The Literature of America and our favorite authors

MISSING IMAGE

Material Information

Title:
The Literature of America and our favorite authors containing the lives of our noted American and favorite English authors, together with choice selections from their writings ...
Physical Description:
672 p., 36 leaves of plates : ill., ports. ; 25 cm.
Language:
English
Creator:
Birdsall, William W ( William Wilfred ), 1854-1909 ( Compiler )
Jones, Rufus Matthew, 1863-1948 ( Compiler )
Gibson, Charles Dana, 1867-1944 ( Illustrator )
Linson, Corwin Knapp, b. 1864 ( Illustrator )
Irving ( Publisher )
Publisher:
Irving
Place of Publication:
New York
Publication Date:

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
American literature   ( lcsh )
English literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Authors, American -- Biography -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Authors, English -- Biography -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1898   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1898   ( lcsh )
Biography -- 1898   ( rbgenr )
Genre:
Children's stories -- 1898.
Children's poetry -- 1898.
Biographies -- 1898.   ( rbgenr )

Notes

Statement of Responsibility:
The Literature of America and our favorite authors : containing the lives of our noted American and favorite English authors, together with choice selections from their writings embracing the great poets of England and America, famous novelists, distinguished essayists and historians, our humorists, noted journalists and magazine contributors, statesmen in literature, noted women in literature, popular writers for young people, great orators and public lecturers, etc. compiled and edited by William Wilfred Birdsall, Rufus M. Jones, and others ; embellished with nearly one hundred and fifty half-tone portraits and about 200 text illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson, Corwin K. Linson and others.
General Note:
Date of publication on t.p. verso and imprint from spine.
General Note:
Publisher's name from spine.
General Note:
Title page printed in red and black.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002224107
oclc - 45156662
notis - ALG4368
System ID:
UF00087586:00001


This item is only available as the following downloads:


Full Text











































































































































































MOT
po

. . . . . . . .
W A .. .. .....






r


THE NEW CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY, WASHINGTON, D. C.








The Literature of America


AND


OUR FAVORITE AUTHORS

CONTAINING

THE LIVES OF OUR NOTED AMERICAN AND
FAVORITE ENGLISH AUTHORS.

TOGETHER WITH

CHOICE SELECTIONS FROM THEIR WRITINGS

EMBRACING
THE GREAT POETS OF ENGLAND AND AMERICA, FAMOUS NOVELISTS, DISTINGUISHED ESSAYISTS AND
HISTORIANS, OUR HUMORISTS, NOTED JOURNALISTS AND MAGAZINE CONTRIBUTORS, STATESMEN
IN LITERATURE, NOTED WOMEN IN LITERATURE, POPULAR WRITERS FOR YOUNG
PEOPLE, GREAT ORATORS AND PUBLIC LECTURERS, ETC.


COMPILED AND EDITED BY
WILLIAM WILFRED BIRDSALL, A. B., Principal of Central School, Philadelphia
RUFUS M. JONES, A. M., Professor of Philosophy, Haverford College, and others


EMBELLISHED WITH NEARLY
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY HALF-TONE PORTRAITS

AND ABOUT 200 TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS


BY CHARLES DANA GIBSON, CORWIN K. LINSON AND OTHERS


















































Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1898, by
W. E. SCULL,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
All rights reserved.


ALL PERSONS ARE WARNED NOT TO INFRINGE UPON OUR COPYRIGHT 1Y USING EITHER THE
MATTER OR THE PICTURES IN THIS VOLUME.













GENERAL DEPARTMENTS.


PART 1.


2.


3.

4.


5.


6.


7.


8.


9.


10.


11.


12.

S13.


GREAT POETS OF AMERICA, .


OUR MOST NOTED NOVELISTS, ..


FAMOUS WOMEN NOVELISTS, .

REPRESENTATIVE WOMEN POETS OF AMERICA, .


WELL-KNOWN ESSAYISTS, CRITICS AND SKETCH WRITERS,


GREAT AMERICAN HISTORIANS AND BIOGRAPHERS,


OUR NATIONAL HUMORISTS, . .


POPULAR WRITERS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE, .


NOTED JOURNALISTS AND MAGAZINE CONTRIBUTORS,


GREAT ORATORS AND POPULAR LECTURERS,


FAMOUS WOMEN ORATORS AND REFORMERS,


MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES AND CHOICE GEMS, .

SEVENTEEN OF OUR FAVORITE ENGLISH AUTHORS,


. 33


165


S. 218

252


271


311


. 345


S380


S. 401


433


S . 469


S 499

549













ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.


Our obligation to the following publishers is respectfully and gratefully acknowledged, since, without the
courtesies and assistance of these publishers and a number of the living authors, it would have been
impossible to issue this volume.
Copyright selections from the following authors are used by the permission of and special arrangement
with MESSRS. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., their authorized publishers:-Ralph Waldo
Emerson, Henry W. Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, Bayard Taylor, Maurice
Thompson, Colonel John Hay, Bret Harte, William Dean Howells, Edward Bellamy, Charles Egbert
Craddock (Miss Murfree), Elizabeth Stuart Phelps (Ward), Octave Thanet (Miss French), Alice Cary,
Phoebe Cary, Charles Dudley Warner, E. C. Stedman, James Parton, John Fiske and Sarah Jane Lippincott.
TO THE CENTURY CO., we are indebted for selections from Richard Watson Gilder, James
Whitcomb Riley and Francis Richard Stockton.
TO CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, for extracts from Eugene Field.
TO HARPER & BROTHERS, for selections from Will Carleton, General Lew Wallace, W. D.
Howells, Thomas Nelson Page, John L. Motley, Charles Follen Adams and Lyman Abbott.
TO ROBERTS BROTHERS, for selections from Edward Everett Hale, Helen Hunt Jackson,
Louise Chandler Moulton and Louisa M. Alcott.
TO ORANGE, JUDD & CO., for extracts from Edward Eggleston.
TO DODD, MEAD & CO., for selections from E. P. Roe, Marion Harland (Mrs. Terhune), Amelia
E. Barr and Martha Finley.
TO D. APPLETON & CO., for Wm. Cullen Bryant and John Bach McMaster.
TO MACMILLAN & CO., for F. Marion Crawford.
10 HORACE L. TRA UBEL, Executor, for Walt Whitman.
TO ESTES & LA URIA T, for Gail Hamilton (Mary Abigail Dodge).
TO LITTLE, BROWN & CO., for Francis Parkman.
TO FUNK & WAGNALLS, for Josiah Allen's Wife (Miss Holley).
TO LEE & SHEPARD, for Yawcob Strauss (Charles Follen Adams), Oliver Optic (William T.
Adams) and Mary A. Livermore.
TO J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., for Bill Nye (Edgar Wilson Nye).
TO GEORGE RO UTLEDGE & SONS, for Uncle Remus (Joel C. Harris).
TO TICKNOR & CO., for Julian Hawthorne.
TO PORTER & 6 OA TES, for Edward Ellis and Horatio Alger.
TO WILLIAM F. GILL & CO., for Whitelaw Reid.
TO C H. HUDGINS & CO., for Henry W. Grady.
TO THE COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE," for Julian Hawthorne.
TO T. B. PETERSON & BROS., for Frances Hodgson Burnett.
TO JAS. R. OSGOOD & CO., for Jane Goodwin Austin.
TO GEO. R. SHEPARD, for Thomas Wentworth Higginson.
TO J. LEWIS STA CKPOLE, for John L. Motley.
Besides the above, we are under special obligation to a number of authors who kindly furnished, in
answer to our request, selections which they considered representative of their writings.

























THE DISTINCTIVE PURPOSE AND PLAN OF THIS VOLUME.

HIS work has been designed an d prepared with a view to presenting an
outline of American literati re in such a manner ai to stimulate a
love for good reading and especially to encourage the study of the
lives and writings of our American authors. The plan of this work
is unique and original, and possesses certain helpful and interesting
features, which-so far as we are aware-have been contemplated by
no.other single volume.
The first and main purpose of the work is to present to our American homes a
mass of wholesome, varied and well-selected reading matter. In this respect it is
substantially a volume for the family. America is pre-eminently a country of
homes. These homes are the schools of citizenship, and-next to the Bible, which
is the foundation of our morals and laws-we need those books which at once enter-
tain and instruct, and, at the same time, stimulate patriotism and pride for our
native land.
This book seeks to meet this demand. Four-fifths of our space is devoted ex-
clusively to American literature. Nearly all other volumes of selections are made
up chiefly from foreign authors. The reason for this is obvious. Foreign publications
until within the last few years have been free of copyright restrictions. Anything
might be chosen and copied from them while American authors were protected by
law from such outrages. Consequently, American material under forty-two years of
age could not be used without the consent of the owner of the copyright. The
expense and the difficulty of obtaining these permissions were too great to warrant
compilers and publishers in using American material. The constantly growing
demand, however, for a work of this class has encouraged the publishers of this






THE DISTINCTIVE PURPOSE AND PLAN OF THIS VOLUME.


volume to undertake the task. The publishers of the works from which these selec-
tions are made and many living authors represented have been corresponded with,
and it is only through the joint courtesy and co-operation of these many publishers
and authors that the production of this volume has been made possible. Due
acknowledgment will be found elsewhere. In a number of instances the selections
have been made by the authors themselves, who have also rendered other valu-
able assistance in supplying data and photographs.
The second distinctive point of merit in the plan of the work is the biographical
feature, which gives the story of each author's life separately, treating them both
personally and as writers. Longfellow remarked in "Hyperion "-" If you once
understand the character of an author the comprehension of his writings becomes
easy." He might have gone further and stated that when we have once read the
life of an author his writings become the more interesting. Goethe assures us that
"Every author portrays himself in his works even though it be against his will."
The patriarch in the Scriptures had the same thought in his mind when he exclaimed
"Oh! that mine' enemy had written a book." Human nature remains the same.
Any book takes on a new phase of value and interest to us the moment we know
the story of the writer, whether we agree with his statements and theories or not.
These biographical sketches, which in every case are placed immediately before the
selections from an author, give, in addition to the story of his life, a list of the
principal books he has written, and the dates of publication, together with com-
ments on his literary style and in many instances reviews of his best known works
This, with the selections which follow, established that necessary bond of sympathy
and relationship which should exist in the mind of the reader between every author
and his writings. Furthermore, under this arrangement the biography of each
author and the selections from his works compose a complete and independent
chapter in the volume, so that the writer may be taken up and studied or read alone,
or in connection with others in the particular class to which he belongs.
This brings us to the third point of classification. Other volumes of selections
-where they have been classified at all-have usually placed selections of similar
character together under the various heads of Narrative and Descriptive, Moral and
Religious, Historical, etc. On the contrary, it has appeared to us the better plan
in the construction of this volume to classify the authors, rather than, by dividing
their selections, scatter the children of one parent in many different quarters.
There has been no small difficulty in doing this in the cases of some of our versatile
writers. Emerson, for instance, with his poetry, philosophy and essays, and Holmes,
with his wit and humor, his essays, his novels and his poetry. Where should they
be placed? Summing them up, we find their writings-whether written in stanzas
of metred lines or all the way across the page, and whether they talked philosophy
or indulged in humor-were predominated by the spirit of poetry. Therefore,
with their varied brood, Emerson and Holmes were taken off to the Poet's
Corner," which is made all the richer and more enjoyable by the variety of their
gems of prose. Hence our classifications and groupings are as Poets, Novelists,
Historians, Journalists, Humorists, Essayists, Critics, Orators, etc., placing each
author in the department to which he most belongs, enabling the reader to read and
compare him in his best element with others of the same class.






THE DISTINCTIVE PURPOSE AND PLAN OF THIS VOLUME.


Part I, "Great Poets of America," comprises twenty of our most famous and
popular writers of verse. The work necessarily begins with that immortal "Seven
Stars" of poesy in the galaxy of our literary heavens-Bryant, Poe, Longfel-
low, Emerson, Whittier, Holmes and Lowell. Succeeding these are those of
lesser magnitude, many of whom are still living and some who have won fame
in other fields of literature which divides honors with their poetry.
The remaining twelve parts of the book treat in similar manner about ninety-five
additional authors, embracing noted novelists, representative women poets ofAmerica;
essayists, critics and sketch writers; great American historians and biographers;
our national humorists; popular writers for young people; noted journalists and
magazine contributors; great orators and popular lecturers; famous women orators
and reformers, and miscellaneous masterpieces from many American authors whose
fame rests largely upon one or two productions. The work appropriately closes with
a department of over one hundred and fifty pages of English literature, comprising
the lives and best writings of the most famous English, Scotch and Irish authors,
whose names and works are household words in America, and without which no
volume of literature in the language would be complete. Thus, it will be seen that
in this volume the whole field of American letters, with the best from the greatest
of British authors, has been gleaned to make the work the best and most represen-
tative of our literature possible within the scope of a single volume.
In making a list of authors in whom the 'public were sufficiently interested to
entitle them to a place in a work like this, naturally they were found to be entirely
too numerous to be all included in one book. The absence of many good names
from the volume is, therefore, explained by the fact that the editor has been driven
to the necessity of selecting, first, those whom he deemed pre-eminently prominent,
and, after that, making room for those who best represent a certain class or par-
ticular phase of our literature.
To those authors who have so kindly responded to our requests for courtesies.
and whose names do not appear, the above explanation is offered. The omission
was imperative in order that those treated might be allowed sufficient space to make
the work as complete and representative as might be reasonably expected.
Special attention has been given to illustrations. We have inserted portraits of
all the authors whose photographs we could obtain, and have, also, given views of the
homes and studies of many. A large number of special drawings have also been
made to illustrate the text of selections. The whole number of portraits and other
illustrations amount to over three hundred, all of which are strictly illustrative of
the authors or their writings. None are put in as mere ornaments. We have,
furthermore, taken particular care to arrange a number of special groups, placing
those authors which belong in one class or division of a class together on a page.
One group on a page represents our greatest poets; another, well-known western
poets; another, famous historians; another, writers for young people; another,
American humorists, etc. These groups are all arranged by artists in various
designs of ornamental setting. In- many cases we have also had special designs
made by artists for commemorative and historic pictures of famous authors. These
drawings set forth in a pictorial form leading scenes in the life and labors of the
author represented,















LIST OF PORTRAITS

MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THIS VOLUME.



ARRANGED ALPHABETICALLY.


Abbott, Lyman.
Adams, Charles Follen (Yawcob Strauss).
Adams, William T. (Oliver Optic).
Alcott, A. Bronson.
Alcott, Louisa M.
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey.
Anthony, Susan B.
Austin, Alfred.
Austin, Jane Goodwin.

Bancroft, George H.
Barr, Amelia E.
Beecher, Henry Ward.
Bellamy, Edward.
Bright, John.
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett.
Browning, Robert.
Bryant, William Cullen.
Bulwer-Lytton, Edward.
Burdette, Robert J.
Burnett, Frances Hodgson.
Burns, Robert.
Byron, George Gordon.

Cable, George W.
Carleton, Will
Carlyle, Thomas.
Cary, Alice.
Cary, Phoebe.
Chaucer, Geoffrey.
Clay, Henry.
Clemens, Samuel L. (Mark Twain)
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor.
Cooper, James Fenimore.
Cooper, William.


