “A Book of Hymns for Young Persons” -in 1854, did not even flinch from printing the -tragically Calvinistic verse which closes Addison’s -famous hymn, beginning “The Lord my -pasture shall prepare,” with a conclusion so -formidable as death’s “gloomy horrors” and -“dreadful shade.” In 1855 he edited, with Dr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -Ezra Abbot, his father’s translations of the Gospels -with notes (2 vols.), and his “Evidences -of the Genuineness of the Gospels” (3 vols.). -Charles Norton made further visits to Europe -in 1855-57, and again resided there from 1868 -until 1873; during which time his rapidly expanding -literary acquaintanceships quite weaned -his mind from the early atmosphere of theology.</p> - -<p>Although one of the writers in the very first -number of the “Atlantic Monthly,” he had no -direct part in its planning. He wrote to me -(January 9, 1899), “I am sorry that I can tell you -nothing about the <i>primordia</i> of the ‘Atlantic.’ -I was in Europe in 1856-57, whence I brought -home some MSS. for the new magazine.” It -appears from his later statement in the Anniversary -Number that he had put all these manuscripts -by English authors in a trunk together, -but that this trunk and all the manuscripts were -lost, except one accidentally left unpacked, which -was a prose paper by James Hannay on Douglas -Jerrold, “who is hardly,” as Norton justly says, -“to be reckoned among the immortals.” Hannay -is yet more thoroughly forgotten. But this inadequate -service in respect to foreign material -was soon more than balanced, as one sees on -tracing the list of papers catalogued under Norton’s -name in the Atlantic Index.</p> - -<p>To appreciate the great variety and thorough<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -preliminary preparation of Norton’s mind, a -student must take one of the early volumes of -the “Atlantic Monthly” and see how largely -he was relied upon for literary notices. If we -examine, for instance, the fifth volume (1860), -we find in the first number a paper on Clough’s -“Plutarch’s Lives,” comprising ten pages of -small print in double columns. There then follow -in the same volume papers on Hodson’s -“Twelve Years of a Soldier’s Life in India,” -on “Friends in Council,” on Brooks’s “Sermons,” -on Trollope’s “West Indies and the -Spanish Main,” on “Captain John Brown,” on -Vernon’s “Dante,” and one on “Model Lodging-Houses -in Boston.” When we remember -that his “Notes of Travel and Study in Italy” -was also published in Boston that same year, -being reviewed by some one in a notice of two -pages in this same volume of the “Atlantic,” -we may well ask who ever did more of genuine -literary work in the same amount of time. This -was, of course, before he became Professor in -the college (1874), and his preoccupation in -that way, together with his continuous labor -on his translations of Dante, explains why there -are comparatively few entries under his name -in Atlantic Indexes for later years. Again, he -and Lowell took charge of the “North American -Review” in 1864, and retained it until 1868,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -during which period Norton unquestionably -worked quite as hard as before, if we may -judge by the collective index to that periodical.</p> - -<p>It is to be noticed, however, that his papers -in the “North American” are not merely graver -and more prolonged, but less terse and highly -finished, than those in the “Atlantic”; while -in the development of his mind they show -even greater freedom of statement. He fearlessly -lays down, for instance, the following -assertion, a very bold one for that period: “So -far as the most intelligent portion of society at -the present day is concerned, the Church in -its actual constitution is an anachronism. Much -of the deepest and most religious life is led -outside its wall, and there is a constant and -steady increase in those who not only find the -claims of the Church inconsistent with spiritual -liberty, but also find its services ill adapted -to their wants.... It becomes more and more -a simple assemblage of persons gathered to go -through with certain formal ceremonies, the -chief of which consists in listening to a man -who is seldom competent to teach.” It must -be remembered that the expression of such -opinions to-day, when all his charges against -the actual Church may be found similarly -stated by bishops and doctors of divinity, must -have produced a very different impression when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -made forty years ago by a man of forty or -thereabouts, who occupied twenty pages in -saying it, and rested in closing upon the calm -basis, “The true worship of God consists in -the service of his children and devotion to the -common interests of men.” It may be that he -who wrote these words never held a regular -pew in any church or identified himself, on the -other hand, with any public heretical organization, -even one so moderate as the Free Religious -Association. Yet the fact that he devoted his -Sunday afternoons for many years to talking -and Scripture reading in a Hospital for Incurables -conducted by Roman Catholics perhaps -showed that it was safer to leave such a man -to go on his own course and reach the kingdom -of heaven in his own way.</p> - -<p>Norton never wrote about himself, if it could -be avoided, unless his recollections of early -years, as read before the Cambridge Historical -Society, and reported in the second number of -its proceedings, may be regarded as an exception. -Something nearest to this in literary self-revelation -is to be found, perhaps, in his work -entitled “Letters of John Ruskin,” published -in 1904, and going back to his first invitation -from the elder Ruskin in 1855. This was on -Norton’s first direct trip to Europe, followed by -a correspondence in which Ruskin writes to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -him, February 25, 1861, “You have also done -me no little good,” and other phrases which -show how this American, nine years younger -than himself, had already begun to influence -that wayward mind. Their correspondence was -suspended, to be sure, by their difference of -attitude on the American Civil War; but it is -pleasant to find that after ten months of silence -Ruskin wrote to Norton again, if bitterly. -Later still, we find successive letters addressed -to Norton—now in England again—in this -loving gradation, “Dear Norton,” “My dearest -Norton,” “My dear Charles,” and “My dearest -Charles,” and thenceforth the contest is won. -Not all completed, however, for in the last years -of life Ruskin addressed “Darling Charles,” -and the last words of his own writing traced in -pencil “From your loving J. R.”</p> - -<p>I have related especially this one touching -tale of friendship, because it was the climax -of them all, and the best illustration of the -essential Americanism of Norton’s career.</p> - -<p>He indeed afforded a peculiar and almost -unique instance in New England, not merely -of a cultivated man who makes his home for -life in the house where he was born, but of one -who has recognized for life the peculiar associations -of his boyhood and has found them still -the best. While Ruskin was pitying him for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -being doomed to wear out his life in America, -Norton with pleasure made his birthplace his -permanent abode, and fully recognized the -attractions of the spot where he was born. -“What a fine microcosm,” he wrote to me -(January 9, 1899), “Cambridge and Boston and -Concord made in the 40’s.” Norton affords in -this respect a great contrast to his early comrade, -William Story, who shows himself in his -letters wholly detached from his native land, -and finds nothing whatever in his boyhood -abode to attract him, although it was always -found attractive, not merely by Norton, but by -Agassiz and Longfellow, neither of whom was -a native of Cambridge.</p> - -<p>The only safeguard for a solitary literary -workman lies in the sequestered house without -a telephone. This security belonged for many -years to Norton, until the needs of a growing -family made him a seller of land, a builder of -a high-railed fence, and at last, but reluctantly, -a subscriber to the telephone. It needs but -little study of the cards bearing his name in -the catalogue of the Harvard Library to see -on how enormous a scale his work has been -done in this seclusion. It is then only that one -remembers his eight volumes of delicately -arranged scrap-books extending from 1861 to -1866, and his six volumes of “Heart of Oak”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -selections for childhood. There were comparatively -few years of his maturer life during which -he was not editor of something, and there was -also needed much continuous labor in taking -care of his personal library. When we consider -that he had the further responsibility of being -practically the literary executor or editor of -several important men of letters, as of Carlyle, -Ruskin, Lowell, Curtis, and Clough; and that -in each case the work was done with absolute -thoroughness; and that even in summer he became -the leading citizen of a country home and -personally engaged the public speakers who -made his rural festals famous, it is impossible -not to draw the conclusion that no public man -in America surpassed the sequestered Norton -in steadfastness of labor.</p> - -<p>It being made my duty in June, 1904, to -read a poem before the Harvard Phi Beta -Kappa, I was tempted to include a few verses -about individual graduates, each of which was -left, according to its subject, for the audience -to guess. The lines referring to Norton were -as follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“There’s one I’ve watched from childhood, free of guile,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His man’s firm courage and his woman’s smile.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His portals open to the needy still,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He spreads calm sunshine over Shady Hill.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span></p> - -<p class="noindent">The reference to the combined manly and -womanly qualities of Norton spoke for itself, -and won applause even before the place of residence -was uttered; and I received from Norton -this recognition of the little tribute:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Ashfield</span>, 2 July, 1904.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Higginson</span>,—Your friendly words -about me in your Phi Beta poem give me so much -pleasure that I cannot refrain from thanking you -for them. I care for them specially as a memorial of -our hereditary friendship. They bring to mind my -Mother’s affection for your Mother, and for Aunt -Nancy, who was as dear an Aunt to us children at -Shady Hill as she was to you and your brothers and -sisters. What dear and admirable women! What -simple, happy lives they led! No one’s heart will -be more deeply touched by your poem than mine.</p> - -</div> - -<p>One most agreeable result of Norton’s Cambridge -boyhood has not been generally recognized -by those who have written about him. His -inherited estate was so large that he led a life -absolutely free in respect to the study of nature, -and as Lowell, too, had the same advantage, -they could easily compare notes. In answer to -a criticism of mine with reference to Longfellow’s -poem, “The Herons of Elmwood,” on my -theory that these herons merely flew over Elmwood -and only built their nests in what were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -then the dense swamps east of Fresh Pond, he -writes to me (January 4, 1899): “I cannot swear -that I ever saw a heron’s nest at Elmwood. But -Lowell told me of their nesting there, and only -a few weeks ago Mrs. Burnett told me of the -years when they had built in the pines and of -the time of their final desertion of the place.” -To this he adds in a note dated five days later: -“As to the night-herons lighting on pines, for -many years they were in the habit of lighting -and staying for hours upon mine and then flying -off towards the [Chelsea] beach.” This taste -accounts for the immense zest and satisfaction -with which Norton edited a hitherto unknown -manuscript of the poet Gray’s on natural history, -with admirable illustrations taken from -the original book, seeming almost incredibly -accurate from any but a professional naturalist, -the book being entitled, “The Poet Gray as a -Naturalist with Selections from His Notes on -the Systema Naturæ of Linnæus with Facsimiles -of Some of his Drawings.”</p> - -<p>In the Charles Eliot Norton number of the -“Harvard Graduates’ Magazine” commemorating -his eightieth birthday, Professor Palmer, -with that singular felicity which characterizes -him, says of Norton: “He has been an epitome -of the world’s best thought brought to our own -doors and opened for our daily use.” Edith<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -Wharton with equal felicity writes from Norton’s -well-known dwelling at Ashfield, whose -very name, “High Pasture,” gives a signal for -what follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Come up—come up; in the dim vale below</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The autumn mist muffles the fading trees,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But on this keen hill-pasture, though the breeze</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Has stretched the thwart boughs bare to meet the snow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Night is not, autumn is not—but the flow</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of vast, ethereal and irradiate seas,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Poured from the far world’s flaming boundaries</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In waxing tides of unimagined glow.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And to that height illumined of the mind</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He calls us still by the familiar way,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Leaving the sodden tracks of life behind,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Befogged in failure, chilled with love’s decay—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Showing us, as the night-mists upward wind,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How on the heights is day and still more day.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But I must draw to a close, and shall do this -by reprinting the very latest words addressed -by this old friend to me; these being written -very near his last days. Having been away from -Cambridge all summer, I did not know that he -had been at Cambridge or ill, and on my writing -to him received this cheerful and serene answer, -wholly illustrative of the man, although the very -fact that it was dictated was sadly ominous:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Shady Hill, Cambridge, Mass.</span>, 6 October, 1908.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Higginson</span>,—Your letter the other day -from Ipswich gave me great pleasure....</p> - -<p>It had never occurred to me that you were associated -with Ipswich through your Appleton relatives. -My association with the old town, whose -charm has not wholly disappeared under the hard -hoof of the invader, begins still earlier than yours, -for the William Norton who landed there in 1636 -was my direct ancestor; and a considerable part of -his pretty love story seems to have been transacted -there. I did not know the story until I came upon -it by accident, imbedded in some of the volumes of -the multifarious publications of our historical society. -It amused me to find that John Norton, whose -reputation is not for romance or for soft-heartedness, -took an active interest in pleading his brother’s -cause with Governor Winthrop, whose niece, Lucy -Downing, had won the susceptible heart of W. N.</p> - -<p>My summer was a very peaceful and pleasant one -here in my old home till about six weeks ago, when -I was struck down ... which has left me in a condition -of extreme muscular feebleness, but has not -diminished my interest in the world and its affairs. -Happily my eyes are still good for reading, and I -have fallen back, as always on similar occasions, -on Shakespeare and Scott, but I have read one or -two new books also, the best of which, and a book -of highest quality, is the last volume of Morley’s -essays.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span></p> - -<p>But I began meaning only to thank you for your -pleasant note and to send a cheer to you from my -slower craft as your gallant three-master goes by it -with all sails set....</p> - -<p class="center">Always cordially yours,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">C. E. Norton</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI_EDMUND_CLARENCE_STEDMAN">XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span></p> - -<h3>EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN</h3> - -</div> - -<p>The sudden death of Edmund Clarence Stedman -at New York on January 18, 1908, came -with a strange pathos upon the readers of his -many writings, especially as following so soon -upon that of his life-long friend and compeer, -Aldrich. Stedman had been for some years an -invalid, and had received, in his own phrase, -his “three calls,” that life would soon be ended. -He was born at Hartford, Connecticut, on -October 8, 1833, and was the second son of -Colonel Edmund Burke Stedman and his wife -Elizabeth Clement (Dodge) Stedman. His great-grandfather -was the Reverend Aaron Cleveland, -Jr., a Harvard graduate of 1735, and a man of -great influence in his day, who died in middle -life under the hospitable roof of Benjamin Franklin. -Stedman’s mother was a woman of much -literary talent, and had great ultimate influence -in the training of her son, although she was -early married again to the Honorable William -B. Kinney, who was afterwards the United -States Minister to Turin. Her son, being placed -in charge of a great-uncle, spent his childhood -in Norwich, Connecticut, and entered Yale at -sixteen, but did not complete his course there,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -although in later life he was restored to his -class membership and received the degree of -Master of Arts. He went early into newspaper -work in Norwich and then in New York, going -to the front for a time as newspaper correspondent -during the Civil War. He abandoned -journalism after ten years or thereabouts, and -became a member of the New York Stock Exchange -without giving up his literary life, a -combination apt to be of doubtful success. -He married, at twenty, Laura Hyde Woodworth, -who died before him, as did one of his -sons, leaving only one son and a granddaughter -as his heirs. His funeral services took place at -the Church of the Messiah on January 21, 1908, -conducted by the Reverend Dr. Robert Collyer -and the Reverend Dr. Henry van Dyke.</p> - -<p>Those who happen to turn back to the -number of the “Atlantic Monthly” for January, -1898, will read with peculiar interest a remarkable -paper entitled “Our Two Most Honored -Poets.” It bears no author’s name, even in the -Index, but is what we may venture to call, after -ten years, a singularly penetrating analysis of -both Aldrich and Stedman. Of the latter it is -said: “His rhythmic sense is subtle, and he -often attains an aerial waywardness of melody -which is of the very essence of the lyric gift.”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -It also remarks most truly and sadly of Stedman -that he “is of those who have suffered the -stress of the day.” The critic adds: “Just now -we felt grateful to Mr. Aldrich for putting all -this [that is, life’s tragedies] away in order that -the clarity and sweetness of his art might not -suffer; now we feel something like reverence for -the man [Mr. Stedman] who, in conditions which -make for contentment and acquiescence, has not -been able to escape these large afflictions.” But -these two gifted men have since passed away, -Aldrich from a career of singular contentment, -Stedman after ten years of almost constant -business failure and a series of calamities relating -to those nearest and dearest.</p> - -<p>One of the most prominent men in the New -York literary organizations, and one who knew -Stedman intimately, writes me thus in regard -to the last years of his life: “As you probably -know, Stedman died poor. Only a few days ago -he told me that after paying all the debts hanging -over him for years from the business losses -caused by ⸺’s mismanagement, he had not -enough to live on, and must keep on with his -literary work. For this he had various plans, of -which our conversations developed only a possible -rearrangement of his past writings; an -article now and then for the magazines (one, I -am told, he left completed); and reminiscences<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -of his old friends among men of letters—for -which last he had, during eight months past, -been overhauling letters and papers, but had -written nothing. He was ailing, he said—had -a serious heart affection which troubled him for -years, and he found it a daily struggle to keep -up with the daily claims on his time. You know -what he was, in respect of letters,—and letters. -He could always say ‘No’ with animation; -but in the case of claims on his time by poets -and other of the writing class, he never could -do the negative. He both liked the claims and -didn’t. The men who claimed were dear to -him, partly because he knew them, partly because -he was glad to know them. He wore -himself quite out. His heart was exhausted by -his brain. It was a genuine case of heart-failure -to do what the head required.”</p> - -<p>There lies before me a mass of private letters -to me from Stedman, dating back to November 2, -1873, when he greeted me for the first time in a -kinship we had just discovered. We had the same -great-grandfather, though each connection was -through the mother, we being alike great-grandchildren -of the Reverend Aaron Cleveland, Jr., -from whom President Grover Cleveland was also -descended. At the time of this mutual discovery -Stedman was established in New York, and -although I sometimes met him in person, I can<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -find no letters from him until after a period of -more than ten years, when he was engaged in -editing his Library of American Literature. He -wrote to me afterwards, and often with quite -cousinly candor,—revealing frankly his cares, -hopes, and sorrows, but never with anything -coarse or unmanly. All his enterprises were confided -to me so far as literature was concerned, -and I, being nearly ten years older, felt free to -say what I thought of them. I wished, especially, -however, to see him carry out a project -of translations from the Greek pastoral poetry -of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus. The few -fragments given at the end of his volumes had -always delighted me and many other students, -while his efforts at the “Agamemnon” of Æschylus -dealt with passages too formidable in -their power for any one but Edward FitzGerald -to undertake.</p> - -<p>After a few years of occasional correspondence, -there came a lull. Visiting New York -rarely, I did not know of Stedman’s business -perplexities till they came upon me in the following -letter, which was apparently called out -by one of mine written two months before.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">71 West 54th Street, <span class="smcap">New York</span>, July 12th, ’82.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Colonel</span>,—I had gone over with “the -majority” [that is, to Europe], when your friendly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -card of May 9th was written, and it finally reached -me at Venice. In that city of light, air, and heavenly -noiselessness, my son and myself at last had -settled ourselves in ideal rooms, overlooking the -Grand Canal. We had seclusion, the Molo, the Lagoon, -and a good café, and pure and cheap Capri -wine. Our books and papers were unpacked for the -first time, and I was ready to make an end of the -big and burdensome book which I ought to have -finished a year ago. <i>Dis aliter visum!</i> The next -morning I was awakened to receive news, by wire, -of a business loss which brought me home, through -the new Gothard tunnel and by the first steamer. -Here I am, patching up other people’s blunders, with -the thermometer in the nineties. I have lived through -worse troubles, but am in no very good humor. Let -me renew the amenities of life, by way of improving -my disposition: and I’ll begin by thanking you for -calling my attention to the error <i>in re</i> Palfrey—which, -of course, I shall correct. Another friend has -written me to say that Lowell’s father was a Unitarian—not -a Congregationalist. But Lowell himself -told me, the other day, that his father never would -call himself a Unitarian, and that he was old-fashioned -in his home tenets and discipline. Mr. L. -[Lowell] was under pretty heavy pressure, as you -know, when I saw him, but holding his own with -some composure—for a poet. Again thanking you, -I am,</p> - -<p class="center">Always truly yrs.,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">E. C. Stedman</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p> - -<p>This must have been answered by some further -expression of solicitude, for this reply came, -two months later,—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">University Club, 370 Fifth Avenue, <span class="smcap">New York</span>, Sunday, Sept. 16, 1883.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Higginson</span>,—There <i>is</i> a good deal, say -what you will, in “moral support.” I have proved -it during the last few weeks: ’twould have been -hard to get through with them, but for just such -words as yours. And I have had them in such abundance -that, despite rather poor displays of human -nature in a sample of my own manufacture, I am -less than ever a pessimist.</p> - -<p>As for that which Sophocles pronounced the father -of meanness—πενία—both my wife and myself have -been used to it nearly all our lives, and probably -shall have, now, to renew our old acquaintance with -it. Though somewhat demoralized by a few years of -Philistine comfort—the <i>Persicos apparatus</i>, &c.—I -think we shall get along with sufficient dignity.</p> - -<p>We have suffered more, however, than the money-loss, -bad as that is. And hence we are doubly grateful -to those who, like yourself, send a cheery voice -to us at just this time.</p> - -<p class="center">Ever sincerely yrs.,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Edmund C. Stedman</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<p>During the next few years we had ample correspondence -of a wholly literary and cheerful -tone. He became engaged upon his Library of -American Literature with a congenial fellow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> -worker, Miss Ellen Hutchinson, and I was only -one of many who lent a hand or made suggestions. -He was working very hard, and once wrote -that he was going for a week to his boyhood -home to rest. During all this period there was, -no doubt, the painful business entanglement in -the background, but there was also in the foreground -the literary work whose assuaging influence -only one who has participated in it can -understand. Then came another blow in the -death of his mother, announced to me as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">44 East 26th St., <span class="smcap">New York</span>, Dec. 8th, 1889.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Higginson</span>,—Yes: I have been through -a kind of Holy Week, and have come out in so -incorporeal a state that I strive painfully, though -most gratefully, to render thanks to some, at least, -of my beautiful mother’s friends and mine who have -taken note of her departure. I have always wished -that she and you could know more of each other—though -nothing of yours escaped her eager taste and -judgment, for she was not only a natural critic, but -a very <i>clanswoman</i>, with a most loyal faith in her -blood and yours. Most of all, she was a typical woman, -an intensely human one, to the last, though -made of no common clay. She was of an age to die, -and I am glad that her fine intelligence was spared -a season of dimness. Still, <i>I</i> have suffered a loss, -and doubtless one that will last a lifetime.</p> - -<p class="center">Sincerely yours,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">E. C. Stedman</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> - -<p>The laborious volumes of literary selections -having been completed, there followed, still -under the same pressure, another series of -books yet more ambitious. His “Victorian -Poets” (1875, thirteenth edition 1887) was followed -by the “Poets of America” (1885), “A -Victorian Anthology” (1895), and “An American -Anthology” (1900). These books were -what gave him his fame, the two former being -original studies of literature, made in prose; -and the two latter being collections of poetry -from the two nations.</p> - -<p>If we consider how vast a labor was represented -in all those volumes, it is interesting to -revert to that comparison between Stedman -and his friend Aldrich with which this paper -began. Their literary lives led them apart; that -of Aldrich tending always to condensation, that -of Stedman to expansion. As a consequence, -Aldrich seemed to grow younger and younger -with years and Stedman older; his work being -always valuable, but often too weighty, “living -in thoughts, not breaths,” to adopt the delicate -distinction from Bailey’s “Festus.” There is -a certain worth in all that Stedman wrote, be -it longer or shorter, but it needs a good deal of -literary power to retain the attention of readers -so long as some of his chapters demand. Opening -at random his “Poets of America,” one may<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -find the author deep in a discussion of Lowell, -for instance, and complaining of that poet’s -prose or verse. “Not compactly moulded,” -Stedman says, even of much of Lowell’s work. -“He had a way, moreover, of ‘dropping’ like -his own bobolink, of letting down his fine passages -with odd conceits, mixed metaphors, and -licenses which, as a critic, he would not overlook -in another. To all this add a knack of coining -uncouth words for special tints of meaning, -when there are good enough counters in -the language for any poet’s need.” These failings, -Stedman says, “have perplexed the poet’s -friends and teased his reviewers.” Yet Lowell’s -critic is more chargeable with diffuseness than -is Lowell himself in prose essays, which is saying -a good deal. Stedman devotes forty-five -pages to Lowell and thirty-nine even to Bayard -Taylor, while he gives to Thoreau but a few -scattered lines and no pretense at a chapter. -There are, unquestionably, many fine passages -scattered through the book, as where he keenly -points out that the first European appreciation -of American literature was “almost wholly due -to grotesque and humorous exploits—a welcome -such as a prince in his breathing-hour -might give to a new-found jester or clown”; -and when he says, in reply to English criticism, -that there is “something worth an estimate in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> -the division of an ocean gulf, that makes us -like the people of a new planet.”</p> - -<p>Turning back to Stedman’s earlier book, the -“Victorian Poets,” one finds many a terse passage, -as where he describes Landor as a “royal -Bohemian in art,” or compares the same author’s -death in Florence at ninety, a banished man, -to “the death of some monarch of the forest, -most untamed when powerless.” Such passages -redeem a book from the danger of being forgotten, -but they cannot in the long run save it from -the doom which awaits too great diffuseness in -words. During all this period of hard work, he -found room also for magazine articles, always -thoroughly done. Nowhere is there a finer analysis, -on the whole, of the sources of difficulty -in Homeric translation than will be found in -Stedman’s review of Bryant’s translation of -Homer, and nowhere a better vindication of a -serious and carefully executed book (“Atlantic -Monthly,” May, 1872). He wrote also an admirable -volume of lectures on the “Nature and -Elements of Poetry” for delivery at Johns -Hopkins University.</p> - -<p>As years went on, our correspondence inevitably -grew less close. On March 10, 1893, -he wrote, “I am so driven at this season, ‘let -alone’ financial worries, that I have to write -letters when and where I can.” Then follows<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -a gap of seven years; in 1900 his granddaughter -writes on October 25, conveying affectionate -messages from him; two years after, April 2, -1903, he writes himself in the same key, then -adds, “Owing to difficulties absolutely beyond -my control, I have written scarcely a line for -myself since the Yale bicentennial [1901]”; -and concludes, “I am very warmly your friend -and kinsman.” It was a full, easy, and natural -communication, like his old letters; but it was -four years later when I heard from him again -as follows, in a letter which I will not withhold, -in spite of what may be well regarded as its -over-sensitiveness and somewhat exaggerated -tone.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">2643 Broadway, <span class="smcap">New York City</span>, Evening, March 20th, 1907.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Kinsman</span>,—Although I have given -you no reason to be assured of it, you are still just -the same to me in my honor and affection—you -are never, and you never have been, otherwise in -my thoughts than my kinsman (by your first recognition -of our consanguinity) and my friend; yes, -and early teacher, for I long ago told you that it -was your essays that confirmed me, in my youth, in -the course I chose for myself.</p> - -<p>I am going on to Aldrich’s funeral, and with -a rather lone and heavy heart, since I began life -here in New York with him before the Civil War, -and had every expectation that he would survive<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -me: not wholly on the score of my seniority, but -because I have had my “three calls” and more, and -because he has ever been so strong and young -and debonair. Health, happiness, ease, travel, all -“things <i>waregan</i>,” seemed his natural right. If I, -too, wished for a portion of his felicities, I never -envied one to whom they came by the very fitness -of things. And I grieve the more for his death, because -it seems to violate that fitness.</p> - -<p>Now, I can’t think of meeting you on Friday -without first making this poor and inadequate -attempt to set one thing right. Your latest letter—I -<i>was</i>, at least, moved by it to address myself -at once to a full reply, but was myself attacked -that day so sorely by the grippe that I went to bed -before completing it and was useless for weeks; -the letter showed me that you thought, as well you -might, that I had been hurt or vexed by something -you had unwittingly done or written. I can say little -to-night but to confess that no act, word, or writing, -of yours from first to last has not seemed to contain -all the friendship, kindness, recognition, that I -could ever ask for.... Perhaps I have the ancestral -infirmity of clinging to my fealties for good and -all; but, as I say, you are my creditor in every way, -and I constantly find myself in sympathy with your -writings, beliefs, causes, judgments.—Now I recall -it, the very choice you made of a little lyric of mine -as the one at my “high-water” mark gave me a fine -sense of your comprehension—it seemed to me -a case of <i>rem acu tetigit</i>. I am thoroughly satisfied<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -to have one man—and that man <i>you</i>—so quick to -see just where I felt that I had been fortunate....</p> - -<p>For some years, I venture to remind you, you -have seen scarcely anything of mine in print. Since -1900 I have had three long and disabling illnesses, -from two of which it was not thought I could recover. -Between these, what desperate failure of -efforts to “catch up.” Oh, I can’t tell you, the -books, the letters, the debts, the broken contracts. -Then the deaths of my wife and my son, and all -the sorrows following; the break-up of my home, -and the labor of winding up so much without aid. -But from all the rack I have always kept, separated -on my table, all your letters and remembrances—each -one adding more, in my mind, to the explanation -I had <i>not</i> written you....</p> - -<p class="center">Your attached kinsman and friend,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Edmund C. Stedman</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Stedman came from Mount Auburn to my -house after the funeral of Aldrich, with a look -of utter exhaustion on his face such as alarmed -me. A little rest and refreshment brought him -to a curious revival of strength and animation; -he talked of books, men, and adventures, in -what was almost a monologue, and went away -in comparative cheerfulness with his faithful -literary associate, Professor George E. Woodberry. -Yet I always associate him with one of -those touching letters which he wrote to me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -before the age of the typewriter, more profusely -than men now write, and the very fact that we -lived far apart made him franker in utterance. -The following letter came from Keep Rock, -New Castle, New Hampshire, September 30, -1887:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“You are a ‘noble kinsman’ after all, of the sort -from whom one is very glad to get good words, -and I have taken your perception of a bit of verse -as infallible, ever since you picked out three little -‘Stanzas for Music’ as my one best thing. Every -one else had overlooked them, but I knew that—as -Holmes said of his ‘Chambered Nautilus’—they -were written ‘better than I could.’ By the way, if -you will overhaul Duyckinck’s ‘Encyclopedia of -Literature’ <i>in re</i> Dr. Samuel Mitchill, you will see -who first wrote crudely the ‘Chambered Nautilus.’”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Two years after, he wrote, April 9, 1889:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The newspapers warn me that you are soon to -go abroad.... I must copy for you now the song -which you have kindly remembered so many years. -In sooth, I have always thought well of your judgment -as to poetry, since you intimated (in ‘The -Commonwealth,’ was it not?) that these three stanzas -of mine were the thing worth having of my seldom-written -verse. I will write on the next page -a passage which I lately found in Hartmann (a -wonderful man for a pessimist), and which conveys -precisely the idea of my song.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span></p> - -<p>To this he adds as a quotation the passage -itself:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The souls which are near without knowing it, and -which can approach no nearer by ever so close an -embrace than they eternally are, pine for a blending -which can never be theirs so long as they remain -distinct individuals.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The song itself, which he thought, as I did, -his high-water mark, here follows. Its closing -verse appears to me unsurpassed in American -literature.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">STANZAS FOR MUSIC</div> - <div class="center">(From an Unfinished Drama)</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou art mine, thou hast given thy word;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Close, close in my arms thou art clinging;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Alone for my ear thou art singing</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A song which no stranger hath heard:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But afar from me yet, like a bird,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thy soul, in some region unstirred,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">On its mystical circuit is winging.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou art mine, I have made thee mine own;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Henceforth we are mingled forever:</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But in vain, all in vain, I endeavor—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Though round thee my garlands are thrown,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And thou yieldest thy lips and thy zone—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To master the spell that alone</div> - <div class="verse indent2">My hold on thy being can sever.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou art mine, thou hast come unto me!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But thy soul, when I strive to be near it—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The innermost fold of thy spirit—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is as far from my grasp, is as free,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As the stars from the mountain-tops be,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As the pearl, in the depths of the sea,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">From the portionless king that would wear it.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII_EDWARD_EVERETT_HALE">XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">EDWARD EVERETT HALE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p> - -<h3>EDWARD EVERETT HALE</h3> - -</div> - -<p>The life of Edward Everett Hale has about -it a peculiar interest as a subject of study. The -youngest member of his Harvard class,—that -of 1839,—he was also the most distinguished -among them and finally outlived them all. Personal -characteristics which marked him when a -freshman in college kept him young to the end -of his days. When the Reverend Edward Cummings -came to Dr. Hale’s assistance in the -South Congregational Church, he was surprised -to find practically no young people in the parish, -and still more surprised to know that their pastor -was ignorant of the fact. These parishioners -were all young when Dr. Hale took them in -charge, and to him they had always remained -so, for he had invested them with his own fresh -and undying spirit.