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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 . 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