Craddock, Charles Egbert (Mrs. Murfree).
Crawford, F. Marion.

Dana, Charles A.
Davis, Richard Harding.
Depew, Chauncey M.
Dickens, Charles.
Dickinson, Anna.
Disraeli, Benjamin.
Drummond, Henry.

Eggleston, Edward.
Eliot, George (Marian Evans).
Ellis, Edward S.
Emerson, Ralph Waldo.
Everett, Edward.

Farrar, Frederick W.
Field, Eugene.
Finley, Martha.
French, Alice (Octave Thanet).
Fronde, James Anthony.
Fuller, Margaret.

Gibbon. Edward.
Gilder, Richard Watson.
Gladstone, William E.
Goldsmith, Oliver.
Gough, John B.
Grady, Henry W.
Greeley, Horace.

Hale, Edward Everett.
Halstead, Murat.
Harris, Joel Chandler.
Harte, Bret,
I.U






LIST OF PORTRAITS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THIS VOLUME.


Hawthorne, Nathaniel.
Hawthorne, Julian.
Hay, Col. John.
Hemans, Felicia.
Henry, Patrick.
Higginson, Thomas Wentworth.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell.
Howells, William Dean.
Howe, Julia Ward.

Jrving, Washington.

Jackson, Helen Hunt.
Johnson, Ben.

Larcom, Lucy.
Lippincott, Sara Jane (Grace Greenwood)
Livermore, Mary A.
Lockwood, Belva Ann.
Longfellow, Henry W.
Lowell, James Russell.

Mabie, Hamilton W.
Macaulay, Thomas Babington.
McMaster, John B.
Miller, Joaquin.
Milton, John.
Mitchell, Donald G. (Ik Marvel).
Moore, Thomas.
Motley, John L.
Moulton, Louise Chandler.

Nye, Edgar Wilson (Bill Nye).

Oliphant, Mrs. Margaret.

Page, Thomas Nelson.
Parton, James.
Phillips, Wendell.
Pitt, William.
Poe, Edgar A.
-ope, Alexander.


Prescott, Willam H.

Reid, Whitelaw.
Riley, James Whitcomb.
Roe, Edward Payson.
Ruskin, John.

Scott, Sir Walter.
Shakespeare, William.
Shaw, Albert.
Shaw, Henry W. (Josh Billings).
Shelley, Percy Bysshe.
Southey, Robert.
Sigourney, Lydia H.
Smith, Elizabeth Oakes.
Spencer, Edmund.
Spurgeon, Charles Haddon.
Stedman, Edmund Clarence.
Stanton, Elizabeth Cady.
Stockton, Frank.
Stoddard, Richard Henry.
Stowe, Harriet Beecher.

Tennyson, Alfred.
Terhune, Mary Virginia (Marion Harland).
Thackeray, William M.
Thoreau, Henry D.
Throllope, Anthony.

Wallace, General Lew.
Ward, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.
Ward, Mrs. Humphrey.
Warner, Chas. Dudley.
Watson, Rev. John (Ian McLaren).
Watterson, Henry W.
Webster, Daniel.
Whitman, Walt.
Whittier, John G.
Willard, Frances E.
Willis, Nathaniel P.
Wordsworth, William.
















LIST OF ENGRAVINGS

MADE EXPRESSLY TO ILLUSTRATE THE TEXT IN THIS VOLUME.


American Authors..........................
The Poets of New England ...................
The Village Smithy .........................
Corn-shucking in South Carolina..............
The City in the Sea ........................
Helen .....................................
The Raven.................................
The Wayside Inn ...........................
" They Love to See the Flaming Forge ".......
Home of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Concord, Mass.
Home of James R. Lowell, Cambridge, Mass...
Thomas B. Aldrich's Study..................
Joaquin Miller's Study, Oakland, Cal..........
The Old Manse.............................
Uncle Tom and His Baby....................
A Scene in Uncle Tom's Cabin................
Miss Ophelia and Topsy.....................
Sunnyside, the Home of Washington Irving....
"'Pshaw!' said My Aunt Tabitha "...........
"Isaac, You are a Sad Fellow !"..............
"My Aunt was Dozing ".................
"The Justice of the Peace ...............
"A Perfect Field of Chivalry "...............
"Tricked Out".............................
"There is After All But One Youth-time".....
"Long, Weary Days of Confinement" ........
"Startling Another from a Doze ".............
"And Eat a Dinner in a Tavern ".............
"Away on a Visit in a Coach "..............
"It is Rather a Pretty Name to Write ".......
"The Doctor Lifts You in His Arms "........
"Who Sometimes Makes You Stand Up To-
gether ".............. .......... ......
"Listening Attentively to Some Grievous Com-
plaint". ...............................
"Some of Bidlow's Boys "..................
"A Squire "...............................
"Some Tidy Old Lady in Black".............
The Choir................................


PAGE
11 "Fat Old Ladies in Iron Spectacles ".......
14 The Deacon.............................
31 "In Tones of Tender Admonition "...........
44 "The Old Men Gather on the Sunny Side of the
49 Building"................... ........
51 "The Firelight Glimmers Upon the Walls of
55 Your Home ".......................
59 On the Farm in Canada .....................
62 The Old W ell-curb..........................
73 Immigrant Women Hoeing Potatoes...........
101 W waiting for Milking-time ....................
131 After W ork...................... ..........
161 A Winter Evening on the Farm...............
174 Sunday Afternoon .................. .......
219 Churning in the Barn.................. .....
221 A Sunny Play-ground......................
223 The Old Mill .........................
272 After a Wet Snow-storm...................
286 Maple-sugar Time...........................
286 The Black Sheep ........................
287 Noon in the Sheep-lot.................... ...
287 The Mill Pond ............................
288 Feeding the Chickens ......................
288 Picking.Daisies............................
288 Making Friends. ..................... ...
289 Mr. Prescott's House at Pepperett, Mass.......
289 Henry Hudson Offering the Indians Liquor.....
290 A Cottonfield in Louisiana.....................
290 Daniel Webster's Home, Marshfield, Mass.....
290 "The Stockings Were Hung by the Chimney
291 with Care .........................
"A Miniature Sleigh and Eight Reindeer "....
291 "Down the Chimney came St. Nicholas"......
The Tourist..............................
292 At the Lunch Stand.......................
292 The Street to the Sea.......................
293 The Oiler..............................
293 In Wait. ..................................
294 Expecting a Caller.........................
12






ENGRAVINGS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THIS VOLUME.


A Veteran of the Ranks....................
A Wide-reaching Affair.....................
"Who's That Coming ? "...................
Leisure......................................
McClellan's Saddle ............ ..............
" Gracious Goodness !"......................
Shooting the Steam Arrow..................
On Wings of Hoofs..........................
Miniature Men and Women..................
Waiting Orders............................
Bon Voyage..............................
A Follower of the Hounds...................
Confidences................................
A Tete-h-tete..............................
Argument....................... ..........
An American Girl..........................
Le Nez Parisien.............................
Problems..................................
In the Park..................................
A World's Fair Group .....................
"A Cosy Sit Down over Oysters and Champagne"'
" Madge," she says, "is sitting by me with her
Work "......................... ...
"Digging Sturdily at his Tasks ..........
"Upon the Grassy Bank of a Stream "........
"He Wears his Honor at the Public Tables ..
The Moonlit Walks Upon the Hills "........
"We are Quite Alone, Now, My Boy "........
"Death-It is a Terrible Word ".............
"Plump and Thriving ".....................
"Read It Again "....................... ..
"You Put Your Hands in Your Pockets and
Look Out Upon the Tossing Sea ",........
"Blue-eyed Madge" .......................
" The Old Clergyman Sleeps Beneath a Brown-
stone Slab"............................
" You Love Those Flowers "................
"And You Have Worn This, Maggie ?".......
"A Father! "..................... .....
Your Country Home........................
"The Time of Power is Past ".............
"Madge, Madge, Must It Be ?"..............
That is it, Maggie, the Old Home.............
A New Betrothal ...........................
"It is Getting Dark, Maggie "............
Celebrated English Poets....................
Souvenir of Shakespeare............ .....
Ann Hathaway's Cottage....................


Garrick and Shakespeare's Bust............... 551
Fountain and Clock Tower Erected by George W.
Childs at Stratford-on-Avon.............. 552
Shakespeare's House, Stratford-on-Avon.......... 554
"In a Cowslip's Bell I Lie"................. 556
"Come Apace, Good Audrey; I will Fetch up
Your Goats, Audrey "................... 558
"There is a Willow Grows Aslant a Brook "... 560
Othello's W ooing........................... 564
'"From Betwixt Two Aged Oakes "-L'Allegro. 569
Gray's Monument in the Churchyard at Stoke
Pogis................................... 573
Souvenir of Burns ......................... 575
"The De'il Cam Fiddlin' Thro' the Town ".... 576
"Wilt Thou be My Dearie ?"................ 577
Man was Made to Mourn..................... 578
The Smith and Thee Got Roarin' Fon "...... 579
"The Sire Turns O'er Wi' Patriarchal Grace". 581
The Ancient Mariner........................ 585
"He Cannot Chuse but Hear"............... 586
"A Speck, A Mist, A Shape, I Wist! "........ 588
The Mariner ..... Is Gone ................ 590
Oh, God That Bread Should be so Dear "... 593
Take Her Up Tenderly, Lift Her With Care" 595
The Tomb of Wordsworth ................... 597
Out Flew the Web, and Floated Wide"...... 604
"An Arm Rose Up from Out the Bosom of the
Lake"................................. 606
"The Splendor Falls on Castle Walls "........ 607
Souvenir of Scott....... ................... 614
Scott's Study at Abbottsford.................. 615
Melrose Abbey............................. 617
Kenilworth Castle........................... 619
Souvenir of Dickens ....................... 625
Birthplace of Dickens, Portsmouth, England... 626
Gadshill, the Home of Charles Dickens........ 627
"Mr. Pickwick was the Personification of Kind-
ness and Humanity".................... 629
Captain Cuttle ................. ..... ..... 631
Dicken's "Old Curiosity Shop"............. 633
Mr. Micawber.............................. 634
Sam Weller ................................ 636
Major Pendennis .......................... 639
Becky Sharp................................ 644
Colonel Newcome.......................... 645
Gladstone's Study ......................... 663
Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, their Children and
Grandchildren.............................. 665
















FULL-PAGE GROUPS

AND SPECIAL DESIGNS.





EDGAR ALLAN POE-HIS HOME, MONUMENT, ETC.
INTERIOR OF LONGFELLOW'S HOME, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON-HIS BROOK FARM FRIENDS, ETC.
JOHN G. WHITTIER-HIS HOME AND BIRTHPLACE.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES-HIS BIRTHPLACE AND STUDY.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL IN HIS STUDY.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE-HIS BIRTHPLACE, WAYSIDE INN, ETC.
THE NEW CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY.
SIx GREAT AMERICAN POETS.
WELL-KNOWN AMERICAN POETS.
WELL-KNOWN WESTERN POETS.
SIx TYPICAL AMERICAN NOVELISTS.
POPULAR AMERICAN NOVELISTS.
NOTED WOMEN NOVELISTS.
WOMEN POETS OF AMERICA.
DISTINGUISHED ESSAYISTS.AND LITERARY CRITICS.
GREAT AMERICAN HISTORIANS AND BIOGRAPHERS.
OUR NATIONAL HUMORISTS.
POPULAR WRITERS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
NOTED AMERICAN JOURNALISTS AND MAGAZINE CONTRIBUTORS.
GREAT AMERICAN ORATORS AND POPULAR LECTURERS.
FAMOUS WOMEN ORATORS AND REFORMERS.
THE GREAT POETS OF ENGLAND.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, SPECIAL DESIGN.
ROBERT BURNS, SPECIAL DESIGN.
THE GREAT POETS OF ENGLAND.
THE GREAT POETS OF ENGLAND.
GREAT ENGLISH HISTORIANS AND PROSE WRITERS.
FAMOUS ENGLISH NOVELISTS.
ENGLISH STATESMEN IN LITERATURE.
WRITERS OF RELIGIOUS CLASSICS.
NOTED ENGLISH WOMEN IN LITERATURE.
14


















TABLE OF CONTENTS.


WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
An Author at Fourteen..................
The Influence of his Father...............
Bryant's Best Known Poems..............
Personal Appearance ....................
A Long and Useful Life.................
'Thanatopsis'............... ....... ..
'Waiting By the Gate'..................
'Blessed are They That Mourn '...........
'Antiquity of Freedom'..................
'To a Water Fowl'......................
'Robert of Lincoln' ....................
'Drought'...........................
'The Past'...........................
'The Murdered Traveler'................
'The Battle-Field'......................
'The Crowded Street'...................
'Fitz Greene Halleck (Notice of) '.........
'A Corn-Shucking in South Carolina'......

EDGAR ALLEN POE.
Comparison with Other American Poets....
Place of Birth and Ancestry.............
Career as a Student ....................
The Sadness of his Life and Its Influence
Upon his Literature.................
Conflicting Statements of his Biographers..
Great as a Story Writer and as a Poet......
His Literary Labors and Productions.......
'The City in the Sea'...................
'Annabel Lee'..........................
'To Helen'..............................
'Israfel'...............................
'To One in Paradise'....................
'Lenore'........................ ........
'The Bells'..............................
'The Raven '..........................

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
His Place in Literature.,.................


Comparison With American and English
Poets ..............................
His Education, Collegemates and Home....
The Wayside Inn (A view of)............
His Domestic Life. His Poems.........
His Critics, Poe, Margaret Fuller, Duyckink
Prose Works and Translations ...........
Longfellow's Genius ...................
'The Psalm of Life '...................
'The Village Blacksmith'..............
'The Bridge '................... .......
'Resignation '..................... ...
'God's Acre'.........................
'Excelsior '.............................
'The Rainy Day'......................
'The Wreck of the Hesperus'............
'The Old Clock On the Stairs'............
'The Skeleton in Armour'...............
'King Witlaf's Drinking Horn'..........
'Evangeline On the Prairie '............
'Literary Fame (Prose)'.... ...........


RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
The Difficulty of Classifying Emerson......
The Liberator of American Letters.......
A Master of Language..................
Emerson and Franklin...................
Birth, Education, Early Life..............
Home at Concord, Brook-Farm Enterprise..
Influence on Other Writers..............
Modern Communism and the New Theology
'Hymn Sung at the Completion of the Con-
cord Monument (1836)'............
'The Rhodora'.........................
'A True Hero'.........................
'Mountain and Squirrel'................
'The Snow-Storm'....................
'The Problem' ........................
'Traveling'....... ..................
I5


PAGE






CONTENTS.