</p> - -<p>Probably no man in America, except Beecher, -aroused and stimulated quite so many minds -as Hale, and his personal popularity was unbounded. -He had strokes of genius, sometimes -with unsatisfying results; yet failures never -stood in his way, but seemed to drop from his -memory in a few hours. An unsurpassable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -model in most respects, there were limitations -which made him in some minor ways a less -trustworthy example. Such and so curiously -composed was Edward Everett Hale. He was -the second son of a large family of sons and -daughters, his parents being Nathan and Sarah -Preston (Everett) Hale, and he was born in -Boston, April 3, 1822. His father was the editor -of the leading newspaper in Boston, the “Daily -Advertiser,” and most of his children developed, -in one way or another, distinct literary tastes. -The subject of this sketch had before him, as -a literary example and influence, the celebrated -statesman and orator whose name he bore, and -who was his mother’s brother.</p> - -<p>My own recollections of him begin quite -early. Nearly two years younger than he, I was, -like him, the youngest of my Harvard class, -which was two years later than his. My college -remembrances of him are vivid and characteristic. -Living outside of the college yard, I was -sometimes very nearly late for morning prayers; -and more than once on such occasions, as I -passed beneath the walls of Massachusetts -Hall, then a dormitory, there would spring -from the doorway a tall, slim young student -who had, according to current report among -the freshmen, sprung out of bed almost at the -last stroke of the bell, thrown his clothes over<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -the stairway, and jumped into them on the -way down. This was Edward Everett Hale; -and this early vision was brought to my mind -not infrequently in later life by his way of -doing maturer things.</p> - -<p>The same qualities which marked his personal -appearance marked his career. He was -always ready for action, never stopped for trifles, -always lacked but little of being one of the -heroes or men of genius of his time. Nor can -any one yet predict which of these will be the -form finally taken by his fame. His capacity for -work was unlimited, and he perhaps belonged -to more societies and committees than any man -living. In this field his exhaustless energy had -play, but his impetuous temperament often -proved a drawback, and brought upon him the -criticism of men of less talent but more accurate -habits of mind. No denominational barriers -existed for him. Ready to officiate in all -pulpits and welcome in all, he left it unknown -to the end of his life whether he did or did not -believe in the Bible miracles, for instance. Nor -did anybody who talked with him care much. -His peculiar and attractive personality made -him acceptable to all sorts of people and to men -of all creeds; for his extraordinary versatility -enabled him in his intercourse with other minds -to adapt his sympathy and his language to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -individual modes of thought and belief of each -and all of them.</p> - -<p>Some of his finest literary achievements were -those which he himself had forgotten. Up to -the last degree prolific, he left more than one -absolutely triumphant stroke behind him in -literature. The best bit of prose that I can possibly -associate with him was a sketch in a newspaper -bearing the somewhat meaningless title -“The Last Shake,” suggested by watching the -withdrawal of the last man with a hand-cart -who was ever allowed to shake carpets on Boston -Common. He was, no doubt, a dusty and -forlorn figure enough. But to Hale’s ready imagination -he stood for a whole epoch of history, -for the long procession of carpet-shakers who -were doing their duty there when Percy marched -to Lexington, or when the cannonade from -Breed’s Hill was in the air. Summer and winter -had come and gone, sons had succeeded their -fathers at their work, and the beating of the -carpets had gone on, undrowned by the rising -city’s roar. At last the more fastidious aldermen -rebelled, the last shake was given, and Edward -Everett Hale wrote its elegy. I suppose -I kept the little newspaper cutting on my desk -for five years, as a model of what wit and sympathy -could extract from the humblest theme.</p> - -<p>Another stroke was of quite a different character.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -Out of the myriad translations of Homer, -there is in all English literature but one version -known to me of even a single passage which -gives in a high degree the Homeric flavor. -That passage is the description of the Descent -of Neptune (Iliad, Book XIII), and was preserved -in Hale’s handwriting by his friend -Samuel Longfellow, with whom I edited the -book “Thalatta,”—a collection of sea poems. -His classmate, Hale, had given it to him when -first written, and then had forgotten all about it. -Had it not been printed by us there, it might, -sooner or later, have found its way into that still -unpublished magazine which Hale and I planned -together, when we lived near each other in -Worcester, Massachusetts,—a periodical which -was to have been called the “Unfortunates’ -Magazine,” and was to contain all the prose and -verse sent to us by neighbors or strangers with -request to get it published. I remember that -we made out a title-page between us, with a -table of contents, all genuine, for the imaginary -first number. Such a book was to some -extent made real in “Thalatta,” and the following -is Hale’s brilliant Homeric translation:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE DESCENT OF NEPTUNE</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">There sat he high retired from the seas;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">There looked with pity on his Grecians beaten;</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">There burned with rage at the God-king who slew them.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then rushed he forward from the rugged mountain;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He beat the forest also as he came downward,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the high cliffs shook underneath his footsteps;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Three times he trod, his fourth step reached his sea-home.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">There was his palace in the deep sea-water,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Shining with gold and builded firm forever;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And there he yoked him his swift-footed horses</div> - <div class="verse indent0">(Their hoofs are brazen, and their manes are golden)</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With golden thongs; his golden goad he seizes;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He mounts upon his chariot and doth fly;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yea, drives he forth his steeds into the billows.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The sea-beasts from the depths rise under him—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They know their King: and the glad sea is parted,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That so his wheels may fly along unhinder’d.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dry speeds between the waves his brazen axle:—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">So bounding fast they bring him to his Grecians.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Earlier than this, in his racy papers called -“My College Days,” we get another characteristic -glimpse of Hale as a student. The Sunday -afternoon before being examined for admission -to college, he reports that he read the first six -books of the Æneid (the last six having already -been mastered) at one fell swoop,—seated meantime -on the ridge-pole of his father’s house!</p> - -<p>More firmly than on any of these productions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -Hale’s literary fame now rests on an anonymous -study in the “Atlantic Monthly,” called -“The Man without a Country,” a sketch of -such absolutely lifelike vigor that I, reading it -in camp during the Civil War, accepted it as -an absolutely true narrative, until I suddenly -came across, in the very midst of it, a phrase so -wholly characteristic of its author that I sprang -from my seat, exclaiming “<i>Aut Cæsar aut nullus</i>; -Edward Hale or nobody.” This is the story -on which the late eminent critic, Wendell P. -Garrison, of the “Nation,” once wrote (April -17, 1902), “There are some who look upon it -as the primer of Jingoism,” and he wrote to me -ten years earlier, February 19, 1892, “What -will last of Hale, I apprehend, will be the phrase -‘A man without a country,’ and perhaps the -immoral doctrine taught in it which leads to -Mexican and Chilean wars—‘My country, right -or wrong.’”</p> - -<p>Be this as it may, there is no doubt that -on this field Hale’s permanent literary fame -was won. It hangs to that as securely as does -the memory of Dr. Holmes to his “Chambered -Nautilus.” It is the exiled hero of this story -who gives that striking bit of advice to boys: -“And if you are ever tempted to say a word or -do a thing that shall put a bar between you and -your family, your home and your country, pray<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -God in his mercy to take you that instant -home to his own heaven!”</p> - -<p>President James Walker, always the keenest -of observers, once said of Hale that he took -sides upon every question while it was being -stated. This doubtless came, in part at least, -from his having been reared in a newspaper -office, or, as he said more tersely, having been -“cradled in the sheets of the ‘Advertiser,’” -and bred to strike promptly. His strongest and -weakest points seem to have been developed in -his father’s editorial office. Always ready to -give unselfish sympathy, he could not always -dispense deliberate justice. One of his favorite -sayings was that his ideal of a committee was -one which consisted of three persons, one of -whom should be in bed with chronic illness, -another should be in Europe, and he himself -should be the third. It was one of his theories -that clergymen were made to do small duties -neglected by others, and he did them at a formidable -sacrifice of time and in his own independent -and quite ungovernable way. Taking -active part for the Nation during the Civil War,—so -active that his likeness appears on the -Soldiers’ Monument on Boston Common,—he -did not actually go to the war itself as chaplain -of a regiment, as some of his friends desired; -for they justly considered him one of the few<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -men qualified to fill that position heartily, -through his powerful voice, ready sympathy, -and boundless willingness to make himself useful -in every direction.</p> - -<p>A very characteristic side of the man might -always be seen in his letters. The following -was written in his own hurried handwriting in -recognition of his seventy-seventh birthday:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">April 8, ’99.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Higginson</span>,—Thanks for your card. It -awaited me on my return from North Carolina last -night.</p> - -<p>Three score & ten as you know, has many advantages,—and -as yet, I find no drawbacks.</p> - -<p>Asa Gray said to me “It is great fun to be 70 -years old. You do not have to know everything!”</p> - -<p>I see that you can write intelligibly.</p> - -<p>I wish I could—But I cannot run a Typewriter -more than a Sewing-Machine.</p> - -<p>Will the next generation learn to write—any -more than learn the alphabet?</p> - -<p>With Love to all yours</p> - -<p class="center">Truly & always</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">E. E. Hale</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<p>This next letter was called out by the death -of Major-General Rufus Saxton, distinguished -for his first arming of the freed slaves:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Washington, D. C.</span>, Feb. 29, 1908.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Higginson</span>,—I have been reading with the -greatest interest your article on Gen. Saxton.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p> - -<p>It has reminded me of an incident here—the -time of which I cannot place. But I think you can;—and -if you can I wish you would write & tell me -when it happened—and perhaps what came of it.</p> - -<p>I was coming up in a street [car] when Charles -Sumner came in & took a seat opposite me—The -car was not crowded.</p> - -<p>Every one knew him, and he really addressed -the whole car—though he affected to speak to me. -But he meant to have every one hear—& they -did. He said substantially this,—</p> - -<p>“The most important order since the war began -has been issued at the War Department this morning.</p> - -<p>“Directions have been given for the manufacture -of a thousand pair of Red Breeches. They are to -be patterned on the Red Trousers of the Zouaves—and -are to be the uniform of the First Negro Regiment.” -He surprised the car—(as he meant to).</p> - -<p>Now, 1. I cannot fix the date, can you?</p> - -<p>2. Were the negro troops or any regiment of -them ever clothed in the Zouave Uniform?</p> - -<p>I remember there was a “Zouave” Regiment -from New York City—</p> - -<p>[I had the pleasure of informing him that my -regiment, which he mentions, had been the only -one disfigured by the scarlet trousers, which were -fortunately very soon worn out and gladly banished. -This was in August, 1862.]</p> - -</div> - -<p>It may be well enough to end these extracts -from his correspondence with one of those bits<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -of pure nonsense in which his impetuous nature -delighted. This was on occasion of his joining -the Boston Authors’ Club:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roxbury</span>, Mass., April 10, 1903.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Higginson</span>,—One sometimes does what -there is no need of doing. What we call here a -Duke of Northumberland day is a day when one -does what he darn chooses to do, without reference -to the obligations of the social order. Such is -to-day.</p> - -<p>Did you ever hear the story of the graduate who -never advanced in his studies farther than that -Pythagorean man did who never could learn more -than the first letters of the alphabet? I am reminded -of it by the elegant monogram of our -Club.</p> - -<p>This young fellow’s friends were very eager to -get him through the university, so they sent him -out from Boston in a</p> - -<p class="center">C A B</p> - -<p>After two days he came</p> - -<p class="center">B A C</p> - -<p>He then went to Cambridge on a three years’ -course by taking electives which didn’t require -him to repeat the alphabet.</p> - -<p>He learned to smoke</p> - -<p class="center">B A C C A</p> - -<p class="noindent">and at the end of the time the College made him</p> - -<p class="center">A B</p> - -<p>His friends then sent him to the Cuban War, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -he came out a Field Marshal, so that he was able to -become a member of the</p> - -<p class="center">A B C F M</p> - -<p>This was all I knew about him till this morning -I have learned that after publishing his military -memoirs he became a member of the</p> - -<p class="center">B A C<br /> -[Boston Authors’ Club]</p> - -<p>I am sorry to say that he already drank the -Lager which was furnished him by the AMERICAN -BOTTLING COMPANY</p> - -<p>So no more at present from your old companion -in arms,</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Edward E Hale</span><br /> -A B 1839.</p> - -</div> - -<p>These letters give a glimpse at the more impetuous -and sunny aspects of his life. Turning -again to its severer duties, it is interesting to -notice that in conducting the funeral services -of Mr. F. A. Hill, the Secretary of the State -Board of Education, Dr. Hale said in warm -praise of that able man: “He lived by the -spirit; I do not think he cared for method.” -The same was Hale’s own theory also, or, at -any rate, his familiar practice. He believed, for -instance, that the school hours of a city should -be very much shortened, yet never made it -clear what pursuits should take their places; -for it was the habit of his fertile brain to formulate<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -schemes and allow others to work them -out. Many of his suggestions fell to the ground, -but others bore rich fruit. Among these latter -are the various “Lend a Hand” clubs which -have sprung up all over the country, not confining -themselves to sect or creed, and having -as their motto a brief verse of his writing. -He went to no divinity school to prepare himself -for preaching, and at one time did not -see clearly the necessity of preliminary training -for those who were to enter the pulpit. If his -friends undertook laboriously to correct any -inaccuracies in his published writings, he took -every such correction with imperturbable and -sunny equanimity, and, taxed with error, readily -admitted it. His undeniable habit of rather -hasty and inaccurate statement sprang from his -way of using facts simply as illustrations. They -served to prove his point or exemplify the principle -for which he was contending. To verify -his statements would often have taken too much -time, and from his point of view was immaterial. -It is hard for the academic mind, with -its love of system, to accept this method of -working, and his contemporaries sometimes -regretted that he could not act with them in -more business-like ways. They were tempted -to compare his aims and methods to those of -Eskimo dogs, each of which has to be harnessed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -separately to the sledge which bears the -driver, or else they turn and eat each other up. -When it came to the point, all of yesterday’s -shortcomings were forgotten next morning by -him and every one else, in his readiness to be -the world’s errand-boy for little kindnesses. -But in the presence, we will not say of death, -but of a life lived for others, which is deathless, -the critic’s task seems ungenerous and -unmeaning. This man’s busy existence may -not always have run in the accepted grooves, -but its prevailing note was Love. If the rushing -stream sometimes broke down the barriers of -safety, it proved more often a fertilizing Nile -than a dangerous Mississippi.</p> - -<p>Followed and imitated by multitudes, justly -beloved for his warmth of heart and readiness -of hand, he had a happy and busy life, sure to -win gratitude and affection when it ended, as it -did at Roxbury on June 10, 1909. The children -and the aged loved him almost to worshiping, -and is there, after all, a better test?</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII_A_MASSACHUSETTS_GENERAL_RUFUS_SAXTON">XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">A MASSACHUSETTS GENERAL, RUFUS SAXTON</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p> - -<h3>A MASSACHUSETTS GENERAL, RUFUS SAXTON</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Complaint has sometimes been made of -Massachusetts that the state did not provide a -sufficient number of officers of high grade for -the regular army during the Civil War. Be that -as it may, one of the most eminent of such officers -has just died, being indeed one whose actual fame -may yet outlast that of all the others by reason -of its rare mingling of civil and military service.</p> - -<p>General Rufus Saxton was born at Greenfield, -Massachusetts, on October 19, 1824, graduated -at the military academy in 1849, was made brevet -second lieutenant, Third United States Artillery, -July 1, 1849, second lieutenant, Fourth -Artillery, September 12, 1850, and captain and -assistant quartermaster, May 13, 1861. He was -chief quartermaster on the staff of General Lyon -in Missouri and subsequently on that of General -McClellan in western Virginia, and was on the -expeditionary corps to Port Royal, South Carolina. -In May and June, 1862, he was ordered -north and placed in command of the defenses -at Harper’s Ferry, where his services won him -a medal of honor; after which he was military<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -governor of the Department of the South, his -headquarters being at Beaufort, South Carolina; -this service extended from July, 1862, to May -18, 1865, when he rose to be colonel and brevet -brigadier-general of volunteers. He was mustered -out of the volunteer service January 15, -1866, but rose finally to be colonel and assistant -quartermaster-general in the regular army, -March 10, 1882. He retired from active service -October 19, 1888, having been made on that -date a brigadier-general on the retired list. This -is the brief summary of what was, in reality, a -quite unique career.</p> - -<p>The portion of this honorable life upon which -his personal fame will doubtless be founded is -that from 1862 to 1865, when he was military -governor of the Department of the South. In -this capacity he first proved possible the distribution -of the vast body of free or fugitive slaves -over the Sea Islands, which had been almost -deserted by their white predecessors. This feat -was accompanied by what was probably in the -end even more important,—the creation of black -troops from that centre. The leadership in this -work might have belonged under other circumstances -to Major-General Hunter, of Washington, -District of Columbia, who had undertaken -such a task in the same region (May 3, 1862); -but General Hunter, though he had many fine<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -qualities, was a thoroughly impetuous man; -whimsical, changeable, and easily influenced by -his staff officers, few of whom had the slightest -faith in the enterprise. He acted, moreover, -without authority from Washington, and his -whole enterprise had been soon disallowed by -the United States government. This was the -position of things when General Saxton, availing -himself of the fact that one company of this -Hunter regiment had not, like the rest, been -practically disbanded, made that the basis of a -reorganization of it under the same name (First -South Carolina Infantry). This was done under -express authority from the War Department, -dated August 25, 1862, with the hope of making -it a pioneer of a whole subsequent series of slave -regiments, as it was. The fact that General Saxton -was a Massachusetts man, as was the colonel -whom he put in charge of the first regiment,—and -as were, indeed, most of the men prominent -from beginning to end in the enlistment -of colored troops,—gave an unquestioned priority -in the matter to that state.</p> - -<p>It must be remembered that this was long -before Governor Andrew had received permission -to recruit a colored regiment, the Fifty-Fourth -Massachusetts, whose first colonel was -Robert Gould Shaw, a young hero of Boston -birth. The fact that this was the first black regiment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -enlisted at the North has left a general -impression in Massachusetts that it was the -first colored regiment; but this is an error of -five months, General Saxton’s authority having -been dated August 25, 1862, and that of Governor -Andrew January 26, 1863. The whole -number of black soldiers enlisted during the war -was 178,975 (Heitman’s “Historical Register,” -page 890), whose whole organization may fairly -be attributed, in a general way, to the success -of General Saxton’s undertaking. In making -this claim, it must be borne in mind that the -enlistments made by General Butler at almost -precisely the same time in New Orleans consisted -mainly of a quite exceptional class, the -comparatively educated free colored men of -that region, the darkest of these being, as General -Butler himself once said, “of about the -same complexion as the late Daniel Webster.” -Those New Orleans regiments would hardly -have led to organizing similar troops elsewhere, -for want of similar material. Be this as -it may, the fact is that these South Carolina -regiments, after their number was increased by -other colored regiments from various sources, -were unquestionably those who held the South -Carolina coast, making it possible for Sherman -to lead his final march to the sea and thus practically -end the war. As an outcome of all this,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -General Saxton’s name is quite sure to be long -remembered.</p> - -<p>It is fair now to recognize the fact that this -combination of civil and military authority was -not always what Saxton himself would have -selected. There were times when he chafed -under what seemed to him a non-military work -and longed for the open field. It is perhaps characteristic -of his temperament, however, that at -the outset he preferred to be where the greatest -obstacles were to be encountered, and this -he certainly achieved. It must be remembered -that the early organizers and officers of the -colored troops fought in a manner with ropes -around their necks, both they and their black -recruits having been expressly denied by the -Confederate government the usual privileges of -soldiers. They had also to encounter for a -long time the disapproval of many officers of -high rank in the Union army, both regular -and volunteer, this often leading to a grudging -bestowal of supplies (especially, strange to -say, of medical ones), and to a disproportionate -share of fatigue duty. This was hard indeed -for Saxton to bear, and was increased in his -case by the fact that he had been almost the -only cadet in his time at West Point who was -strong in anti-slavery feeling, and who thus -began with antagonisms which lasted into actual<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -service. To these things he was perhaps oversensitive, -and he had to be defended against this -tendency, as he was, by an admirable wife and -by an invaluable staff officer and housemate, -Brevet Major Edward W. Hooper, of Massachusetts, -who was his volunteer aide-de-camp and -housemate. The latter was, as many Bostonians -will remember, of splendid executive ability, -as shown by his long subsequent service as -steward and treasurer of Harvard University; -a man of rare organizing power, and of a cheerfulness -which made him only laugh away dozens -of grievances that vexed General Saxton.</p> - -<p>As an organizer of troops General Saxton’s -standard was very high, and he assumed, as -was proper, that a regiment made out of former -slaves should not merely follow good moral examples, -but set them. As all men in that day -knew, there was a formidable variation in this -respect in different regiments, some of the volunteer -officers whose military standard was the -highest being the lowest in their personal habits. -General Saxton would issue special orders from -time to time to maintain a high tone morally in -the camp, as he did, indeed, in the whole region -under his command. He was never in entire -harmony with General Gillmore, the military -commander of the department, whose interest -was thought to lie chiefly in the artillery service;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -and while very zealous and efficient in -organizing special expeditions for his own particular -regiments, Saxton kept up, as we thought -at the time, a caution beyond what was necessary -in protecting the few colored regiments -which he had personally organized. When the -Florida expedition was planned, which resulted -in the sanguinary defeat at Olustee, he heartily -disapproved of the whole affair. This he carried -so far that when my own regiment was ordered -on the expedition, as we all greatly desired, -when we had actually broken camp and marched -down to the wharf for embarkment in high exultation, -we were stopped and turned back by -an order, just obtained by General Saxton from -headquarters, countermanding our march and -sending us back to pitch our tents again. It -was not until some days later had brought the -news of the disastrous battle, and how defective -was the judgment of those who planned it, that -General Saxton found himself vindicated in our -eyes. The plain reason for that defeat was that -the Confederates, being on the mainland and -having railway communications, such as they -were, could easily double from the interior any -force sent round by water outside. This was -just what had been pointed out beforehand by -General Saxton, but his judgment had been -overruled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> - -<p>General Saxton was a man of fine military bearing -and a most kindly and agreeable face. -Social in his habits, he was able to go about -freely for the rest of his life in the pleasant -circle of retired military men and their families -in Washington. He and his wife had always the -dream of retiring from the greater gayety of the -national metropolis to his birthplace at Deerfield, -Massachusetts. Going there one beautiful -day in early summer, with that thought in -mind, they sat, so he told me, on the peaceful -piazza all the morning and looked out down -the avenue of magnificent elms which shade -that most picturesque of village streets. During -the whole morning no wheels passed their -place, except those belonging to a single country -farmer’s wagon. Finding the solitude to -be somewhat of a change after the vivacity -of Washington, they decided to go down to -Greenfield and pass the afternoon. There they -sat on a hotel piazza under somewhat similar circumstances -and saw only farmers’ wagons, two -or three. Disappointed in the reconnoissance, -they went back to Washington, and spent the -rest of their days amid a happy and congenial -circle of friends. He died there February 23, -1908. To the present writer, at least, the world -seems unquestionably more vacant that Saxton -is gone.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV_ONE_OF_THACKERAYS_WOMEN">XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">ONE OF THACKERAY’S WOMEN</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p> - -<h3>ONE OF THACKERAY’S WOMEN</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Some years since, there passed away, at Newport, -Rhode Island, one who could justly be -classed with Thackeray’s women; one in whom -Lady Kew would have taken delight; one in -whom she would have found wit and memory -and audacity rivaling her own; one who was at -once old and young, poor and luxurious, one of -the loneliest of human beings, and yet one of -the most sociable. Miss Jane Stuart, the only -surviving daughter of Gilbert Stuart, the painter, -had dwelt all her life on the edge of art without -being an artist, and at the brink of fashion -without being fashionable. Living at times in -something that approached poverty, she was -usually surrounded by friends who were rich -and generous; so that she often fulfilled Motley’s -famous early saying, that one could do -without the necessaries of life, but could not -spare the luxuries. She was an essential part of -the atmosphere of Newport; living near the -“Old Stone Mill,” she divided its celebrity -and, as all agreed, its doubtful antiquity; for -her most intimate friends could not really guess -within fifteen years how old she was, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -strangers placed her anywhere from sixty to -eighty. Her modest cottage, full of old furniture -and pictures, was the resort of much that -was fashionable on the days of her weekly -receptions; costly equipages might be seen -before the door; and if, during any particular -season, she suspected a falling off in visitors, -she would try some new device,—a beautiful -girl sitting in a certain carved armchair beneath -an emblazoned window, like Keats’s Madeline,—or, -when things grew desperate, a bench -with a milk-pan and a pumpkin on the piazza, -to give an innocently rural air. “My dear,” she -said on that occasion, “I must try something: -rusticity is the dodge for me”; and so the piazza -looked that summer like a transformation scene -in “Cinderella,” with the fairy godmother not -far off.</p> - -<p>She inherited from her father in full the -Bohemian temperament, and cultivated it so -habitually through life that it was in full flower -at a time when almost any other woman would -have been repressed by age, poverty, and loneliness. -At seventy or more she was still a born -mistress of the revels, and could not be for five -minutes in a house where a charade or a mask -was going on without tapping at the most private -door and plaintively imploring to be taken -in as one of the conspirators. Once in, there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -was nothing too daring, too grotesque, or too -juvenile for her to accept as her part, and successfully. -In the modest winter sports of the -narrowed Newport circle, when wit and ingenuity -had to be invoked to replace the summer -resources of wealth and display, she was an indispensable -factor. She had been known to -enact a Proud Sister in “Cinderella,” to be the -performer on the penny whistle in the “Children’s -Symphony,” to march as the drum major -of the Ku-Klux Klan with a muff for a shako, -and to be the gorilla of a menagerie, with an -artificial head. Nothing could make too great -a demand upon her wit and vivacity, and her -very face had a droll plainness more effective -for histrionic purposes than a Grecian profile. -She never lost dignity in these performances, -for she never had anything that could exactly -be described by that name; that was not her -style. She had in its stead a supply of common -sense and ready adaptation that took the place, -when needed, of all starched decorum, and quite -enabled her on serious occasions to hold her -own.</p> - -<p>But her social resources were not confined to -occasions where she was one of an extemporized -troupe: she was a host in herself; she had -known everybody; her memory held the adventures -and scandals of a generation, and these<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -lost nothing on her lips. Then when other resources -were exhausted, and the candles had -burned down, and the fire was low, and a few -guests lingered, somebody would be sure to say, -“Now, Miss Jane, tell us a ghost story.” With -a little, a very little, of coy reluctance, she would -begin, in a voice at first commonplace, but presently -dropping to a sort of mystic tone; she -seemed to undergo a change like the gypsy -queen in Browning’s “Flight of the Duchess”; -she was no longer a plain, elderly woman in an -economical gown, but she became a medium, a -solemn weaver of spells so deep that they appeared -to enchant herself. Whence came her -stories, I wonder? not ghost stories alone, but -blood-curdling murders and midnight terrors, of -which she abated you not an item,—for she was -never squeamish,—tales that all the police -records could hardly match. Then, when she -and her auditors were wrought up to the highest -pitch, she began to tell fortunes; and here also -she seemed not so much a performer as one -performed upon,—a Delphic priestess, a Cassandra. -I never shall forget how she once made -our blood run cold with the visions of coming -danger that she conjured around a young married -woman on whom there soon afterwards -broke a wholly unexpected scandal that left her -an exile in a foreign land. No one ever knew, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -believe, whether Miss Stuart spoke at that time -with knowledge; perhaps she hardly knew herself; -she always was, or affected to be, carried -away beyond herself by these weird incantations.</p> - -<p>She was not so much to be called affectionate -or lovable as good-natured and kindly; and with -an undisguised relish for the comfortable things -of this world, and a very frank liking for the -society of the rich and great, she was yet constant, -after a fashion, to humbler friends, and -liked to do them good turns. Much of her amiability -took the form of flattery,—a flattery -so habitual that it lost all its grossness, and -became almost a form of good deeds. She was -sometimes justly accused of applying this to -the wealthy and influential, but it was almost as -freely exercised where she had nothing to gain -by it; and it gave to the humblest the feeling -that he was at least worth flattering. Even if -he had a secret fear that what she said of him -behind his back might be less encouraging, no -matter: it was something to have been praised -to his face. It must be owned that her resources -in the other direction were considerable, and -Lord Steyne himself might have applauded -when she was gradually led into mimicking -some rich amateur who had pooh-poohed her -pictures, or some intrusive dame who had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -patronizingly inspected her humble cot. It could -not quite be said of her that her wit lived to -play, not wound; and yet, after all, what she -got out of life was so moderate, and so many -women would have found her way of existence -dreary enough, that it was impossible to grudge -her these trifling indulgences.</p> - -<p>Inheriting her father’s love of the brush, she -had little of his talent; her portraits of friends -were generally transferred by degrees to dark -corners; but there existed an impression that -she was a good copyist of Stuart’s pictures, and -she was at one time a familiar figure in Boston, -perched on a high stool, and copying those of -his works which were transferred for safe-keeping -from Faneuil Hall to the Art Museum. On -one occasion, it was said, she grew tired of the -long process of copying and took home a canvas -or two with the eyes unpainted, putting them -in, colored to please her own fancy, at Newport. -Perhaps she invented this legend for her -own amusement, for she never spared herself, -and, were she to read this poor sketch of her, -would object to nothing but the tameness of its -outlines.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV_JOHN_BARTLETT">XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">JOHN BARTLETT</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> - -<h3>JOHN BARTLETT</h3> - -</div> - -<p>In every university town such as Cambridge, -Massachusetts, there is an outside circle, beyond -the institution itself, of cultivated men -who may or may not hold its degrees, but who -contribute to the intellectual atmosphere. One -of the most widely known and generally useful -of these at Cambridge—whether in his active -youth or in the patient and lonely seclusion of -his later years—was John Bartlett, best known -as the author of the dictionary entitled “Familiar -Quotations.”</p> - -<p>He was born in Plymouth, June 14, 1820, -was educated in the public schools of that town, -and in 1836 entered the bookbinding establishment -connected with the University bookstore -in Cambridge, under John Owen, who was -Longfellow’s first publisher. In the next year -Bartlett became a clerk in the bookstore, and -soon showed remarkable talent for the business. -In 1846 Mr. Owen failed, and Bartlett -remained with his successor, George Nichols, -but became himself the proprietor in 1849. He -had shown himself in this position an uncommonly -good publisher and adviser of authors.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span> -He had there published three editions of his -“Familiar Quotations,” gradually enlarging the -book from the beginning. In 1859 he sold out -to Sever & Francis. In 1862 he served as volunteer -naval paymaster for nine months with -Captain Boutelle, his brother-in-law, on board -Admiral DuPont’s dispatch-boat. In August, -1863, he entered the publishing house of Little, -Brown & Co., nominally as clerk, but with the -promise that in eighteen months, when the existing -partnership would end, he should be taken -into the firm, which accordingly took place in -1865. The fourth edition of his “Familiar Quotations,” -always growing larger, had meanwhile -been published by them, as well as an <i>édition -de luxe</i> of Walton’s “Complete Angler,” in the -preparation of which he made an especial and -exceptionally fine collection of works on angling, -which he afterwards presented to the Harvard -College Library. His activity in the Waltonian -sport is also commemorated in Lowell’s -poem, “To Mr. John Bartlett, who had sent me -a seven-pound trout.” He gave to the Library -at the same time another collection of books -containing “Proverbs,” and still another on -“Emblems.”</p> - -<p>After his becoming partner in the firm, the -literary, manufacturing, and advertising departments -were assigned to him, and were retained<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -until he withdrew altogether. The fifth and -sixth editions of his “Quotations” were published -by Little, Brown & Co., the seventh and -eighth by Routledge of London, the ninth by -Little, Brown & Co. and Macmillan & Co. of -London, jointly; and of all these editions between -two and three hundred thousand copies -must have been sold. Of the seventh and eighth -editions, as the author himself tells us, forty -thousand copies were printed apart from the -English reprint. The ninth edition, published -in 1891, had three hundred and fifty pages -more than its predecessor, and the index was -increased by more than ten thousand lines. In -1881 Mr. Bartlett published his Shakespeare -“Phrase-Book,” and in February, 1889, he retired -from his firm to complete his indispensable -Shakespeare “Concordance,” which Macmillan -& Co. published at their own risk in London -in 1894.</p> - -<p>All this immense literary work had the direct -support and coöperation of Mr. Bartlett’s wife, -who was the daughter of Sidney Willard, professor -of Hebrew in Harvard University, and -granddaughter of Joseph Willard, President of -Harvard from 1781 to 1804. She inherited from -such an ancestry the love of studious labor; -and as they had no children, she and her husband -could pursue it with the greatest regularity.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -Both of them had also been great readers -for many years, and there is still extant a manuscript -book of John Bartlett’s which surpasses -most books to be found in these days, for -it contains the life-long record of his reading. -What man or woman now living, for instance, -can claim to have read Gibbon’s “Decline and -Fall” faithfully through, four times, from beginning -to end? We must, however, remember -that this was accomplished by one who began -by reading a verse of the Bible aloud to his -mother when he was but three years old, and -had gone through the whole of it at nine.</p> - -<p>There came an event in Bartlett’s life, however, -which put an end to all direct labors, when -his wife and co-worker began to lose her mental -clearness, and all this joint task had presently -to be laid aside. For a time he tried to continue -his work unaided; and she, with unwearied -patience and gentleness, would sit quietly beside -him without interference. But the malady -increased, until she passed into that melancholy -condition described so powerfully by his neighbor -and intimate friend, James Russell Lowell,—though -drawing from a different example,—in -his poem of “The Darkened Mind,” one of -the most impressive, I think, of his poems. -While Bartlett still continued his habit of reading, -the writing had to be surrendered. His<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -eyesight being erelong affected, the reading -also was abandoned, and after his wife’s death -he lived for a year or two one of the loneliest -of lives. He grew physically lame, and could -scarcely cross the room unaided. A nervous -trouble in the head left him able to employ a -reader less and less frequently, and finally not -at all. In a large and homelike parlor, containing -one of the most charming private libraries in -Cambridge,—the books being beautifully bound -and lighting up the walls instead of darkening -them,—he spent most of the day reclining on -the sofa, externally unemployed, simply because -employment was impossible. He had occasional -visitors, and four of his old friends formed what -they called a “Bartlett Club,” meeting at his -house one evening in every week. Sometimes -days passed, however, without his receiving a -visitor, he living alone in a room once gay with -the whist-parties which he and Lowell had formerly -organized and carried on.</p> - -<p>His cheerful courage, however, was absolutely -unbroken, and he came forward to meet every -guest with a look of sunshine. His voice and -manner, always animated and cheerful, remained -the same. He had an inexhaustible store of -anecdotes and reminiscences, and could fill -the hour with talk without showing exhaustion. -Seldom going out of the house, unable to take<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -more than very short drives, he dwelt absolutely -in the past, remembered the ways and deeds of -all Cambridge and Boston literary men, speaking -genially of all and with malice of none. He had -an endless fund of good stories of personal experience. -Were one to speak to him, for instance, -of Edward Everett, well known for the elaboration -with which he prepared his addresses, -Bartlett would instantly recall how Everett -once came into his bookstore in search of a -small pocket Bible to be produced dramatically -before a rural audience in a lecture; but in this -case finding none small enough, he chose a -copy of Hoyle’s “Games” instead, which was -produced with due impressiveness when the -time came. Then he would describe the same -Edward Everett, whom he once called upon -and found busy in drilling a few Revolutionary -soldiers who were to be on the platform during -Everett’s famous Concord oration. These he -had drilled first to stand up and be admired at -a certain point of the oration, and then to sit -down again, by signal, that the audience might -rather rise in their honor. Unfortunately, one -man, who was totally deaf, forgot the instructions -and absolutely refused to sit down, because -the “squire” had told him to stand up. In a -similar way, Bartlett’s unimpaired memory held -the whole circle of eminent men among whom<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> -he had grown up from youth, and a casual visitor -might infer from his cheery manner that -these comrades had just left the room. During -his last illness, mind and memory seemed -equally unclouded until the very end, and almost -the last words he spoke were a caution to -his faithful nurse not to forget to pay the small -sum due to a man who had been at work on his -driveway, he naming the precise sum due in -dollars and cents.</p> - -<p>He died at Cambridge, Massachusetts, on -the morning of December 3, 1905, aged eighty-five. -Was his career, after all, more to be pitied -or envied? He lived a life of prolonged and -happy labor among the very choicest gems of -human thought, and died with patient fortitude -after all visible human joys had long been laid -aside.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI_HORACE_ELISHA_SCUDDER">XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span></p> - -<h3>HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER</h3> - -</div> - -<p>It has been generally felt, I think, that no disrespect -was shown to John Fiske, when the -New York “Nation” headed its very discriminating -sketch of him with the title “John Fiske, -Popularizer”; and I should feel that I showed -no discourtesy, but on the contrary, did honor -to Horace Elisha Scudder, in describing him -as Literary Workman. I know of no other man -in America, perhaps, who so well deserved that -honorable name; no one, that is, who, if he had -a difficult piece of literary work to do, could be -so absolutely relied upon to do it carefully and -well. Whatever it was,—compiling, editing, -arranging, translating, indexing,—his work was -uniformly well done. Whether this is the highest -form of literary distinction is not now the -question. What other distinction he might have -won if he had shown less of modesty or self-restraint, -we can never know. It is true that -his few thoroughly original volumes show something -beyond what is described in the limited -term, workmanship. But that he brought such -workmanship up into the realm of art is as certain -as that we may call the cabinet-maker of -the Middle Ages an artist.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Scudder was born in Boston on October -16, 1838, the son of Charles and Sarah Lathrop -(Coit) Scudder, and died at Cambridge, Massachusetts, -on January 11, 1902. He was a graduate -of Williams College, and after graduation -went to New York, where he spent three years -as a teacher. It was there that he wrote his first -stories for children, entitled “Seven Little People -and their Friends” (New York, 1862). After -his father’s death he returned to Boston, and -thenceforward devoted himself almost wholly -to literary pursuits. He prepared the “Life and -Letters of David Coit Scudder,” his brother, a -missionary to India (New York, 1864); edited -the “Riverside Magazine” for young people -during its four years’ existence (from 1867 to -1870); and published “Dream Children” and -“Stories from My Attic.” Becoming associated -with Houghton, Mifflin, and Company, he edited -for them the “Atlantic Monthly” from 1890 -to 1898, preparing for it also that invaluable -Index, so important to bibliographers; he also -edited the “American Commonwealths” series, -and two detached volumes, “American Poems” -(1879) and “American Prose” (1880). He published -also the “Bodley Books” (8 vols., Boston, -1875 to 1887); “The Dwellers in Five Sisters’ -Court” (1876); “Boston Town” (1881); “Life -of Noah Webster” (1882); “A History of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> -United States” for schools (1884); “Men and -Letters” (1887); “Life of George Washington” -(1889); “Literature in School” (1889); “Childhood -in Literature and Art” (1894), besides -various books of which he was the editor or -compiler only. He was also for nearly six years -(1877-82) a member of the Cambridge School -Committee; for five years (1884-89) of the -State Board of Education; for nine years (1889-98) -of the Harvard University visiting committee -in English literature; and was at the -time of his death a trustee of Williams College, -Wellesley College, and St. John’s Theological -School, these making all together a quarter of -a century of almost uninterrupted and wholly -unpaid public service in the cause of education. -After May 28, 1889, he was a member of the -American Academy, until his death. This is -the simple record of a most useful and admirable -life, filled more and more, as it went on, -with gratuitous public services and disinterested -acts for others.</p> - -<p>As a literary workman, his nicety of method -and regularity of life went beyond those of -any man I have known. Working chiefly at -home, he assigned in advance a certain number -of hours daily as due to the firm for which he -labored; and he then kept carefully the record -of these hours, and if he took out a half hour for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -his own private work, made it up. He had special -work assigned by himself for a certain time -before breakfast, an interval which he daily -gave largely to the Greek Testament and at -some periods to Homer, Thucydides, Herodotus, -and Xenophon; working always with the -original at hand and writing out translations -or commentaries, always in the same exquisite -handwriting and at first contained in small thin -note-books, afterwards bound in substantial -volumes, with morocco binding and proper lettering. -All his writings were thus handsomely -treated, and the shelves devoted to his own -works, pamphlet or otherwise, were to the eye -a very conservatory and flower garden of literature; -or like a chamberful of children to whom -even a frugal parent may allow himself the -luxury of pretty clothes. All his literary arrangements -were neat and perfect, and represented -that other extreme from the celebrated -collection of De Quincey in Dove Cottage at -Grasmere, where that author had five thousand -books, by his own statement, in a little room -ten or twelve feet square; and his old housekeeper -explained it to me as perfectly practicable -“because he had no bookcases,” but -simply piled them against the walls, leaving -here and there little gaps in which he put his -money.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span></p> - -<p>In the delicate and touching dedication of -Scudder’s chief work, “Men and Letters,” to -his friend Henry M. Alden, the well-known New -York editor, he says: “In that former state of -existence when we were poets, you wrote verses -which I knew by heart and I read dreamy tales -to you which you speculated over as if they were -already classics. Then you bound your manuscript -verses in a full blue calf volume and put -it on the shelf, and I woke to find myself at the -desk of a literary workman.” Later, he says of -himself, “Fortunately, I have been able for the -most part to work out of the glare of publicity.” -Yet even to this modest phrase he adds acutely: -“But there is always that something in us which -whispers <i>I</i>, and after a while the anonymous -critic becomes a little tired of listening to the -whisper in his solitary cave, and is disposed to -escape from it by coming out into the light even -at the risk of blinking a little, and by suffering -the ghostly voice to become articulate, though -the sound startle him. One craves company for -his thought, and is not quite content always -to sit in the dark with his guests.”</p> - -<p>The work in which he best achieves the purpose -last stated is undoubtedly the collection -of papers called by the inexpressive phrase -“Men and Letters”; a book whose title was -perhaps a weight upon it, and which yet contained<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> -some of the very best of American -thought and criticism. It manifests even more -than his “Life of Lowell” that faculty of keen -summing up and epigrammatic condensation -which became so marked in him that it was -very visible, I am assured, even in the literary -councils of his publishers, two members of -which have told me that he often, after a long -discussion, so summed up the whole situation -in a sentence or two that he left them free to -pass to something else. We see the same quality, -for instance, in his “Men and Letters,” in -his papers on Dr. Mulford and Longfellow. -The first is an analysis of the life and literary -service of a man too little known because of -early death, but of the rarest and most exquisite -intellectual qualities, Dr. Elisha Mulford, -author of “The Nation” and then of “The Republic -of God.” In this, as everywhere in the -book, Mr. Scudder shows that epigrammatic -quality which amounted, whether applied to -books or men, to what may be best described -as a quiet brilliancy. This is seen, for instance, -when, in defending Mulford from the imputation -of narrowness, his friend sums up the -whole character of the man and saves a page of -more detailed discussion by saying, “He was -narrow as a cañon is narrow, when the depth -apparently contracts the sides” (page 17). So in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -his criticism called “Longfellow and his Art,” -Scudder repeatedly expresses in a sentence what -might well have occupied a page, as where he -says of Longfellow, “He was first of all a composer, -and he saw his subjects in their relations -rather than in their essence” (page 44). He is -equally penetrating where he says that Longfellow -“brought to his work in the college no -special love of teaching,” but “a deep love of -literature and that unacademic attitude toward -his work which was a liberalizing power” (page -66). He touches equally well that subtle quality -of Longfellow’s temperament, so difficult to delineate, -when he says of him: “He gave of himself -freely to his intimate friends, but he dwelt, -nevertheless, in a charmed circle, beyond the -lines of which men could not penetrate” (page -68). These admirable statements sufficiently indicate -the rare quality of Mr. Scudder’s work.</p> - -<p>So far as especial passages go, Mr. Scudder -never surpassed the best chapters of “Men and -Letters,” but his one adequate and complete -work as a whole is undoubtedly, apart from his -biographies, the volume entitled “Childhood -in Literature and Art” (1894). This book was -based on a course of Lowell lectures given by -him in Boston, and is probably that by which he -himself would wish to be judged, at least up -to the time of his excellent biography of Lowell.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -He deals in successive chapters with Greek, -Roman, Hebrew, Mediæval, English, French, -German, and American literary art with great -symmetry and unity throughout, culminating, -of course, in Hawthorne and analyzing the portraits -of children drawn in his productions. In -this book one may justly say that he has added -himself, in a degree, to the immediate circle -of those very few American writers whom he -commemorates so nobly at the close of his -essay on “Longfellow and his Art,” in “Men -and Letters”: “It is too early to make a full -survey of the immense importance to American -letters of the work done by half-a-dozen great -men in the middle of this century. The body of -prose and verse created by them is constituting -the solid foundation upon which other structures -are to rise; the humanity which it holds -is entering into the life of the country, and no -material invention, or scientific discovery, or institutional -prosperity, or accumulation of wealth -will so powerfully affect the spiritual well-being -of the nation for generations to come” (page 69).</p> - -<p>If it now be asked what prevented Horace -Scudder from showing more fully this gift of -higher literature and led to his acquiescing, -through life, in a comparatively secondary function, -I can find but one explanation, and that a -most interesting one to us in New England, as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> -illustrating the effect of immediate surroundings. -His father, so far as I can ascertain, was one of -those Congregationalists of the milder type who, -while strict in their opinions, are led by a sunny -temperament to be genial with their households -and to allow them innocent amusements. The -mother was a Congregationalist, firm but not -severe in her opinions; but always controlled by -that indomitable New England conscience of -the older time, which made her sacrifice herself -to every call of charity and even to refuse, as -tradition says, to have window curtains in her -house, inasmuch as many around her could not -even buy blankets. Add to this the fact that -Boston was then a great missionary centre, that -several prominent leaders in that cause were of -the Scudder family, and the house was a sort of -headquarters for them, and that Horace Scudder’s -own elder brother, whose memoirs he wrote, -went as a missionary to India, dying at his post. -Speaking of his father’s family in his memoir, -he says of it, “In the conduct of the household, -there was recognition of some more profound -meaning in life than could find expression in -mere enjoyment of living; while the presence -of a real religious sentiment banished that -counterfeit solemnity which would hang over innocent -pleasure like a cloud” (Scudder’s “Life -of David Coit Scudder,” page 4). By one bred in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -such an atmosphere of self-sacrifice, that quality -may well be imbibed; it may even become a -second nature, so that the instinctive demand -for self-assertion may become subordinate until -many a man ends in finding full contentment in -doing perfectly the appointed work of every day. -If we hold as we should that it is character, not -mere talent, which ennobles life, we may well -feel that there is something not merely pardonable, -but ennobling, in such a habit of mind. -Viewed in this light, his simple devotion to modest -duty may well be to many of us rather a -model than a thing to be criticised.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII_EDWARD_ATKINSON">XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">EDWARD ATKINSON</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span></p> - -<h3>EDWARD ATKINSON</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Edward Atkinson, a member of the American -Academy of Arts and Sciences since March -12, 1879, was born in Brookline, Massachusetts, -on February 10, 1827, and died in Boston on -December 11, 1905. He was descended on his -father’s side from the patriot minute-man, Lieutenant -Amos Atkinson, and on the maternal side -from Stephen Greenleaf, a well-known fighter of -Indians in the colonial period; thus honestly inheriting -on both sides that combative spirit in -good causes which marked his life. Owing to the -business reverses of his father, he was prevented -from receiving, as his elder brother, William Parsons -Atkinson, had received, a Harvard College -education, a training which was also extended -to all of Edward Atkinson’s sons, at a later day. -At fifteen he entered the employment of Read -and Chadwick, Commission Merchants, Boston, -in the capacity of office boy; but he rapidly rose -to the position of book-keeper, and subsequently -became connected with several cotton manufacturing -companies in Lewiston, Maine, and elsewhere. -He was for many years the treasurer -of a number of such corporations, and in 1878<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -became President of the Boston Manufacturers’ -Mutual Insurance Company. Such business was -in a somewhat chaotic state when he took hold -of it, but he remained in its charge until his -death, having during this time organized, enlarged, -and perfected the mutual insurance of -industrial concerns. In 1855 he married Miss -Mary Caroline Heath, of Brookline, who died in -December, 1907. He is survived by seven children,—Mrs. -Ernest Winsor, E. W. Atkinson, -Charles H. Atkinson, William Atkinson, Robert -W. Atkinson, Miss C. P. Atkinson, and Mrs. -R. G. Wadsworth.</p> - -<p>This gives the mere outline of a life of extraordinary -activity and usefulness which well merits -a further delineation in detail. Mr. Atkinson’s -interest in public life began with a vote for Horace -Mann in 1848. Twenty years after, speaking at -Salem, he described himself as never having been -anything else than a Republican; but he was one -of those who supported Cleveland for President -in 1884, and whose general affinities were with -the Democratic party. He opposed with especial -vigor what is often called “the imperial policy,” -which followed the Cuban War, and he conducted -a periodical of his own from time to time, making -the most elaborate single battery which the -war-party had to encounter.</p> - -<p>From an early period of life he was a profuse<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -and vigorous pamphleteer, his first pamphlet being -published during the Civil War and entitled -“Cheap Cotton by Free Labor,” and this publication -led to his acquaintance with David R. Wells -and Charles Nordhoff, thenceforth his life-long -friends. His early pamphlets were on the cotton -question in different forms (1863-76); he wrote -on blockade-running (1865); on the Pacific Railway -(1871); and on mutual fire insurance (1885), -this last being based on personal experience as -the head of a mutual company. He was also, -during his whole life, in print and otherwise, a -strong and effective fighter for sound currency.</p> - -<p>A large part of his attention from 1889 onward -was occupied by experiments in cooking -and diet, culminating in an invention of his own -called “The Aladdin Oven.” This led him into -investigations as to the cost of nutrition in different -countries, on which subject he also wrote -pamphlets. He soon was led into experiments -so daring that he claimed to have proved it possible -to cook with it, in open air, a five-course -dinner for ten persons, and gave illustrations of -this at outdoor entertainments. He claimed that -good nutrition could be had for $1 per week, and -that a family of five, by moderate management, -could be comfortably supported on $180 per year -(Boston “Herald,” October 8, 1891). These surprising -figures unfortunately created among the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -laboring-class a good deal of sharp criticism, culminating -in the mistaken inquiry, why he did not -feed his own family at $180 a year, if it was so -easy? I can only say for one, that if the meals -at that price were like a dinner of which I partook -at his own house with an invited party, -and at which I went through the promised five -courses after seeing them all prepared in the garden, -I think that his standard of poverty came -very near to luxury.</p> - -<p>Mingled with these things in later years was -introduced another valuable department of instruction. -He was more and more called upon -to give addresses, especially on manufactures, -before Southern audiences, and there was no -disposition to criticise him for his anti-slavery -record. Another man could hardly be found -whose knowledge of manufacturing and of insurance -combined made him so fit to give counsel -in the new business impulse showing itself -at the South. He wrote much (1877) on cotton -goods, called for an international cotton exposition, -and gave an address at Atlanta, Georgia, -which was printed in Boston in 1881.</p> - -<p>Looking now at Atkinson’s career with the -eyes of a literary man, it seems clear to me -that no college training could possibly have -added to his power of accumulating knowledge -or his wealth in the expression of it. But the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span> -academic tradition might have best added to -these general statements in each case some -simple address or essay which would bring out -clearly to the minds of an untrained audience the -essential points of each single theme. Almost -everything he left is the talk of a specially -trained man to a limited audience, also well -trained,—at least in the particular department -to which he addresses himself. The men to -whom he talks may not know how to read or -write, but they are all practically versed in the -subjects of which he treats. He talks as a miner -to miners, a farmer to farmers, a cook to cooks; -but among all of his papers which I have examined, -that in which he appears to the greatest -advantage to the general reader is his “Address -before the Alumni of Andover Theological -Seminary” on June 9, 1886. Here he speaks -as one representing a wholly different pursuit -from that of his auditors; a layman to clergymen, -or those aiming to become so. He says -to them frankly at the outset, “I have often -thought [at church] that if a member of the congregation -could sometimes occupy the pulpit -while the minister took his place in the pew, -it might be a benefit to both. The duty has -been assigned to me to-day to trace out the connection -between morality and a true system of -political or industrial economy.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span></p> - -<p>He goes on to remind them that the book -which is said to rank next to the Bible toward -the benefit of the human race is Adam Smith’s -“Wealth of Nations,” and that the same Adam -Smith wrote a book on moral philosophy, which -is now but little read. He therefore takes the -former of Smith’s books, not the latter, as his -theme, and thus proceeds:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I wonder how many among your number ever -recall the fact that it has been the richest manufacturers -who have clothed the naked at the least cost -to them; that it is the great bonanza farmer who -now feeds the hungry at the lowest price; that Vanderbilt -achieved his great fortune by reducing the -cost of moving a barrel of flour a thousand miles,—from -three dollars and fifty cents to less than seventy -cents. This was the great work assigned to him, -whether he knew it or not. His fortune was but an -incident,—the main object, doubtless, to himself, -but a trifling incident compared to what he saved -others.”<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p> - -</div> - -<p>He then goes on to show that whatever may -be the tricks or wrongs of commerce, they lie -on the surface, and that every great success is -based upon very simple facts.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The great manufacturer [he says] who guides -the operations of a factory of a hundred thousand -spindles, in which fifteen hundred men, women, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> -children earn their daily bread, himself works on a -narrow margin of one fourth of a cent on each yard -of cloth. If he shall not have applied truth to every -branch of construction and of the operation of that -factory, it will fail and become worthless; and then -with toilsome labor a hundred and fifty thousand -women might try to clothe themselves and you, who -are now clothed by the service of fifteen hundred -only.</p> - -<p>“Such is the disparity in the use of time, brought -into beneficent action by modern manufacturing -processes.</p> - -<p>“The banker who deals in credit by millions -upon millions must possess truth of insight, truth -of judgment, truth of character. Probity and integrity -constitute his capital, for the very reason that -the little margin which he seeks to gain for his -own service is but the smallest fraction of a per -cent upon each transaction. I supervise directly or -indirectly the insurance upon four hundred million -dollars’ worth of factory property. The products -of these factories, machine-shops, and other works -must be worth six hundred million dollars a year. -It isn’t worth fifty cents on each hundred dollars -to guarantee their notes or obligations, while ninety-nine -and one half per cent of all the sales they make -will be promptly paid when due.”<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p> - -</div> - -<p>He elsewhere turns from viewing the factory -system with business eyes alone to the consideration<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> -of it from the point of view of the laborer. -There is no want of sympathy, we soon -find, in this man of inventions and statistics. -He thus goes on:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The very manner in which this great seething, -toiling, crowded mass of laboring men and women -bear the hardships of life leads one to faith in humanity -and itself gives confidence in the future. If -it were not that there is a Divine order even in -the hardships which seem so severe, and that even -the least religious, in the technical sense, have faith -in each other, the anarchist and nihilist might be a -cause of dread.</p> - -<p>“As I walk through the great factories which are -insured in the company of which I am president, -trying to find out what more can be done to save -them from destruction by fire, I wonder if I myself -should not strike, just for the sake of variety, if -I were a mule-spinner, obliged to bend over the -machine, mending the ends of the thread, while I -walked ten or fifteen miles a day without raising my -eyes to the great light above. I wonder how men -and women bear the monotony of the workshop and -of the factory, in which the division of labor is carried -to its utmost, and in which they must work year -in and year out, only on some small part of a fabric -or an implement, never becoming capable of making -the whole fabric or of constructing the whole -machine.”<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span></p> - -<p>We thus find him quite ready to turn his varied -knowledge and his executive power towards -schemes for the relief of the operative, schemes -of which he left many.</p> - -<p>Mr. Atkinson, a year or two later (1890), -wrote a similarly popularized statement of social -science for an address on “Religion and Life” -before the American Unitarian Association. In -his usual matter-of-fact way, he had prepared -himself by inquiring at the headquarters of different -religious denominations for a printed -creed of each. He first bought an Episcopal -creed at the Old Corner Bookstore for two -cents, an Orthodox creed at the Congregational -Building for the same amount, then a Methodist -two-cent creed also, a Baptist creed for five -cents, and a Presbyterian one for ten, Unitarian -and Universalist creeds being furnished him -for nothing; and then he proceeds to give some -extracts whose bigotry makes one shudder, and -not wonder much that he expressed sympathy -mainly with the Catholics and the Jews, rather -than with the severer schools among Protestants. -And it is already to be noticed how much -the tendency of liberal thought, during the last -twenty years, has been in the direction whither -his sympathies went.</p> - -<p>As time went on, he had to undergo the test -which awaits all Northern public men visiting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -the Southern States, but not met by all in so -simple and straightforward a way as he. Those -who doubt the capacity of the mass of men in -our former slave states to listen to plainness of -speech should turn with interest to Atkinson’s -plain talk to the leading men of Atlanta, Georgia, -in October, 1880. He says, almost at the -beginning: “Now, gentlemen of the South, I -am going to use free speech for a purpose and -to speak some plain words of truth and soberness -to you.... I speak, then, to you here and -now as a Republican of Republicans, as an Abolitionist -of early time, a Free-Soiler of later date, -and a Republican of to-day.” And the record -is that he was received with applause. He goes -on to say as frankly: “When slavery ended, not -only were blacks made free from the bondage -imposed by others, but whites as well were redeemed -by the bondage they had imposed upon -themselves.... When you study the past system -of slave labor with the present system of -free labor, irrespective of all personal considerations, -you will be mad down to the soles of your -boots to think that you ever tolerated it; and -when you have come to this wholesome condition -of mind, you will wonder how the devil you -could have been so slow in seeing it. [Laughter.]”</p> - -<p>Then he suddenly drops down to the solid<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> -fact and says: “Are you not asking Northern -men to come here, and do you not seek Northern -capital? If you suppose either will come -here unless every man can say what he pleases, -as I do now, you are mistaken.” Then he goes on -with his speech, rather long as he was apt to -make them, but addressing a community much -more leisurely than that which he had left at -home; filling their minds with statistics, directions, -and methods, till at last, recurring to the -question of caste and color, he closes fearlessly: -“As you convert the darkness of oppression -and slavery to liberty and justice, so shall you -be judged by men, and by Him who created all -the nations of the earth.”</p> - -<p>After tracing the course and training of an -eminent American at home, it is often interesting -to follow him into the new experiences of -the foreign traveler. In that very amusing book, -“Notes from a Diary,” by Grant Duff (later Sir -Mountstuart Elphinstone Grant Duff), the author -writes that he came unexpectedly upon a -breakfast (June, 1887), the guests being “Atkinson, -the New England Free Trader, Colonel -Hay, and Frederic Harrison, all of whom were -well brought out by our host and talked admirably.” -I quote some extracts from the talk:—</p> - -<p>“Mr. Atkinson said that quite the best after-dinner -speech he had ever heard was from Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> -Samuel Longfellow, brother of the poet. An -excellent speech had been made by Mr. Longworth, -and the proceedings should have closed, -when Mr. Longfellow was very tactlessly asked -to address the meeting, which he did in the -words: ‘It is, I think, well known that worth -makes the man, but want of it the fellow,’ and -sat down.” After this mild beginning we have -records of good talk.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Other subjects [Grant Duff says] were the hostility -of the Socialists in London to the Positivists -and to the Trades Unions; the great American fortunes -and their causes, the rapid melting away of -some of them, the hindrance which they are to political -success; and servants in the United States, of -whom Atkinson spoke relatively, Colonel Hay absolutely, -well, saying that he usually kept his from -six to eight years....</p> - -<p>“Atkinson said that all the young thought and -ability in America is in favor of free trade, but that -free trade has not begun to make any way politically. -Harrison remarked that he was unwillingly, -but ever more and more, being driven to believe -that the residuum was almost entirely composed -of people who would not work. Atkinson took the -same view, observing that during the war much was -said about the misery of the working-women of -Boston. He offered admirable terms if they would -only go a little way into the country to work in his -factory. Forty were at last got together to have the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> -conditions explained—ten agreed to go next morning, -of whom one arrived at the station, and she -would not go alone!”</p> - -</div> - -<p>On another occasion we read in the “Diary”:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“We talked of Father Taylor, and he [Atkinson] -told us that the great orator once began a sermon -by leaning over the pulpit, with his arms folded, -and saying, ‘You people ought to be very good, if -you’re not, for you live in Paradise already.’</p> - -<p>“The conversation, in which Sir Louis Malet took -part, turned to Mill’s economical heresies, especially -that which relates to the fostering of infant industries. -Atkinson drew a striking picture of the highly -primitive economic condition of the South before -the war, and said that now factories of all kinds are -springing up throughout the country in spite of the -keen competition of the North. He cited a piece -of advice given to his brother by Theodore Parker, -‘Never try to lecture down to your audience.’ -This maxim is in strict accordance with an opinion -expressed by Hugh Miller, whom, having to address -on the other side of the Firth just the same -sort of people as those amongst whom he lived at -Cromarty, I took as my guide in this matter during -the long period in which I was connected with the -Elgin Burghs.</p> - -<p>“Atkinson went on to relate that at the time of -Mr. Hayes’s election to the presidency there was -great danger of an outbreak, and he sat in council -with General Taylor and Abraham Hewitt, doing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> -his best to prevent it. At length he exclaimed: -‘Now I think we may fairly say that the war is over. -Here are we three acting together for a common -object, and who are we? You, Mr. Hewitt, are the -leader of the Democratic party in New York; I am -an old Abolitionist who subscribed to furnish John -Brown and his companions with rifles; you, General -Taylor, are the last Confederate officer who -surrendered an army, and you surrendered it not -because you were willing to do so, but, as you yourself -admit, because you couldn’t help it.’”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The publication which will perhaps be much -consulted in coming years as the best periodical -organ of that party in the nation which was -most opposed to the Philippine war will doubtless -be the work issued by Mr. Atkinson on -his own responsibility and by his own editing, -from June 3, 1899, to September, 1900, under -the name of “The Anti-Imperialist.” It makes -a solid volume of about 400 octavo pages, and -was conducted wholly on Atkinson’s own responsibility, -financially and otherwise, though a -large part of the expense was paid him by volunteers, -to the extent of $5,657.87 or more, covering -an outlay of $5,870.62, this amount being -largely received in sums of one dollar, obtained -under what is known as the chain method. For -this amount were printed more than 100,000 -copies of a series of pamphlets, of which the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> -first two were withdrawn from the mail as -seditious under President McKinley’s administration. -A more complete triumph of personal -independence was perhaps never seen in our -literature, and it is easy to recognize the triumph -it achieved for a high-minded and courageous -as well as constitutionally self-willed -man. The periodical exerted an influence which -lasts to this day, although the rapidity of political -change has now thrown it into the background -for all except the systematic student of -history. It seemed to Mr. Atkinson, at any rate, -his crowning work.</p> - -<p>The books published by Edward Atkinson -were the following: “The Distribution of -Profits,” 1885; “The Industrial Progress of the -Nation,” 1889; “The Margin of Profit,” 1890; -“Taxation and Work,” 1892; “Facts and -Figures the Basis of Economic Science,” 1894. -This last was printed at the Riverside Press, the -others being issued by Putnam & Co., New York. -He wrote also the following papers in leading -periodicals: “Is Cotton our King?” (“Continental -Monthly,” March, 1862); “Revenue -Reform” (“Atlantic,” October, 1871); “An -American View of American Competition” -(“Fortnightly,” London, March, 1879); “The -Unlearned Professions” (“Atlantic,” June, -1880); “What makes the Rate of Interest”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -(“Forum,” 1880); “Elementary Instruction in -the Mechanics Arts” (“Century,” May, 1881); -“Leguminous Plants suggested for Ensilage” -(“Agricultural,” 1882); “Economy in Domestic -Cookery” (“American Architect,” May, -1887); “Must Humanity starve at Last?” -“How can Wages be increased?” “The Struggle -for Subsistence,” “The Price of Life” (all -in “Forum” for 1888); “How Society reforms -Itself,” and “The Problem of Poverty” (both in -“Forum” for 1889); “A Single Tax on Land” -(“Century,” 1890); and many others. When -the amount of useful labor performed by the men -of this generation comes to be reviewed a century -hence, it is doubtful whether a more substantial -and varied list will be found credited -to the memory of any one in America than -that which attaches to the memory of Edward -Atkinson.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII_JAMES_ELLIOT_CABOT">XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">JAMES ELLIOT CABOT</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p> - -<h3>JAMES ELLIOT CABOT</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Our late associate, Elliot Cabot, of whom I -have been appointed to write a sketch, was to -me, from my college days, an object of peculiar -interest, on a variety of grounds. He was distantly -related to me, in more than one way, -through the endless intermarriages of the old -Essex County families. Though two years and -a half older, he was but one year in advance -of me in Harvard College. He and his chum, -Henry Bryant, who had been my schoolmate, -were among the early founders of the Harvard -Natural History Society, then lately established, -of which I was an ardent member; and I have -never had such a sensation of earthly glory as -when I succeeded Bryant in the responsible -function of Curator of Entomology in that august -body. I used sometimes in summer to encounter -Cabot in the Fresh Pond marshes, then -undrained, which he afterwards described so delightfully -in the “Atlantic Monthly” in his paper -entitled “Sedge Birds” (xxiii, 384). On these -occasions he bore his gun, and I only the humbler -weapon of a butterfly net. After we had left -college, I looked upon him with envy as one of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -the early and successful aspirants to that German -post-collegiate education which was already -earnestly desired, but rarely attained, by the -more studious among Harvard graduates. After -his return, I was brought more or less in contact -with him, at the close of the “Dial” period, -and in the following years of Transcendentalism; -and, later still, I was actively associated -with him for a time in that group of men who -have always dreamed of accomplishing something -through the Harvard Visiting Committee, -and have retired from it with hopes unaccomplished. -Apart from his labors as Emerson’s -scribe and editor, he seemed to withdraw himself -more and more from active life as time -went on, and to accept gracefully the attitude -which many men find so hard,—that of being, -in a manner, superseded by the rising generation. -This he could do more easily, since he left -a family of sons to represent in various forms -the tastes and gifts that were combined in him; -and he also left a manuscript autobiography, -terse, simple, and modest, like himself, to represent -what was in its way a quite unique -career. Of this sketch I have been allowed to -avail myself through the courtesy of his sons.