PAGE


'The Compensation of Calamity'.......... 78
'Self Reliance '........................ 78
'Nature'............................... 78


JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
Whittier's Humble Birth, Ancestry, Education.80
Poet of the Abolitionists................. 81
His Poems and His Prose............... 81
Our Most Distinctively American Poet..... 82
New England's History Embalmed in Verse 82
'My Playmate '........................ 83
'The Changeling'...................... 83
'The Workskip of Nature'............... 85
'The Bare-foot Boy '................. 85
'Maud Muller'......................... 86
'Memories' ........... ...... .. ...... 87
'In Prison For Debt'................... 88
'The Storm' (From 'Snow Bound')..... 89
'Ichabod'......................... ..... 90


OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Admired by the English-speaking World... 91
His Education and Popularity ............ 91
Early Poems.................... ....... 92
Autocrat and Professor at the Breakfast
Table ...................................... 92
Holmes' Genial and Lovable Nature....... 92
'Bill and Joe' ............. ............ 94
Union and Liberty' .................... 94
'Old Ironsides'......................... 95
My Aunt'............................ 95
'The Height of the Ridiculous '.......... 95
'The Chambered Nautilus'........... 96
'Old Age and the Professor' (Prose)...... 96
'The Brain' (Prose).................... 97
My Last Walk with the School Mistress'. 97
A Random Conversation on Old Maxims,
Boston and other Towns' .......... 98


JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
Profoundest of American Poets........... 100
Early Life and Beginning in Literature .... 100
Marriage, and the Influence of his Wife... 101
Home at Cambridge (view of)............ 101
Longfellow's Poem on Mrs. Lowell's Death, 101
Humorous Poems and Prose Writings ..... 102
Public Career of the Author ............. 103
SHow Lowell is Regarded by Scholars ...... 103
'The Gothic Genius' (From 'The Cathedral') 104


The Rose'..............................
'The Heritage '................. ......
'Act For Truth'.......................
'The First Snow-Fall'..................
'Fourth-of-July Ode '....................
'The Dandelion '....................
'The Alpine Sheep' (by Mrs. Lowell)......


BAYARD TAYLOR.
Life as a Farmer Boy...................
Education .... ......... ..... ..........
His First Book.......................
Encouragement from Horace Greeley......
A Two Years' Tramp Through Europe ....
A Most Delightful Book of Travel..........
An Inveterate Nomad...................
Public Career of the Author .............
'The Bison Track'.....................
'The Song of the Camp '................
'Bedouin Song'.......................
'The Arab to the Palm '...............
'Life on the Nile '......................


NATHANIEL P. WILLIS.
A Devotee of Fashion.................
Birth and Ancestors ....................
Educational Facilities ..................
His First Poems..........................
A Four Years' Tour in Europe............
Marriage and Home....................
A Second Journey to England...........
An Untiring Worker ....................
D eath ..................................
'David's Lament for Absalom'...........
'The Dying Alchemist'................
'The Belfry Pigeon '........... ........


RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.
His Humble Origin and Early Struggles...
Introduction into Literature ..............
Stoddard's Style......................
Literary Dinner in His Honor (1892) ......
Ik. Marvel's Letter and Whitcomb Riley's
Poem ..................... ..... ...
'A Curtain Call'.......................
'Hymn to the Beautiful'...............
'A Dirge'..................... ......
'The Shadow of the Hand'..............
A Serenade'................ .......






CONTENTS.


WALTER WHITMAN (WAL).
The Estimates of Critics.................
Charms of Whitman's Poetry.............
Life and Works of the Poet..............
Biographies of the Poet............. ...
'Darest Thou Now, O Soul'..............
'O Captain I My Captain '...............
'In All, Myself'......... ..............
'Old Ireland"'. ........ ..........
'Pman of Joy '........... ...............

JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON.
Birth and Early Life....................
A Thorough Southerner .................
Man of Letters and Scientist .............
Chief of the State Geological Survey......
Works of the Author...................
'Ceres '.............. .................
'D iana'................................

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.
At the Head of Modern Lyrical Writers....
Birth and Early Life....................
M ercantile Career ................ ......
War Correspondent.....................
Life in Boston .........................
Works ............. .................
Visit to England........................
'Alec Yeaton's Son'.....................
'On Lynn Terrace'.....................
'Sargent's Portrait of Edwin Booth at
"The Players."'....................

RICHARD WATSON GILDER.
Purity of Sentiment and Delicacy of Ex-
pression........................ .
Education and Early Life................
Journalist ...........................
Editor of "Hours at Home ".............
Politician and Reformer.................
A Staunch Friend of our Colleges..........
A Man of Exalted Ideals................
'Sonnet (After the Italian)'.............
'The Life Mask of Abraham Lincoln '.....
'Sheridan'............. .......... ....
'Sunset From the Train'.................
'0 Silver River Flowing to the Sea'.......
'There is Nothing New Under the Sun'....
'Memorial Day'.........................
A Woman's Thought'.................
2


PAGE
JOHN HAY.
124 His Western Birth and Education .........
125 Service to President Lincoln ............
125 Military Career......................
125 Appointed Ambassador to GreatBritain ....
126 A List of His Books ..................
126 How He Came to Write" Little Breeches"'
126 Little Breeches' ......................
127 'Jim Bludso '........................
127 How it Happened'...................

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.
Great Popularity with the Masses.........
128 A Poet of the Country People ............
128 Birth and Education.................
128 First Occupation .......................
128 Congratulated by Longfellow ............
128 Mr. Riley's Methods of Work ............
129 The Poet's Home................. ....
129 Constantly "on the Wing ".............
'A Boy's Mother'........ .... .......
'Thoughts on the Late War' ............
130 'Our Hired Girl'.........................
130 'The Raggedy Man' ...................
130 BRET HARTE.
130 The Poet of the Mining Camp...........
130 Birth and Education...................
130 Emigrated to California.................
131 Schoolteacher and Miner ..............
132 Position on a Frontier Paper..............
132 Editorial Position on the Golden Era ..
Secretary of the U. S. Mint at San Francisco.
133 In Chicago and Boston ................
U. S. Consul to Crefield and Glasgow......
A List of his Works.....................
'The Society Upon the Stanislaus '........
134 'Dickens in Camp'....................
134
134 EUGENE FIELD.
134 The "Poet of Child Life "..............
135 Troups of Children for his Friends ........
135 Peace-maker Among the Small Ones ......
135 A Feast with his Little Friends...........
136 A Devoted Husband...................
136 CongenialAssociationwithhisFellow-workers
136 Birth and Early Life ..................
137 His Works ............................
137 'Our Two Opinions'....................
137 'Lullaby' ..............................
138 'A Dutch Lullaby'......................
138 'A Norse Lullaby'.....................







CONTENTS.


WILL CARLETON.
His Poems Favorites for Recitation........ 155
Birth and Early Life .................... 155
Teacher, Farmhand and College Graduate.. 155
Journalist and Lecturer................. 155
A List of his Works .................... 156
'Betsy and I Are Out'................. 156
'Gone With a Handsomer Man '.......... 157

CINCINNATUS HINER MILLER (JOAQUIN).
Removal from Indiana to Oregon ......... 160
Experiences in Mining and Filibustering ... 160
Marries and Becomes Editor and Lawyer... 160
Visit to London to Seek a Publisher....... 161
'Thoughts of My Western Home'........ 162
'Mount Shasta'....................... 162
'Kit Carson's Ride'.................... 163
'J. Miller's Alaska Letter'............... 164

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.
First American Novelist................. 165
Birth and Childhood .................... 165
The Wilderness his Teacher.............. 165
Sailor Life............................ 166
Marriage and Home .................... 166
"The Spy"............................ 166
Plaudits From Both Sides of the Atlantic... 166
The First Genuine Salt-water Novel....... 167
Removal to New York................... 167
A Six Years' Visit to Europe............ 167
His Remaining Nineteen Years........... 168
'Encounter With a Panther'............ 169
'The Capture of a Whale'.............. 171

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
The Greatest of American Romancers ..... 173
Birth, Ancestors, and Childhood.......... 173
Twelve Years of Solitary Existence........ 173
His First Book ........................ 174
"Twice Told Tales "..................... 174
A Staunch Democrat ................... 175
Marriage and the Old Manse". ......... 175
The Masterpiece in American Fiction...... 175
Books Written by Hawthorne............ 176
Death and Funeral ..................... 176
'Emerson and the Emersonites '.......... 177
'Pearl' .............................. 177
'Sights From a Steeple'................. 179
A Reminiscence of Early Life'........... 179


EDWARD EVERETT HALE.
Among the Best Known American Authors 181
A Noted Lecturer...................... 181
Birth and Education..................... 181
Career as a Clergyman.................. 181
Newspaper and Magazine Work................ 181
A Prominent Short-Story-teller ........... 182
An Historical Writer of Great Prominence. 182
Patriotic Interest in Public Affairs ........ 182
'Lost' .............................. 182


WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.
One of the Greatest of Modern American
Novelists........................ 184
Birth and Early Life ..................... 184
Editor of the Ohio State Journal"...... 184
His First Volume of Verse............... 184
His "Life of Abraham Lincoln ".......... 184
Consul to Venice....................... 184
Mr. Howells' Works.................... 185
Editor of the "Atlantic Monthly "......... 185
'The First Boarder'..................... 186
'Impressions on Visiting Pompeii'........ 187
Venetian Vagabonds' .................. 188


GENERAL LEW WALLACE.
Began His Literary Career Late in Life.... 189
Birth and Early Life.................... 189
Lawyer and Soldier ..................... 189
Governor of Utah..................... 189
Appointed Minister to Turkey............ 189
His Most Popular Book ................ 190
Enormous Circulation .................. 190
'Description of Christ'................ 190
'The Prince of India Teaches Re-incarnation' 190
'The Prayer of the Wandering Jew'...... 191
'Death of Montezuma'.................. 191
'Description of Virgin Mary'............. 192

EDWARD EGGLESTON.
Birth and Early Life..................... 193
A Man of Self-culture ................. 193
His Early Training ..................... 193
Religious Devotion and Sacrifice .......... 194
Beginning of his Literary Career........... 194
What Distinguishes his Novels............ 194
List of his Chief Novels and Stories ...... 194
S'Spelling down the Master '............. 195







CONTENTS.


THOMAS NELSON PAGE.
Birth and Earliest Recollections ..........
Childhood, Ancestors, and Education......
His First Literary Success................
"In Ole Virginia" and other stories.......
Prominent Journalist and Lecturer........
A Tour Abroad ........................
'Old Sue'..............................

EDWARD PAYSON ROE.
Great Popularity Among the Masses.......
The Character of his Novels..............
Birth and Education......................
Served as Chaplain During the Civil War .
List of His Works......................
'Christine, Awake For Your Life'......

FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD.
"The Most Versatile of Modern Novelists".
Birth, Ancestors, and Early Life..........
Editor on the "Allahabad Herald "........
Varied Experiences.....................
How he Came to Write Mr. Isaacs ".....
His Most Popular Novels................
A Novel Written in Twenty-four Hours....
His Other Chief Works.................
'Horace Bellingham'...................
'In the Himalayas'.....................

FRANCIS RICHARD STOCKTON.
A Prolific and Popular Author............
Birth and Educational Training............
Engraver and Designer..................
One New Book Almost Every Year.......
Some of his Best Known Books..........
'The End of a Career' ................

EDWARD BELLAMY.
A Most Remarkable Sensation............
100,000 Copies Per Year ................
Mr. Belamy's Ideal....................
Birth and Education....................
His Books............................
An Ideal Home ........................
'Music in the Year 2000 '..............

GEORGE W. CABLE.
"Circumstances Make the Man".........
Birth and Early Life....................
Service in the Confederate Army..........
Errand Boy in a Store..................


On the New Orleans Picayune" ........ 214
D'~ytes his Life to Literature............ 215
His Most Prominent Works.............. 215
'The Doctor' .......................... 215

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
Ancestors, E th, and Girlhood ........... 218
Removal to Cincinnati .................. 218
A Trip Across the River ............... 218
Marriage ............................... 218
Severe Trials ........................... 19
A Memorable Year .................... 219
"Uncle Tom's Cabin".................. 220
Her Pen Never Idle ................... 221
Removal to Hartford, Conn............... 221
Her Death........................... 221
'The Little Evangelist '................. 222
'The Other World' ..................... 225

M. VIRGINIA TERHUNE (MARION
HARLAND).
Wide Variety of Talent................. 226
Birth and Education..................... 226
Marriage and Home............ ........ 226
Her Most Prominent Works............. 226
'A Manly Hero'....................... 227

MARY ABIGAIL DODGE (GAIL HAMILTON).
Essayist, Critic and Novelist............. 228
Birth and Education .................... 228
Career as a Writer ..................... 228
Her Published Volumes.................. 228
The Only Authorized Life of J. G. Blaine.. 229
'Fishing' ............................. 229

HELEN HUNT JACKSON.
Helen Hunt's Cabin..................... 231
Birth and Education......... .......... 231
Marriage and Removal to Newport, R. I... 231
Her First Poems ....................... 232
Great Distinction as a Writer ............ 232
Removal to Colorado.................... 232
At the Foot of Pike's Peak.............. 232
List of her Most Prominent Works........ 232
Death and Burial Place................... 232
Christmas Night at St. Peter's.......... 232
Choice of Colors'...................... 233

FRANCES H. BURNETT.
Pluck, Energy and Perseverance .......... 23
Her First Story........................ 235







CONTENTS.


Marriage and Tour in Europe.............
Her Children Stories...................
A Frequent Contributor to Periodicals....
'Pretty Polly P.'.........................

MARY N. MURFREE (CHAS. EGBERT
CRADDOCK).
An Amusing Story......................
Birth, Ancestry and Misfortunes............
A Student of Humanity .................
Her Style Bold and Full of Humor........
'The Confession'....................

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD.
Favorable Reception of Gates Ajar !"....
An Early W riter........................
A Long Series of Books..................
Marriage and Home............... ....
Her Purpose Always High...............
'The Hands at Hayle and Kelso's'.......

AMELIA E. BARR.
Popularity of her Works.................
Her Sorrows and Hardships..............
Birth and Early Education...............
Marriage and Travels....................
Death of her Husband and Four Sons......
An Instantly Successful Book.............
'Little Jan's Triumph '........ ......--
'The Old Piano'................ .. -

ALICE FRENCH (OCTAVE THANET).
A Genuine Yankee Woman..............
Her Puritan Ancestry....................
Education and First Manuscript...........
Her First Book..................... ..
Her Most Prominent Publications.........
Her nom-de-plume ......................
Philosopher, Artist and Novelist..........
An Assiduous Student of her Subjects.....
'Two Lost and Found'...................

JANE GOODWIN AUSTIN.
A Famous Daughter of the "Pilgrims "...
Birth and Parents ............ ... .......
A List of her Best Books................
Her Personality.........................
'An Afternoon in Nantucket'............

LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
The Most Prolific of American Women
W writers ..........................


Critical Estimate of her Works............
Birth and Educational Advantages........
Her First Book.............. ........
Some of her Other Works................
A Tour of Europe.......................
Death........ ......... ......... .
'Columbus' .......... ...........
The Alpine Flowers'....................
'N iagara'..............................
'Death of an Infant'....................
'A Butterfly on a Child's Grave '..........

ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
Ancestors and Birth..................
A Liberal Contributor to Periodicals.......
Her Published Works ...................
'The Step-mother'....................
'Guardian Angels'......................
'The Brook' ........................ ..
'The April Rain'. .. ......... .... ......
Flowers ... .....................
'Eros and Anteros '.............. ...

LUCY LARCOM.
Operative in a Cotton Factory............
Birth and Early Life.................
Her First Literary Production ............
Some of her Best Works.................
The Working Woman's Friend..........
'Hannah Binding Shoes '..............