</p> - -<p>James Elliot Cabot was born in Boston -June 18, 1821, his birthplace being in Quincy -Place, upon the slope of Fort Hill, in a house<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> -which had belonged to his grandfather, Samuel -Cabot, brother of George Cabot, the well-known -leader of the Federalists in his day. These -brothers belonged to a family originating in the -Island of Jersey and coming early to Salem, -Massachusetts. Elliot Cabot’s father was also -named Samuel, while his mother was the eldest -child of Thomas Handasyd Perkins and Sarah -Elliot; the former being best known as Colonel -Perkins, who gave his house and grounds on -Pearl Street toward the foundation of the Blind -Asylum bearing his name, and also gave profuse -gifts to other Boston institutions; deriving -meanwhile his military title from having -held command of the Boston Cadets. Elliot -Cabot was, therefore, born and bred in the -most influential circle of the little city of that -date, and he dwelt in what was then the most -attractive part of Boston, though long since -transformed into a business centre.</p> - -<p>His summers were commonly spent at Nahant, -then a simple and somewhat primitive seaside -spot, and his childhood was also largely passed -in the house in Brookline built by Colonel Perkins -for his daughter. Elliot Cabot went to -school in Boston under the well-known teachers -of that day,—Thayer, Ingraham, and Leverett. -When twelve years old, during the absence of -his parents in Europe, he was sent to a boarding-school<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -in Brookline, but spent Saturday and -Sunday with numerous cousins at the house of -Colonel Perkins, their common grandfather, -who lived in a large and hospitable manner, -maintaining an ampler establishment than is to -be found in the more crowded Boston of to-day. -This ancestor was a man of marked individuality, -and I remember hearing from one of his grandchildren -an amusing account of the scene which -occurred, on one of these Sunday evenings, -after the delivery of a total abstinence sermon -by the Rev. Dr. Channing, of whose parish -Colonel Perkins was one of the leading members. -The whole theory of total abstinence -was then an absolute innovation, and its proclamation, -which came rather suddenly from Dr. -Channing, impressed Colonel Perkins much as -it might have moved one of Thackeray’s English -squires; insomuch that he had a double -allowance of wine served out that evening to -each of his numerous grandsons in place of -their accustomed wineglass of diluted beverage, -and this to their visible disadvantage as -the evening went on.</p> - -<p>Elliot Cabot entered Harvard College in 1836 -as Freshman, and though he passed his entrance -examinations well, took no prominent rank in -his class, but read all sorts of out-of-the-way -books and studied natural history. He was also<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> -an early reader of Carlyle’s “Sartor Resartus,” -then just published; and was, in general, quite -disposed to pursue his own course in mental -culture. He belonged to the Hasty Pudding -Club and to the Porcellian Club, but spent -much time with his classmates, Henry Bryant -and William Sohier, in shooting excursions, -which had then the charm of being strictly -prohibited by the college. The young men -were obliged to carry their guns slung for concealment -in two parts, the barrels separated -from the stock, under their cloaks, which were -then much worn instead of overcoats. This -taste was strengthened by the example of -Cabot’s elder brother, afterwards Dr. Samuel -Cabot, an ornithologist; and as the latter was -then studying medicine in Paris, the young -men used to send him quantities of specimens -for purposes of exchange. Dr. Henry Bryant -is well remembered in Boston for the large -collection of birds given by him to the Boston -Natural History Society.</p> - -<p>Soon after his graduation, in 1840, Elliot -Cabot went abroad with the object of joining -his elder brother in Switzerland, visiting Italy, -wintering in Paris, and returning home in the -spring; but this ended in his going for the winter -to Heidelberg instead, a place then made -fascinating to all young Americans through the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span> -glowing accounts in Longfellow’s “Hyperion.” -They were also joined by two other classmates,—Edward -Holker Welch, afterwards well -known in the Roman Catholic priesthood, and -John Fenwick Heath, of Virginia, well remembered -by the readers of Lowell’s letters. All of -these four were aiming at the profession of the -law, although not one of them, I believe, finally -devoted himself to its practice. Migrating afterwards -to Berlin, after the fashion of German -students, they were admitted to the University -on their Harvard degrees by Ranke, the great -historian, who said, as he inspected their parchments, -“Ah! the High School at Boston!” -which they thought showed little respect for -President Quincy’s parchment, until they found -that “Hoch Schule” was the German equivalent -for University. There they heard the lectures -of Schelling, then famous, whom they -found to be a little man of ordinary appearance, -old, infirm, and taking snuff constantly, as if to -keep himself awake. Later they again removed, -this time to Göttingen, where Cabot busied himself -with the study of Kant, and also attended -courses in Rudolph Wagner’s laboratory. Here -he shared more of the social life of his companions, -frequented their Liederkränze, learned -to fence and to dance, and spent many evenings -at students’ festivals.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p> - -<p>Cabot sums up his whole European reminiscences -as follows: “As I look back over my -residence in Europe, what strikes me is the -waste of time and energy from having had no -settled purpose to keep my head steady. I seem -to have been always well employed and happy, -but I had been indulging a disposition to mental -sauntering, and the picking up of scraps, -very unfavorable to my education. I was, I -think, naturally inclined to hover somewhat -above the solid earth of practical life, and thus -to miss its most useful lessons. The result, I -think, was to confirm me in the vices of my -mental constitution and to cut off what chance -there was of my accomplishing something worth -while.”</p> - -<p>In March, 1843, he finally left Göttingen for -home by way of Belgium and England, and -entered the Harvard Law School in the autumn, -taking his degree there two years later, in 1845. -Renewing acquaintance with him during this -period, I found him to be, as always, modest -and reticent in manner, bearing unconsciously -a certain European prestige upon him, which so -commanded the respect of a circle of young -men that we gave him the sobriquet of “Jarno,” -after the well-known philosophic leader in -Goethe’s “Wilhelm Meister.” Whatever he -may say of himself, I cannot help still retaining<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -somewhat of my old feeling about the mental -training of the man who, while in the Law -School, could write a paper so admirable as -Cabot’s essay entitled “Immanuel Kant” -(“Dial,” iv, 409), an essay which seems to me -now, as it then seemed, altogether the simplest -and most effective statement I have ever -encountered of the essential principles of that -great thinker’s philosophy. I remember that -when I told Cabot that I had been trying to -read Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason” in an -English translation, but could not understand -it, he placidly replied that he had read it twice -in German and had thought he comprehended -it, but that Meiklejohn’s translation was beyond -making out, so that I need not be discouraged.</p> - -<p>After graduating from the Law School, he -went for a year into a law office in Boston, acting -as senior partner to my classmate, Francis -Edward Parker, who, being a born lawyer, as -Cabot was not, found it for his own profit to -sever the partnership at the end of a year, -while Cabot retired from the profession forever. -His German training had meanwhile -made him well known to the leaders of a new -literary enterprise, originating with Theodore -Parker and based upon a meeting at Mr. Emerson’s -house in 1849, the object being the organization<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -of a new magazine, which should be, in -Theodore Parker’s phrase, “the ‘Dial’ with -a beard.” Liberals and reformers were present -at the meeting, including men so essentially diverse -as Sumner and Thoreau. Parker was, -of course, to be the leading editor, and became -such. Emerson also consented, “rather -weakly,” as Cabot says in his memoranda, to -appear, and contributed only the introductory -address, while Cabot himself agreed to act as -corresponding secretary and business manager. -The “Massachusetts Quarterly Review” sustained -itself with difficulty for three years,—showing -more of studious and systematic work -than its predecessor, the “Dial,” but far less -of freshness and originality,—and then went -under.</p> - -<p>A more successful enterprise in which he was -meanwhile enlisted was a trip to Lake Superior -with Agassiz, in 1850, when Cabot acted as secretary -and wrote and illustrated the published -volume of the expedition,—a book which was -then full of fresh novelties, and which is still -very readable. Soon after his return, he went -into his brother Edward’s architect office in -Boston to put his accounts in order, and ultimately -became a partner in the business, erecting -various buildings.</p> - -<p>He was married on September 28, 1857,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> -to Elizabeth Dwight, daughter of Edmund -Dwight, Esq., a woman of rare qualities and -great public usefulness, who singularly carried -on the tradition of those Essex County women -of an earlier generation, who were such strong -helpmates to their husbands. Of Mrs. Cabot it -might almost have been said, as was said by -John Lowell in 1826 of his cousin, Elizabeth -Higginson, wife of her double first cousin, -George Cabot: “She had none of the advantages -of early education afforded so bountifully -to the young ladies of the present age; but she -surpassed <i>all</i> of them in the acuteness of her -observation, in the knowledge of human nature, -and in her power of expressing and defending -the opinions which she had formed.”<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> Thus -Elliot Cabot writes of his wife: “From the -time when the care of her children ceased to -occupy the most of her time, she gradually became -one of the most valuable of the town -officials, as well as the unofficial counselor of -many who needed the unfailing succor of her -inexhaustible sympathy and practical helpfulness.”</p> - -<p>Cabot visited Europe anew after his marriage, -and after his return, served for nine years as a -school-committee-man in Brookline, where he -resided. He afterwards did faithful duty for six<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -years as chairman of the examining committee -of Harvard Overseers. He gave for a single -year a series of lectures on Kant at Harvard -University, and for a time acted as instructor -in Logic there, which included a supervision of -the forensics or written discussions then in -vogue. The Civil War aroused his sympathies -strongly, especially when his brother Edward -and his personal friend, Francis L. Lee, became -respectively Lieutenant-Colonel and Colonel of -the 44th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry. -Elliot Cabot himself enlisted in a drill club, and -did some work for the Sanitary Commission. -He also assisted greatly in organizing the Museum -of Fine Arts and in the administration of -the Boston Athenæum.</p> - -<p>Though a life-long student, he wrote little -for the press,—a fact which recalls Theodore -Parker’s remark about him, that he “could -make a good law argument, but could not address -it to the jury.” He rendered, however, a -great and permanent service, far outweighing -that performed by most American authors of -his time, as volunteer secretary to Ralph Waldo -Emerson, a task which constituted his main -occupation for five or six years. After Emerson’s -death, Cabot also wrote his memoirs, by -the wish of the family,—a book which will -always remain the primary authority on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span> -subject with which it deals, although it was -justly criticised by others for a certain restricted -tone which made it seem to be, as it -really was, the work of one shy and reticent -man telling the story of another. In describing -Emerson, the biographer often unconsciously -described himself also; and the later publications -of Mr. Emerson’s only son show clearly -that there was room for a more ample and -varied treatment in order to complete the work.</p> - -<p>Under these circumstances, Cabot’s home -life, while of even tenor, was a singularly happy -one. One of his strongest and life-long traits -was his love of children,—a trait which he -also eminently shared with Emerson. The -group formed by him with two grandchildren -in his lap, to whom he was reading John Gilpin -or Hans Andersen, is one which those who -knew him at home would never forget. It was -characteristic also that in his German copy of -Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason,” already -mentioned, there were found some papers covered -with drawings of horses and carts which -had been made to amuse some eager child. -Akin to this was his strong love of flowers, -united with a rare skill in making beautiful -shrubs grow here and there in such places as -would bring out the lines and curves of his -estate at Beverly. Even during the last summer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -of his life, he was cutting new little vistas on -the Beverly hills. His sketches of landscape in -water-color were also very characteristic both -of his delicate and poetic appreciation of nature -and of his skill and interest in drawing. In -1885, while in Italy, he used to draw objects -seen from the car window as he traveled; and -often in the morning, when his family came -down to breakfast at hotels, they found that he -had already made an exquisite sketch in pencil -of some tower or arch.</p> - -<p>His outward life, on the whole, seemed much -akin to the lives led by that considerable class -of English gentlemen who adopt no profession, -dwelling mainly on their paternal estates, yet -are neither politicians nor fox-hunters; pursuing -their own favorite studies, taking part from -time to time in the pursuits of science, art, or -literature, even holding minor public functions, -but winning no widespread fame. He showed, -on the other hand, the freedom from prejudice, -the progressive tendency, and the ideal proclivities -which belong more commonly to Americans. -He seemed to himself to have accomplished -nothing; and yet he had indirectly aided -a great many men by the elevation of his tone -and the breadth of his intellectual sympathy. -If he did not greatly help to stimulate the -thought of his time, he helped distinctly to enlarge<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> -and ennoble it. His death occurred at -Brookline, Massachusetts, on January 16, 1903. -He died as he had lived, a high-minded, stainless, -and in some respects unique type of American -citizen.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX_EMILY_DICKINSON">XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">EMILY DICKINSON</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p> - -<h3>EMILY DICKINSON</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Few events in American literary history have -been more curious than the sudden rise of -Emily Dickinson many years since into a posthumous -fame only more accentuated by the -utterly recluse character of her life. The lines -which formed a prelude to the first volume of -her poems are the only ones that have yet come -to light which indicate even a temporary desire -to come in contact with the great world of readers; -for she seems to have had no reference, in -all the rest, to anything but her own thought -and a few friends. But for her only sister, it is -very doubtful if her poems would ever have -been printed at all; and when published, they -were launched quietly and without any expectation -of a wide audience. Yet the outcome -of it was that six editions of the volume were -sold within six months, a suddenness of success -almost without a parallel in American literature.</p> - -<p>On April 16, 1862, I took from the post-office -the following letter:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Higginson</span>,—Are you too deeply occupied -to say if my verse is alive?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span></p> - -<p>The mind is so near itself it cannot see distinctly, -and I have none to ask.</p> - -<p>Should you think it breathed, and had you the -leisure to tell me, I should feel quick gratitude.</p> - -<p>If I make the mistake, that you dared to tell me -would give me sincerer honor toward you.</p> - -<p>I inclose my name, asking you, if you please, sir, -to tell me what is true?</p> - -<p>That you will not betray me it is needless to ask, -since honor is its own pawn.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The letter was postmarked “Amherst,” and -it was in a handwriting so peculiar that it -seemed as if the writer might have taken her -first lessons by studying the famous fossil bird-tracks -in the museum of that college town. Yet -it was not in the slightest degree illiterate, but -cultivated, quaint, and wholly unique. Of punctuation -there was little; she used chiefly dashes, -and it has been thought better, in printing these -letters, as with her poems, to give them the -benefit in this respect of the ordinary usages; -and so with her habit as to capitalization, as the -printers call it, in which she followed the Old -English and present German method of thus -distinguishing every noun substantive. But the -most curious thing about the letter was the -total absence of a signature. It proved, however, -that she had written her name on a -card, and put it under the shelter of a smaller<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -envelope inclosed in the larger; and even -this name was written—as if the shy writer -wished to recede as far as possible from view—in -pencil, not in ink. The name was Emily -Dickinson. Inclosed with the letter were four -poems, two of which have since been separately -printed,—“Safe in their alabaster chambers” -and “I’ll tell you how the sun rose,” -besides the two that here follow. The first comprises -in its eight lines a truth so searching -that it seems a condensed summary of the -whole experience of a long life:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“We play at paste</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till qualified for pearl;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then drop the paste</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And deem ourself a fool.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The shapes, though, were similar</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And our new hands</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Learned gem-tactics,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Practicing sands.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>Then came one which I have always classed -among the most exquisite of her productions, -with a singular felicity of phrase and an aerial -lift that bears the ear upward with the bee it -traces:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The nearest dream recedes unrealized.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The heaven we chase,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like the June bee</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">Before the schoolboy,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Invites the race,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Stoops to an easy clover,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dips—evades—teases—deploys—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then to the royal clouds</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lifts his light pinnace,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Heedless of the boy</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Homesick for steadfast honey,—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ah! the bee flies not</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Which brews that rare variety.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>The impression of a wholly new and original -poetic genius was as distinct on my mind at -the first reading of these four poems as it is now, -after half a century of further knowledge; and -with it came the problem never yet solved, what -place ought to be assigned in literature to what -is so remarkable, yet so elusive of criticism. -The bee himself did not evade the schoolboy -more than she evaded me; and even at this day -I still stand somewhat bewildered, like the boy.</p> - -<p>Circumstances, however, soon brought me in -contact with an uncle of Emily Dickinson, a -gentleman not now living: a prominent citizen -of Worcester, Massachusetts, a man of integrity -and character, who shared her abruptness and -impulsiveness, but certainly not her poetic temperament, -from which he was indeed singularly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -remote. He could tell but little of her, she -being evidently an enigma to him, as to me. It -is hard to say what answer was made by me, -under these circumstances, to this letter. It is -probable that the adviser sought to gain time -a little and find out with what strange creature -he was dealing. I remember to have ventured -on some criticism which she afterwards called -“surgery,” and on some questions, part of which -she evaded, as will be seen, with a naïve skill -such as the most experienced and worldly coquette -might envy. Her second letter (received -April 26, 1862) was as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Higginson</span>,—Your kindness claimed earlier -gratitude, but I was ill, and write to-day from my -pillow.</p> - -<p>Thank you for the surgery; it was not so painful -as I supposed. I bring you others, as you ask, -though they might not differ. While my thought is -undressed, I can make the distinction; but when I -put them in the gown, they look alike and numb.</p> - -<p>You asked how old I was? I made no verse, but -one or two, until this winter, sir.</p> - -<p>I had a terror since September, I could tell to -none; and so I sing, as the boy does of the burying -ground, because I am afraid.</p> - -<p>You inquire my books. For poets, I have Keats, -and Mr. and Mrs. Browning. For prose, Mr. -Ruskin, Sir Thomas Browne, and the Revelations. -I went to school, but in your manner of the phrase<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -had no education. When a little girl, I had a friend -who taught me Immortality; but venturing too -near, himself, he never returned. Soon after my -tutor died, and for several years my lexicon was my -only companion. Then I found one more, but he -was not contented I be his scholar, so he left the -land.</p> - -<p>You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the -sundown, and a dog large as myself, that my father -bought me. They are better than beings because -they know, but do not tell; and the noise in the -pool at noon excels my piano.</p> - -<p>I have a brother and sister; my mother does not -care for thought, and father, too busy with his briefs -to notice what we do. He buys me many books, but -begs me not to read them, because he fears they -joggle the mind. They are religious, except me, and -address an eclipse, every morning, whom they call -their “Father.”</p> - -<p>But I fear my story fatigues you. I would like -to learn. Could you tell me how to grow, or is it -unconveyed, like melody or witchcraft?</p> - -<p>You speak of Mr. Whitman. I never read his -book, but was told that it was disgraceful.</p> - -<p>I read Miss Prescott’s “Circumstance,” but it -followed me in the dark, so I avoided her.</p> - -<p>Two editors of journals came to my father’s house -this winter, and asked me for my mind, and when -I asked them “why” they said I was penurious, -and they would use it for the world.</p> - -<p>I could not weigh myself, myself. My size felt<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span> -small to me. I read your chapters in the “Atlantic,” -and experienced honor for you. I was sure you -would not reject a confiding question.</p> - -<p>Is this, sir, what you asked me to tell you? Your -friend,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">E. Dickinson</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<p>It will be seen that she had now drawn a -step nearer, signing her name, and as my -“friend.” It will also be noticed that I had -sounded her about certain American authors, -then much read; and that she knew how to -put her own criticisms in a very trenchant way. -With this letter came some more verses, still -in the same birdlike script, as for instance the -following:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Your riches taught me poverty,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Myself a millionaire</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In little wealths, as girls could boast,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till, broad as Buenos Ayre,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">You drifted your dominions</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A different Peru,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And I esteemed all poverty</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For life’s estate, with you.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Of mines, I little know, myself,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But just the names of gems,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The colors of the commonest,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And scarce of diadems</div> - <div class="verse indent0">So much that, did I meet the queen,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Her glory I should know;</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">But this must be a different wealth,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To miss it, beggars so.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“I’m sure ’tis India, all day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To those who look on you</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Without a stint, without a blame,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Might I but be the Jew!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I’m sure it is Golconda</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Beyond my power to deem,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To have a smile for mine, each day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How better than a gem!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“At least, it solaces to know</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That there exists a gold</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Although I prove it just in time</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Its distance to behold;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Its far, far treasure to surmise</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And estimate the pearl</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That slipped my simple fingers through</div> - <div class="verse indent0">While just a girl at school!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>Here was already manifest that defiance of -form, never through carelessness, and never -precisely from whim, which so marked her. -The slightest change in the order of words—thus, -“While yet at school, a girl”—would -have given her a rhyme for this last line; but -no; she was intent upon her thought, and it -would not have satisfied her to make the change. -The other poem further showed, what had already -been visible, a rare and delicate sympathy -with the life of nature:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“A bird came down the walk;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He did not know I saw;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He bit an angle-worm in halves</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And ate the fellow raw.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And then he drank a dew</div> - <div class="verse indent0">From a convenient grass,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And then hopped sidewise to a wall,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To let a beetle pass.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“He glanced with rapid eyes</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That hurried all around;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They looked like frightened beads, I thought;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He stirred his velvet head</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Like one in danger, cautious.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I offered him a crumb,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And he unrolled his feathers</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And rowed him softer home</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Than oars divide the ocean,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Too silver for a seam—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Or butterflies, off banks of noon,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Leap, plashless as they swim.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>It is possible that in a second letter I gave -more of distinct praise or encouragement, as her -third is in a different mood. This was received -June 8, 1862. There is something startling in -its opening image; and in the yet stranger -phrase that follows, where she apparently uses -“mob” in the sense of chaos or bewilderment:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—Your letter gave no drunkenness, -because I tasted rum before. Domingo comes -but once; yet I have had few pleasures so deep as -your opinion, and if I tried to thank you, my tears -would block my tongue.</p> - -<p>My dying tutor told me that he would like to live -till I had been a poet, but Death was much of mob -as I could master, then. And when, far afterward, -a sudden light on orchards, or a new fashion in the -wind troubled my attention, I felt a palsy, here, -the verses just relieve.</p> - -<p>Your second letter surprised me, and for a moment, -swung. I had not supposed it. Your first gave -no dishonor, because the true are not ashamed. I -thanked you for your justice, but could not drop the -bells whose jingling cooled my tramp. Perhaps the -balm seemed better, because you bled me first. I -smile when you suggest that I delay “to publish,” -that being foreign to my thought as firmament to fin.</p> - -<p>If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if -she did not, the longest day would pass me on the -chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake -me then. My barefoot rank is better.</p> - -<p>You think my gait “spasmodic.” I am in danger, -sir. You think me “uncontrolled.” I have no tribunal.</p> - -<p>Would you have time to be the “friend” you -should think I need? I have a little shape: it -would not crowd your desk, nor make much racket -as the mouse that dens your galleries.</p> - -<p>If I might bring you what I do—not so frequent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -to trouble you—and ask you if I told it clear, -’twould be control to me. The sailor cannot see the -North, but knows the needle can. The “hand you -stretch me in the dark” I put mine in, and turn away. -I have no Saxon now:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">As if I asked a common alms,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And in my wandering hand</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A stranger pressed a kingdom,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And I, bewildered, stand;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As if I asked the Orient</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Had it for me a morn,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And it should lift its purple dikes</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And shatter me with dawn!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But, will you be my preceptor, Mr. Higginson?</p> - -</div> - -<p>With this came the poem since published in -one of her volumes and entitled “Renunciation”; -and also that beginning “Of all the sounds dispatched -abroad,” thus fixing approximately the -date of those two. I must soon have written to -ask her for her picture, that I might form some -impression of my enigmatical correspondent. To -this came the following reply, in July, 1862:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Could you believe me without? I had no portrait, -now, but am small, like the wren; and my hair is bold -like the chestnut bur; and my eyes, like the sherry -in the glass, that the guest leaves. Would this do -just as well?</p> - -<p>It often alarms father. He says death might occur -and he has moulds of all the rest, but has no mould<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -of me; but I noticed the quick wore off those things, -in a few days, and forestall the dishonor. You will -think no caprice of me.</p> - -<p>You said “Dark.” I know the butterfly, and the -lizard, and the orchis. Are not those <i>your</i> countrymen?</p> - -<p>I am happy to be your scholar, and will deserve -the kindness I cannot repay.</p> - -<p>If you truly consent, I recite now. Will you tell -me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather -wince than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend -the bone, but to set it, sir, and fracture within -is more critical. And for this, preceptor, I shall bring -you obedience, the blossom from my garden, and -every gratitude I know.</p> - -<p>Perhaps you smile at me. I could not stop for that. -My business is circumference. An ignorance, not of -customs, but if caught with the dawn, or the sunset -see me, myself the only kangaroo among the beauty, -sir, if you please, it afflicts me, and I thought that -instruction would take it away.</p> - -<p>Because you have much business, beside the -growth of me, you will appoint, yourself, how often -I shall come, without your inconvenience.</p> - -<p>And if at any time you regret you received me, or -I prove a different fabric to that you supposed, you -must banish me.</p> - -<p>When I state myself, as the representative of the -verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.</p> - -<p>You are true about the “perfection.” To-day -makes Yesterday mean.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span></p> - -<p>You spoke of “Pippa Passes.” I never heard anybody -speak of “Pippa Passes” before. You see my -posture is benighted.</p> - -<p>To thank you baffles me. Are you perfectly powerful? -Had I a pleasure you had not, I could delight -to bring it.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Scholar.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>This was accompanied by this strong poem, -with its breathless conclusion. The title is of my -own giving:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE SAINTS’ REST</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Of tribulation, these are they,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Denoted by the white;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The spangled gowns, a lesser rank</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of victors designate.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">All these did conquer; but the ones</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who overcame most times,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wear nothing commoner than snow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">No ornaments but palms.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Surrender” is a sort unknown</div> - <div class="verse indent0">On this superior soil;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Defeat” an outgrown anguish,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Remembered as the mile</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Our panting ancle barely passed</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When night devoured the road;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But we stood whispering in the house,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And all we said, was “Saved!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>[Note by the writer of the verses.] I spelled ankle wrong.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p> - -<p>It would seem that at first I tried a little—a -very little—to lead her in the direction of rules -and traditions; but I fear it was only perfunctory, -and that she interested me more in her—so -to speak—unregenerate condition. Still, she -recognizes the endeavor. In this case, as will be -seen, I called her attention to the fact that while -she took pains to correct the spelling of a word, -she was utterly careless of greater irregularities. -It will be seen by her answer that with her usual -naïve adroitness she turns my point:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—Are these more orderly? I -thank you for the truth.</p> - -<p>I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule -myself; and when I try to organize, my little force -explodes and leaves me bare and charred.</p> - -<p>I think you called me “wayward.” Will you help -me improve?</p> - -<p>I suppose the pride that stops the breath, in the -core of woods, is not of ourself.</p> - -<p>You say I confess the little mistake, and omit the -large. Because I can see orthography; but the ignorance -out of sight is my preceptor’s charge.</p> - -<p>Of “shunning men and women,” they talk of hallowed -things, aloud, and embarrass my dog. He and -I don’t object to them, if they’ll exist their side. -I think Carlo would please you. He is dumb, and -brave. I think you would like the chestnut tree -I met in my walk. It hit my notice suddenly, and I -thought the skies were in blossom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span></p> - -<p>Then there’s a noiseless noise in the orchard that -I let persons hear.</p> - -<p>You told me in one letter you could not come to -see me “now,” and I made no answer; not because -I had none, but did not think myself the price that -you should come so far.</p> - -<p>I do not ask so large a pleasure, lest you might -deny me.</p> - -<p>You say, “Beyond your knowledge.” You would -not jest with me, because I believe you; but, preceptor, -you cannot mean it?</p> - -<p>All men say “What” to me, but I thought it a -fashion.</p> - -<p>When much in the woods, as a little girl, I was -told that the snake would bite me, that I might pick -a poisonous flower, or goblins kidnap me; but I went -along and met no one but angels, who were far shyer -of me than I could be of them, so I haven’t that -confidence in fraud which many exercise.</p> - -<p>I shall observe your precept, though I don’t -understand it, always.</p> - -<p>I marked a line in one verse, because I met it -after I made it, and never consciously touch a paint -mixed by another person.</p> - -<p>I do not let go it, because it is mine. Have you -the portrait of Mrs. Browning?</p> - -<p>Persons sent me three. If you had none, will you -have mine?</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Scholar.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>A month or two after this I entered the volunteer -army of the Civil War, and must have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -written to her during the winter of 1862-63 -from South Carolina or Florida, for the following -reached me in camp:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Amherst.</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—I did not deem that planetary -forces annulled, but suffered an exchange of territory, -or world.</p> - -<p>I should have liked to see you before you became -improbable. War feels to me an oblique place. -Should there be other summers, would you perhaps -come?</p> - -<p>I found you were gone, by accident, as I find systems -are, or seasons of the year, and obtain no cause, -but suppose it a treason of progress that dissolves -as it goes. Carlo still remained, and I told him.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Best gains must have the losses’ test,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To constitute them gains.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">My shaggy ally assented.</p> - -<p>Perhaps death gave me awe for friends, striking -sharp and early, for I held them since in a brittle -love, of more alarm than peace. I trust you may -pass the limit of war; and though not reared to -prayer, when service is had in church for our arms, -I include yourself.... I was thinking to-day, as I -noticed, that the “Supernatural” was only the Natural -disclosed.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Not “Revelation” ’tis that waits,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But our unfurnished eyes.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But I fear I detain you. Should you, before this -reaches you, experience immortality, who will inform<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> -me of the exchange? Could you, with honor, avoid -death, I entreat you, sir. It would bereave</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Gnome</span>.</p> - -<p>I trust the “Procession of Flowers” was not a -premonition.</p> - -</div> - -<p>I cannot explain this extraordinary signature, -substituted for the now customary “Your -Scholar,” unless she imagined her friend to be -in some incredible and remote condition, imparting -its strangeness to her. Swedenborg -somewhere has an image akin to her “oblique -place,” where he symbolizes evil as simply an -oblique angle. With this letter came verses, -most refreshing in that clime of jasmines and -mockingbirds, on the familiar robin:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE ROBIN</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The robin is the one</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That interrupts the morn</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With hurried, few, express reports</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When March is scarcely on.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The robin is the one</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That overflows the noon</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With her cherubic quantity,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">An April but begun.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The robin is the one</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That, speechless from her nest,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Submits that home and certainty</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And sanctity are best.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span></p> - -<p>In the summer of 1863 I was wounded, and -in hospital for a time, during which came this -letter in pencil, written from what was practically -a hospital for her, though only for weak -eyes:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—Are you in danger? I did not -know that you were hurt. Will you tell me more? -Mr. Hawthorne died.</p> - -<p>I was ill since September, and since April in -Boston for a physician’s care. He does not let me -go, yet I work in my prison, and make guests for -myself.</p> - -<p>Carlo did not come, because that he would die in -jail; and the mountains I could not hold now, so I -brought but the Gods.</p> - -<p>I wish to see you more than before I failed. Will -you tell me your health? I am surprised and anxious -since receiving your note.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The only news I know</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is bulletins all day</div> - <div class="verse indent0">From Immortality.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Can you render my pencil? The physician has -taken away my pen.</p> - -<p>I inclose the address from a letter, lest my figures -fail.</p> - -<p>Knowledge of your recovery would excel my -own.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">E. Dickinson.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>Later this arrived:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—I think of you so wholly that I -cannot resist to write again, to ask if you are safe? -Danger is not at first, for then we are unconscious, -but in the after, slower days.</p> - -<p>Do not try to be saved, but let redemption find -you, as it certainly will. Love is its own rescue; -for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Scholar.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>These were my earliest letters from Emily -Dickinson, in their order. From this time and -up to her death (May 15, 1886) we corresponded -at varying intervals, she always persistently -keeping up this attitude of “Scholar,” and -assuming on my part a preceptorship which it -is almost needless to say did not exist. Always -glad to hear her “recite,” as she called it, I -soon abandoned all attempt to guide in the -slightest degree this extraordinary nature, and -simply accepted her confidences, giving as -much as I could of what might interest her in -return.</p> - -<p>Sometimes there would be a long pause, on -my part, after which would come a plaintive letter, -always terse, like this:—</p> - -<p>“Did I displease you? But won’t you tell me -how?”</p> - -<p>Or perhaps the announcement of some event, -vast in her small sphere, as this:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">Amherst.</p> - -<p>Carlo died.</p> - -<p class="right">E. Dickinson.</p> - -<p>Would you instruct me now?</p> - -</div> - -<p>Or sometimes there would arrive an exquisite -little detached strain, every word a picture, like -this:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE HUMMING-BIRD</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A route of evanescence</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With a revolving wheel;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A resonance of emerald;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A rush of cochineal.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And every blossom on the bush</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Adjusts its tumbled head;—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The mail from Tunis, probably,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">An easy morning’s ride.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>Nothing in literature, I am sure, so condenses -into a few words that gorgeous atom of life and -fire of which she here attempts the description. -It is, however, needless to conceal that many -of her brilliant fragments were less satisfying. -She almost always grasped whatever she sought, -but with some fracture of grammar and dictionary -on the way. Often, too, she was obscure, and -sometimes inscrutable; and though obscurity -is sometimes, in Coleridge’s phrase, a compliment -to the reader, yet it is never safe to press -this compliment too hard.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, on the other hand, her verses -found too much favor for her comfort, and she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> -was urged to publish. In such cases I was sometimes -put forward as a defense; and the following -letter was the fruit of some such occasion:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—Thank you for the advice. I -shall implicitly follow it.</p> - -<p>The one who asked me for the lines I had never -seen.</p> - -<p>He spoke of “a charity.” I refused, but did not -inquire. He again earnestly urged, on the ground -that in that way I might “aid unfortunate children.” -The name of “child” was a snare to me, and I hesitated, -choosing my most rudimentary, and without -criterion.</p> - -<p>I inquired of you. You can scarcely estimate the -opinion to one utterly guideless. Again thank you.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Scholar.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>Again came this, on a similar theme:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—Are you willing to tell me what -is right? Mrs. Jackson, of Colorado [“H. H.,” her -early schoolmate], was with me a few moments this -week, and wished me to write for this. [A circular -of the “No Name Series” was inclosed.] I told her -I was unwilling, and she asked me why? I said I -was incapable, and she seemed not to believe me -and asked me not to decide for a few days. Meantime, -she would write me. She was so sweetly noble, -I would regret to estrange her, and if you would be -willing to give me a note saying you disapproved it, -and thought me unfit, she would believe you. I am<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -sorry to flee so often to my safest friend, but hope -he permits me.</p> - -</div> - -<p>In all this time—nearly eight years—we -had never met, but she had sent invitations like -the following:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Amherst.</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—Whom my dog understood could -not elude others.</p> - -<p>I should be so glad to see you, but think it an -apparitional pleasure, not to be fulfilled. I am uncertain -of Boston.</p> - -<p>I had promised to visit my physician for a few -days in May, but father objects because he is in the -habit of me.</p> - -<p>Is it more far to Amherst?</p> - -<p>You will find a minute host, but a spacious welcome....</p> - -<p>If I still entreat you to teach me, are you much -displeased? I will be patient, constant, never reject -your knife, and should my slowness goad you, you -knew before myself that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Except the smaller size</div> - <div class="verse indent0">No lives are round.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">These hurry to a sphere</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And show and end.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The larger slower grow</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And later hang;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The summers of Hesperides</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Are long.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Afterwards, came this:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Amherst.</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—A letter always feels to me like -immortality because it is the mind alone without -corporeal friend. Indebted in our talk to attitude -and accent, there seems a spectral power in thought -that walks alone. I would like to thank you for your -great kindness, but never try to lift the words which -I cannot hold.</p> - -<p>Should you come to Amherst, I might then succeed, -though gratitude is the timid wealth of those -who have nothing. I am sure that you speak the -truth, because the noble do, but your letters always -surprise me.</p> - -<p>My life has been too simple and stern to embarrass -any. “Seen of Angels,” scarcely my responsibility.</p> - -<p>It is difficult not to be fictitious in so fair a place, -but tests’ severe repairs are permitted all.</p> - -<p>When a little girl I remember hearing that remarkable -passage and preferring the “Power,” not -knowing at the time that “Kingdom” and “Glory” -were included.</p> - -<p>You noticed my dwelling alone. To an emigrant, -country is idle except it be his own. You speak -kindly of seeing me; could it please your convenience -to come so far as Amherst, I should be very -glad, but I do not cross my father’s ground to any -house or town.</p> - -<p>Of our greatest acts we are ignorant. You were -not aware that you saved my life. To thank you in -person has been since then one of my few requests....<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> -You will excuse each that I say, because no -one taught me.</p> - -</div> - -<p>At last, after many postponements, on August -16, 1870, I found myself face to face with -my hitherto unseen correspondent. It was at -her father’s house, one of those large, square, -brick mansions so familiar in our older New -England towns, surrounded by trees and blossoming -shrubs without, and within exquisitely -neat, cool, spacious, and fragrant with flowers. -After a little delay, I heard an extremely faint -and pattering footstep like that of a child, in the -hall, and in glided, almost noiselessly, a plain, -shy little person, the face without a single good -feature, but with eyes, as she herself said, “like -the sherry the guest leaves in the glass,” and -with smooth bands of reddish chestnut hair. -She had a quaint and nun-like look, as if she -might be a German canoness of some religious -order, whose prescribed garb was white piqué, -with a blue net worsted shawl. She came toward -me with two day-lilies, which she put in a childlike -way into my hand, saying softly, under her -breath, “These are my introduction,” and adding, -also under her breath, in childlike fashion, -“Forgive me if I am frightened; I never see -strangers, and hardly know what I say.” But -soon she began to talk, and thenceforward continued<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> -almost constantly; pausing sometimes -to beg that I would talk instead, but readily -recommencing when I evaded. There was not -a trace of affectation in all this; she seemed to -speak absolutely for her own relief, and wholly -without watching its effect on her hearer. Led -on by me, she told much about her early life, -in which her father was always the chief figure,—evidently -a man of the old type, <i>la vieille -roche</i> of Puritanism,—a man who, as she said, -read on Sunday “lonely and rigorous books”; -and who had from childhood inspired her with -such awe, that she never learned to tell time -by the clock till she was fifteen, simply because -he had tried to explain it to her when she was -a little child, and she had been afraid to tell him -that she did not understand, and also afraid to -ask any one else lest he should hear of it. Yet -she had never heard him speak a harsh word, -and it needed only a glance at his photograph -to see how truly the Puritan tradition was preserved -in him. He did not wish his children, -when little, to read anything but the Bible; and -when, one day, her brother brought her home -Longfellow’s “Kavanagh,” he put it secretly -under the pianoforte cover, made signs to her, -and they both afterwards read it. It may have -been before this, however, that a student of her -father’s was amazed to find that she and her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> -brother had never heard of Lydia Maria Child, -then much read, and he brought “Letters from -New York,” and hid it in the great bush of old-fashioned -tree-box beside the front door. After -the first book, she thought in ecstasy, “This, -then, is a book, and there are more of them.” -But she did not find so many as she expected, -for she afterwards said to me, “When I lost the -use of my eyes, it was a comfort to think that -there were so few real books that I could easily -find one to read me all of them.” Afterwards, -when she regained her eyes, she read Shakespeare, -and thought to herself, “Why is any -other book needed?”</p> - -<p>She went on talking constantly and saying, -in the midst of narrative, things quaint and -aphoristic. “Is it oblivion or absorption when -things pass from our minds?” “Truth is such -a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it.” “I find -ecstasy in living; the mere sense of living is -joy enough.” When I asked her if she never -felt any want of employment, not going off the -grounds and rarely seeing a visitor, she answered, -“I never thought of conceiving that I -could ever have the slightest approach to such -a want in all future time”; and then added, -after a pause, “I feel that I have not expressed -myself strongly enough,” although it seemed to -me that she had. She told me of her household<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span> -occupations, that she made all their bread, because -her father liked only hers; then saying -shyly, “And people must have puddings,” this -very timidly and suggestively, as if they were -meteors or comets. Interspersed with these -confidences came phrases so emphasized as to -seem the very wantonness of over-statement, -as if she pleased herself with putting into words -what the most extravagant might possibly think -without saying, as thus: “How do most people -live without any thoughts? There are many -people in the world,—you must have noticed -them in the street,—how do they live? How -do they get strength to put on their clothes in -the morning?” Or this crowning extravaganza: -“If I read a book and it makes my whole body -so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that -is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of -my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. -These are the only ways I know it. Is there -any other way?”</p> - -<p>I have tried to describe her just as she was, -with the aid of notes taken at the time; but this -interview left our relation very much what it -was before;—on my side an interest that was -strong and even affectionate, but not based on -any thorough comprehension; and on her side a -hope, always rather baffled, that I should afford -some aid in solving her abstruse problem of life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span></p> - -<p>The impression undoubtedly made on me was -that of an excess of tension, and of something -abnormal. Perhaps in time I could have got -beyond that somewhat overstrained relation -which not my will, but her needs, had forced -upon us. Certainly I should have been most -glad to bring it down to the level of simple truth -and every-day comradeship; but it was not -altogether easy. She was much too enigmatical -a being for me to solve in an hour’s interview, -and an instinct told me that the slightest attempt -at direct cross-examination would make -her withdraw into her shell; I could only sit -still and watch, as one does in the woods; I -must name my bird without a gun, as recommended -by Emerson.</p> - -<p>After my visit came this letter:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Enough is so vast a sweetness, I suppose it never -occurs, only pathetic counterfeits.</p> - -<p>Fabulous to me as the men of the Revelations -who “shall not hunger any more.” Even the possible -has its insoluble particle.</p> - -<p>After you went, I took “Macbeth” and turned to -“Birnam Wood.” Came twice “To Dunsinane.” I -thought and went about my work....</p> - -<p>The vein cannot thank the artery, but her solemn -indebtedness to him, even the stolidest admit, -and so of me who try, whose effort leaves no -sound.</p> - -<p>You ask great questions accidentally. To answer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span> -them would be events. I trust that you are -safe.</p> - -<p>I ask you to forgive me for all the ignorance I had. -I find no nomination sweet as your low opinion.</p> - -<p>Speak, if but to blame your obedient child.</p> - -<p>You told me of Mrs. Lowell’s poems. Would -you tell me where I could find them, or are they -not for sight? An article of yours, too, perhaps the -only one you wrote that I never knew. It was about -a “Latch.” Are you willing to tell me? [Perhaps -“A Sketch.”]</p> - -<p>If I ask too much, you could please refuse. Shortness -to live has made me bold.</p> - -<p>Abroad is close to-night and I have but to lift -my hands to touch the “Heights of Abraham.”</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Dickinson.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>When I said, at parting, that I would come -again some time, she replied, “Say, in a long -time; that will be nearer. Some time is no -time.” We met only once again, and I have no -express record of the visit. We corresponded -for years, at long intervals, her side of the intercourse -being, I fear, better sustained; and -she sometimes wrote also to my wife, inclosing -flowers or fragrant leaves with a verse or two. -Once she sent her one of George Eliot’s books, -I think “Middlemarch,” and wrote, “I am -bringing you a little granite book for you to -lean upon.” At other times she would send -single poems, such as these:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE BLUE JAY</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">No brigadier throughout the year</div> - <div class="verse indent0">So civic as the jay.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A neighbor and a warrior too,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With shrill felicity</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Pursuing winds that censure us</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A February Day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The brother of the universe</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Was never blown away.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The snow and he are intimate;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I’ve often seen them play</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When heaven looked upon us all</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With such severity</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I felt apology were due</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To an insulted sky</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Whose pompous frown was nutriment</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To their temerity.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The pillow of this daring head</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is pungent evergreens;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His larder—terse and militant—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Unknown, refreshing things;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His character—a tonic;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His future—a dispute;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Unfair an immortality</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That leaves this neighbor out.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE WHITE HEAT</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Dare you see a soul at the white heat?</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Then crouch within the door;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Red is the fire’s common tint,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But when the vivid ore</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Has sated flame’s conditions,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Its quivering substance plays</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Without a color, but the light</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of unanointed blaze.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Least village boasts its blacksmith,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Whose anvil’s even din</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Stands symbol for the finer forge</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That soundless tugs within,</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Refining these impatient ores</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With hammer and with blaze,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Until the designated light</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Repudiate the forge.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Then came the death of her father, that -strong Puritan father who had communicated -to her so much of the vigor of his own nature, -and who bought her many books, but begged -her not to read them. Mr. Edward Dickinson, -after service in the national House of Representatives -and other public positions, had become -a member of the lower house of the -Massachusetts legislature. The session was unusually -prolonged, and he was making a speech -upon some railway question at noon, one very -hot day (July 16, 1874), when he became suddenly -faint and sat down. The house adjourned, -and a friend walked with him to his lodgings -at the Tremont House, where he began to pack -his bag for home, after sending for a physician,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span> -but died within three hours. Soon afterwards, I -received the following letter:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>The last afternoon that my father lived, though -with no premonition, I preferred to be with him, -and invented an absence for mother, Vinnie [her -sister] being asleep. He seemed peculiarly pleased, -as I oftenest stayed with myself; and remarked, -as the afternoon withdrew, he “would like it to not -end.”</p> - -<p>His pleasure almost embarrassed me, and my -brother coming, I suggested they walk. Next morning -I woke him for the train, and saw him no -more.</p> - -<p>His heart was pure and terrible, and I think no -other like it exists.</p> - -<p>I am glad there is immortality, but would have -tested it myself, before entrusting him. Mr. Bowles -was with us. With that exception, I saw none. I -have wished for you, since my father died, and had -you an hour unengrossed, it would be almost priceless. -Thank you for each kindness....</p> - -</div> - -<p>Later she wrote:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>When I think of my father’s lonely life and -lonelier death, there is this redress—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Take all away;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The only thing worth larceny</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is left—the immortality.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>My earliest friend wrote me the week before he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span> -died, “If I live, I will go to Amherst; if I die, -I certainly will.”</p> - -<p>Is your house deeper off?</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Scholar.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>A year afterwards came this:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—Mother was paralyzed Tuesday, -a year from the evening father died. I thought -perhaps you would care.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Scholar.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>With this came the following verse, having -a curious seventeenth-century flavor:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“A death-blow is a life-blow to some,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who, till they died, did not alive become;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who, had they lived, had died, but when</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They died, vitality begun.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>And later came this kindred memorial of one -of the oldest and most faithful friends of the -family, Mr. Samuel Bowles, of the Springfield -“Republican”:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—I felt it shelter to speak to -you.</p> - -<p>My brother and sister are with Mr. Bowles, who -is buried this afternoon.</p> - -<p>The last song that I heard—that was, since the -birds—was “He leadeth me, he leadeth me; yea, -though I walk”—then the voices stooped, the arch -was so low.</p> - -</div> - -<p>After this added bereavement the inward life -of the diminished household became only more<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span> -concentrated, and the world was held farther -and farther away. Yet to this period belongs -the following letter, written about 1880, which -has more of what is commonly called the objective -or external quality than any she ever -wrote me; and shows how close might have -been her observation and her sympathy, had -her rare qualities taken a somewhat different -channel:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,—I was touchingly reminded of -[a child who had died] this morning by an Indian -woman with gay baskets and a dazzling baby, at -the kitchen door. Her little boy “once died,” she -said, death to her dispelling him. I asked her what -the baby liked, and she said “to step.” The prairie -before the door was gay with flowers of hay, and -I led her in. She argued with the birds, she leaned -on clover walls and they fell, and dropped her. -With jargon sweeter than a bell, she grappled buttercups, -and they sank together, the buttercups the -heaviest. What sweetest use of days! ’Twas noting -some such scene made Vaughan humbly say,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“My days that are at best but dim and hoary.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I think it was Vaughan....</p> - -</div> - -<p>And these few fragmentary memorials—closing, -like every human biography, with -funerals, yet with such as were to Emily -Dickinson only the stately introduction to a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span> -higher life—may well end with her description -of the death of the very summer she so -loved.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“As imperceptibly as grief</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The summer lapsed away,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Too imperceptible at last</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To feel like perfidy.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“A quietness distilled,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As twilight long begun,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Or Nature spending with herself</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sequestered afternoon.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The dusk drew earlier in,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The morning foreign shone,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A courteous yet harrowing grace</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As guest that would be gone.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And thus without a wing</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Or service of a keel</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Our summer made her light escape</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Into the Beautiful.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XX_JULIA_WARD_HOWE">XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">JULIA WARD HOWE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span></p> - -<h3>JULIA WARD HOWE</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Many years of what may be called intimacy -with Mrs. Julia Ward Howe do not impair one’s -power of painting her as she is, and this for two -reasons: first, because she does not care to be -portrayed in any other way; and secondly, -because her freshness of temperament is so inexhaustible -as to fix one’s attention always on -what she said or did not merely yesterday, but -this morning. After knowing her more than -forty years, and having been fellow member -or officer in half-a-dozen clubs with her, first -and last, during that time, I now see in her, not -merely the woman of to-day, but the woman -who went through the education of wifehood -and motherhood, of reformer and agitator, and -in all these was educated by the experience of -life.</p> - -<p>She lived to refute much early criticism or -hasty judgment, and this partly from inward -growth, partly because the society in which she -moved was growing for itself and understood -her better. The wife of a reformer is apt to -be tested by the obstacles her husband encounters; -if she is sympathetic, she shares his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> -difficulties, and if not, is perhaps criticised by -the very same people for not sharing his zeal. -Mrs. Howe, moreover, came to Boston at a time -when all New Yorkers were there regarded with -a slight distrust; she bore and reared five children, -and doubtless, like all good mothers, had -methods of her own; she went into company, -and was criticised by cliques which did not -applaud. Whatever she did, she might be in -many eyes the object of prejudice. Beyond all, -there was, I suspect, a slight uncertainty in -her own mind that was reflected in her early -poems.</p> - -<p>From the moment when she came forward in -the Woman Suffrage Movement, however, there -was a visible change; it gave a new brightness -to her face, a new cordiality in her manner, -made her calmer, firmer; she found herself -among new friends and could disregard old -critics. Nothing can be more frank and characteristic -than her own narrative of her first -almost accidental participation in a woman’s -suffrage meeting. She had strayed into the -hall, still not half convinced, and was rather reluctantly -persuaded to take a seat on the platform, -although some of her best friends were -there,—Garrison, Phillips, and James Freeman -Clarke, her pastor. But there was also Lucy -Stone, who had long been the object of imaginary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span> -disapproval; and yet Mrs. Howe, like every -one else who heard Lucy Stone’s sweet voice -for the first time, was charmed and half won by -it. I remember the same experience at a New -York meeting in the case of Helen Hunt, who -went to such a meeting on purpose to write a -satirical letter about it for the New York “Tribune,” -but said to me, as we came out together, -“Do you suppose I could ever write a word -against anything which that woman wishes to -have done?” Such was the influence of that -first meeting on Mrs. Howe. “When they requested -me to speak,” she says, “I could only say, -I am with you. I have been with them ever since, -and have never seen any reason to go back from -the pledge then given.” She adds that she had -everything to learn with respect to public speaking, -the rules of debate, and the management -of her voice, she having hitherto spoken in -parlors only. In the same way she was gradually -led into the wider sphere of women’s congresses, -and at last into the presidency of the -woman’s department at the great World’s Fair -at New Orleans, in the winter of 1883-84, at -which she presided with great ability, organizing -a series of short talks on the exhibits, to be -given by experts. While in charge of this, she -held a special meeting in the colored people’s -department, where the “Battle Hymn” was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span> -sung, and she spoke to them of Garrison, Sumner, -and Dr. Howe. Her daughter’s collection -of books written by women was presented to -the Ladies’ Art Association of New Orleans, -and her whole enterprise was a singular triumph. -In dealing with public enterprises in all parts -of the country she soon made herself welcome -everywhere. And yet this was the very woman -who had written in the “Salutatory” of her first -volume of poems:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">“I was born ’neath a clouded star,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">More in shadow than light have grown;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Loving souls are not like trees</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That strongest and stateliest shoot alone.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The truth is, that the life of a reformer always -affords some training; either giving it -self-control or marring it altogether,—more -frequently the former; it was at any rate eminently -so with her. It could be truly said, in -her case, that to have taken up reform was a -liberal education.</p> - -<p>Added to this was the fact that as her children -grew, they filled and educated the domestic -side of her life. One of her most attractive -poems is that in which she describes herself as -going out for exercise on a rainy day and walking -round her house, looking up each time at -the window where her children were watching<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span> -with merry eagerness for the successive glimpses -of her. This is the poem I mean:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE HEART’S ASTRONOMY</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">This evening, as the twilight fell,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">My younger children watched for me;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like cherubs in the window framed,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I saw the smiling group of three.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">While round and round the house I trudged,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Intent to walk a weary mile,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oft as I passed within their range,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The little things would beck and smile.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">They watched me, as Astronomers,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Whose business lies in heaven afar,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Await, beside the slanting glass,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The reappearance of a star.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Not so, not so, my pretty ones!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Seek stars in yonder cloudless sky,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But mark no steadfast path for me,—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A comet dire and strange am I.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">...</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">And ye, beloved ones, when ye know</div> - <div class="verse indent2">What wild, erratic natures are,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Pray that the laws of heavenly force</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Would hold and guide the Mother star.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I remember well that household of young -people in successive summers at Newport, as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span> -they grew towards maturity; how they in turn -came back from school and college, each with -individual tastes and gifts, full of life, singing, -dancing, reciting, poetizing, and one of them, -at least, with a talent for cookery which delighted -all Newport; then their wooings and -marriages, always happy; their lives always -busy; their temperaments so varied. These -are the influences under which “wild erratic -natures” grow calm.</p> - -<p>A fine training it was also, for these children -themselves, to see their mother one of the few -who could unite all kinds of friendship in the -same life. Having herself the <i>entrée</i> of whatever -the fashion of Newport could in those days -afford; entertaining brilliant or showy guests -from New York, Washington, London, or Paris; -her doors were as readily open at the same time -to the plainest or most modest reformer—abolitionist, -woman suffragist, or Quaker; and -this as a matter of course, without struggle. I -remember the indignation over this of a young -visitor from Italy, one of her own kindred, who -was in early girlhood so independently un-American -that she came to this country only through -defiance. Her brother had said to her after one -of her tirades, “Why do you not go there and -see for yourself?” She responded, “So I will,” -and sailed the next week. Once arrived, she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span> -antagonized everything, and I went in one day -and found her reclining in a great armchair, -literally half buried in some forty volumes of -Balzac which had just been given her as a birthday -present. She was cutting the leaves of the -least desirable volume, and exclaimed to me, “I -take refuge in Balzac from the heartlessness -of American society.” Then she went on to denounce -this society freely, but always excepted -eagerly her hostess, who was “too good for it”; -and only complained of her that she had at that -moment in the house two young girls, daughters -of an eminent reformer, who were utterly -out of place, she said,—knowing neither how to -behave, how to dress, nor how to pronounce. -Never in my life, I think, did I hear a denunciation -more honorable to its object, especially -when coming from such a source.</p> - -<p>I never have encountered, at home or abroad, -a group of people so cultivated and agreeable -as existed for a few years in Newport in the -summers. There were present, as intellectual -and social forces, not merely the Howes, but -such families as the Bancrofts, the Warings, -the Partons, the Potters, the Woolseys, the -Hunts, the Rogerses, the Hartes, the Hollands, -the Goodwins, Kate Field, and others besides, -who were readily brought together for any -intellectual enjoyment. No one was the recognized<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span> -leader, though Mrs. Howe came nearest to -it; but they met as cheery companions, nearly -all of whom have passed away. One also saw -at their houses some agreeable companions -and foreign notabilities, as when Mr. Bancroft -entertained the Emperor and Empress of Brazil, -passing under an assumed name, but still attended -by a veteran maid, who took occasion -to remind everybody that her Majesty was a -Bourbon, with no amusing result except that -one good lady and experienced traveler bent -one knee for an instant in her salutation. The -nearest contact of this circle with the unequivocally -fashionable world was perhaps when Mrs. -William B. Astor, the mother of the present -representative of that name in England, and -herself a lover of all things intellectual, came -among us.</p> - -<p>It was in the midst of all this circle that the -“Town and Country Club” was formed, of -which Mrs. Howe was president and I had the -humbler functions of vice-president, and it was -under its auspices that the festival indicated in -the following programme took place, at the always -attractive seaside house of the late Mr. -and Mrs. John W. Bigelow, of New York. The -plan was modeled after the Harvard Commencement -exercises, and its Latin programme, prepared -by Professor Lane, then one of the highest<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span> -classical authorities in New England, gave -a list of speakers and subjects, the latter almost -all drawn from Mrs. Howe’s ready wit.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">Q · B · F · F · F · Q · S<br /> -Feminae Inlustrissimae<br /> -Praestantissimae · Doctissimae · Peritissimae<br /> -Omnium · Scientarvum · Doctrici<br /> -Omnium · Bonarum · Artium · Magistrae<br /> -Dominae</p> - -<p class="center">IULIA · WARD · HOWE<br /> -Praesidi · Magnificentissimae</p> - -<p class="center">Viro · Honoratissimo<br /> -Duci · Fortissimo<br /> -In · Litteris · Humanioribus · Optime · Versato<br /> -Domi · Militiaeque · Gloriam · Insignem · Nacto<br /> -Domino<br /> -Thomae · Wentworth · Higginsoni<br /> -Propraesidi · Vigilanti</p> - -<p class="center">Necnon · Omnibus · Sodalibus<br /> -Societatis · Urbanoruralis<br /> -Feminis · et · Viris · Ornatissimis</p> - -<p class="center">Aliisque · Omnibus · Ubicumque · Terrarum<br /> -Quibus · Hae · Litterae · Pervenerint<br /> -Salutem · In · Domino · Sempiternam</p> - -<p class="center">Quoniam · Feminis · Praenobilissimis<br /> -Dominae · Annae · Bigelow<br /> -Dominae · Mariae · Annae · Mott<br /> -Clementia · Doctrina · Humanitate · Semper · Insignibus<br /> -Societatem · Urbanoruralem<br /> -Ad · Sollemnia · Festive · Concelebranda<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span></p> - -<p class="center">Invitare · Singulari · Benignitate · Placuit<br /> -Ergo<br /> -Per · Has · Litteras · Omnibus · Notum · Sit · Quod<br /> -Comitia · Sollemnia<br /> -In · Aedibus · Bigelovensibus<br /> -Novi Portus<br /> -Ante · Diem · Villi Kalendas · Septembres<br /> -Anno · Salutis · CIↃ · IↃ · CCC · L XXXI<br /> -Hora Quinta Postmeridiana<br /> -Qua · par · est · dignitate · habebuntur</p> - -<p><i>Oratores hoc ordine dicturi sunt, praeter eos qui -ualetudine uel alia causa impediti excusantur.