ALICE AND PH(EBE CARY.
Their Birth and Early Lot................
Encouragement From Editors ...........
Their First Volume ....................
Some of their Prominent Works.........
A Comparison Between the Two Sisters....
One in Spirit through Life..............
United in Death......... .............
Pictures of Memory'..................
'Nobility '.................... .........
'The Gray Swan'............. ........
'To the Evening Zephyr'................
'Death Scene'................. .... ..
'Memories' ...... ...................
Equal to Either Fortune '...............
'Light '.........................

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.
Birth and Education...................
Her First Book at Nineteen Years.........






CONTENTS.


Her Following Publications ...............
Residence in Boston and Trips Abroad.....
A Systematic Worker ....................
Personal Friendship ....................
'If There Were Dreams to Sell'...........
'Wife to Husband'. .....................
'The Last Good-Bye' ...................
'Next Year'............................
'My Mother's Picture'..................

WASHINGTON IRVING.
The First Great Pioneer in American Letters
Birth and Ancestors............ ...... .....
Named After George Washington..........
Early Success as a Journalist..............
A Two Years' Trip in Europe.............
A Shrewd Advertisement.................
Seventeen Years Abroad .................
The Winning Character of his Genius......
'The Organ of Westminster Abbey'.......
'Baltus Van Tassel's Farm '... ........
'Columbus at Barcelona'.................
'The Galloping Hessian '................

CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.
The Meditative School in American Literature
Birth, Ancestry and Education ...........
Early Life............................
In "The Brotherhood of Authors"........
His First Literary Work.................
A Few of his Other Publications...........
The Moral Quality of Vegetables '........

DONALD G. MITCHELL.
Characteristics of the Author............
A Disciple of Washington Irving...........
Birth, Education, and Early Life..........
Home and Marriage.....................
U. S. Consul to Venice..................
Semi-public Positions....................
His Most Prominent Books...............
'Washington Irving'......... ..........
'Glimpses of "Dream Life "'............

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.
A Noble Part in the Battles for Freedom...
Activity in the Anti-Slavery Agitation.....
His Contributions to Literature...........
A Popular Historian.....................
'A Puritan Sunday Morning'.,........


HAMILTON W. MABIE.
Birth, Family, and Education.............
Familiar with the Classics ................
On the Staff of the Christian Union "....
Profound Study of the Problems of Life ...
A Declaration Typical of all his Thought...
'Country Sights and Sounds'.............

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
Two Sensational Poems ..................
Birth, Ancestry, and Early Life...........
Journalist at Twenty-one.................
On the New York "Tribune ............
Editor of the "World"................
A Remarkable War Letter................
A List of his Prominent Works...........
Poet and Man of Business ...............
An Ideal Home Life.....................
'Betrothed Anew'...................
'The Door-Step '.......................

GEORGE H. BANCROFT.
The First Among American Historians.....
Birth and Education.....................
Extensive Studies in Europe .............
Appointed to the Chair of Greek in Harvard
College...........................
A School of High Classical Character......
Official Service,..... ..............
Removal to New York... .........
Minister to Russia and to Germany........
His "History of the United States" and
other W orks.....................
A Long and Useful Life..............
'Character of Roger Williams'...........
'Destruction of the Tea in Boston Harbor'.
Chivalry and Puritanism '.... ........
'The Position of the Puritans'...........

JAMES PARTON.
Ancestry, Birth, and Education ..........
A Very Successful Teacher...............
His Career as a Literary Man.. ......
On the Staff of "The New York Ledger".
His Most Prominent Works..............
'Old Virginia'...................... ...

FRANCIS PARKMAN.
Birth, Education, and Visit Abroad .......
A Summer With the Dakotah Indians....






CONTENTS.


Compelled to Suspend Intellectual Work... 322
An Interesting Example of his Persistency. 322
His Interest in Horticulture ............. 322
'The New England Colonies'............. 323
'The Heights of Abraham '.............. 324

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT.
A Popular Historian .................... 326
Birth, Parentage and Early Life........... 326
A Thorough Preparation................ 326
Marriage and Happy Home............... 327
His Method of Composition.............. 327
Successful as a Writer from the First...... 328
A List of his Works .................... 328
Many Engaging Qualities ............... 329
'The Golden Age of Tezcuco '.......... 329
'The Banquet of the Dead' .............. 330

JOHN L. MOTLEY.
Birth, Boyhood, and Early Associates ..... 332
Intimate Friend of Prince Bismarck....... 332
Member of Massachusetts' Legislature..... 332
"History of Holland ".................. 333
Minister to Austria, 1861; to England, 1869. 333
Patriot, Scholar, Historian .............. 334
'Bismarck '............................ 335
'The Siege of Leyden '................... 336
'Assassination of William of Orange '...... 337

JOHN FISKE.
Precocious Ability ..................... 338
Birth, Education and Early Life........... 338
His Literary Work and Most Noted Books. 338
His Principal Historical Works........... 339
His School-books ......... .............. 339
'Land Discovered' .................... 339
'The Federal Convention'................ 340

JOHN B. McMASTER.
Excelling in Different Fields ............. 342
Parentage, Birth and Early Life........... 342
Professor of American History............ 342
His View of History..................... 342
Instructor of the Young.................. 342
'The American Workman in 1784'......... 343
'The Minister in New England'. .......... 344

FRANCES M. WHITCHER (THE WIDOW
BEDOTT).
Her nom-de-plume .............. .,,. 345


Richness of Humor..................... 45
Birth, Childhood and Education.......... 346
Marriage and Literary Fame.............. 346
Removal from Elmira, N. Y............. 346
'Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles '......... 346
'The Widow's Poetry and her Comments on
the Same About Hezekiah'......... 347

CHARLES F. BROWN (ARTEMUS WARD).
Birth and Education .................... 349
On the "Commercial," Toledo, Ohio...... 349
Local Editor of the "Plain Dealer"....... 349
Successful Lecturer in England............ 350
Death at Southampton................... 350
His Works ............................ 350
'Artemus Ward Visits the Shakers '....... 350
'At the Tomb of Shakespeare '.......... 351

HENRY W. SHAW JOSHH BILLINGS).
Birth and Education .................... 352
His Early Life of Adventure............. 352
Entered the Lecture Field............... 352
Contributor to "The New York Weekly".. 352
His Published Books .................... 352
'Manifest Destiny '.................. ... 353
'Letters to Farmers'..................... 354

SAMUEL L. CLEMENS (MARK TWAIN).
A World-wide Reputation................ 355
Birth, Boyhood and Education........... 355
His Pilot Life............................ 355
Editor of the Virginia City "Enterprise".. 355
Journalist and Gold Digger.............. 355
A Trip to Hawaii........................ 355
Innocents Abroad....................... 355
Some of his Other Works................ 356
A Lecturing Trip Around the World....... 356
'Jim Smiley's Frog'..................... 356
Uncle Dan'l's Apparition and Prayer'.... 357
'The Babies' .......................... 359

MARIETTA HOLLEY (JOSIAH ALLEN'S
WIFE).
A Writer at an Early Age................. 360
Birth and Ancestors..................... 360
Rise and Increase of Her Fame ........... 360
Some of her Prominent Works............ 360
A Quarter Million Copies Sold............ 360
Characteristics of her Books.............. 361
'Josiah Allen's Wife Calls on the President' 361






CONTENTS.


PAGE
CHARLES F. ADAMS (YAWCOB STRAUSS).
A Not-Soon-to-be-Forgotten Author....... 363
Birth, Education and Early Life........... 363
Service in Many Hard-fought Battles ...... 363
Prominent Business Man................ 363
A Contributor to Prominent Journals...... 363
A Genial and Companionable Man ........ 363
'Der Drummer'........................ 364
'Hans and Fritz'........................ 364
'Yawcob Strauss' ...................... 364
'Mine Moder-in-Law'.................. 365
'Yawcob's Dribulations' ................ 365
'The Puzzled Dutchman'............... 366
'Der Oak and Der Vine' ................ 366

EDGAR WILSON NYE (BILL NYE).
A Man of Genuine Wit................. 368
Birth and Early Surroundings............ 368
Studied Law, Admitted to the Bar ........ 368
Organized the Nye Trust................ 368
Famous Letters from Buck's Shoals, N. C.. 368
"History of the United States ".......... 369
His Death.............................. 369
'The Wild Cow'....................... 369
'Mr. Whisk's True Love.'............... 369
The Discovery of New York'............ 370

JOEL C. HARRIS (UNCLE REMUS).
"An Accidental Author" ............... 372
Birth and Humble Circumstances.......... 372
In the Office of the "Countryman "....... 372
Beginning of his Literary Career.......... 372
Studied and Practiced Law............... 373
Co-editor of the Atlanta Constitution ".. 373
His W orks ............................. 373
'Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Fox, and Mr. Buzzard'.. 373

ROBERT J. BURDETTE.
A Prominent Place Among "'Funny Men". 377
Birth and Early Education .............. 377
Fought in the Civil War................ 377
Journalist, Lecturer and Baptist Minister... 377
Contributor to Ladies' Home Journal ".. 377
His Other Works........... ............ 377
'The Movement Cure for Rheumatism'.... 378

LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
Architect of her Own Fortune........... 380
Hr Father's Misfortunes ............ 380


Her Early Writings....................
Her Letters in the Government Hospitals ..
Young People's True Friend............
Her Books ................... ..........
An Admirer of Emerson .................
A Victim of Over-Work.................
'How Jo Made Friends '...............

WILLIAM T. ADAMS (OLIVER OPTIC).
Writer for the Young..................
Birth and Early Life...................
Teacher in Public Schools of Boston.......
His Editorials and Books...............
His Style and Influence ...............
'The Sloop That Went to the Bottom'....


SARAH JANE LIPPINCOTT (GRACE
GREENWOOD).
Favorite Writer for Little Children........
Birth and Childhood ..................
Her M marriage .............. ........
Contributions to Journals and Magazines...
Her Numerous Books..................
Life Abroad........................
'The Baby in the Bath Tub '...........

HORATIO ALGER.
A Wholesome Author for Young People...
His First Book, Great Success...........
A New Field........................
Birth, Education and Early Life...........
Residence in New York.................
Some of his Most Prominent Books.......
'How Dick Began the Day'..............

EDWARD ELLIS.
Birth and Early Life.....................
His Historical Text-Books................
His Contributions to Children's Papers ....
'The Signal Fire '..................... ..


MARTHA FINLEY.
Birth, Ancestry and Early Life...........
Beginning of her Literary Career.........
Struggle Against Adversity..............
Great Exertions.......................
'Elsie Series,' Great Popularity ..........
'Elsie's Disappointment', ..............






CONTENTS.


MARY MAPES DODGE.
Writer of Stories for Children............
Birth and Parentage.....................
Married William Dodge.................
Contributor to Hearth and Home "-....
Success of her Works....................
Editor of "St. Nicholas Magazine ".......
Her Home in New York .................
'Too Much of a Good Thing ',............


HORACE GREELEY.
Birth and Early Taste for Literature.......
On the "Northern Spectator"............
Tries his Fortune in New York ...........
Part Owner of the New Yorker". .......
The "Log Cabin "and the N. Y. Tribune "
Elected to Congress.....................
His Works. ..........................
Nominated for Presidency ...............
His Last Resting Place..................
'A Debtor's Slavery' ...................
'The Press'............................


CHARLES A. DANA.
One of Our Foremost Men................
Birth and Early Life ...................
A Remarkable Life.....................
His Education and College Career.........
Joining the Brook Farm Men........
His First Journalistic Experience..........
On the New York "Tribune" ..........
Busy Years................. ..........
Difference Between Mr. Greeley and Mr. Dana
Assistant Secretary of War...............
One Year in Chicago....................
Manager of the New York Sun "......
'Roscoe Conkling '.....................

LYMAN ABBOTT.
Ancestors, Birth and Education...........
Ordained a Minister ...................
Secretary to'the American Freedmen's Com-
mission ...........................
Work as a Journalist................ .....
Successor of Henry Ward Beecher........
Prolific Publisher.......................
Successful Pulpit Speaker ...............
'The Jesuits'.......................
'The destruction of the Cities of the Plain.


HENRY W. WATTERSON.
Influential Modern Journalist ...........
Birth and Education ....................
Editor of the 'Republican Banner "......
Service in the Confederate Army.........
The Courier-Journal," Louisville, Ky....
Prominent Part in Politics..............
'The New south '.......................


MURAT HALSTEAD.
One of the Greatest Living Journalists.....
Nativity, Early Life and Education........
Editor of "The Commercial," Cincinnati,
Ohio ................ ... .........
A Continued Success ....................
Correspondent During the Franco-Prussian
W ar, 1870 ........................
In Washington and New York............
Home and Family Life ..................
'The Young Man at the Door ',.........

WHITELAW REID.
Fortune Favors the Brave "...........
Birth and Early Training ................
War Correspondent to the "Cincinnati Ga-
zette"....................... ..
An Important W ork.....................
Editorial Writer Upon N. Y. "Tribune"..
His Most Prominent Works...............
His Palatial Home and Family Life........
'Pictures of a Louisiana Plantation'.......

ALBERT SHAW.
Birth, Education and Personal Character-
istics... ........................
Residence in Baltimore ..................
On the Minneapolis Daily "Tribune "....
Extensive Studies Abroad...............
Editor of the "Review of Reviews "......
Great Success .................. .........
'Recent Development of the West '......

JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
His Imaginative Power, Vivid Statement...
Parentage, Birth and Travels Abroad......
College Life and Early Training...........
Long Sojourn Abroad....................
Some of his Most Prominent Works.......
Expedition to India ....................






CONTENTS.


'The Wayside and the War'............
'First Months in England '.............
The Horrors of the Plague in India'......

RICHARD HARDING DAVIS.
Marvelous Skill in Seeing the World.......
A Clever Newspaper Reporter ............
Birth and Hereditary Bent for Letters.....
Interesting Career as a Journalist..........
The Book that Made Him Famous.........
Some of His Other Works..:.............
'The Greek Defence of Velestino'.........

PATRICK HENRY.
His Talents as a Popular Orator............
Parentage and Education.................
Marriage and Early Life ..................
A Prominent Lawyer...................
Bold Principles ... ................... ..
The Leader of his Colony................
The First Governor of Virginia..........
His Death.................... ........
Resistance to British Aggression.........
The War Inevitable' ...................

HENRY CLAY.
The "Great Pacificator' ................
Birth, Early Hardships, Toil and Poverty..
Removal to Kentveky and Success.........
Marriage and Home ....................
In the Senate of the United States........
Member of the House of Representatives..
Elected Speaker ........................
Secretary of State .......................
The Conflict of 1818.....................
The Disappointment of His Life ..........
The Compromise of 1850 .............
The Leading Object of His Life...........
'Defence of Jefferson,' 1813..... ......
'Reply to John Randolph'...............
On Recognizing the Independence of
G reece' ...................... .

DANIEL WEBSTER,
First among the Makers of the Nation"..
Birth, Ancestors and Early Life...........
The "Webster's Boy".................
Extraordinary Memory..................
Majestic Appearance...................
Lawyer, Orator and Statesman ...........
A Famous Case .........................
His Most Famous Speeches...............