</i></p> - -<p>I. Disquisitio Latina. “De Germanorum lingua et -litteris.” Carolus Timotheus Brooks.</p> - -<p>II. Disquisitio Theologica. “How to sacrifice an -Irish Bull to a Greek Goddess.” Thomas Wentworth -Higginson.</p> - -<p>III. Dissertatio Rustica. “Social Small Potatoes; -and how to enlarge their eyes.” Georgius Edvardus -Waring.</p> - -<p>IV. Thesis Rhinosophica. “Our Noses, and What -to do with them.” Francisca Filix Parton, Iacobi Uxor.</p> - -<p>V. Disquisitio Linguistica. “Hebrew Roots, with a -plan of a new Grubbarium.” Guilielmus Watson Goodwin.</p> - -<p>VI. Poema. “The Pacific Woman.” Franciscus Bret -Harte.</p> - -<p>VII. Oratio Historica. “The Ideal New York Alderman.” -Iacobus Parton.</p> - -<p>Exercitationibus litterariis ad finem perductis, gradus -honorarii Praesidis auspiciis augustissimis rite conferentur.</p> - -<p class="center">Mercurii Typis</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span></p> - -<p>I remember how I myself distrusted this -particular project, which was wholly hers. -When she began to plan out the “parts” in advance,—the -Rev. Mr. Brooks, the foremost of -German translators, with his Teutonic themes; -the agricultural Waring with his potatoes; Harte -on Pacific women; Parton with his New York -aldermen, and I myself with two recent papers -mingled in one,—I ventured to remonstrate. -“They will not write these Commencement -orations,” I said. “Then I will write them,” -responded Mrs. Howe, firmly. “They will not -deliver them,” I said. “Then I will deliver -them,” she replied; and so, in some cases, she -practically did. She and I presided, dividing -between us the two parts of Professor Goodwin’s -Oxford gown for our official adornment, to enforce -the dignity of the occasion, and the <i>Societas -Urbanoruralis</i>, or Town and Country Club, -proved equal to the occasion. An essay on -“rhinosophy” was given by “Fanny Fern” -(Mrs. Parton), which was illustrated on the -blackboard by this equation, written slowly by -Mrs. Howe and read impressively:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Nose + nose + nose = proboscis</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Nose - nose - nose = snub.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">She also sang a song occasionally, and once -called up a class for recitations from Mother<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span> -Goose in six different languages; Professor -Goodwin beginning with a Greek version of -“The Man in the Moon,” and another Harvard -man (now Dr. Gorham Bacon) following up -with</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Heu! iter didilum</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Felis cum fidulum</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Vacca transiluit lunam.</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Caniculus ridet</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Quum talem videt</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Et dish ambulavit cum spoonam.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">The question being asked by Mrs. Howe -whether this last line was in strict accordance -with grammar, the scholar gave the following -rule: “The conditions of grammar should -always give way to exigencies of rhyme.” In -conclusion, two young girls, Annie Bigelow -and Mariana Mott, were called forward to receive -graduate degrees for law and medicine; -the former’s announcement coming in this -simple form: “Annie Bigelow, my little lamb, -I welcome you to a long career at the ba-a.”</p> - -<p>That time is long past, but “The Hurdy-Gurdy,” -or any one of the later children’s books -by Mrs. Howe’s daughter, Mrs. Laura Richards, -will give a glimpse at the endless treasury of -daring fun which the second generation of that -family inherited from their mother in her -prime; which last gift, indeed, has lasted pretty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span> -well to the present day. It was, we must remember, -never absolutely out of taste; but it -must be owned that she would fearlessly venture -on half-a-dozen poor jokes for one good -one. Such a risk she feared not to take at -any moment, beyond any woman I ever knew. -Nature gave her a perpetual youth, and what -is youth if it be not fearless?</p> - -<p>In her earlier Newport period she was always -kind and hospitable, sometimes dreamy and -forgetful, not always tactful. Bright things -always came readily to her lips, and a second -thought sometimes came too late to withhold -a bit of sting. When she said to an artist who -had at one time painted numerous portraits of -one large and well-known family, “Mr. ⸺, -given age and sex, could you create a Cabot?” it -gave no cause for just complaint, because the -family likeness was so pervasive that he would -have grossly departed from nature had he left it -out. But I speak rather of the perils of human -intercourse, especially from a keen and ready -hostess, where there is not time to see clearly -how one’s hearers may take a phrase. Thus -when, in the deep valley of what was then her -country seat, she was guiding her guests down, -one by one, she suddenly stopped beside a rock -or fountain and exclaimed,—for she never premeditated -things,—“Now, let each of us tell<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span> -a short story while we rest ourselves here!” -The next to arrive was a German baron well -known in Newport and Cambridge,—a great -authority in entomology, who always lamented -that he had wasted his life by undertaking so -large a theme as the diptera or two-winged insects, -whereas the study of any one family of -these, as the flies or mosquitoes, gave enough -occupation for a man’s whole existence,—and -he, prompt to obedience, told a lively little -German anecdote. “Capital, capital!” said our -hostess, clapping her hands merrily and looking -at two ladies just descended on the scene. “Tell -it again, Baron, for these ladies; <i>tell it in English</i>.” -It was accordingly done, but I judged -from the ladies’ faces that they would have -much preferred to hear it in German, as others -had done, even if they missed nine tenths -of the words. Very likely the speaker herself -may have seen her error at the next moment, -but in a busy life one must run many risks. -I doubt not she sometimes lost favor with a -strange guest, in those days, by the very quickness -which gave her no time for second thought. -Yet, after all, of what quickness of wit may -not this be said? Time, practice, the habit of -speaking in public meetings or presiding over -them, these helped to array all her quick-wittedness -on the side of tact and courtesy.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span> -Mrs. Howe was one of the earliest contributors -to the “Atlantic Monthly.” Her poem -“Hamlet at the Boston” appeared in the second -year of the magazine, in February, 1859, and -her “Trip to Cuba” appeared in six successive -numbers in that and the following volume. Her -poem “The Last Bird” also appeared in one -of these volumes, after which there was an interval -of two and a half years during which her -contributions were suspended. Several more -of her poems came out in volume viii (1861), -and the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” in -the number for February, 1862 (ix, 145). During -the next two years there appeared six numbers -of a striking series called “Lyrics of the Street.” -Most of these poems, with others, were included -in a volume called “Later Lyrics” -(1865). She had previously, however, in 1853, -published her first volume of poems, entitled -“Passion Flowers”; and these volumes were at -a later period condensed into one by her daughters, -with some omissions,—not always quite -felicitous, as I think,—this definitive volume -bearing the name “From Sunset Ridge” (1898).</p> - -<p>Mrs. Howe, like her friend Dr. Holmes, has -perhaps had the disappointing experience of -concentrating her sure prospects of fame on a -single poem. What the “Chambered Nautilus” -represents in his published volumes, the “Battle<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span> -Hymn of the Republic” represents for her. -In each case the poet was happy enough to -secure, through influences impenetrable, one -golden moment. Even this poem, in Mrs. -Howe’s case, was not (although many suppose -otherwise) a song sung by all the soldiers. The -resounding lyric of “John Brown’s Body” -reached them much more readily, but the “Battle -Hymn” will doubtless survive all the rest -of the rather disappointing metrical products -of the war. For the rest of her poems, they are -rarely quite enough concentrated; they reach -our ears attractively, but not with positive mastery. -Of the war songs, the one entitled “Our -Orders” was perhaps the finest,—that which -begins,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To deck our girls for gay delights!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The crimson flower of battle blooms,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And solemn marches fill the night.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">“Hamlet at the Boston” is a strong and noble -poem, as is “The Last Bird,” which has a flavor -of Bryant about it. “Eros has Warning” and -“Eros Departs” are two of the profoundest; -and so is the following, which I have always -thought her most original and powerful poem -after the “Battle Hymn,” in so far that I ventured -to supply a feebler supplement to it on a -late birthday.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span></p> - -<p>It is to be remembered that in the game of -“Rouge et Noir” the announcement by the -dealer, “Rouge gagne,” implies that the red -wins, while the phrase “Donner de la couleur” -means simply to follow suit and accept what -comes.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">ROUGE GAGNE</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The wheel is turned, the cards are laid;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The circle’s drawn, the bets are paid:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I stake my gold upon the red.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The rubies of the bosom mine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The river of life, so swift divine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In red all radiantly shine.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Upon the cards, like gouts of blood,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lie dinted hearts, and diamonds good,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The red for faith and hardihood.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">In red the sacred blushes start</div> - <div class="verse indent0">On errand from a virgin heart,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To win its glorious counterpart.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The rose that makes the summer fair,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The velvet robe that sovereigns wear</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The red revealment could not spare.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">And men who conquer deadly odds</div> - <div class="verse indent0">By fields of ice and raging floods,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Take the red passion from the gods.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Now Love is red, and Wisdom pale,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But human hearts are faint and frail</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till Love meets Love, and bids it hail.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">I see the chasm, yawning dread;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I see the flaming arch o’erhead:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I stake my life upon the red.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>This was my daring supplement, which appeared -in the “Atlantic Monthly” (Contributors’ -Club) for October, 1906.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">LA COULEUR</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“I stake my life upon the red!”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With hair still golden on her head,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dame Julia of the Valley said.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">But Time for her has plans not told,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And while her patient years unfold</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They yield the white and not the gold.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Where Alpine summits loftiest lie,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The brown, the green, the red pass by,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And whitest top is next the sky.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">And now with meeker garb bedight,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dame Julia sings in loftier light,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“I stake my life upon the white!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Turning to Mrs. Howe’s prose works, one -finds something of the same obstruction, here -and there, from excess of material. Her autobiography, -entitled “Reminiscences,” might<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span> -easily, in the hands of Mr. M. D. Conway, for instance, -have been spread out into three or four -interesting octavos; but in her more hurried -grasp it is squeezed into one volume, where -groups of delightful interviews with heroes -at home and abroad are crowded into some -single sentence. Her lectures are better arranged -and less tantalizing, and it would be -hard to find a book in American literature -better worth reprinting and distributing than -the little volume containing her two addresses -on “Modern Society.” In wit, in wisdom, in -anecdote, I know few books so racy. Next to -it is the lecture “Is Polite Society Polite?” so -keen and pungent that it is said a young man -was once heard inquiring for Mrs. Howe after -hearing it, in a country town, and when asked -why he wished to see her, replied, “Well, I -did put my brother in the poorhouse, and now -that I have heard Mrs. Howe, I suppose that I -must take him out.” In the large collection -of essays comprised in the same volume with -this, there are papers on Paris and on Greece -which are full of the finest flavor of anecdote, -sympathy, and memory, while here and there -in all her books one meets with glimpses of -Italy which remind one of that scene on the -celebration of the birthday of Columbus, when -she sat upon the platform of Faneuil Hall, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span> -only woman, and gave forth sympathetic talk -in her gracious way to the loving Italian audience, -which gladly listened to their own sweet -tongue from her. Then, as always, she could -trust herself freely in speech, for she never spoke -without fresh adaptation to the occasion, and -her fortunate memory for words and names is -unimpaired at ninety.</p> - -<p>Since I am here engaged upon a mere sketch -of Mrs. Howe, not a formal memoir, I have felt -free to postpone until this time the details of -her birth and parentage. She was the daughter -of Samuel and Julia Rush (Cutler) Ward, and -was born at the house of her parents in the -Bowling Green, New York city, on May 27, -1819. She was married on April 14, 1843, at -nearly twenty-four years of age, to Dr. Samuel -Gridley Howe, whom she had met on visits -to Boston. They soon went to Europe,—the -first of many similar voyages,—where her -eldest daughter, Julia Romana, was born during -the next spring. This daughter was the -author of a volume of poems entitled “Stray -Clouds,” and of a description of the Summer -School of Philosophy at Concord entitled “Philosophiæ -Quæstor,” and was the founder of a -metaphysical club of which she was president. -She became the wife of the late Michael -Anagnos, of Greek origin, her father’s successor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span> -in charge of the Institution for the Blind, and -the news of her early death was received with -general sorrow. Mrs. Howe’s second daughter -was named Florence Marion, became in 1871 -the wife of David Prescott Hall, of the New -York Bar, and was author of “Social Customs” -and “The Correct Thing,” being also -a frequent speaker before the women’s clubs. -Mrs. Howe’s third daughter, Mrs. Laura E. -Richards, was married in the same year to -Henry Richards, of Gardiner, Maine, a town -named for the family of Mr. Richards’s mother, -who established there a once famous school, -the Gardiner Lyceum. The younger Mrs. Richards -is author of “Captain January” and other -stories of very wide circulation, written primarily -for her own children, and culminating in -a set of nonsense books of irresistible humor -illustrated by herself. Mrs. Howe’s youngest -daughter, Maud, distinguished for her beauty -and social attractiveness, is the wife of Mr. -John Elliott, an English artist, and has lived -much in Italy, where she has written various -books of art and literature, of which “Atalanta -in the South” was the first and “Roma -Beata” one of the last. Mrs. Howe’s only -son, Henry Marion, graduated at Harvard University -in 1869 and from the Massachusetts -Institute of Technology in 1871, is a mining<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> -engineer and expert, and is a professor in the -School of Mines at Columbia University. His -book on “The Metallurgy of Steel” has won -for him a high reputation. It will thus be seen -that Mrs. Howe has had the rare and perhaps -unequaled experience of being not merely herself -an author, but the mother of five children, -all authors. She has many grandchildren, and -even a great-grandchild, whose future career -can hardly be surmised.</p> - -<p>There was held, in honor of Mrs. Howe’s -eighty-sixth birthday (May 27, 1905), a meeting -of the Boston Authors’ Club, including a little -festival whose plan was taken from the annual -Welsh festival of the Eistedfodd, at which every -bard of that nation brought four lines of verse—a -sort of four-leaved clover—to his chief. -This being tried at short notice for Mrs. Howe, -there came in some sixty poems, of which I -select a few, almost at random, to make up the -outcome of the festival, which last did not -perhaps suffer from the extreme shortness of -the notice:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">BIRTHDAY GREETINGS, LIMITED</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Why limit to one little four-line verse</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Each birthday wish, for her we meet to honor?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Else it might take till mornrise to rehearse</div> - <div class="verse indent2">All the glad homage we would lavish on her!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">John Townsend Trowbridge.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">THE “NONNA” OF MAGNA ITALIA</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Within the glow shed by her heart of gold,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Warm Southern sunshine cheers our Northern skies,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And pilgrim wanderers, homesick and a-cold,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Find their loved Italy in her welcoming eyes.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Vida D. Scudder.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">FIVE O’CLOCK WITH THE IMMORTALS</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The Sisters Three who spin our fate</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Greet Julia Ward, who comes quite late;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How Greek wit flies! They scream with glee,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Drop thread and shears, and make the tea.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">E. H. Clement.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Hope now abiding, faith long ago,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Never a shadow between.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">White of the lilacs and white of the snow,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Seventy and sixteen.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Mary Gray Morrison.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">In English, French, Italian, German, Greek,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Our many-gifted President can speak.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wit, Wisdom, world-wide Knowledge grace her tongue</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And she is <i>only</i> Eighty-six years young!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Nathan Haskell Dole.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">How to be gracious? How to be true?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Poet, and Seer, and Woman too?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To crown with Spring the Winter’s brow?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Here is the answer: <i>this</i> is Howe.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Mary Elizabeth Blake.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">If man could change the universe</div> - <div class="verse indent0">By force of epigrams in verse,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He’d smash some idols, I allow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But who would alter Mrs. Howe?</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Robert Grant.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Lady who lovest and who livest Peace,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And yet didst write Earth’s noblest battle song</div> - <div class="verse indent0">At Freedom’s bidding,—may thy fame increase</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Till dawns the warless age for which we long!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Frederic Lawrence Knowles.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Dot oldt Fader Time must be cutting some dricks,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Vhen he calls our goot Bresident’s age eighty-six.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">An octogeranium! Who would suppose?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">My dear Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, der time goes!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Yawcob Strauss (Charles Follen Adams).</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">You, who are of the spring,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To whom Youth’s joys <i>must</i> cling,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">May all that Love can give</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Beguile you long to live—</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Our Queen of Hearts.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Louise Chandler Moulton.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">H ere, on this joyous day of days,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O deign to list my skill-less praise.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">W hate’er be said with tongue or pen</div> - <div class="verse indent0">E xtolling thee, I cry “Amen.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Beulah Marie Dix.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span></p> -<p>Mrs. Howe was not apprised of the project -in advance, and certainly had not seen the -verses; but was, at any rate, ready as usual, -and this sketch may well close with her cheery -answer:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">MRS. HOWE’S REPLY</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Why, bless you, I ain’t nothing, nor nobody, nor much,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">If you look in your Directory you’ll find a thousand such.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I walk upon the level ground, I breathe upon the air,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I study at a table and reflect upon a chair.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">I know a casual mixture of the Latin and the Greek,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I know the Frenchman’s <i>parlez-vous</i>, and how the Germans speak;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Well can I add, and well subtract, and say twice two is four,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But of those direful sums and proofs remember nothing more.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">I wrote a poetry book one time, and then I wrote a play,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And a friend who went to see it said she fainted right away.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then I got up high to speculate upon the Universe,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And folks who heard me found themselves no better and no worse.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_312"></a>[312]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Yes, I’ve had a lot of birthdays and I’m growing very old,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That’s why they make so much of me, if once the truth were told.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And I love the shade in summer, and in winter love the sun,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And I’m just learning how to live, my wisdom’s just begun.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Don’t trouble more to celebrate this natal day of mine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But keep the grasp of fellowship which warms us more than wine.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Let us thank the lavish hand that gives world beauty to our eyes,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And bless the days that saw us young, and years that make us wise.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313"></a>[313]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI_WILLIAM_JAMES_ROLFE">XXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">WILLIAM JAMES ROLFE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_314"></a>[314]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_315"></a>[315]</span></p> - -<h3>WILLIAM JAMES ROLFE</h3> - -</div> - -<p>The “man of one book” (<i>homo unius libri</i>) -whom St. Thomas Aquinas praised has now -pretty nearly vanished from the world; and -those men are rare, especially in our versatile -America, who have deliberately chosen one department -of literary work and pursued it without -essential variation up to old age. Of these, -Francis Parkman was the most conspicuous -representative, and William James Rolfe is perhaps -the most noticeable successor,—a man -who, upon a somewhat lower plane than Parkman, -has made for himself a permanent mark -in a high region of editorship, akin to that of -Furnivall and a few compeers in England. A -teacher by profession all his life, his especial -sphere has been the English department, a -department which he may indeed be said to -have created in our public schools, and thus -indirectly in our colleges.</p> - -<p>William James Rolfe, son of John and Lydia -Davis (Moulton) Rolfe, was born on December -10, 1827, in Newburyport, Massachusetts, a rural -city which has been the home at different times -of a number of literary and public men, and is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_316"></a>[316]</span> -still, by its wide, elm-shaded chief avenue and -ocean outlook, found attractive by all visitors. -Rolfe’s boyhood, however, was passed mainly in -Lowell, Massachusetts, where he was fitted for -college in the high school. He spent three years -at Amherst College, but found himself unable -to afford to remain any longer, and engaged in -school-teaching as a means of immediate support. -A bankrupt country academy at Wrentham, -about twenty-five miles from Boston, -was offered to him rent free if he would keep -a school in it, and, for want of anything better, -he took it. He had to teach all the grammar -and high school branches, including the fitting -of boys for college, and his pupils ranged from -ten years old to those two or three years older -than himself. He was the only teacher, and -heard from sixteen to twenty classes a day. Besides -these, which included classes in Latin, -French, Greek, and German, he had pupils out -of school in Spanish and Italian, adding to all -this the enterprise, then wholly new, of systematically -teaching English with the study -of standard writers. This was apparently a -thing never done before that time in the whole -United States.</p> - -<p>So marked was the impression made by his -mode of teaching that it led to his appointment -as principal of the pioneer public high schools at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_317"></a>[317]</span> -Dorchester, Massachusetts. He there required -work in English of all his pupils, boys and girls -alike, including those who had collegiate aims. -At this time no English, as such, was required -at any American college, and it was only since -1846 that Harvard had introduced even a preliminary -examination, in which Worcester’s -“Elements of History and Elements of Geography” -were added to the original departments -of Latin, Greek, and mathematics. Rolfe’s boys -enjoyed the studies in English literature, but -feared lest they might fail in the required work -in classics unless they were excused from English. -To relieve their anxiety and his own, their -teacher wrote to Professor Felton, afterwards -President of Harvard, telling him what his boys -were doing in English, and asking permission -to omit some portion of his Greek Reader then -required for admission. Professor Felton replied, -in substance, “Go ahead with the English -and let the Greek take care of itself.” As -a result, all four of the boys entered Harvard -without conditions, and it is worth noticing that -they all testified that no part of their preparatory -training was more valuable to them in college -than this in English. It is also noticeable -that the late Henry A. Clapp, of Boston, long -eminent as a lecturer on Shakespeare, was one -of these boys.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_318"></a>[318]</span></p> - -<p>In the summer of 1857 Mr. Rolfe was invited -to take charge of the high school at Lawrence, -Massachusetts, on a larger scale than the Dorchester -institution, and was again promoted after -four years to Salem, and the next year to be -principal of the Cambridge high school, where -he remained until 1868. Since that time he has -continued to reside in Cambridge, and has -devoted himself to editorial and literary work. -His literary labors from 1869 to the present -day have been vast and varied. He has been one -of the editors of the “Popular Science News” -(formerly the Boston “Journal of Chemistry”), -and for nearly twenty years has had charge -of the department of Shakespeareana in the -“Literary World” and the “Critic,” to which -he has also added “Poet-Lore.” He has written -casual articles for other periodicals. In 1865 -he published a handbook of Latin poetry with -J. H. Hanson, A. M., of Waterville, Maine. In -1867 he followed this by an American edition -of Craik’s “English of Shakespeare.” Between -1867 and 1869, in connection with J. A. Gillet, he -brought out the “Cambridge course” in physics, -in six volumes. In 1870 he edited Shakespeare’s -“Merchant of Venice” with such success -that by 1883 he had completed an edition of -all the plays in forty volumes. It has long been -accepted as a standard critical authority, being<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_319"></a>[319]</span> -quoted as such by leading English and German -editors. He was lately engaged in a thorough -revision of this edition, doing this task after -he had reached the age of seventy-five. He has -also edited Scott’s complete poems, as well as -(separately) “The Lady of the Lake” and “The -Lay of the Last Minstrel”; an <i>édition de luxe</i> -of Tennyson’s works in twelve volumes, and -another, the Cambridge Edition, in one volume. -He has edited volumes of selections from Milton, -Gray, Goldsmith, Wordsworth, and Browning, -with Mrs. Browning’s “Sonnets from the -Portuguese.” He is also the author of “Shakespeare -the Boy,” with sketches of youthful life -of that period; “The Satchel Guide to Europe,” -published anonymously for twenty-eight years; -and a book on the “Elementary Study of English.” -With his son, John C. Rolfe, Ph. D., -Professor of Latin in the University of Pennsylvania, -he has edited Macaulay’s “Lays of -Ancient Rome.” He has published a series of -elementary English classics in six volumes. He -has also supervised the publication of the “New -Century <i>édition de luxe</i>” of Shakespeare in -twenty-four volumes, besides writing for it a -“Life of Shakespeare” which fills a volume of -five hundred and fifty pages, now published separately. -It is safe to say that no other American, -and probably no Englishman, has rivaled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_320"></a>[320]</span> -him for the extent, variety, and accuracy of his -services as an editor.</p> - -<p>This work may be justly divided into two -parts: that dealing mainly with Shakespeare, -and that with single minor authors whose complete -or partial work he has reprinted. In Shakespeare -he has, of course, the highest theme to -dwell on, but also that in which he has been preceded -by a vast series of workmen. In these his -function has not been so much that of original -and individual criticism as of judiciously compiling -the work of predecessors, this last fact -being especially true since the printing of the -Furness edition. It is in dealing with the minor -authors that he has been led to the discovery, -at first seeming almost incredible, that the -poems which most claimed the attention of the -world have for that very reason been gradually -most changed and perverted in printing. Gray’s -“Elegy in a Country Churchyard,” for instance, -has appeared in polyglot editions; it has been -translated fifteen times into French, thirteen -into Italian, twelve times into Latin, and so on -down through Greek, German, Portuguese, and -Hebrew. No one poem in the English language, -even by Longfellow, equals it in this respect. -The editions which appeared in Gray’s own -time were kept correct through his own careful -supervision; and the changes in successive<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_321"></a>[321]</span> -editions were at first those made by himself, -usually improvements, as where he changed -“some village Cato” to “some village Hampden,” -and substituted in the same verse “Milton” -for “Tully” and “Cromwell” for “Cæsar.” But -there are many errors in Pickering’s edition, -and these have been followed by most American -copies. It may perhaps be doubted whether -Dr. Rolfe is quite correct in his opinion where -he says in his preface to this ode, “No vicissitudes -of taste or fashion have affected its -popularity”; it is pretty certain that young -people do not know it by heart so generally as -they once did, and Wordsworth pronounced its -dialect often “unintelligible”; but we are all -under obligation to Dr. Rolfe for his careful -revision of this text.</p> - -<p>Turning now to Scott’s “Lady of the Lake,” -which would seem next in familiarity to Gray’s -“Elegy,” we find scores of corrections, made -in Rolfe’s, of errors that have crept gradually -in since the edition of 1821. For instance, in -Canto II, l. 685, every edition since 1821 has -had “I meant not all my <i>heart</i> would say,” the -correct reading being “my <i>heat</i> would say.” In -Canto VI, l. 396, the Scottish “<i>boune</i>” has -been changed to “<i>bound</i>” and eight lines below, -the old word “<i>barded</i>” has become “<i>barbed</i>”; -and these are but a few among many examples.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_322"></a>[322]</span></p> - -<p>When we turn to Shakespeare, we find less -direct service of this kind required than in the -minor authors; less need of the microscope. At -any rate, the variations have all been thoroughly -scrutinized, and no flagrant changes have come -to light since the disastrous attempt in that -direction of Mr. Collier in 1852. On the other -hand, we come to a new class of variations, -which it would have been well perhaps to have -stated more clearly in the volumes where they -occur; namely, the studied omissions, in Rolfe’s -edition, of all indecent words or phrases. There -is much to be said for and against this process -of Bowdlerizing, as it was formerly called; and -those who recall the publication of the original -Bowdler experiment in this line, half a century -ago, and the seven editions which it went -through from 1818 to 1861, can remember with -what disapproval such expurgation was long regarded. -Even now it is to be noticed that the -new edition of reprints of the early folio Shakespeares, -edited by two ladies, Misses Clarke and -Porter, adopts no such method. Of course the -objection to the process is on the obvious ground -that concealment creates curiosity, and the -great majority of copies of Shakespeare will be -always unexpurgated, so that it is very easy to -turn to them. Waiving this point, and assuming -the spelling to be necessarily modernized,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_323"></a>[323]</span> -it is difficult to conceive of any school edition -done more admirably than the new issue of Mr. -Rolfe’s volumes of Shakespeare’s works. The -type is clear, the paper good, and the notes and -appendices are the result of long experience. -When one turns back, for instance, to the old -days of Samuel Johnson’s editorship, and sees -the utter triviality and dullness of half the annotations -of that very able man, one feels the -vast space of time elapsed between his annotations -and Dr. Rolfe’s. This applies even to -notes that seem almost trivial, and many a suggestion -or bit of explanation which seems to a -mere private student utterly wasted can be fully -justified by cases in which still simpler points -have proved seriously puzzling in the school-room.</p> - -<p>It has been said that every Shakespeare -critic ended with the desire to be Shakespeare’s -biographer, although fortunately most of them -have been daunted by discouragement or the -unwillingness of booksellers. Here, also, Mr. -Rolfe’s persistent courage has carried him -through, and his work, aided by time and new -discoveries, has probably portrayed, more fully -than that of any of his predecessors, the airy palace -in which the great enchanter dwelt. How -far the occupant of the palace still remains<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_324"></a>[324]</span> -also a thing of air, we must leave for Miss Delia -Bacon’s school of heretics to determine. For -myself, I prefer to believe, with Andrew Lang, -that “Shakespeare’s plays and poems were -written by Shakespeare.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_325"></a>[325]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII_GOTTINGEN_AND_HARVARD_A_CENTURY_AGO">XXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">GÖTTINGEN AND HARVARD A CENTURY AGO</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_326"></a>[326]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_327"></a>[327]</span></p> - -<h3>GÖTTINGEN AND HARVARD A CENTURY AGO</h3> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Whene’er with haggard eyes I view</div> - <div class="verse indent0">This dungeon that I’m rotting in,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I think of those companions true</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who studied with me at the U-</div> - <div class="verse indent0">niversity of Göttingen,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">niversity of Göttingen.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>To the majority of Harvard graduates the -chief association with Göttingen is Canning’s -once-famous squib, of which this is the first -verse, in the “Anti-Jacobin.” But the historical -tie between the two universities is far too -close to be forgotten; and I have lately come -into possession of some quite interesting letters -which demonstrate this. They show conclusively -how much the development of Harvard -College was influenced, nearly a century ago, by -the German models, and how little in comparison -by Oxford and Cambridge; and as the letters -are all from men afterwards eminent, and -pioneers in that vast band of American students -who have since studied in Germany, their youthful -opinions will possess a peculiar interest.</p> - -<p>The three persons through whom this influence<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_328"></a>[328]</span> -most came were Joseph Green Cogswell, -Edward Everett, and George Ticknor, all then -studying at Göttingen. It happens that they -had all been intimate in my father’s family, and -as he was very much interested in the affairs of -the college,—of which he became in 1818 the -“Steward and Patron,” and practically, as the -Reverend A. P. Peabody assures us,<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> the Treasurer,—they -sent some of their appeals and arguments -through him. This paper will consist -chiefly of extracts from these letters, which -speak for themselves as to the point of view in -which the whole matter presented itself.</p> - -<p>It will be well to bear in mind the following -details as to the early history of these three -men, taking them in order of age. Cogswell -was born in 1786, graduated (Harvard) in 1806, -was tutor in 1814-15 (having previously tried -mercantile life), and went abroad in 1816. Ticknor -was born in 1791, graduated (Dartmouth) -in 1807, went to Germany in 1815, and was -appointed professor of Modern Languages at -Harvard in 1817. Everett was born in 1794, -graduated (Harvard) in 1811, and went abroad -on his appointment as Greek professor (Harvard) -in 1815.</p> - -<p>The first of these letters is from George<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_329"></a>[329]</span> -Ticknor, and is a very striking appeal in behalf -of the Harvard College Library, which then -consisted of less than 20,000 volumes, although -the largest in the United States, with perhaps -one exception.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Göttingen</span>, May 20, 1816.</p> - -<p>As you have talked a good deal in your letter about -the college and its prospects, I suppose I may be -allowed to say a few words about it in reply, though -to be sure I have already said more than was perhaps -proper in one like myself, who am not even a -graduate there, and shall very probably get no -other answer to what I may venture to say hereafter -than that I should do better to mind my -books, and let those who are intrusted with the -affairs of ye (<i>sic</i>) college take care of them. I cannot, -however, shut my eyes on the fact, that one -<i>very</i> important and principal cause of the difference -between our University and the one here is the -different value we affix to a good library, and the -different ideas we have of what a good library is. -In America we look on the Library at Cambridge -as a wonder, and I am sure nobody ever had a -more thorough veneration for it than I had; but it -was not necessary for me to be here six months -to find out that it is nearly or quite half a century -behind the libraries of Europe, and that it is much -less remarkable that our stock of learning is so -small than that it is so great, considering the means -from which it is drawn are so inadequate. But what<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_330"></a>[330]</span> -is worse than the absolute poverty of our collections -of books is the relative inconsequence in which we -keep them. We found new professorships and build -new colleges in abundance, but we buy no books; -and yet it is to me the most obvious thing in the -world that it would promote the cause of learning -and the reputation of the University ten times more -to give six thousand dollars a year to the Library -than to found three professorships, and that it -would have been wiser to have spent the whole sum -that the new chapel had cost on books than on a -fine suite of halls. The truth is, when we build up -a literary Institution in America we think too much -of convenience and comfort and luxury and show; -and too little of real, laborious study and the means -that will promote it. We have not yet learnt that -the Library is not only the first convenience of a -University, but that it is the very first necessity,—that -it is the life and spirit,—and that all other -considerations must yield to the prevalent one of -increasing and opening it, and opening it on the -most liberal terms to <i>all</i> who are disposed to make -use of it. I cannot better explain to you the difference -between our University in Cambridge and the -one here than by telling you that here I hardly say -too much when I say that it <i>consists</i> in the Library, -and that in Cambridge the Library is one of the -last things thought and talked about,—that here -they have forty professors and more than two hundred -thousand volumes to instruct them, and in -Cambridge twenty professors and less than twenty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_331"></a>[331]</span> -thousand volumes. This, then, you see is the thing -of which I am disposed to complain, that we give -comparatively so little attention and money to the -Library, which is, after all, the Alpha and Omega -of the whole establishment,—that we are mortified -and exasperated because we have no learned men, -and yet make it <i>physically</i> impossible for our scholars -to become such, and that to escape from this -reproach we appoint a multitude of professors, -but give them a library from which hardly one and -<i>not</i> one of them can qualify himself to execute the -duties of his office. You will, perhaps, say that -these professors do not complain. I can only answer -that you find the blind are often as gay and -happy as those who are blessed with sight; but -take a Cambridge professor, and let him live one -year by a library as ample and as liberally administered -as this is; let him know what it is to be forever -sure of having the very book he wants either -to read or to refer to; let him in one word <i>know</i> -that he can never be discouraged from pursuing any -inquiry for want of means, but on the contrary let -him feel what it is to have all the excitements and -assistance and encouragements which those who -have gone before him in the same pursuits can -give him, and then at the end of this year set him -down again under the parsimonious administration -of the Cambridge library,—and I will promise you -that he shall be as discontented and clamorous as -my argument can desire.</p> - -<p>But I will trouble you no more with my argument,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_332"></a>[332]</span> -though I am persuaded that the further progress of -learning among us depends on the entire change of -the system against which it is directed.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The next extract is from a letter of Cogswell’s, -and gives a glimpse at the actual work done by -these young men:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Göttingen</span>, March 8, 1817.</p> - -<p>I must tell you something about our colony at -Göttingen before I discuss other subjects, for you -probably care little about the University and its host -of professors, except as they operate upon us. First -as to the Professor (Everett) and Dr. Ticknor, as -they are called here; everybody knows them in this -part of Germany, and also knows how to value them. -For once in my life I am proud to acknowledge -myself an American on the European side of the -Atlantic: never was a country more fortunate in its -representation abroad than ours has been in this -instance; they will gain more for us in this respect -than even in the treasures of learning they will carry -back. Little as I have of patriotism, I delight to -listen to the character which is here given of my -countrymen; I mean as countrymen, and not as -my particular friends: the despondency which it -produces in my own mind of ever obtaining a place -by their sides is more than counterbalanced by the -gratification of my national feelings, to say not a -word of my individual attachment. You must not -think me extravagant, but I venture to say that the -notions which the European literati have entertained<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_333"></a>[333]</span> -of America will be essentially changed by G. and -E.’s [Ticknor’s and Everett’s] residence on the -Continent; we were known to be a brave, a rich, -and an enterprising people, but that a scholar was -to be found among us, or any man who had a desire -to be a scholar, had scarcely been conceived. -It will also be the means of producing new correspondences -and connections between the men of -the American and European sides of the Atlantic, -and spread much more widely among us a knowledge -of the present literature and science of this -Continent.</p> - -<p>Deducting the time from the 13th of December -to the 27th of January during which I was confined -to my room, I have been pretty industrious; through -the winter I behaved as well as one could expect. -German has been my chief study; to give it a relief -I have attended one hour a day to a lecture in -Italian on the Modern Arts, and, to feel satisfied -that I had some sober inquiry in hand, I have devoted -another to Professor Saalfeld’s course of -European Statistics, so that I have generally been -able to count at night twelve hours of private study -and private instruction. This has only sharpened -not satisfied my appetite. I have laid out for myself -a course of more diligent labors the next semester. -I shall then be at least eight hours in the lecture -rooms, beginning at six in the morning. I must contrive, -besides, to devote eight other hours to private -study. I am not in the least Germanized, and yet it -appalls me when I think of the difference between<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_334"></a>[334]</span> -an education here and in America. The great evil -with us is, in our primary schools, the best years for -learning are trifled and whiled away; boys learn -nothing because they have no instructors, because -we demand of one the full [work?] of ten, and because -laziness is the first lesson which one gets in -all our great schools. I know very well that we -want but few closet scholars, few learned philologists, -and few verbal commentators; that all our -systems of government and customs and life suppose -a preparation for making practical men,—men -who move, and are felt in the world; but all -this could be better done without wasting every -year from infancy to manhood. The system of -education here is the very reverse of our own: in -America boys are let loose upon the work when -they are children, and fettered when they are sent -to our college; here they are cloistered, too much -so I acknowledge, till they can guide themselves, -and then put at their own disposal at the universities. -Luther’s Reformation threw all the monkish -establishments in the Protestant countries into -the hands of the Princes, and they very wisely appropriated -them to the purposes of education, but -unluckily they have retained more of the monastic -seclusion than they ought. The three great schools -in Saxony, Pforte, Meissen, and ⸺ are kept in -convents, and the boys enjoy little more than the -liberty of a cloister. They are all very famous, the -first more particularly; out of it have come half -of the great scholars of the country. Still they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_335"></a>[335]</span> -are essentially defective in the point above named. -Just in the neighborhood of Gotha is the admirable -institution of Salzmann, in a delightfully pleasant -and healthy valley; his number is limited to thirty-eight, -and he has twelve instructors,—admits no -boy who does not bring with him the fairest character: -when once admitted they become his children, -and the reciprocal relation is cherished with -corresponding tenderness and respect. I should -like to proceed a little farther in this subject, but -the bottom of my paper forbids.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The following is from Ticknor again, and -shows, though without giving details, that the -young men had extended their observations beyond -Göttingen:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Göttingen</span>, November 30, 1816.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—On returning here about a fortnight -since, after a journey through North Germany which -had occupied us about two months, I found your -kind letter of August 4 waiting to welcome me. I -thank you for it with all my heart, and take the first -moment of leisure I can find in the busy commencement -of a new term, to answer it, that I may soon -have the same pleasure again.</p> - -<p>You say you wish to hear from me what hours of -relaxation I have, and what acquaintances I make, -in this part of the Continent. The first is very easily -told, and the last would not have been difficult before -the journey from which I have just returned; -but now the number is more than I can write or you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_336"></a>[336]</span> -willingly hear. However, I will answer both your -inquiries in the spirit in which they are made.</p> - -<p>As to relaxation, in the sense of the word in which -I used to employ it at home,—meaning the hours -I lounged so happily away when the weariness of -the evening came, on your sofa, and the time I used -to pass with my friends in general, I know not how -or why, but always gayly and thoughtlessly,—of -this sort of relaxation I know nothing here but the -end of an evening which I occasionally permit myself -to spend with Cogswell, whose residence here -has in this respect changed the whole color of my -life. During the last semester, I used to visit occasionally -at about twenty houses in Göttingen, chiefly -as a means of learning to speak the language. As -the population here is so changeable, and as every -man is left to live exactly as he chooses, it is customary -for all those who wish to continue their intercourse -with the persons resident here to make a -call at the beginning of each semester, which is considered -a notice that they are still here and still -mean to go into society. I, however, feel no longer -the necessity of visiting for the purpose of learning -German, and now that Cogswell is here cannot -desire it for any other purpose; have made visits -only to three or four of the professors, and shall, -therefore, not go abroad at all. As to exercise, however, -I have enough. Three times a day I must -cross the city entirely to get my lessons. I go out -twice besides, a shorter distance for dinner and a -fourth lesson; and four times a week I take an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_337"></a>[337]</span> -hour’s exercise for conscience’ sake and my mother’s -in the riding-school. Four times a week I make -Cogswell a visit of half an hour after dinner, and -three times I spend from nine to ten in the evening -with him, so that I feel I am doing quite right -and quite as little as I ought to do in giving up the -remaining thirteen hours of the day to study, especially -as I gave fourteen to it last winter without -injury.</p> - -<p>The journey we have lately taken was for the -express purpose of seeing all the universities or -schools of any considerable name in the country. -This in a couple of months we easily accomplished, -and of course saw professors, directors, and schoolmasters—men -of great learning and men of little -learning, and men of no learning at all—in shoals.</p> - -</div> - -<p>This is from Cogswell again, and is certainly -a clarion appeal as to the need of thoroughness -in teaching and learning:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Göttingen</span>, July 13, 1817.</p> - -<p>I hope that you and every other person interested -in the College are reconciled to Mr. Everett’s -plan of remaining longer in Europe than was at first -intended, as I am sure you would be do you know -the use he makes of his time, and the benefit you -are all to derive from his learning. Before I came -to Göttingen I used to wonder why it was that he -wished to remain here so long; I now wonder he -can consent to leave so soon. The truth is, you all -mistake the cause of your impatience: you believe<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_338"></a>[338]</span> -that it comes from a desire of seeing him at work -for and giving celebrity to the College, but it arises -from a wish to have him in your society, at your -dinner-tables, at your suppers, your clubs, and your -ladies, at your tea-parties (you perceive I am aiming -at Boston folks): however, all who have formed -such expectations must be disappointed; he will find -that most of these gratifications must be sacrificed -to attain the objects of a scholar’s ambition. What -can men think when they say that two years are -sufficient to make a Greek scholar? Does not everybody -know that it is the labor of half a common life -to learn to read the language with tolerable facility? -I remember to have heard little Drisen say, a few -days after I came here, that he had been spending -eighteen years, at least sixteen hours a day, exclusively -upon Greek, and that he could not now read -a page of the tragedians without a dictionary. When -I went home I struck Greek from the list of my -studies; I now think no more of attaining it than I -do of becoming an astrologer. In fact, the most -heart-breaking circumstance attending upon human -knowledge is that a man can never go any farther -than “to know how little’s to be known”; it fills, -then, the mind of scholars with despair to look -upon the map of science, as it does that of the traveler -to look upon the map of the earth, for both see -what a mere speck can be traveled over, and of that -speck how imperfect is the knowledge which is acquired. -Let any one who believes that he has penetrated -the mysteries of all science, and learnt the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_339"></a>[339]</span> -powers and properties of whatever is contained in -the kingdoms of air, earth, fire, and water, but just -bring his knowledge to the test; let him, for example, -begin with what seems the simplest of all -inquiries, and enumerate the plants which grow -upon the surface of the globe, and call them by -their names, and, when he finds that this is beyond -his limits, let him descend to a single class and -bring within it all that the unfathomed caves of -ocean and the unclimbed mountains bear; and as -this is also higher than he can reach, let him go -still lower and include only one family, or a particular -species, or an individual plant, and mark his -points of ignorance upon each, and then, if his pride -of knowledge is not humbled enough, let him take -but a leaf or the smallest part of the most common -flower, and give a satisfactory solution for many -of the phenomena they exhibit. But, you will ask, -is Göttingen the only place for the acquisition of -such learning? No, not the only, but I believe far -the best for such learning as it is necessary for Mr. -E. to fit him to make Cambridge in some degree a -Göttingen, and render it no longer requisite to -depend upon the latter for the formation of their -scholars: it is true that very few of what the Germans -call scholars are needed in America; if there -would only be one thorough one to begin with, the -number would soon be sufficient for all the uses -which could be made of them, and for the literary -character of the country. This one, I say, could -never be formed there, because, in the first place,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_340"></a>[340]</span> -there is no one who knows how it is to be done; -secondly, there are no books, and then, by the -habits of desultory study practiced there, are wholly -incompatible with it. A man as a scholar must be -completely <i>upset</i>, to use a blacksmith’s phrase; he -must have learnt to give up his love of society and -of social pleasures, his interest in the common -occurrences of life, in the political and religious -contentions of the country, and in everything not -directly connected with his single aim. Is there any -one willing to make such a sacrifice? This I cannot -answer, but I do assure you that it is the sacrifice -made by almost every man of classical learning in -Germany, though to be sure the sacrifice of the enjoyments -of friendly intercourse with mankind to letters -is paying much less dear for fame here than the -same thing would be in America. For my own part I -am sorry I came here, because I was too old to be -<i>upset</i>; like a horseshoe worn thin, I shall break as -soon as I begin to wear on the other side: it makes -me very restless at this period of my life to find that -I know nothing. I would not have wished to have -made the discovery unless I could at the same time -have been allowed to remain in some place where I -could get rid of my ignorance; and, now that I must -go from Göttingen, I have no hope of doing that.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The following from Edward Everett carries -the war yet farther into Africa, and criticises -not merely American colleges, but also secondary -schools:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_341"></a>[341]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Göttingen</span>, September 17, 1817.</p> - -<p>You must not laugh at me for proceeding to business -the first thing, and informing you in some -sort as an argument, that, if I have been unreasonable -in prolonging my stay here, I have at least -passed my time not wholly to disadvantage,—that -I received this morning my diploma as Doctor of -Philosophy of this University, the first American, -and as far as I know, Englishman, on whom it has -ever been conferred. You will perhaps have heard -that it was my intention to have passed from this -University to that of Oxford, and to have spent -this winter there. I have altered this determination -for the sake of joining forces with Theodore Lyman -at Paris this winter; and as he proposes to pass the -ensuing summer in traveling in the South of France, -I shall take that opportunity of going to England. -It is true I should have liked to have gone directly -from Göttingen to Oxford, to have kept the thread -as it were unbroken, and gone on with my studies -without any interruption. But I find, even at Paris, -that I have no object there but study; and Professor -Gaisford, at Oxford, writes me that it is every -way better that I should be there in summer, as the -Library is open a greater part of the day. Meanwhile, -I try to feel duly grateful to Providence and -my friends at home to whom I owe the opportunity -of resorting to the famous fountains of European -wisdom. The only painful feeling I carry with me -is that I may not have health, or strength, or ability -to fulfill the demands which such an opportunity<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_342"></a>[342]</span> -will create and justify. More is apt to be expected -in such cases than it is possible to perform; besides -that, after the schoolmaster is prepared for his duty, -all depends upon whether the schoolboy is also -prepared for his. You must not allow any report to -the contrary to shake your faith in my good-will in -the cause. Some remarks which I committed to -paper at the request of my brother upon the subject -of a National University,—an institution which by -exciting an emulation in our quarter would be the -best thing that could happen to Cambridge,—have, -I hear, led some good men to believe that I was -for deserting the service at Cambridge still more -promptly than I had done at Boston,—a suggestion -certainly too absurd to have been made, or to need -to have been contradicted. However, still more -important than all which national or state universities -can do themselves immediately, is the necessity -we must impose on the schools of reforming and -improving themselves, or, rather, are the steps we -must take to create good schools. All we have are -bad, the common reading and writing ones not -excepted; but of schools which we have to fit -boys for college, I think the Boston Latin School -and the Andover Academy are the only ones that -deserve the name, and much I doubt if they deserve -it. There is much truth in the remark so constantly -made that we are not old enough for European perfection, -but we are old enough to do well all it is -worth while to do at all; and if a child here in eight -years can read and speak Latin fluently, there is no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_343"></a>[343]</span> -reason why our youth, after spending the same time -on it, should know little or nothing about it. Professional -education with us commences little or no -earlier than it does here, and yet we approach it in -all departments with a quarter part of the previous -qualification which is here possessed. But also it is -the weakness of mankind to do more than he is -obliged to. The sort of obligation, to be sure, which -is felt, differs with different spirits, and one is content -to be the first man in his ward, one in his town, -one in his county, another in his state. To all these -degrees of dignity the present education is adequate; -and we turn out reputable ministers, doctors, -lawyers, professors, and schoolmasters,—men -who get to be as wise at ye (<i>sic</i>) age of threescore -as their fathers were at sixty, and who transmit the -concern of life to their children in as good condition -as they took it themselves. Meanwhile, the -physical and commercial progress of ye (<i>sic</i>) country -goes on, and more numerous doctors and more -ministers are turned out, not more learned ones, to -meet it. I blushed burning red to the ears the other -day as a friend here laid his hand upon a newspaper -containing the address of the students at Baltimore -to Mr. Monroe, with the translation of it. It was -less matter that the translation was not English; -my German friend could not detect that. But that -the original was not Latin I could not, alas! conceal. -It was, unfortunately, just like enough to very -bad Latin to make it impossible to pass it off for -Kickapoo or Pottawattamy, which I was at first inclined<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_344"></a>[344]</span> -to attempt. My German persisted in it that -it was meant for Latin, and I wished in my heart -that the Baltimore lads would stick to the example -of their fathers and mob the Federalists, so they -would give over this inhuman violence on the poor -old Romans. I say nothing of ye (<i>sic</i>) address, for -like all [illegible] it seems to have been ye (<i>sic</i>) object, -in the majority of those productions, for those -who made them to compliment, not the President, -but themselves. It is a pity Dr. Kirkland’s could -not have been published first, to serve as a model -how they might speak to the President without -coldness on one side and adulation on the other, -and of themselves without intrusion or forwardness.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The following letter transfers Edward Everett -to Oxford, and gives in a somewhat trenchant -way his unfavorable criticisms on the -English universities of that day. He subsequently -sent his son to Cambridge, England, -but it was forty years later:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Oxford</span>, June 6, 1818.</p> - -<p>I have been over two Months in England, and -am now visiting Oxford, having passed a Week in -Cambridge. There is more teaching and more learning -in our American Cambridge than there is in -both the English Universities together, tho’ between -them they have four times Our number of -Students. The misfortune for us is that our subjects -are not so hopeful. We are obliged to do at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_345"></a>[345]</span> -Cambridge [U. S.] that which is done at Eton and -Westminster, at Winchester, Rugby, and Harrow, -as well as at Oxford and Cambridge. Boys <i>may</i> go -to Eton at 6, and do go often at 8, 10, and of Necessity -before 12. They stay there under excellent -Masters, 6 Years, and then come to the University. -Whereas a smart clever boy with us, will learn out, -even at Mr. Gould’s, in 4 Years, and it was the boast -of a very distinguished Man Named Bird [Samuel -Bird, H. C., 1809], who was two Years before me -at Cambridge, that he had fitted in 160 days. And -I really think that I could, in six months teach a -mature lad, who was willing to work hard, all the -Latin and Greek requisite for admission.</p> - -</div> - -<p>This letter from Cogswell refers to George -Bancroft, who was subsequently sent out by -Harvard College, after his graduation in 1817, -that he might be trained for the service of the -institution.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Göttingen</span>, May 4th, 1819.</p> - -<p>It was truly generous and noble in the corporation -to send out young Bancroft in the manner I -understand they did; he will reward them for it. I -thought very much of him, when I had him under -my charge at Cambridge, and now he appears to -me to promise a great deal more. I know not at -whose suggestion this was done, but from the wisdom -of the measure, I should conclude it must be -the President’s; it is applying the remedy exactly -when it is most wanted, a taste once created for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_346"></a>[346]</span> -classical learning at the College, and the means -furnished for cultivating it, and the long desired -reform in education in my opinion is virtually -made; knowledge of every other kind may be as -well acquired among us, as the purposes to which -it is to be applied demand. We are not wanting in -good lawyers or good physicians, and if we could -but form a body of men of taste and letters, our -literary reputation would not long remain at the -low stand which it now is.</p> - -</div> - -<p>It appears from a letter of my father’s, fourteen -years later (November 21, 1833), that, -after four years abroad, Mr. Bancroft’s college -career was a disappointment, and he was evidently -regarded as a man spoiled by vanity -and self-consciousness, and not commanding a -strong influence over his pupils. My father wrote -of these two teachers:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Cambridge, Mass.</span>, 21 Nov., 1833.</p> - -<p>Cogswell at New York to negotiate. He is much -better fitted for a City. He loves society, bustle, -fashion, polish, and good living. He would do best -in some Mercantile House as a partner, say to Bankers -like Prime, Ward, and King. He was at first a -Scholar, a Lawyer in Maine. His wife dying,—sister -to Dr. Nichols’ wife (Gilman),—Mr. C. went -abroad. Was supercargo, then a residing agent of -Wm. Gray’s in Europe, Holland, France, and Italy; -was a good Merchant; expensive in his habits, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_347"></a>[347]</span> -did not accumulate; tired of roving, he accepted -the office of Librarian here. He would not manage -things under control of others, and so left College -and sat up Round Hill School. His partner, Bancroft,—an -unsuccessful scholar, pet of Dr. Kirkland’s, -who like Everett had four years abroad, -mostly Germany, and at expense of College,—came -here unfit for anything. His manners, style -of writing, Theology, etc., bad, and as a Tutor only -the laughing butt of all College. Such an one was -easily marked as unfit for a School.</p> - -</div> - -<p>From whatever cause, he remained as tutor -for one year only (1822-23), leaving Cambridge -for the Round Hill School.</p> - -<p>It would be curious to dwell on the later -influence upon the college of the other men -from whom so much was reasonably expected. -Ticknor, the only one who was not a Harvard -graduate, probably did most for Harvard of -them all, for he became professor of Modern -Languages, and introduced in that department -the elective system, which there became really -the nucleus of the expanded system of later days. -Everett, when President, actually set himself -against that method when the attempt had been -made to enlarge it under Quincy. Cogswell was -librarian from 1821 to 1823; left Harvard for -the Round Hill School, and became ultimately -the organizer of the Astor Library. Frederic<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_348"></a>[348]</span> -Henry Hedge, who had studied in Göttingen as -a schoolboy and belonged to a younger circle, did -not become professor until many years later.</p> - -<p>But while the immediate results of personal -service to the college on the part of this group -of remarkable men may have been inadequate,—since -even Ticknor, ere parting, had with -the institution a disagreement never yet fully -elucidated,—yet their collective influence both -on Harvard University and on American education -was enormous. They helped to break -up that intellectual sterility which had begun -to show itself during the isolation of a merely -colonial life; they prepared the way for the -vast modern growth of colleges, schools, and -libraries in this country, and indirectly helped -that birth of a literature which gave us Irving, -Cooper, Bryant, and the “North American -Review”; and culminated later in the brilliant -Boston circle of authors, almost all of whom -were Harvard men, and all of whom had felt the -Harvard influence.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_349"></a>[349]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII_OLD_NEWPORT_DAYS">XXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">OLD NEWPORT DAYS</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_350"></a>[350]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_351"></a>[351]</span></p> - -<h3>OLD NEWPORT DAYS</h3> - -</div> - -<p>It was my good fortune, after discharge from -the army during the Civil War, to dwell for a -time under the hospitable roof of Mrs. Hannah -Dame, in Newport, Rhode Island. Passing out of -the front door one day, just as its bell rang, I saw -before me one of the very handsomest men I -had ever beheld, as I thought. He wore civilian -dress, but with an unmistakable military air, and -held out to me a card of introduction from a fellow -officer. He had been discharged from the army -on the expiration of his term of service with -the regiment he had commanded in Frémont’s -Mountain Department. Being out of employment -for a time, and unsettled, as many of us -were at that period, he came back to his early -training as a market gardener, and, having made -the professional discovery that most of the cabbages -eaten in Boston were brought from New -York, while nearly all the cauliflowers sold in -New York were sent thither from Boston, he -formed the plan of establishing a market garden -midway between the two cities, and supplying -each place with its favorite vegetable. -This he did successfully for ten years, and then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_352"></a>[352]</span> -merged the enterprise in successive newer ones. -In these he sometimes failed, but in the last one -he succeeded where others had failed yet more -completely, and astounded the nation by bringing -the streets of New York into decent cleanliness -and order for the first time on record. -This man was Colonel George Edward Waring.</p> - -<p>One of his minor achievements was that of -organizing, at his house in Newport, the most -efficient literary circle I ever knew, at a time -when there were habitually more authors -grouped in that city than anywhere else in -America. But before giving a sketch of these -persons, let me describe the house in which he -received them. This house had been made internally -the most attractive in Newport by the -combined taste of himself and his wife, and was -for a time the main centre of our simple and -cordial group. In his study and elsewhere on -the walls he had placed mottoes, taken partly -from old English phrases and partly from the -original Dutch, remembered almost from the -cradle as coming from his Dutch maternal -grandfather. Thus above his writing-desk the -inscription read, <i>Misérable à mon gré qui n’a -chez soi où estre à soi</i> (Alas for him who hath -no home which is a home!). Under the mantelpiece -and above the fireplace was the Dutch <i>Eigen -haasd iss goud waard</i> (One’s own hearth is worth<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_353"></a>[353]</span> -gold). In the dining-room there was inscribed -above the fireplace, “Old wood to burn, Old -wine to drink, Old friends to trust.” Opposite -this was again the Dutch <i>Praatjes vullen den -buik neit</i> (Prattle does not fill the box). On two -sides of the room there were, “Now good digestion -wait on appetite, and health on both,” and -also “In every feast there are two guests to be -entertained, the body and the soul.” In almost -every case the lettering of these mottoes was -made into a decoration with peacock’s feathers, -and formed a series of charming welcomes -quite in harmony with the unfailing cordiality -of the host and the fine and hearty voice of the -hostess.</p> - -<p>It was at this house that there were to be -found gathered, more frequently than anywhere -else, the literary or artistic people who were -then so abundant in Newport,—where no other -house was to be compared with it except that -of Mrs. Howe, who then lived in the country, -and had receptions and a world of her own.</p> - -<p>We had, for instance, Dr. J. G. Holland, now -best known as the original founder of the “Century -Magazine,” then having but a fugitive literary -fame based on books written under the -name of Timothy Titcomb and entitled “Bitter-Sweet” -and “Kathrina, Her Life and Mine.” -He was personally attractive because of his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_354"></a>[354]</span> -melodious voice, which made him of peculiar -value for singing on all boating excursions. -There was Edwin P. Whipple, a man reared in -business, not literature; but with an inexhaustible -memory of books and a fertile gift for producing -them, especially those requiring personal -anecdote and plenty of it. There was Dr. O. W. -Holmes, who came to Newport as the guest of -the Astor family, parents of the present English -author of that name. At their house I spent -one evening with Holmes, who was in his most -brilliant mood, at the end of which he had -talked himself into such an attack of asthma -that he had to bid adieu to Newport forever, -after an early breakfast the next morning.</p> - -<p>There was the Reverend Charles T. Brooks, -a man of angelic face and endless German translations, -who made even Jean Paul readable and -also unbelievable. There was Professor George -Lane, from Harvard, a man so full of humor -that people bought his new Latin Grammar -merely for the fun to be got out of its notes. -There was La Farge, just passing through the -change which made a great artist out of a book-lover -and a student of languages. He alone on -this list made Newport his home for years, and -reared his gifted and attractive children there, -and it was always interesting to see how, one -by one, they developed into artists or priests.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_355"></a>[355]</span></p> - -<p>There was George Boker, of Philadelphia, a -young man of fortune, handsome, indolent, as -poetic as a rich young man could spare time to -be, and one whose letters now help to make -attractive that most amusing book, the “Memoirs -of Charles Godfrey Leland.” There was -my refined and accomplished schoolmate and -chum, Charles Perkins, who trained himself -in Italian art and tried rather ineffectually to -introduce it into the public schools of Boston -and upon the outside of the Art Museum. There -was Tom Appleton, the man of two continents, -and Clarence King, the explorer of this one, -and a charming story-teller, by the way. Let -me pause longer over one or two of these many -visitors.</p> - -<p>One of them was long held the most readable -of American biographers, but is now being -strangely forgotten,—the most American of all -transplanted Englishmen, James Parton, the -historian. He has apparently dropped from our -current literature and even from popular memory. -I can only attribute this to a certain curious -combination of strength and weakness -which was more conspicuous in him than in -most others. He always appeared to me the -most absolutely truthful being I had ever encountered; -no temptation, no threats, could -move him from his position; but when he came<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_356"></a>[356]</span> -in contact with a man of wholly opposite temperament, -as, for instance, General Benjamin -F. Butler, the other seemed able to wind Parton -round his fingers. This would be the harder -to believe had not Butler exerted something of -the same influence on Wendell Phillips, another -man of proud and yet trustful temperament. -Furthermore, Parton was absolutely enthralled -in a similar way through his chief object -of literary interest, perhaps as being the man -in the world most unlike him, Voltaire. On the -other hand, no one could be more devoted to -self-sacrifice than Parton when it became clear -and needful. Day after day one would see him -driving in the roads around Newport, with his -palsy-stricken and helpless wife, ten years older -than himself and best known to the world as -Fanny Fern,—he sitting upright as a flagstaff -and looking forward in deep absorption, settling -some Voltairean problem a hundred years older -than his own domestic sorrow.</p> - -<p>I find in my diary (June 25, 1871) only this -reference to one of the disappointing visitors -at Newport:—</p> - -<p>“Bret Harte is always simple and modest. -He is terribly tired of ‘The Heathen Chinee,’ -and almost annoyed at its popularity when better -things of his have been less liked”—the -usual experience of authors.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_357"></a>[357]</span></p> - -<p>I find again, May 15, 1871: “I went up last -Wednesday night to the Grand Army banquet -[in Boston] and found it pleasant. The receptions -of Hooker and Burnside were especially -ardent. At our table we were about to give -three cheers for Bret Harte as a man went up -to the chief table. It turned out to be Mayor -Gaston.” This mistake, however, showed Harte’s -ready popularity at first, though some obstacles -afterwards tended to diminish it. Among these -obstacles was to be included, no doubt, the San -Francisco newspapers, which were constantly -showered among us from the Pacific shores -with all the details of the enormous debts which -Bret Harte had left behind him, and which he -never in his life, so far as I could hear, made -a serious effort to discharge. Through some -distrust either of my friendship or of my resources, -he never by any chance even offered, I -believe, to borrow a dollar of me; but our more -generous companion, George Waring, was not -so fortunate.</p> - -<p>Another person, of nobler type, appears but -imperfectly in my letters, namely, Miss Charlotte -Cushman. I find, to be sure, the following -penetrating touches from a companion who had -always that quality, and who says of Miss Cushman, -in her diary: “She is very large, looks like -an elderly man, with gray hair and very red<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_358"></a>[358]</span> -cheeks—full of action and gesture—acts a dog -just as well as a man or woman. She seems large-hearted, -kind, and very bright and quick—looks -in splendid health. She will be here for this -month, but may take a house and return.” This -expectation was fulfilled, and I find that the -same authority later compared Miss Cushman -in appearance to “an old boy given to eating -apples and snowballing”; and, again, gave this -description after seeing Miss Cushman’s new -house: “The wildest turn of an insane kaleidoscope—the -petrified antics of a crazy coon—with -a dance of intoxicated lightning-rods -breaking out over the roof.” This youthful impulsiveness -was a part of her, and I remember -that once, as we were driving across the first -beach at Newport, Miss Cushman looked with -delight across the long strip of sand, which the -advancing waves were rapidly diminishing, as -the little boys were being driven ashore by them, -and exclaimed, “How those children have enjoyed -running their little risk of danger! I know -I did when I was a boy,” and there seemed nothing -incongruous in the remark, nor yet when -she turned to me afterwards and asked, seriously, -whether I thought suicide absolutely unpardonable -in a person proved to be hopelessly -destined to die of cancer,—a terror with which -she was long haunted. Again, I remember at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_359"></a>[359]</span> -one fashionable reception how Miss Cushman -came with John Gilbert, the veteran actor, as -her guest, and how much higher seemed their -breeding, on the whole, than that of the mere -fashionables of a day.