PAGE
428
428
429


430
430
430
430
430
431
431


433
433
433
433
433
433
434
434
434
435


436
436
436
436
436
436
436
437
437
437
437
438
438
438

439


440
440
440
440
440
440
441
442


Secretary of State.....................
Home, and Home Life ...................
Death and Funeral......................
'South Carolina and Massachusetts,'.....
'Liberty and Union .................
'The Eloquence of Action '............
'The Twenty-second of February'.........
America's Gift to Europe'............

EDWARD EVERETT.
The Great Charm of His Orations.........
Birth, Education and Early Life.........
Professor of Greek at Harvard College.....
Editor of the "North American Review."
Member of Congress .................
M minister to England .....................
President of Harvard College ............
Secretary of State ......................
His Lectures and Orations................
Death............. ................
'Twenty-five Years of Peace' ..........
'The Father of the Republic'...........
'The Land of Our Forefathers'..........

WENDELL PHILLIPS.
"The Silvery-tongued Orator" ..........
How He came into Prominence .........
A Memorable Speech....................
Birth, Parents and Education............
A Popular Lecturer .....................
His Most Celebrated Addresses ..........
'Political Agitation'....... r.. .........
'Toussaint L'Ouverture'...............

HENRY WARD BEECHER,
No Superior as Pulpit Orator...........
Parentage, Birth and Childhood .........
Education and Conversion................
His Marriage and First Pastorate .........
Pastor of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn,N.Y.
A Bold Abolitionist ....................
Ever the Champion of the Right ........
His Death and Funeral.................
'Public Dishonesty'. ....................
Eulogy on General Grant'...............
From "The Sparks of Nature '........

JOHN B. GOUGH.
A Great National Orator ...............
Birth and Early Life...................
A Life of Hopeless Dissipation ..........-






CONTENTS.


PAGc


Public Confession and Reformation........
A Popular Lecturer ................... ...
Called to England.......................
A Happy Life. ..........................
His Published Works....................
'Water and Rum '......................
'The Power of Habit'...................
'What is a Minority?'...................

CHAUNCEY M. DEPEW.
Great Versatility................... .....
Birth, Ancestors and Boyhood............
A Close Student of Politics ..............
A Highly Successful Lawyer............
A Giant in Politics ................... .
Member of Congress................ .
Secretary of State............ ......
Minister to Japan ....................
His Career as a Railway Man............
'The Pilgrims' ....... .............. .

HENRY W. GRADY.
Devoid of Sectional Animosities ..........
The Union His Pride ....................
Eloquent, Logical and Aggressive.........
His Principal Speeches...................
Birth, Parentage and Education............
Marriage and Struggle for Existence.......
"A Friend in Need"....................
Success at Last........................
Premature Death.......................
'The New South'.......................
'Regard for the Negro Race'.............
'Appeal for Temperance'................

JULIA WARD HOWE.
Her Home a Meeting Place for Great Men.
Birth, Parentage and Education...........
Marriage and Tour Abroad..............
H er First Book .......................
Interest in the Anti-Slavery Question......
Her Famous "Battle Hymn"...........
Visit to England .................... ..
A New Journey Abroad..................
'The Battle Hymn of the Rebublic' .....
'Our Country'............... ...... ...
'The Unspeakable Pang' ...............

MARY A. LIVERMORE.
Her Early Experience....................
Birth, Parentage and Education...........
Teacher of Latin apd French .............
In the South......... ...................


Marriage............................47 473
An Active Temperance Worker........... 473
Her Literary Work.... ............. 474
War Service............ ........... 474
An Ardent Woman-Suffragist ............ 474
Her Pen Never Idle ..................... 475
'Useful Women '...................... 475

BELVA ANN LOCKWOOD.
One of the Greatest Benefactors of Her Sex 477
Birth, Education and Early Life........... 477
Professor at Lockport Academy........... 477
Admission to the Supreme Court of the U. S. 477
A Remarkable Nomination.......... ...... 478
Great Popularity:................... .... 478
Several Times Delegate to International Con-
gresses of Peace................. 478
Assistant Editor to the Peacemaker".... 478
'Address before the Committee of the House
of Delegates, Washington, in Support
of Woman Suffrage'.............. 479

SUSAN B. ANTHONY.
Early Life and Education................. 481
How She Became an Abolitionist, Woman-
Suffragist and Temperance Worker.. 481
Arrested, Tried and Fined for Voting...... 482
Speeches and Lectures........ ....... 482
Celebration of Her Seventieth Birthday.... 482
'Woman's Right to Suffrage.............. 483

ELIZABETH CADY STANTON.
Forceful, Logical and Eloquent Orator..... 485
Primarily a Woman-Suffragist............ 485
Birth, Childhood and Education........... 485
How She Became aWoman's Rights Believer 485
How She Became an Abolitionist ......... 485
The First Woman's Rights Convention .... 485
Her Addresses and Speeches... ......... 486
Her Literary Works............ ..... 486
A Thoroughly Domestic Woman........... 486
'A Plea for Equal Rights'................ 486
'Address to the Legislature of New York'. 487

FRANCES E. WILLARD.
Birth, Childhood and Early Life.......... 4&9
Teacher and President of Evanston College. 489
TheWomen's "Crusade against Rum Shops" 489
Joining in the Crusade ................... 489
The Result of Her Work................. 490
S'Home Protection'.........,..... ....... 490






CONTENTS.


LYDIA MARIA CHILD.
Activity against the "Fugitive Slave Law".
Birth, Education and Early Life...........
Her First Book a Success.................
Marriage and Anti-Slavery Work..........
The First Anti-Slavery Book in America...
'A Little Waif'.........................
'To Whittier on His Seventieth Birthday..
'Politeness' ........ ...............
'Flowers' ........... ... ............
'Unselfishness'........................


PAGE

492
492
492
493
493
494
494
494
495
495


PAGM


ANNA ELIZABETH DICKINSON.
A Fearless Girl ......................... 496
Birth, Childhood and Education.......... 496
Her Debut Before the Public ............ 496
Cast Upon the World........ ............ 496
How She was Named "The Girl Orator".. 496
The Mistake of Her Life ............... 497
Misfortunes and Difficulties.............. 497
Rare Eloquence and Dramatic Fervor...... 497
'Why Colored Men Should Enlist in the
Army'........... ............... 497


MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES.


'Home, Sweet Home'.........................
'The Star-Spangled Banner'..................
'The American Flag'......................
'Blind Man and the Elephant'................
"Hail, Columbia!' ..........................
'Betty and the Bear'........................
'Visit of St. Nicholas '.....................
'Woodman, Spare that Tree '................
'Sanctity of Treaties, 1796 '..................
'The Bloom was on the Alder and the Tassel on
the Corn'.............................
'The Declaration of Independence'...........
'Washington's Address to His Soldiers, 1776'..
'The General Government and the States '.....
'What Saved the Union'.....................
'The Birthday of Washington '...............
'Oh! Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be
Proud?'.............................
'Columbus in Chains'........................
'The Bivouac of the Dead'...................
'Address at the Dedication of Gettysburg Ceme-
tery '................... ............


'Memory' ..................................
'All Quiet Along the Potomac'..............
'A Life on the Ocean Wave'................
'The Blue and the Gray'.................
'Roll-call'... ...............................
'Theology in the Quarters'..................
'Ruin Wrought by Rum '...................
'To a Skeleton '. ..........................
'Pledge with W ine'........................
'Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua '........
'The Crabbed Man '.....................
'Putting up 0' the Stove'....................
'The Poor Indian !'....................
'Jenkins Goes to a Picnic'....................
'Sewing on a Button '.......................
' Casey at the Bat'.............. ......
'The Magical Isle'........... .............
'Stray Bits of Character'.....................
'Glimpses of Dream-life '..................
'The Origin of a Type of the American Girl'..


AMERICAN LITERATURE IN THE CLOSING YEARS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 5.7
Character of the Literature of the Day-Famous Novels and their Authors-Historical Fiction-
Poetry-Favorite Selections and Quotations.

THE TEN GREATEST BOOKS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY....................... 575
Authors and Books Enumerated-Life Sketches and Reviews of Authors and Books, with Extracts
from their Writings.












OUR FAVORITE ENGLISH AUTHORS.


WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
Little Known of His Life................
Marries Anne Hatheway.................
Conducts Theatres and Writes Plays.......
History and Character of His Dramas......
'M ercy'.................... ..... .....
'Sonnet'.................. .............
'The Abuse of Authority'...............
'The Witches'. ............... .......
'Death of Queen Katherine '.............
'The Power of Imagination'..............
'The Fairy to Puck'....................
'Ariel's Song'. ..........................
'Oberon's Vision' .....................
'Fall of Cardinal Wolsey'................
'Touchstone and Audrey '.............
'The Seven Ages'. ..................
'Ophelia'.............................
'Macbeth's Irresolution'.................
Antony's Oration at Caesar's Funeral'....
'Shylock and Antonio '..................
'Hamlet's Soliloquy'....................
'Hamlet and the Ghost'..................
'Othello's Wooing'.....................
JOHN MILTON.
Early Life and Education................
Travels Abroad ... ......................
Blindness and Personal Description........
Public Services. ................... ..
'Eve's Account of Her Creation .........
'Invocation to Light'....................
From 'L'Allegro '............ ..........
A Book Not a Dead Thing'..............
'The Hymn to the Nativity' .............
'Departure from Eden'..................

THOMAS GRAY.
Fame Rests on the 'Elegy'...............
Story of W alpole ......... ........... .....
Declines the Laureateship................
Personal Traits ........................
Character of His Great Poem.............
'Elegy Written in a Country Church-yard'.


PAGE
ROBERT BURNS.
549 His Life Not a Model..................
549 His Peasant Father.....................
550 Rhyming and Making Love...............
552 Visit to Edinburgh ....................
553 Farmer, Exciseman and Poet .............
553 'The Deil Cam' Fiddlin' Through the Town'
554 'My Heart's in the Highlands'...........
554 'The Banks O' Doon '................
555 'Man was Made to Mourn'............
555 Tam O'Shanter ......................
555 'Bruce to His Men '.................
556 The Cotter's Saturday Night'............
556
557 GEORGE GORDON BYRON.
558 Controversy Over His Writings...........
559 The Sensitive Boy.......................
560 The Worthless Father and Indulgent Mother
560 Early Life and Education ................
561 "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers "...
562 Marriage and After-life ..................
563 Takes Part in the Greek Rebellion and Dies
563 His Poems .............................
564 The Eve of Battle'.....................
'The Land of the East'.. ..............
'The Isles of Greece'....................
566
566
567 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
567 His Strange Character and Appearance.....
568 Reads the Bible when Three Years Old....
568 Leaves Cambridge and Enlists in the Dragoons
569 Plans the Pantisocracy ..................
570 Writes the "Ancient Mariner''............
570 Succumbs to the Use of Opium..........
571 A Delightful Talker .................
'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'.......
'The Phantom Ship'....................
572 Adieu. of the Ancient Mariner'..........
572 'A Calm on the Equator'................
572
572 THOMAS HOOD.
572 Apprenticed to an Engraver. .............
572 Assistant Editor of the London Magazine..
28







OUR FAVORITE ENGLISH AUTHORS.


"Odes and Addresses"..................
The "Comic Annual"..................
Financial Embarrassment................
Life in Germany ................... .....
Returns to London ................. ....
'The Song of the Shirt'...............
'The Bridge of Sighs '..................

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
His Mission as a Poet...................
His Hostile Reception ...................
Parentage and Means of Livelihood........
The Lake Poets .........................
Becomes the Laureate ...................
Principal W works .. ......................
Our Immortality '.....................
'To a Skylark '............... ..........
'Ode to Duty '..........................
'To His Wife' .........................

ALFRED TENNYSON.
The First of Modern Poets...............
Education ............... ............
Dislike of Publicity......................
The Pension ..........................
His Great Poems.......................
'The Song of the Brook'.................
'Prelude to In Memoriam'................
'Ring Out, Wild Bells '.................
'The Lady of Shallott ...................
Sweet and Low '......................
'The Here and the Hereafter'............
'The Passing of Arthur'.................

DR. JOHN WATSON (IAN MACLAREN).
He Enters Literature in Middle Life.......
Vacations in Scotch Farm-houses...........
Studies in Edinburgh and Wiirtemberg.....
Accepts a Call to a Secluded Parish........
A Born Story-teller.....................
Removes to Glasgow and to Liverpool......
Writes "Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush "..
His Visit to America....................
'In Marget's Garden '...................

SIR WALTER SCOTT.
A Born Story-teller.....................
Lameness .................................
Becomes Sheriff of Selkirkshire...........
Married Life......................... ..
Abandons His Profession of Law.........


PAGE
592 His Poems............................
592 H is Novels ....................... ........
592 Later Life and Death...................
592 Parting of Marmion and Douglas'........
592 Melrose Abbey '......................
592 'The Fisherman's Funeral'...............
594 'The Necessity and Dignity of Labor'......
Sir Walter Raleigh Spreads His Cloak for
Queen Elizabeth'.....................
596 'The Storming of Front-de-Beuf's Castle'.
596
596 CHARLES DICKENS.
596 He Has Awakened Pity in Sixty Million
596 Hearts .........................
597 His Shiftless Father ................... ..
597 Work in a Blacking Factory .............
598 Goes to School and Studies Shorthand.....
599 Sketches by Boz"....................
599 The Story of His Novels...............
His Readings and American Journeys......
The Children of His Genius ..............
600 'Bardell versus Pickwick '................
600 'Through the Storm'.............
600 The Death of Little Nell'...............
601 Sam Weller's Valentine'................
601
602 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
603 His Standing as a Writer ................
603 Personal History ........................
604 His Books and Lectures..................
605 Contributions to Punch ...................
605 A Social Critic ........................
606 'The Fotheringay Off the Stage '.........
Miss Rebecca Sharp'...................
'Thomas Newcome Answers'............
609 'Old Fables with a New Purpose'.........
609
609 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
609 Birth and Early Life....................
609 Education of a Boy.....................
610 Description by Miss Mitford...............
610 Ill Health............................
610 Marriage.............................
610 Her Principal Works ....................
Tribute to Her Genius by Her Husband....
'The Cry of the Human'................
614 'The Sleep'.............................
614
614 GEORGE ELIOT.
614 Her Position as a Novelist...............
614 Birth and Early Life....................







OUR FAVORITE ENGLISH AUTHORS.


Her Great Novels........................
Marriage and Closing Years...............
'Florence in 1794'......................
'A Passage at Arms '.................
'The Poyser Family Go to Church.........


THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
Biography by Trevelyan.................
Early Precocity ......................
Contributions to Edinburgh Reviewz........
Public Services ........................
History of England ......................
'Fallacious Distrust of Liberty'..........


'John Hampden '.......................
'The Puritans'.................. .....
'Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress'...........

WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
His Place as Statesman and Scholar........
Distinction at Oxford.....................
His Share in the Government............
His Principal Books ......................
Oratory and Skill as a Financier .........
Retirement............................
'Anticipations for the Church of England'.
'Some After-thoughts'.................
'An Estimate of Macaulay'.............












SELECTIONS SUITABLE FOR RECITATION.