</p> - -<p>Kate Field, who has been somewhat unwisely -canonized by an injudicious annotator, was -much in Newport, equally fearless in body and -mind, and perhaps rather limited than enlarged -by early contact with Italy and Mrs. Browning. -She would come in from a manly boating-trip -and fling herself on the sofa of the daintiest -hostess, where the subsequent arrival of the -best-bred guests did not disturb her from her -position; but nothing would have amused her -more than the deification which she received -after death from some later adorers of her own -sex.</p> - -<p>I find the following sketches of different -Newport visitors in a letter dated September -2, 1869:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“We had an elder poet in Mr. [William Cullen] -Bryant, on whom I called, and to my great surprise -he returned it. I never saw him before. There is -a little hardness about him, and he seems like one -who has been habitually bored, but he is refined -and gentle—thinner, older, and more sunken than -his pictures—eyes not fine, head rather narrow -and prominent; delicate in outline. He is quite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_360"></a>[360]</span> -agreeable, and ⸺ chatted to him quite easily. -I saw him several times, but he does not warm one.</p> - -<p>“At Governor Morgan’s I went to a reception for -the [General] Grants. He is a much more noticeable -man than I expected, and I should think his -head would attract attention anywhere, and Richard -Greenough [the sculptor] thought the same—and -so imperturbable—without even a segar! Mrs. -Grant I found intelligent and equable.... Sherman -was there, too, the antipodes of Grant; nervous -and mobile, looking like a country schoolmaster. -He said to Bryant, in my hearing, ‘Yes, indeed! -I know Mr. Bryant; he’s one of the veterans! -When I was a boy at West Point he was a veteran. -He used to edit a newspaper then!’</p> - -<p>“This quite ignored Mr. Bryant’s poetic side, -which Sherman possibly may not have quite enjoyed. -Far more interesting than this, I thought, -was a naval reception where Farragut was given -profuse honors, yet held them all as a trivial -pleasure compared to an interview with his early -teacher, Mr. Charles Folsom, the superintendent of -the University Printing-Office at Cambridge. To him -the great admiral returned again and again, and we -saw them sitting with hands clasped, and serving -well enough, as some one suggested, for a group of -‘War and Peace,’ such as the sculptors were just -then portraying.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Most interesting, too, I found on one occasion, -at Charles Perkins’s, the companionship<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_361"></a>[361]</span> -of two young Englishmen, James Bryce and -Albert Dicey, both since eminent, but then -just beginning their knowledge of this country. -I vividly remember how Dicey came in rubbing -his hands with delight, saying that Bryce had -just heard a boarder at the hotel where he was -staying say <i>Eurōpean</i> twice, and had stopped to -make a note of it in his diary. But I cannot allow -further space to them, nor even to Mr. George -Bancroft, about whom the reader will find a -more ample sketch in this volume (page 95). I -will, however, venture to repeat one little scene -illustrating with what parental care he used to -accompany young ladies on horseback in his -old age, galloping over the Newport beaches. -On one of these occasions, after he had dismounted -to adjust his fair companion’s stirrup, -he was heard to say to her caressingly, “Don’t -call me Mr. Bancroft, call me George!”</p> - -<p>In regard to my friend, Mrs. Julia Ward -Howe and her Newport life, I have written so -fully of her in the article on page 287 of this -volume that I shall hardly venture it again. -Nor have I space in which to dwell on the further -value to our little Newport circle of such -women as Katharine P. Wormeley, the well-known -translator of Balzac and Molière and the -author of “Hospital Transports” during the -war; or of the three accomplished Woolsey<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_362"></a>[362]</span> -sisters, of whom the eldest, under the name of -“Susan Coolidge,” became a very influential -writer for young people. She came first to -Newport as the intimate friend of Mrs. Helen -Maria Fiske Hunt, who was more generally -known for many years as “H. H.” The latter -came among us as the widow of one of the -most distinguished officers whom the West -Point service had reared. She was destined in -all to spend five winters at Newport, and entered -upon her literary life practically at that -time. She lived there as happily, perhaps, as she -could have dwelt in any town which she could -christen “Sleepy Hollow,” as she did Newport; -and where she could look from her window upon -the fashionable avenue and see, she said, such -“Headless Horsemen” as Irving described as -having haunted the valley of that name.</p> - -<p>After her second marriage she lived far away -at the middle and then at the extreme western -part of the continent, and we met but few times. -She wrote to me freely, however, and I cannot do -better than close by quoting from this brilliant -woman’s very words her description of the manner -in which she wrote the tale “Ramona,” now -apparently destined to be her source of permanent -fame. I do not know in literary history so -vivid a picture of what may well be called spiritual -inspiration in an impetuous woman’s soul.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_363"></a>[363]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">The Berkeley</span>, February 5, 1884.</p> - -<p>I am glad you say you are rejoiced that I am -writing a story. But about the not hurrying it—I -want to tell you something— You know I have -for three or four years longed to write a story that -should “tell” on the Indian question. But I knew -I could not do it, knew I had no background—no -local color for it.</p> - -<p>Last Spring, in So. Cal. [Southern California] -I began to feel that I had—that the scene laid -there—& the old Mexican life mixed in with just -enough Indian, to enable me to tell what had happened -to them—would be the very perfection of -coloring. You know I have now lived six months in -So. Cal.</p> - -<p>Still I did not see my way clear; got no plot; -till one morning late last October, before I was -wide awake, the whole plot flashed into my mind—not -a vague one—the whole story just as it stands -to-day: in less than five minutes: as if some one -spoke it. I sprang up, went to my husband’s room, -and told him: I was half frightened. From that -time till I came here it haunted me, becoming -more and more vivid. I was impatient to get at it. -I wrote the first word of it Dec. 1st. As soon as -I began it seemed impossible to write fast enough. -In spite of myself, I write faster than I would write -a letter. I write two thousand to three thousand -words in a morning, and I <i>cannot</i> help it. It racks -me like a struggle with an outside power. I cannot -help being superstitious about it. I have never done<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_364"></a>[364]</span> -<i>half</i> the amount of work in the same time. Ordinarily -it would be a simple impossibility. Twice -since beginning it I have broken down utterly for -a while—with a cold ostensibly, but with great -nervous prostration added. What I have to endure -in holding myself away from it, afternoons, on the -days I am compelled to be in the house, no words -can tell. It is like keeping away from a lover, whose -hand I can reach!</p> - -<p>Now you will ask what sort of English it is I write -at this lightning speed. So far as I can tell, the -best I ever wrote! I have read it aloud as I have -gone on, to one friend of keen literary perceptions -and judgment, the most purely intellectual woman -I know—Mrs. Trimble. She says it is smooth, -strong, clear—“Tremendous” is her frequent epithet. -I read the first ten chapters to Miss Woolsey -this last week—she has been spending a few -days with me ... but she says, “Far better than -anything you ever have done.”</p> - -<p>The success of it—if it succeeds—will be that -I do not even suggest my Indian history till the -interest is so assured in the heroine—and hero—that -people will not lay the book down. There is -but one Indian in the story.</p> - -<p>Every now & then I force myself to stop & write -a short story or a bit of verse: I can’t bear the -strain: but the instant I open the pages of the other -I write as I am writing now—as fast as I could -copy! What do you think? Am I possessed of a demon? -Is it a freak of mental disturbance, or what?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_365"></a>[365]</span></p> - -<p>I have the feeling that if I could only read it -to you, you would know. If it is as good as Mrs. -Trimble, Mr. Jackson & Miss Woolsey think, I -shall be indeed rewarded, for it will “tell.” But I -can’t believe it is. I am uneasy about it—but try -as I may, all I can, I cannot write slowly for more -than a few moments. I sit down at 9.30 or 10, & -it is one before I know it. In good weather I then -go out, after lunching, and keep out, religiously till -five: but there have not been more than three -out of eight good days all winter:—and the days -when I am shut up, in my room from two till five, -alone—with my Ramona and Alessandro, and cannot -go along with them on their journey, are maddening.</p> - -<p>Fifty-two last October and I’m not a bit steadier-headed, -you see, than ever! I don’t know whether -to send this or burn it up. Don’t laugh at me whatever -you do.</p> - -<p class="center">Yours always,</p> - -<p class="right">H. J.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_366"></a>[366]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_367"></a>[367]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV_A_HALF-CENTURY_OF_AMERICAN_LITERATURE">XXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">A HALF-CENTURY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_368"></a>[368]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_369"></a>[369]</span></p> - -<h3>A HALF-CENTURY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE -(1857-1907)</h3> - -</div> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p>The brilliant French author, Stendhal, used -to describe his ideal of a happy life as dwelling -in a Paris garret and writing endless plays and -novels. This might seem to any Anglo-American -a fantastic wish; and no doubt the early -colonists on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, -after fighting through the Revolution by the -aid of Rochambeau and his Frenchmen, might -have felt quite out of place had they followed -their triumphant allies back to Europe, in 1781, -and inspected their way of living. We can -hardly wonder, on the other hand, that the accomplished -French traveler, Philarète Chasles, -on visiting this country in 1851, looked through -the land in despair at not finding a humorist, -although the very boy of sixteen who stood -near him at the rudder of a Mississippi steam-boat -may have been he who was destined to -amuse the civilized world under the name of -Mark Twain.<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_370"></a>[370]</span></p> - -<p>That which was, however, to astonish most -seriously all European observers who were -watching the dawn of the young American -republic, was its presuming to develop itself -in its own original way, and not conventionally. -It was destined, as Cicero said of ancient Rome, -to produce its statesmen and orators first, and -its poets later. Literature was not inclined to -show itself with much promptness, during and -after long years of conflict, first with the Indians, -then with the mother country. There -were individual instances of good writing: Judge -Sewall’s private diaries, sometimes simple and -noble, sometimes unconsciously eloquent, often -infinitely amusing; William Byrd’s and Sarah -Knight’s piquant glimpses of early Virginia -travel; Cotton Mather’s quaint and sometimes -eloquent passages; Freneau’s poetry, from which -Scott and Campbell borrowed phrases. Behind -all, there was the stately figure of Jonathan -Edwards standing gravely in the background, -like a monk at the cloister door, with his treatise -on the “Freedom of the Will.”</p> - -<p>Thus much for the scanty literary product; -but when we turn to look for a new-born statesmanship -in a nation equally new-born, the fact -suddenly strikes us that the intellectual strength -of the colonists lay there. The same discovery -astonished England through the pamphlet works<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_371"></a>[371]</span> -of Jay, Lee, and Dickinson; destined to be -soon followed up with a long series of equally -strong productions, to which Lord Chatham -paid that fine tribute in his speech before the -House of Lords on January 20, 1775. “I must -declare and avow,” he said, “that in all my -reading and observation—and it has been my -favorite study—I have read Thucydides and -have studied and admired the master-states of -the world—for solidity of reasoning, force of -sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such -a complication of difficult circumstances, no nation, -or body of men, can stand in preference -to the general Congress of Philadelphia.” Yet -it is to be noticed further that here, as in other -instances, the literary foresight in British criticism -had already gone in advance of even the -statesman’s judgment, for Horace Walpole, -the most brilliant of the literary men of his -time, had predicted to his friend Mason, two -years before the Declaration of Independence, -that there would one day be a Thucydides in -Boston and a Xenophon in New York.</p> - -<p>It is interesting to know that such predictions -were by degrees shadowed forth even among -children in America, as they certainly were -among those of us who, living in Cambridge as -boys, were permitted the privilege of looking -over whole boxes of Washington’s yet unprinted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_372"></a>[372]</span> -letters in the hands of our kind neighbor, Jared -Sparks (1834-37); manuscripts whose curved -and varied signatures we had the inexhaustible -boyish pleasure of studying and comparing; as -we had also that of enjoying the pithy wisdom -of Franklin in his own handwriting a few years -later (1840), in the hands of the same kind and -neighborly editor. But it was not always recognized -by those who grew up in the new-born -nation that in the mother country itself a period -of literary ebb tide was then prevailing. When -Fisher Ames, being laid on the shelf as a Federalist -statesman, wrote the first really important -essay on American Literature,—an essay -published in 1809, after his death,—he frankly -treated literature itself as merely one of the -ornaments of despotism. He wrote of it, “The -time seems to be near, and, perhaps, is already -arrived, when poetry, at least poetry of transcendent -merit, will be considered among the -lost arts. It is a long time since England has -produced a first-rate poet. If America had not -to boast at all what our parent country boasts -no longer, it will not be thought a proof of the -deficiency of our genius.” Believing as he did, -that human freedom could never last long in a -democracy, Ames thought that perhaps, when -liberty had given place to an emperor, this -monarch might desire to see splendor in his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_373"></a>[373]</span> -court, and to occupy his subjects with the cultivation -of the arts and sciences. At any rate, -he maintained, “After some ages we shall have -many poor and a few rich, many grossly ignorant, -a considerable number learned, and a few -eminently learned. Nature, never prodigal of -her gifts, will produce some men of genius, -who will be admired and imitated.” The first -part of this prophecy failed, but the latter part -fulfilled itself in a manner quite unexpected.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p>The point unconsciously ignored by Fisher -Ames, and by the whole Federalist party of -his day, was that there was already being -created on this side of the ocean, not merely a -new nation, but a new temperament. How far -this temperament was to arise from a change -of climate, and how far from a new political -organization, no one could then foresee, nor is -its origin yet fully analyzed; but the fact itself -is now coming to be more and more recognized. -It may be that Nature said, at about that time, -“‘Thus far the English is my best race; but -we have had Englishmen enough; now for another -turning of the globe, and a further novelty. -We need something with a little more buoyancy -than the Englishman: let us lighten the structure, -even at some peril in the process. Put in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_374"></a>[374]</span> -one drop more of nervous fluid and make the -American.’ With that drop, a new range of promise -opened on the human race, and a lighter, -finer, more highly organized type of mankind -was born.” This remark, which appeared first -in the “Atlantic Monthly,” called down the -wrath of Matthew Arnold, who missed the -point entirely in calling it “tall talk” or a species -of brag, overlooking the fact that it was -written as a physiological caution addressed -to this nervous race against overworking its -children in school. In reality, it was a point of -the greatest importance. If Americans are to -be merely duplicate Englishmen, Nature might -have said, the experiment is not so very interesting, -but if they are to represent a new -human type, the sooner we know it, the better. -No one finally did more toward recognizing -this new type than did Matthew Arnold -himself, when he afterwards wrote, in 1887, -“Our countrymen [namely, the English], with -a thousand good qualities, are really, perhaps, -a good deal wanting in lucidity and flexibility”; -and again in the same essay, “The whole -American nation may be called ‘intelligent,’ -that is to say, ‘quick.’”<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> This would seem to -yield the whole point between himself and -the American writer whom he had criticised,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_375"></a>[375]</span> -and who happened to be the author of this present -volume.</p> - -<p>One of the best indications of this very difference -of temperament, even to this day, is the way -in which American journalists and magazinists -are received in England, and their English compeers -among ourselves. An American author -connected with the “St. Nicholas Magazine” -was told by a London publisher, within my -recollection, that the plan of the periodical was -essentially wrong. “The pages of riddles at -the end, for instance,” he said, “no child would -ever guess them”; and although the American -assured him that they were guessed regularly -every month in twenty thousand families or -more, the publisher still shook his head. As -to the element of humor itself, it used to be -the claim of a brilliant New York talker that -he had dined through three English counties on -the strength of the jokes which he had found -in the corners of an old American “Farmer’s -Almanac” which he had happened to put into -his trunk when packing for his European trip.</p> - -<p>From Brissot and Volney, Chastellux and -Crèvecœur, down to Ampère and De Tocqueville, -there was a French appreciation, denied -to the English, of this lighter quality; and this -certainly seems to indicate that the change in -the Anglo-American temperament had already<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_376"></a>[376]</span> -begun to show itself. Ampère especially notices -what he calls “une veine européenne” among -the educated classes. Many years after, when -Mrs. Frances Anne Kemble, writing in reference -to the dramatic stage, pointed out that the -theatrical instinct of Americans created in them -an affinity for the French which the English, -hating exhibitions of emotion and self-display, -did not share, she recognized in our nation this -tinge of the French temperament, while perhaps -giving to it an inadequate explanation.</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p>The local literary prominence given, first to -Philadelphia by Franklin and Brockden Brown, -and then to New York by Cooper and Irving, -was in each case too detached and fragmentary -to create more than these individual fames, however -marked or lasting these may be. It required -time and a concentrated influence to constitute -a literary group in America. Bryant and Channing, -with all their marked powers, served -only as a transition to it. Yet the group was -surely coming, and its creation has perhaps -never been put in so compact a summary as -that made by that clear-minded ex-editor of -the “Atlantic Monthly,” the late Horace Scudder. -He said, “It is too early to make a full -survey of the immense importance to American<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_377"></a>[377]</span> -letters of the work done by half-a-dozen great -men in the middle of this century. The body -of prose and verse created by them is constituting -the solid foundation upon which other -structures are to rise; the humanity which it -holds is entering into the life of the country, -and no material invention, or scientific discovery, -or institutional prosperity, or accumulation -of wealth will so powerfully affect the spiritual -well-being of the nation for generations to -come.”</p> - -<p>The geographical headquarters of this particular -group was Boston, of which Cambridge -and Concord may be regarded for this purpose -as suburbs. Such a circle of authors as Emerson, -Hawthorne, Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, -Alcott, Thoreau, Parkman, and others had never -before met in America; and now that they have -passed away, no such local group anywhere -remains: nor has the most marked individual -genius elsewhere—such, for instance, as that -of Poe or Whitman—been the centre of so -conspicuous a combination. The best literary -representative of this group of men in bulk -was undoubtedly the “Atlantic Monthly,” to -which almost every one of them contributed, -and of which they made up the substantial opening -strength.</p> - -<p>With these there was, undoubtedly, a secondary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_378"></a>[378]</span> -force developed at that period in a remarkable -lecture system, which spread itself -rapidly over the country, and in which most of -the above authors took some part and several -took leading parts, these lectures having much -formative power over the intellect of the nation. -Conspicuous among the lecturers also were -such men as Gough, Beecher, Chapin, Whipple, -Holland, Curtis, and lesser men who are now -collectively beginning to fade into oblivion. -With these may be added the kindred force of -Abolitionists, headed by Wendell Phillips and -Frederick Douglass, whose remarkable powers -drew to their audiences many who did not agree -with them. Women like Lucretia Mott, Anna -Dickinson, and Lucy Stone joined the force. -These lectures were inseparably linked with -literature as a kindred source of popular education; -they were subject, however, to the limitation -of being rather suggestive than instructive, -because they always came in a detached way -and so did not favor coherent thinking. The -much larger influence now exerted by courses -of lectures in the leading cities does more to -strengthen the habit of consecutive thought -than did the earlier system; and such courses, -joined with the great improvement in public -schools, are assisting vastly in the progress of -public education. The leader who most distinguished<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_379"></a>[379]</span> -himself in this last direction was, doubtless, -Horace Mann, who died in 1859. The influence -of American colleges, while steadily -maturing into universities all over the country, -has made itself felt more and more obviously, -especially as these colleges have with startling -suddenness and comprehensiveness extended -their privileges to women also, whether in the -form of coeducation or of institutions for women -only.</p> - -<p>For many years, the higher intellectual training -of Americans was obtained almost entirely -through periods of study in Europe, especially -in Germany. Men, of whom Everett, Ticknor, -Cogswell, and Bancroft were the pioneers, beginning -in 1818 or thereabouts, discovered that -Germany and not England must be made our -national model in this higher education; and -this discovery was strengthened by the number -of German refugees, often highly trained men, -who sought this country for political safety. -The influence of German literature on the -American mind was undoubtedly at its highest -point half a century ago, and the passing away -of the great group of German authors then -visible was even more striking than have been -the corresponding changes in England and -America; but the leadership of Germany in -purely scientific thought and invention has kept<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_380"></a>[380]</span> -on increasing, so that the mental tie between -that nation and our own was perhaps never -stronger than now.</p> - -<p>In respect to literature, the increased tendency -to fiction, everywhere visible, has nowhere -been more marked than in America. Since the -days of Cooper and Mrs. Stowe, the recognized -leader in this department has been Mr. Howells; -that is, if we base leadership on higher standards -than that of mere comparison of sales. -The actual sale of copies in this department of -literature has been greater in certain cases than -the world has before seen; but it has rarely -occurred that books thus copiously multiplied -have taken very high rank under more deliberate -criticism. In some cases, as in that of Bret -Harte, an author has won fame in early life by -the creation of a few striking characters, and -has then gone on reproducing them without -visible progress; and this result has been most -apt to occur wherever British praise has come -in strongly, that being often more easily won -by a few interesting novelties than by anything -deeper in the way of local coloring or permanent -delineation.</p> - - -<p>IV</p> - -<p>It is sometimes said that there was never yet -a great migration which did not result in some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_381"></a>[381]</span> -new form of national genius; and this should -be true in America, if anywhere. He who lands -from Europe on our shores perceives a difference -in the sky above his head; the height -seems greater, the zenith farther off, the horizon -wall steeper. With this result on the one -side, and the vast and constant mixture of races -on the other, there must inevitably be a change. -No portion of our immigrant body desires to -retain its national tongue; all races wish their -children to learn the English language as soon -as possible, yet no imported race wishes its -children to take the British race, as such, for -models. Our newcomers unconsciously say with -that keen thinker, David Wasson, “The Englishman -is undoubtedly a wholesome figure to -the mental eye; but will not twenty million -copies of him do, for the present?” The Englishman’s -strong point is his vigorous insularity; -that of the American his power of adaptation. -Each of these attitudes has its perils. -The Englishman stands firmly on his feet, but -he who merely does this never advances. The -American’s disposition is to step forward even -at the risk of a fall. Washington Irving, who -seemed at first to so acute a French observer -as Chasles a mere reproduction of Pope and -Addison, wrote to John Lothrop Motley two -years before his own death, “You are properly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_382"></a>[382]</span> -sensible of the high calling of the American -press,—that rising tribunal before which the -whole world is to be summoned, its history to -be revised and rewritten, and the judgment of -past ages to be canceled or confirmed.” For -one who can look back sixty years to a time -when the best literary periodical in America -was called “The Albion,” it is difficult to realize -how the intellectual relations of the two -nations are now changed. M. D. Conway once -pointed out that the English magazines, such -as the “Contemporary Review” and the “Fortnightly,” -were simply circular letters addressed -by a few cultivated gentlemen to the fellow -members of their respective London clubs. -Where there is an American periodical, on the -other hand, the most striking contribution may -proceed from a previously unknown author, and -may turn out to have been addressed practically -to all the world.</p> - -<p>So far as the intellectual life of a nation exhibits -itself in literature, England may always -have one advantage over us,—if advantage it -be,—that of possessing in London a recognized -publishing centre, where authors, editors, -and publishers are all brought together. In -America, the conditions of our early political -activity have supplied us with a series of such -centres, in a smaller way, beginning, doubtless,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_383"></a>[383]</span> -with Philadelphia, then changing to New York, -then to Boston, and again reverting, in some -degree, to New York. I say “in some degree” -because Washington has long been the political -centre of the nation, and tends more and more -to occupy the same central position in respect -to science, at least; while Western cities, notably -Chicago and San Francisco, tend steadily -to become literary centres for the wide regions -they represent. Meanwhile the vast activities -of journalism, the readiness of communication -everywhere, the detached position of colleges, -with many other influences, decentralize literature -more and more. Emerson used to say that -Europe stretched to the Alleghanies, but this -at least has been corrected, and the national -spirit is coming to claim the whole continent -for its own.</p> - -<p>There is undoubtedly a tendency in the United -States to transfer intellectual allegiance, for a -time, to science rather than to literature. This -may be only a swing of the pendulum; but its -temporary influence has nowhere been better -defined or characterized than by the late Clarence -King, formerly director of the United -States Geological Survey, who wrote thus a little -before his death: “With all its novel modern -powers and practical sense, I am forced to admit -that the purely scientific brain is miserably<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_384"></a>[384]</span> -mechanical; it seems to have become a splendid -sort of self-directed machine, an incredible -automaton, grinding on with its analyses or -constructions. But for pure sentiment, for all -that spontaneous, joyous Greek waywardness -of fancy, for the temperature of passion and the -subtler thrill of ideality, you might as well look -to a wrought-iron derrick.”</p> - -<p>Whatever charges can be brought against the -American people, no one has yet attributed to -them any want of self-confidence or self-esteem; -and though this trait may be sometimes unattractive, -the philosophers agree that it is the -only path to greatness. “The only nations which -ever come to be called historic,” says Tolstoi in -his “Anna Karenina,” “are those which recognize -the importance and worth of their own institutions.” -Emerson, putting the thing more -tersely, as is his wont, says that “no man can -do anything well who does not think that what -he does is the centre of the visible universe.” -The history of the American republic was really -the most interesting in the world, from the -outset, were it only from the mere fact that -however small its scale, it yet showed a self-governing -people in a condition never before -witnessed on the globe; and so to this is now -added the vaster contemplation of it as a nation -of seventy millions rapidly growing more and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_385"></a>[385]</span> -more. If there is no interest in the spectacle of -such a nation, laboring with all its might to build -up an advanced civilization, then there is nothing -interesting on earth. The time will come when -all men will wonder, not that Americans attached -so much importance to their national development -at this period, but that they appreciated -it so little. Canon Zincke has computed that in -1980 the English-speaking population of the -globe will number, at the present rate of progress, -one thousand millions, and that of this -number eight hundred millions will dwell in the -United States. No plans can be too far-seeing, -no toils and sacrifices too great, in establishing -this vast future civilization. It is in this light, -for instance, that we must view the immense -endowments of Mr. Carnegie, which more than -fulfill the generalization of the acute author of -a late Scotch novel, “The House with Green -Shutters,” who says that while a Scotchman -has all the great essentials for commercial success, -“his combinations are rarely Napoleonic -until he becomes an American.”</p> - -<p>When one looks at the apparently uncertain, -but really tentative steps taken by the trustees -of the Carnegie Institution at Washington, -one sees how much must yet lie before us in -our provisions for intellectual progress. The numerical -increase of our common schools and universities<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_386"></a>[386]</span> -is perhaps as rapid as is best, and the -number of merely scientific societies is large, -but the provision for the publication of works -of real thought and literature is still far too -small. The endowment of the Smithsonian Institution -now extends most comprehensively -over all the vast historical work in American -history, now so widely undertaken, and the -Carnegie Institution bids fair to provide well for -purely scientific work and the publication of its -results. But the far more difficult task of developing -and directing pure literature is as yet -hardly attempted. Our magazines tend more -and more to become mainly picture-books, and -our really creative authors are geographically -scattered and, for the most part, wholesomely -poor. We should always remember, moreover, -what is true especially in these works of fiction, -that not only individual books, but whole schools -of them, emerge and disappear, like the flash of -a revolving light; you must make the most of -it while you have it. “The highways of literature -are spread over,” said Holmes, “with the -shells of dead novels, each of which has been -swallowed at a mouthful by the public, and is -done with.”</p> - -<p>In America, as in England, the leading literary -groups are just now to be found less -among the poets than among the writers of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_387"></a>[387]</span> -prose fiction. Of these younger authors, we have -in America such men as Winston Churchill, -Robert Grant, Hamlin Garland, Owen Wister, -Arthur S. Pier, and George Wasson; any one -of whom may at any moment surprise us by doing -something better than the best he has before -achieved. The same promise of a high standard -is visible in women, among whom may be named -not merely those of maturer standing, as Harriet -Prescott Spofford, who is the leader, but -her younger sisters, Mary Wilkins Freeman, -Edith Wharton, and Josephine Preston Peabody. -The drama also is advancing with rapid steps, -and is likely to be still more successful in such -hands as those of William Vaughn Moody, -Ridgely Torrence, and Percy McKaye. The -leader of English dramatic criticism, William -Archer, found within the last year, as he tells -us, no less than eight or nine notable American -dramas in active representation on the stage, -whereas eight years earlier there was but one.</p> - -<p>Similar signs of promise are showing themselves -in the direction of literature, social science, -and higher education generally, all of which -have an honored representative, still in middle -life, in Professor George E. Woodberry. Professor -Newcomb has just boldly pointed out that we -have intellectually grown, as a nation, “from the -high school of our Revolutionary ancestors to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_388"></a>[388]</span> -the college; from the college we have grown -to the university stage. Now we have grown to -a point where we need something beyond the -university.” What he claims for science is yet -more needed in the walks of pure literature, and -is there incomparably harder to attain, since it -has there to deal with that more subtle and -vaster form of mental action which culminates -in Shakespeare instead of Newton. This higher -effort, which the French Academy alone even -attempts,—however it may fail in the accomplished -results,—may at least be kept before us -as an ideal for American students and writers, -even should its demands be reduced to something -as simple as those laid down by Coleridge -when he announced his ability to “inform the -dullest writer how he might write an interesting -book.” “Let him,” says Coleridge, “relate -the events of his own life with honesty, not disguising -the feeling that accompanied them.”<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> -Thus simple, it would seem, are the requirements -for a really good book; but, alas! who is -to fulfill them? Yet if anywhere, why not in -America?</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">FOOTNOTES</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> <i>Outlook</i>, October, 1907.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Bancroft’s <i>History of the United States</i>, i, 247.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> E. W. Pierce’s <i>Indian Biography</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> Young’s <i>Chronicles of the Pilgrims</i>, 158.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Thatcher’s <i>Lives of Indians</i>, i, 119.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Thatcher’s <i>Lives of Indians</i>, i, 120.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> Young’s <i>Chronicles of the Pilgrims</i>, 194.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> Belknap’s <i>American Biography</i>, ii, 214.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Young’s <i>Chronicles of the Pilgrims</i>, 194, note.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> E. W. Pierce’s <i>Indian Biography</i>, 22.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> E. W. Pierce’s <i>Indian Biography</i>, 25.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> Sanborn and Harris’s <i>Alcott</i>, ii, 566.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> <i>Emerson in Concord</i>, 120.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Sanborn and Harris’s <i>Alcott</i>, i, 264.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> Sanborn and Harris’s <i>Alcott</i>, i, 262.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> Sanborn and Harris’s <i>Alcott</i>, ii, 477.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> <i>Memoirs</i>, ii, 473.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> <i>Address before the Alumni of Andover</i>, 1.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> <i>Address before the Alumni of Andover</i>, 10.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> <i>Address to Workingmen in Providence</i>, April 11, 1886, p. 19.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> Lodge’s <i>George Cabot</i>, 12, note.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> <i>Harvard Reminiscences</i>, by Andrew Preston Peabody, -D. D., LL. D., p. 18.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> “Toute l’Amérique ne possède pas un humoriste.” <i>Études -sur la Littérature et les Mœurs des Anglo-Américains</i>, Paris, -1851.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> <i>Nineteenth Century</i>, xxii, 324, 319.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> <i>Quarterly Review</i>, xcviii, 456.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p class="center">The Riverside Press<br /> -CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br /> -U . S . A</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARLYLE'S LAUGH, AND OTHER SURPRISES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin-top:1em; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE</div> -<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE</div> -<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most - other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions - whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms - of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online - at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you - are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws - of the country where you are located before using this eBook. - </div> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</div> -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/68129-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/68129-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f1ee1e6..0000000 --- a/old/68129-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68129-h/images/keats.jpg b/old/68129-h/images/keats.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 631391a..0000000 --- a/old/68129-h/images/keats.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68129-h/images/riverside.jpg b/old/68129-h/images/riverside.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 2a0aa08..0000000 --- a/old/68129-h/images/riverside.jpg +++ /dev/null |