ARRANGED ALPHABETICALLY.


Act for Truth................ ................
Address at the Dedication of Gettysburg Ceme-
tery.................................
All Quiet Along the Potomac.................
Alpine Flowers, The. .................. ....
Alpine Sheep, The................ .. .... ....
American Workman in 1784, The.............
American Flag, The.........................
Annabel Lee ....................... .........
Appeal for Temperance ......................
April Rain, The.............................
Arab to the Palm, The......................
Artemus Ward at the Tomb of Shakespeare....
Artemus Ward Visits the Shakers............

Babies, The..... ..........................
Banquet of the Dead, The ...................
Bardell versus Pickwick ......................
Barefoot Boy, The............................
Battlefield, The.............................
Bells, The ...............................
Betsy and I are Out.......................
Betty and the Bear ..... ....................
Bill and Joe .................................
Birthday of Washington, The ................
Bison Track, The ..........................
Bivouac of the Dead, The.. .................
Blue and the Gray, The................. ...
Bridge of Sighs, The........................
Bruce to H is M en............................
Butterfly on a Child's Grave, A...............

Chambered Nautilus, The....................
Character of Roger Williams .................
Chivalry and Puritanism......................
Christine, Awake for Your Life...............
Christmas Night at St. Peter's...............
Columbus ................................
Columbus at Barcelona......................
Cotter's Saturday Night, The................
Crabbed Man, The ..........................
Cry of the Human, The....................

David's Lament for Absalom.................


108 Death of Little Nell, The ................... 633
Death of an Infant ......................... 255
511 Debtor's Slavery, A .......................... 403
512 Declaration of Independence, The............ 506
254 Defence of Jefferson, 1813 ................... 438
110 Der Drummer ............................. 364
343 Description of Virgin Mary................... 192
500 Dickens in Camp........................... 150
50 Discovery of New York, The ................ 370
468 Dutch Lullaby, A ........................... 53
259 Dying Alchemist, The ....................... 11
111
350 Eloquence of Action, The .................... 444
351 Emerson and the Emersonites ............... 177
Encounter with a Panther .................. 169
359 Eulogy on General Grant .................... 456
330 Eve of Battle, The.......................... 583
628 Excelsior ................................. 64
85
41 Father of the Republic, The ................ 448
53 Fourth of July Ode ........................... 109
156
502 General Government and the States, The....... 507
93 Gone With a Handsomer Man................ 147
508
110 Hannah Binding Shoes...................... 261
510 Hans and Fritz ............................. 364
513 Here and the Hereafter, The .................. 605
594 How Jo Made Friends ..................... 382
580 Hymn Sung at the Completion of the Concord
255 Monument (1836) ..................... 75
Hymn to the Beautiful ...................... 121
9If There were Dreams to Sell................ 269
314 In Prison for Debt ......................... 88
205 Isles of Greece, The ........................ 584
202 Israfel ..................................... 52
232
254 Jim Bludso ............................. .. 141
276 Jim Smiley's Frog ........................ 356
580 Josiah Allen's Wife Calls on the President..... 361
518
648 Kit Carson's Ride ......................... 163

116 Land of Our Forefathers, The................ 448







SELECTIONS SUITABLE FOR RECITATION OR READING.


Land of the East ............................
Lenore ...................................
Letters to Farmers ..........................
Liberty and Union..........................
Life Mask of Abraham Lincoln, The..........
Little Breeches ............................

Manifest Destiny............................
Maud Miiller ...............................
Mine Moder-in-Law.........................
Moral Qualities of Vegetables, The...........
Movement Cure for Rheumatism, The .........
Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Fox, and Mr. Buzzard........
Music in the Year 2000 ......................
My Mother's Picture........................

Necessity and Dignity of Labor ...............
New South, The...........................
New South, The...........................
Niagara.....................................
Norse Lullaby, A...........................

O Captain! My Captain ....................
Ode to Duty................................
Oh Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud ?
Old Ireland ..............................
Old Ironsides...............................
Old Virginia..... ..........................
Ole Sue...............................
On Recognizing the Independence of Greece....
Organ of Westminster Abbey, The.............
Other World, The .........................
Our Hired Girl.................. .....
Our Immortality...........................
Our Two Opinions .........................

Parting of Marmion and Douglas.............
Pearl .....................................
Phantom Ship, The .........................
Pictures of Memory ........................
Pilgrims, The ..............................
Political Agitation ..........................
Power of Habit, The............ ........
Prayer of the Wandering Jew ................
Prelude to In Memoriam ......................
Public Dishonesty...........................
Puritan Sunday Morning, A..................
Puzzled Dutchman, The.....................


Raggedy Man, The.........................
Raven, The................................
Regard for the Negro Race..................
Resistance to British Aggression ..............
Ring Out, Wild Bells .......................
Roll-call....................... ............
Ruin Wrought by Rum......................

Sam Weller's Valentine.....................
Sanctity of Treaties.........................
Sargent's Portrait of Edwin Booth at "The
Players" ........... .............
Sheridan ...................................
Siege of Leyden, The ........................
Sleep, The..................................
Society upon the Stanislaus, The..............
Song of the Brook, The ....................
Song of the Shirt, The........... ............
Song of the Camp, The.....................
South Carolina and Massachusetts.............
Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua ...........
Spelling Down the Master ..................
Star-Spangled Banner, The...................

Tam 0' Shanter...........................
Theology in the Quarters....................
To a Skylark...............................
To a Water-fowl ...........................
Toussaint 1' Ouverture .......................
Twenty-five Years of Peace..................
Twenty-second of February, The..............


PACE
146
55
467
434
603
513
514


635
505

133
136
336
649
149
602
592
111
442
517
195
579

579
514
98
38
451
447
44,F


Uncle Dan'l's Apparition and Prayer.......... 357

Venetian Vagabonds....................... 188
"Ti't . C "NT T -1 -_- m/t


616 V 1is irom t. Iicnolas ......................
177
587 War Inevitable, The........................
264 Washington's Address to His Soldiers..........
464 Water and Rum............................
450 W hat is a Minority ?.........................
460 What Saved the Union......................
191 Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles......... .....
603 Woodman, Spare that Tree..................
455 Wreck of the Hesperus, The.................
298
366 Yawcob Strauss............................


oDU

435
507
459
461
508
346
505
65







*' *' . .* * * * ** 4 .
S. *, * e * * * * *..... *...*. n t m ...\





WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE POET OF NATURE.

ST is said that "genius always manifests itself before its possessor
reaches manhood." Perhaps in no case is this more true than in
that of the poet, and William Cullen Bryant was no exception to
the general rule. The poetical fancy was early displayed in him.
He began to write verses at nine, and at ten composed a little
poem to be spoken at a public school, which was published in a
newspaper. At fourteen a collection of his poems was published in 12 mo. form
by E. G. House of Boston. Strange to say the longest one of these, entitled
"The Embargo" was political in its character setting forth his reflections on the
Anti-Jeffersonian Federalism prevalent in New England at that time. But it
is said that never after that effort did the poet employ his muse upon the politics
of the day, though the general topics of liberty and independence have given occa-
sion to some of his finest efforts. Bryant was a great lover of nature. In the
Juvenile Collection above referred to were published an "Ode to Connecticut
River" and also the lines entitled "Drought" which show the characteristic ob-
servation as well as the style in which his youthful muse found expression. It
was written July, 1807, when the author was thirteen years of age and will be found
among the succeeding selections.
Thanatopsis," one of his most popular poems, (though he himself marked it
low) was written when the poet was but little more than eighteen years of age. This
production is called the beginning of American poetry.
William Cullen Bryant was born at Cummington, Hampshire Co., Mass.,
November 3rd, 1794. His father was a physician, and a man of literary culture
who encouraged his son's early ability, and taught him the value of correctness and
compression, and enabled him to distinguish between true poetic enthusiasm and the
bombast into which young poets are apt to fall. The feeling and reverence with
which Bryant cherished the memory of his father whose life was
"Marked with some act of goodness every day,"

is touchingly alluded to in several of his poems and directly spoken of with pathetic
eloquence in the "Hymn to Death" written in 1825:
Alas! I little thought that the stern power
Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


Before the strain was ended. It must cease-
For he is in his grave who taught my youth
The art of verse, and in the bud of life
Offered me to the Muses. Oh, cut off
Untimely when thy reason in its strength,
Ripened by years of toil and studious search
And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught
Thy hand to practise best the lenient art
To which thou gavest thy laborious days,
And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth
Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes,
And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill
Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale
When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou
Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have
To offer at thy grave-this-and the hope
To copy thy example.

Bryant was educated at Williams College, but left with an honorable discharge
before graduation to take up the study of law, which he practiced one year at Plain-
field and nine years at Great Barrington, but in 1825 he abandoned law for litera-
ture, and removed to New York where in 1826 he began to edit the Evening
Post," which position he continued to occupy from that time until the day of his
death. William Cullen Bryant and the Evening Post" were almost as conspicuous
and permanent features of the city as the Battery and Trinity Church.
In 1821 Mr. Bryant married Frances Fairchild, the loveliness of whose charac-
ter is hinted in some of his sweetest productions. The one beginning
0 fairest of the rural maids,"

was written some years before their marriage; and "The Future Life," one of the
noblest and most pathetic of his poems, is addressed to her :-

"In meadows fanned by Heaven's life-breathing wind,
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere
And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ?

"Will not thy own meek heart demand me there,-
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given?
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,
And wilt thou never utter it in heaven ?

Among his best-known poems are "A Forest Hymn," "The Death of the
Flowers," Lines to a Waterfowl," and The Planting of the Apple-Tree." One
of the greatest of his works, though not among the most popular, is his translation
of Homer, which he completed when seventy-seven years of age.
Bryant had a marvellous memory. His familiarity with the English poets was






WTLLIAM CULLEN ]BRYANT.


such that when at sea, where he was always too ill to read much, he would beguile
the time by reciting page after page from favorite authors. However long the
voyage, he never exhausted his resources. "I once proposed," says a friend, "to
send for a copy of a magazine in which a new poem of his was announced to appear.
'You need not send for it,' said he, 'I can give it to you.' 'Then you have a copy
with you?' said I. 'No,' he replied, but I can recall it,' and thereupon proceeded
immediately to write it out. I congratulated him upon having such a faithful
memory. 'If allowed a little time,' he replied, I could recall every line of poetry
I havc ever written.' "
His tenderness of the feelings of others, and his earnest desire always to avoid the
giving of unnecessary pain, were very marked. "Soon after I began to do the
duties of literary editor," writes an associate, "Mr. Bryant, who was reading a
review of ., little book cf wretchedly halting verse, said to me: 'I wish you would
deal very gently with poets, especially the weaker ones.'"
Bryant was a man of very striking appearance, especially in age. It is a fine
sight," says one writer, "to see a man full of years, clear in mind, sober in judg-
ment, refined in taste, and handsome in person. . . I remember once to have
been at a lecture where Mr. Bryant sat several seats in front of me, and his finely-
sized head was especially noticeable . . The observer of Bryant's capacious
skull and most refined expression of face cannot fail to read therein the history of
a noble manhood."
The grand old veteran of verse died in New York in 1878 at the age of eighty-
four, universally known and honored. He was in his sixth year when George
Washington died, and lived under the administration of twenty presidents and had
seen his own writings in print for seventy years. During this long life-though editor
for fifty years of a political daily paper, and continually before the public-he had
kept his reputation unspotted from the world, as if he had, throughout the decades,
continually before his mind the admonition of the closing lines of "Thanatopsis"
written by himself seventy years before.







--- ---I---- A






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


THANATOPSIS.*
,The following production is called the beginning of American poetry.
That a young man not yet 19 should have produced a poem so lofty in conception, so full of chaste lan-
guage and delicate and striking imagery, and, above all, so pervaded by a noble and cheerful religious
philosophy, may well be regarded as one of the most remarkable examples of early maturity in literary
history.


0 him who, in the love of Nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she
speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;-
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around-
Earth and her waters, and' the depths of air-
Comes a still voice.-Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone,-nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,-with kings,
The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,
Pair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,-the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods,-rivers that move


In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd roundall,
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save its own dashings,-yet-the dead are there,
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep,-the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take.note of thy departure ? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employment, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men-
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man-
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those who in their turn shall follow them.
So live that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.


WAITING BY THE GATE.
ESIDES the massive, gateway built up in While streams the evening sunshine on the quiet
years gone by, wood and lea,
In Upon whose top the clouds in eternal I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for
shadow lie, me.
*The following copyrighted selections from Wm. Cullen Bryant are inserted by permission of D. Appleton & Co., the pub-
lishers of his works.







WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight,
A soft soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night;
I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow descant
more,
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of
day is o'er.

Behold the portals open and o'er the threshold, now,
There steps a wearied one with 'pale and furrowed
brow;
His count of years is full, his allowed task is wrought;
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not.

In sadness, then, I ponder how quickly fleets the
hour
Of human strength and action, man's courage and
his power.
I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the
golden day,
And as I look and listen the sadness wears away.

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing throws
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes;
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair,
Moves wonderfully away from amid the young and
fair.

Oh, glory of our race that so suddenly decays !
Oh, crimson flush of morning, that darkens as we
gaze!
Oh, breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air
Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies we know not
S where.

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and
then withdrawn;


But still the sun shines round me; the evening birds
sing on;
And I again am soothed, and beside the ancient gate.
In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and
wait.

Once more the gates are opened, an infant group go
out,
The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the
sprightly shout.
Oh, frail, frail tree of life, that upon the greensward
strews
Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind that
blows !

So from every region, so enter side by side,
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of
pride,
Steps of earth's greatest, mightiest, between those
pillars gray,
And prints of little feet, that mark the dust away.

And some approach the threshold whose looks are
blank with fear,
And some whose temples brighten with joy are draw-
ing near,
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious
eye
Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die.

I mark the joy, the terrors; yet these, within my
heart,
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to
depart;
And, in the sunshine streaming of quiet wood and lea,
I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for me,


" BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." -


DEEM not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
The Power who pities man has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.


And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,-
Though with a pierced and bleeding heart,
And spurned of men, he goes to die.

For God hath marked each sorrowing day,
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.


ERE are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled
pines,
That stream with gray-green mosses; here
the ground
Was never touch'd by spade, and flowers
spring up
Unsown, and die ungather'd. It is sweet
To linger here, among the flitting birds
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks and winds
That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass
A fragrance from the cedars thickly set
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades-
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old-
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,
Back to the earliest days of Liberty.
O FREEDOM thou art not, as poets dream,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap
With which the Roman master crown'd his slave,
When he took off the gyves. A'bearded man,
Arm'd to the teeth, art thou: one mailed hand
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow,
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr'd
With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs
Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has
launched
His bolts, and with his lightning smitten thee;
They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven.
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep,
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
Have forged thy chain; yet while he deems thee
bound,
The links are shiver'd, and the prison walls
Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth,
As springs the flame above a burning pile-,
And shoutest to the nations, who return
Thy shouting, while the pale i'|'lr-''',r flie-
Thy birth-right was not giveri b,- human hands:


Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields,
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him,
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars,
And teach the reed to utter simple airs.
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood,
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf,
His only foes: and thou with him didst draw
The earliest furrows on the mountain side,
Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself,
The enemy, although of reverend look,
Hoary with many years, and far obey'd,
Is later born than thou; and as he meets
The grave defiance of thine elder eye,
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.
Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years,
But he shall fade into a feebler age;
Feebler, yet subtler; he shall weave his snares,
And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap
His wither'd hands, and from their ambush call
His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send
Quaint makers, forms of fair and gallant mien,
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words
To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth,
Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on
thread,
That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms
With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet
Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by
Thy sword, nor yet, 0 Freedom close thy lids
In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps.
And thou must watch and combat, till the day
Of the new Earth and Heaven. But wouldst thou rest
Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men,
These old and friendly solitudes invite
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees
Were young upon the unviolated earth,
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new,
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.


TO A WATERFOWL.


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

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly limn'd upon the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,


Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-
The desert and illimitable air,-
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fann'd,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy shelter'd nest.






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven
Hath swallow'd up thy form; yet on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.


He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight.
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.


ROBERT OF LINCOLN.


ERRILY swinging on brier and weed,
SNear to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed,
Wearing a bright black wedding coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest,
Hear him call in his merry note:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Look what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers, while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she,
One weak chirp is her only note,
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Never was I afraid of man ;
Catch me, cowardly knaves if you can.
Chee, chee, chee.


Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the shell
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seed for the hungry brood
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
This new life is likely to be
Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work and silent with care;
Off is his holiday garment laid,
Half-forgotten that merry air,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows;
Robert of Lincoln's a-humdrum crone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
When you can pipe that merry oldstrain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.


---- 0-


DROUGHT.

LUNGED amid the limpid waters,
Or the cooling shade beneath,
Let me fly the scorching sunbeams,
And the southwind's sickly breath I


Sirius burns the parching meadows,
Flames upon the embrowning hill,
Dries the foliage of the forest,
And evaporates the rill.






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


Scarce is seen the lonely floweret,
Save amid the embowering wood;
O'er the prospect dim and dreary,
Drought presides in sullen mood !

Murky vapours hung in ether,
Wrap in gloom, the sky serene;


Nature pants distressful-silence
Reigns o'er all ,ne sultry scene.

Then amid the limpid waters,
Or beneath the cooling shade,
Let me shun the scorching sunbeams
And the sickly breeze evade.


THE PAST.
No poet, perhaps, in the world is so exquisite in rhythm, or classically pure and accurate in language, so
appropriate in diction, phrase or metaphor as Bryant.
He dips his pen in words as an inspired painter his pencil in colors. The following poem is a fair specimen
of his, deep vein in his chosen serious themes. Pathos is pre-eminently his endowment but the tinge of
melancholy in his treatment is always pleasing.


HOU unrelenting Past!
Strong are the barriers round thy dark
domain,
And fetters, sure and fast,
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.
Far in thy realm withdrawn
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,
And glorious ages gone
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.

Childhood, with all its mirth,
Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground,
And, last, Man's Life on earth,
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.
Thou hast my better years,
Thou hast my earlier friends-the good-the kind,
Yielded to thee with tears,-
The venerable form-the exalted mind.

My spirit yearns to bring
The lost ones back ;-yearns with desire intense,
And struggles hard to wring
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.

In vain:-thy gates deny
All passage save to those who hence depart;
Nor to the streaming eye
Thou giv'st them back,-nor to the broken heart.

In thy abysses hide
Beauty and excellence unknown:-to thee
Earth's wonder and her pride
Are gathered, as the waters to the sea;


Labors of good to man,
Unpublish'd charity, unbroken faith,-
Love, that midst grief began,
And grew with years, and falter'd not in death.

Full many a mighty name
Lurks in thy depths, unutter'd, unrevered;
With thee are silent fame,
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.

Thine for a space are they:-
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last,
Thy gates shall yet give way,
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!

All that of good and fair
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,
Shall then come forth, to wear
The glory and the beauty of its prime.

They have not perish'd-no!
Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,
Smiles, radiant long ago,
And features, the great soul's apparent seat,

All shall come back; each tie
Of pure affection shall be knit again;
Alone shall Evil die,
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.

And then shall I behold
Him by whose kind paternal side I sprung,
And her who, still and cold,
Fills the next grave,-the beautiful and young.


THE MURDERED TRAVELER.


HEN spring, to woods and wastes around,
Brought bloom and joy again;
The murdered traveler's bones were found,
Far down a narrow glen.


The fragrant birch, above him, hung
Her tassels in the sky;
And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded careless by.






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


The red bird warbled, as he. wrought
His hanging nest o'err;t: ;
And fearless, near the fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,
With watching many an anxious day,
Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,
When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarmed and hard beset;

Nor how, when round the frosty pole
The northern dawn was red,


The mountain-wolf and wild-cat stole
To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,
They dressed the hasty bier,
And marked his grave with nameless stones,
Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home;
And dreamed, and started as they slept,
For joy that he was come.

Long, long they looked-but never spied
His welcome step again.
Nor knew the fearful death he died
Far down that narrow glen.


THE BATTLEFIELD.


Soon after the following poem was written, an English critic, referring to the stanza begining--" Truth
crushed to earth shall rise again,"-said : "Mr. Bryant has certainly a rare merit for having written a stanza
which will bear comparison with any four lines as one of the noblest in the English language. The thought
is complete, the expression perfect. A poem of a dozen such verses would be like a row of pearls, each
beyond a king's ransom."


E [NCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encounter'd in the battle-cloud.

Ah never shall the land forget
How gush'd the life-blood of her brave,-
Gush'd, warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save.

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,
And bell of wandering kine, are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by
The black-mouth'd gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry:
Oh, be it never heard again !

Soon rested those who fought; but thou
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.

A friendless warfare! lingering long
Through weary day and weary year


A wild and many-weapon'd throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blench not at thy chosen lot;
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown-yet faint thou not,

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.

Truth, crush'd to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,
And dies among his worshippers.

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,
When they who help'd thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell in battle here.

Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet's mouth is peal'd
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE CROWDED STREETS.


ET me move slowly through the street,
Filled with an ever-shifting train,
Amid the sound of steps that beat
The murmuring walks like autumn rain.

How fast the flitting figures come;
The mild, the fierce, the stony face-
Some bright, with thoughtless smiles, and some
Where secret tears have left their trace.

They pass to toil, to strife, to rest-
To halls in which the feast is spread-
To chambers where the funeral guest
In silence sits beside the bed.

And some to happy homes repair,
Where children pressing cheek to cheek,
With mute caresses shall declare
The tenderness they cannot speak.

And some who walk in calmness here,
Shall shudder as they reach the door
Where one who made their dwelling dear,
Its flower, its light, is seen no more.

Youth, with pale cheek and tender frame,
And dreams of greatness in thine eye,


Go'st thou to build an early name,
Or early in the task to die?

Keen son of trade, with eager brow,
Who is now fluttering in thy snare,
Thy golden fortunes tower they now,
Or melt the glittering spires in air?

Who of this crowd to-night shall tread
The dance till daylight gleams again?
To sorrow o'er the untimely dead ?
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?

Some, famine struck, shall think how long
The cold, dark hours, how slow the light;
And some, who flaunt amid the throng,
Shall hide in dens of shame to night.

Each where his tasks or pleasure call,
They pass and heed each other not;
There is one who heeds, who holds them all
In His large love and boundless thought

These struggling tides of life that seem
In wayward, aimless course to tend,
Are eddies of the mighty stream
That rolls to its appointed end.


NOTICE OF FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.
As a specimen of Mr. Bryant's prose, of which he wrote much, and also as a sample of his criticism, we
reprint the following extract from a Commemorative Address which he delivered before the New York His-
torical Society in February 1869. This selection is also valuable as a character sketch and a literary
estimate of Mr. Halleck.


HEN I look back upon Halleck's literary life,
I cannot help thinking that if his death had
happened forty years earlier, his life
would have been regarded as a bright morning
prematurely overcast. Yet Halleck's literary career
may be said to have ended then. All that will hand'
down his name to future years had already been
produced. Who shall say to what cause his subse-
quent literary inaction was owing? It was not the
decline of his powers; his brilliant conversation
showed that it was not. Was it then indifference to
fame? Was it because he put an humble estimate
on what he had written, and therefore resolved to
write no more? Was it because he feared lest what
he might write would be unworthy of the reputation
he had been so fortunate as to acquire?
I have my own way of accounting for his literary


silence in the latter half of his life. One of the
resemblances which he bore to Horace consisted in
the length of time for which he kept his poems by
him, that he might give them the last and happiest
touches. Having composed his poems without com-
mitting them to paper, and retaining them in his
faithful memory, he revised them in the same manner,
murmuring them to himself in his solitary moments,
recovering the enthusiasm with which they were
first conceived, and in this state of mind heighten-
ing the beauty of the thought or of the expres-
sion ...
In this way I suppose Halleck to have attained
the gracefulness of his diction, and the airy melody
of his numbers. In this way I believe that he
wrought up his verses to that transparent clearness
of expression which causes the thought to be seen






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


through them without any interposing dimness, so tasks of his vocation, he naturally lost by degrees the
that the thought and the phrase seem one, and the habit of composing in this manner, and that he
thought enters the mind like a beam of light. I found it so necessary to the perfection of what he
suppose that Halleck's time being taken up by the wrote that he adopted no other in its place."



A CORN-SHUCKING IN SOUTH CAROLINA.
From "The Letters of a Traveler."
In 1843, during Mr. Bryant's visit to the South, he had the pleasure of witnessing one of those ante-
bellum southern institutions known as a Corn-Shucking-one of the ideal occasions of the colored man's
life, to which both men and women were invited. They were free to tell all the jokes, sing all the songs
and have all the fun they desired as they rapidly shucked the corn. Two leaders were usually chosen and
the company divided into two parties which competed for a prize awarded to the first party which
finished shucking the allotted pile of corn. Mr. Bryant thus graphically describes one of these novel
occasions:


BARNWELL DISTRICT, 1
South Carolina, March 29, 1843.
UT you must hear of the corn-shucking.
The one at which I was present was given
on purpose that I might witness the hu-
mors of the Carolina negroes. A huge fire of light-
wood was made near the corn-house. Light-wood
is the wood of the long-leaved pine, and is so called,
not because it is light, for it is almost the heaviest
wood in the world, but because it gives more light
than any other fuel.
The light-wood-fire was made, and the negroes
dropped in from the neighboring plantations, singing
as they came The driver of the plantation, a col-
ored man, brought out baskets of corn in the husk,
and piled it in a heap; and the negroes began to
strip the husks from the ears, singing with great
glee as they worked, keeping time to the music, and
now and then throwing in a joke and an extravagant
burst of laughter. The songs were generally of a
comic character; but one of them was set to a sin-
gularly wild and plaintive air, which some of our
musicians would do well to reduce to notation.
TbhPe are the words:

Johnny come down de hollow.
Oh hollow !
Johnny come down de hollow.
Oh hollow !
De nigger-trader got me.
Oh hollow!
De speculator bought me.
Oh hollow!
I'm sold for silver dollars.
Oh hollow!


Boys, go catch the pony.
Oh hollow!
Bring him round the corner.
Oh hollow!
I'm goin' away to Georgia.
Oh hollow !
Boys, good-by forever!
Oh hollow!

The song of Jenny gone away," was also given,
and another, called the monkey-song, probably of
African origin, in which the principal singer person-
ated a monkey, with all sorts of odd gesticulations,
and the other negroes bore part in the chorus, Dan,
dan, who's the dandy?" One of the songs com-
monly sung on these occasions, represents the various
animals of the woods as belonging to some profession
or trade. For example-

De cooter is de boatman-


The cooter
man he is.


is the terrapin, and a very expert boat-


De cooter is de boatman.
John John Crow.
De red-bird de soger.
John John Crow.
De mocking-bird de lawyer.
John John Crow.
De alligator sawyer
John John Crow.

The alligator's back is furnished with a toothed
ridge, like the edge of a saw, which explains the
last line.






WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


When the work of the evening was over the
negroes adjourned to a spacious kitchen. One of
them took his place as musician, whistling, and beat-
ing time with two sticks upon the floor. Several of
the men came forward and executed various dances,
capering, prancing, and drumming with heel and toe
upon the floor, with astonishing agility and persever-
ance, though all of them had performed their daily
tasks and had worked all the evening, and some had
walked from four to seven miles to attend the corn-
shucking. From the dances a transition was made
to a mock military parade, a sort of burlesque of our
militia training, in which the words of command
and the evolutions were extremely ludicrous. It be-
came necessary for the commander to make a speech,
and confessing his incapacity for public speaking, he
called upon a huge black man named Toby to ad-


dress the company in his stead. Toby, a man of
powerful frame, six feet high, his face ornamented
with a beard of fashionable cut, had hitherto stood
leaning against the wall, looking upon the frolic with
an air of superiority. He consented, came forward,
demanded a bit of paper to hold in his hand, and
harangued the soldiery. It was evident that Toby
had listened to stump-speeches in his day. He spoke
of de majority of Sous Carolina," de interests of
de state," de honor of ole Ba'nwell district," and
these phrases he connected by various expletives, and
sounds of which we could make nothing. At length
he began to falter, when the captain with admirable
presence of mind came to his relief, and interrupted
and closed the harangue with an hurrah from the
company. Toby was allowed by all the spectators,
black and white, to have made an excellent speech.


CORN-SHUCKING IN SOUTH CAROLINA.
















HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE POET OF THE PEOPLE.

"He who sung to one clear harp in divers tones."

N an old square wooden house upon the edge of the sea" the most
famous and most widely read of all American poets was born in
Portland, Maine, February 7th, 1807.
In his personality, his wide range of themes, his learning and his
A wonderful power of telling stories in song, Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow stood in his day and still stands easily in front of all
other poets who have enriched American literature. Admitting that he was not.
rugged and elemental like Bryant and did not possess the latter's feelings for
the colossal features of wild scenery, that he was not profoundly thoughtful
and transcendental like Emerson, that he was not so earnestly and passionately
sympathetic as Whittier, nevertheless he was our first artist in poetry. Bryant,
Emerson and Whittier commanded but a few stops of the grand instrument
upon which they played; Longfellow understood perfectly all its capabilities.
Critics also say that "he had not the high ideality or dramatic power of
Tennyson or Browning." But does he not hold something else which to the world
at large is perhaps more valuable ? Certainly these two great poets are inferior to
him in the power to sweep the chords of daily human experiences and call forth the
sweetness and beauty in common-place every day human life; It is on these themes
that he tuned his harp without ever a false tone, and sang with a harmony so well nigh
perfect that the universal heart responded to his music. This common-place song
has found a lodgement in every household in America, swaying the hearts of men
and women whose sorrows have been soothed and whose lives raised by his gentle
verse."
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer."

Longfellow's life from the very beginning moved on even lines. Both he and
William Cullen Bryant were descendants of John Alden, whom Longfellow has
made famous in "The Courtship of Miles Standish." The Longfellows were a
ihmily in comfortable circumstances, peaceful and honest, for many generations back.
58
















11111
L-


INTERIOR OF LONGFELLOW'S HOE, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
INTERIOR OF LONGFELLOW'S HOME, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.


WIN


~, ~- -, t' vl
s.:1 Ila-
wc-





HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


The poet went to school with Nathaniel P. Willis and other boys who at an early
age were thinking more of verse making than of pleasure. He graduated at Bow-
doin College in 1825 with Nathaniel Hawthorne, John S. C. Abbott, and others
who afterwards attained to fame. Almost immediately after his graduation he was
requested to take the chair of Modern Languages and Literature in his alma mater.,
which he accepted; but before entering upon his duties spent three years in Ger-
many, France, Spain and Italy to further perfect himself in the languages and
literature of those nations. At Bowdoin College Longfellow remained as Professor
of Modern Languages and Literature until 1835, when he accepted a similar posi-
tion in Harvard University, which he continued to occupy until 1854, when he


THE WAYSIDE INN.
Scene of Longfellow's Famous "Tales of the Wayside Inn."


resigned, devoting the remainder of his life to literary work and to the enjoyment
of the association of such friends as Charles Sumner the statesman, Hawthorne the
romancer, Louis Agassiz the great naturalist, and James Russell Lowell, the brother
poet who succeeded to the chair of Longfellow in Harvard University on the latter's
resignation.
The home of Longfellow was not only a delightful place to visit on account of
the cordial welcome extended by the companionable poet, but for its historic asso-
ciations as well; for it was none other than the old Cragie House" which had
been Washington's headquarters during the Revolutionary War, the past tradition
and recent hospitality of which have been well told by G. W. Curtis in his Homes
of American Authors." It was here that Longfellow surrounded himself with a





HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


magnificent library, and within these walls he composed all of his famous produc-
tions from 1839 until his death, which occurred there in 1882 at the age of seventy-
five. The poet was twice married and was one of the most domestic of men. His
first wife died suddenly in Europe during their sojourn in that country while Long-
fellow was pursuing his post graduate course of study before taking the chair in Bow-
doin College. In 1843 he married Miss Frances Appleton, whom he had met in
Europe and who figures in the pages of his romance "Hyperion." In 1861 she met
a most tragic death by stepping on a match which set fire to her clothing, causing
injuries from which she died. She was buried on the 19th anniversary of their mar-
riage. By Longfellow's own direction she was crowned with a wreath of orange
blossoms commemorative of the day. The poet was so stricken with grief that for
a year afterwards he did practically no work, and it is said neither in conversation
nor in writing to his most intimate friends could he bear to refer to the sad event.
Longfellow was one of the most bookish men in our literature. His knowledge
of others' thoughts and writings was so great that he became, instead of a creator in
his poems, a painter of things already created. It is said that he never even owned
a style of his own like Bryant and Poe, but assimilated what he saw or heard or
read from books, reclothing it and sending it out again. This does not intimate
that he was a plagiarist, but that he wrote out of the accumulated knowledge of
others. "Evangeline," for instance, was given him by Hawthorne, who had heard
of the young people of Acadia and kept them in mind, intending to weave them into
a romance. The forcible deportation of 18,000 French people touched Hawthorne
as it perhaps never could have touched Longfellow except in literature, and also as
it certainly never would have touched the world had not Longfellow woven the
woof of the story in the threads of his song.
"Evangeline" was brought out the same year with Tennyson's "Princess" (1847),
and divided honors with the latter even in England. In this poem, and in "The
Courtship _of Miles Standish" and other poems, the pictures of the new world are
", r.:iuLht out with charming simplicity. Though Longfellow never visited Acadia
or Louisiana, it is the real French village of Grand Pr6 and the real Louisiana, not
a poetic dream that are described in this poem. So vivid were his descriptions that
artists in Europe painted the scenes true to nature and vied with each other in paint-
T_ the portrait of Evangeline, among several of which there is said to be so striking
a resemblance as to suggest the idea that one had served as a copy for the others.
The a: -., took such a hold upon the public, that both the poor man and the rich
knew Longfellow as they knew not Tennyson their own poet. It was doubtless be-
eause L-. though one of the most scholarly of men, always spoke so the plainest
reader cold understand.
In "'T- Tales of a Wayside Inn" (1863), the characters were not fictions, but
ireal p..- i-r. The musician was none other than the famous violinist, Ole Bull;
P:~.,.:-.r Luigi Monte, a close friend who dined every Sunday with Longfellow, was
the '"... .; Dr. Henry Wales was the youth; the poet was Thomas W. Parsons,
and the I .c1,,i was his brother, Rev. S. W. Longfellow. This poem shows
L.,i,-, ii-.:.l at his best as a story teller, while the stories which are put into the
in=tlh of these actual characters perhaps could have been written by no other liv-
ing man, for .,y are from the literature of all countries, with which Lonigfellow was






HENRTtY WADSWORTH 1LONGFELLOW.


Thus, both "The Tales of a Wayside Inn" and "Evangeline "-as many other of
Longfellow's poems-may be called compilations or rewritten stories, rather than
creations, and it was these characteristics of his writings which Poe and Margaret
Fuller, and others, who considered the realm of poetry to belong purely to the
imagination rather than the real world, so bitterly criticised. While they 'did not
deny to Longfellow a poetic genius, they thought he was prostituting it by forcing
it to drudge in the province of prosaic subjects; and for this reason Poe predicted
that he would not live in literature.
It was but natural that Longfellow should write as he did. For thirty-five years
he was an instructor in institutions of learning, and as such believed that poetry
should be a thing of use as well as beauty. He could not agree with Poe that
poetry was like music, only a pleasurable art. He had the triple object of stimu-
lating to research and study, of impressing the mind with history or moral truths,
and at the same time to touch and warm the heart of humanity. In all three direc-
tions he succeeded to such an extent that he has probably been read by more people
than any other poet except the sacred Psalmis; and despite the predictions of his
distinguished critics to the contrary, such poems as "The Psalm of Life," (which
Chas. Sumner allowed, to his knowledge, had saved one man from suicide), "The
Children's Hour," and many others touching the every day experiences of the
multitude, will find a glad echo in the souls of humanity as long.as men shall read.
-.8-
THE PSALM OF LIFE.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.
This poem has gained wide celebrity as one of Mr. Longfellow's most popular pieces, as has also the
poem "Excelsior," (hereafter quoted). They strike a popular chord and do some clever preaching and it
is in this their chief merit consists. They are by no means among the author's best poetic productions from
a critical standpoint. Both these poems were written in early life.


ELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,


Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, however pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,-act in the living Present!
Heart within, and GOD o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.






HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.


K NDER a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long;
His face is like the tan ;
His brow is wet with honest sweat;


He earns whatever he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell
When the evening sun is low.


THEY LOVE TO SEE THE FLAMING FORGE,
AND HEAR THE BELLOWS ROAR,
AND CATCH THE BURNING SPARKS THAT FLY
LIKE CHAFF FROM THE THRESHING FLOOR.


And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys ;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.


It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling-rejoicing-sorrowing-
Onward through life he goes:
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;






HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


Something attempted-something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
For the lesson thou hast taught!


Thus at the flaming forge of Life
Our fortunes must be wrought,
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.


THE BRIDGE.
A favorite haunt of Longfellow's was the bridge between Boston and Cambridge, over which he had to
pass, almost daily. "I always stop on the bridge," he writes in his journal. "Tide waters are beautiful," and
again, We leaned for a while on the wooden rails and enjoyed the silvery reflections of the sea, making
sundry comparisons." Among other thoughts, we have these cheering ones, that "The old sea was flash.
ing with its heavenly light, though we saw it only in a single track ; the dark waves are dark provinces of
God; illuminous though not to us."
The following poem was the result of one of Longfellow's reflections, while standing on this bridge at
midnight.
STOOD on the bridge at midnight, And only the sorrow of others
As the clocks were striking the hour, Throws its shadow over me.
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Y hU WU1iiVVe I CiU, thU JiV


Behind mte uarK cnurcn tower;

And like the waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thought came o'er me,
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, 0 how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight,
And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, 0 how often,
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide !

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me,
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;


On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,
Each having his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
And the old, subdued and slow 1

And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection -
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.


-~0~


RESIGNATION.


HERE is no flock, however watched and
tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'r defended,
But has one vacant chair !
The air is full of farewells to the dying
And mourning for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted I


Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.







HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


There is no Death! What seems so is transition:
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.

She is not dead,-the child of our affection,-
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillnes and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing
Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbree-
The bond which nature gives,


Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken
May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child:

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.

And though, at times, impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocear
Tha:; cannot be at rest,-

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing
The grief that must have way.


GOD'S ACRE.


LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
The burial-ground God's acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping
dust.
G s Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas no more their own.

I.-" its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again


EXCE

HE shades of night were falling fast,
As ;7,-t..li an Alpine village passed
A ;. r i:-. who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Fbs~ed like a falchion from its sheath,
,,3 like a silver clarion rung
The a cent of that. unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

I happy homes he saw the light
Of Sv .-li fires gleam warm and bright;


At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan the chaff and grain.

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth,

With thy rude ploughshare' Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God !
This is the place where human harvests grow !


LSIOR.

Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
Try not to Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide !"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"0, stay," the maiden said, and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast !"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior I






HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche !"
This was the peasant's last Good-night;
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!


A traveler, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior !
There, in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!


THE RAINY DAY.


]E day is cold, and dark and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,


But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark dreary.


THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.
The writing of the following poem, The Wreck of the Hesperus," was occasioned by the news of a
ship-wreck on the coast near Gloucester, and by the name of a ree '-" Norman's Woe"-where many
disasters occurred. It was written one night between twelve and three o'clock, and cost the poet, it is
said, hardly an effort.


T was the schooner Hesperus
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little
daughter,
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds
That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now west, now south.

Then up and spake an old sailor,
Had sailed the Spanish main:
SI pray thee put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see !"
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
5


Colder and colder blew the wind,
A gale from the north-east;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.

" Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,
And do not tremble so,
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,
Against the stinging blast;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

"Oh father! I hear the church-bells ring,
Oh say what may it be ?"
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast;"
And he steered for the open sea.






HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


" Oh father! I hear the sound of guns,
Oh, say, what may it be ?"
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea."

"Oh, father I see a gleaming light,
Oh, say, what may it be ?
But the father answered never a word-
A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face to the skies,
The lantern gleamed, through the gleaming
On his fixed and glassy eyes.


snow,


Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed
That saved she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves
On the lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept,
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever, the fitful gusts between,
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and hard sea-sand.


The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts, went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank--
Ho ho the breakers roared.

At daybreak on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair
Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;
And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed,
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow;
Christ save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe.


THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.


OIMEWHAT back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country seat;
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw;
And, from its station in the hall,
An ancient timepiece says to all,
Forever-never !
Never-forever "
Half-way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands,
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas !
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,
"Forever-never!
Never-forever!"
By day its voice is low and light';
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say at each chamber door,
Forever-never !
Never-forever 1"


Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stooa.
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,
Forever-never I
Never-forever !"
In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased
Forever-never!
Never-forever I"
There groups of merry children played;
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
Oh, precious hours oh, golden prime
And affluence of love and time !
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told,-
"Forever-never I
Never-forever 1"






HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.


From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay, in his shroud of snow;
And, in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,-
Forever-never !
Never-forever !"

All are scattered now, and fled,-
Some are married, some are dead:
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
" Ah !" when shall they all meet again?


As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply,
Forever-never !
Never-forever !"

Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care
And death, and time shall disappear,-
Forever there, but never here!
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,
Forever-never!
Never-forever !"


THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.
The writing of this famous ballad was suggested to Mr. Longfellow by the digging up of a mail-clad
skeleton at Fall-River, Massachusetts-a circumstance which the poet linked with the traditions about the
Round Tower at Newport, thus giving to it the spirit of a Norse Viking song of war and of the sea. It is
written in the swift leaping meter employed by Drayton in his "Ode to the Cambro Britons on their
Harp."


PEAK speak thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,.
Comest to daunt me !
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretch'd, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me ?"

Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking old !
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee !
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse !
For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the ger-falcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimm'd the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.


" Oft to his frozen lair
Track'd I the grizzly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.

" But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

"Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Fill'd to o'erflowing.

" Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning out tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor,






HENRY WADSWORTH

" I woo'd the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosen'd vest
Flutter'd her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleam'd upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I ask'd his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrel stand
To hear my story.

' While the brown ale he quaff'd
Loud then the champion laugh'd,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blush'd and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,-
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!-
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind fail'd us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hail'd us.


LONGFELLOW.

"And as to catch the gale
Round veer'd the flapping sail,
Death was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter!
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water.

"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to lee-ward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking sea-ward.

"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies:
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen !
Hateful to me were men,
The sub-light hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
O, death was grateful!

"Thus, seam'd with many scars
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended !
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skal! to the Northland I skdl! "*
-Thus the tale ended.


*Skill is the Swedish expression for "Your Health."






HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

KING WITLAF'S DRINKING-HORN.


ITLAF, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,-

That, whenever they sat at their revels.
And drank from the golden bowl,
They might remember the donor,
And breathe a prayer for his soul.

So sat they once at Christmas,
And bade the goblet pass;
In their beards the red wine glistened
Like dew-drops in the grass.

They drank to the soul of Witlaf,
They drank to Christ'the Lord,
And to each of the Twelve Apostles,
Who had preached his holy word.

They drank to the Saints and Martyrs
Of the dismal days of yore,
And as soon as the horn was empty
They remembered one Saint more.


And the reader droned from the pulpit,
Like the murmur of many bees,
The legend of good Saint Guthlac
And Saint Basil's homilies;

Till the great bells of the convent,
From their prison in the tower,
Guthlac and Bartholommeus,
Proclaimed the midnight hour.

And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney
And the Abbot bowed his head,
And the flamelets flapped and flickered,
But the Abbot was stark and dead.

Yet still in his pallid fingers
He clutched the golden bowl,
In which, like a pearl dissolving,
Had sunk and dissolved his soul.

But not for this their revels
The jovial monks forbore,
For they cried, Fill high the goblet!
We must drink to one Saint more I"


EVANGELINE ON THE PRAIRIE.


EAUTIFUL was the night. Behind the
black wall of the forest,
S Tipping its summit with silver, arose the
moon. On the river
Fell here and there through the branches a tremu-
lous gleam of the moonlight,
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and
devious spirit.

Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of
the garden
Poured out their souls in odors, that were their
prayers and confessions
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent
Carthusian.
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with
shadows and night dews,
Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the
magical moonlight
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings,
As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade
of the oak-trees,
Passed she along the path to the edge of the mea-
sureless prairie.

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies


Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite
numbers.
Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the
heavens,
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel
and worship,
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of
that temple,
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them,
Upharsin."

And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and
the fire-flies,
Wandered alone, and she cried, 0 Gabriel! 0 my
beloved!
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold
thee?
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not
reach me ?
Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the
prairie !
Ah how often thine eyes have looked on the wood-
lands around me !
Ah how often beneath this oak, returning from labor,
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in
thy slumbers.


--~w-






W HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into
about thee?" silence.
Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoor- Patience !" whispered the oaks from oracular cav-
will sounded erns of darkness;
Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded,
neighboring thickets, "To-morrow !"

LITERARY FAME.
As a specimen of Mr. Longfellow's prose style we present the following extract from his "Hyperion,"
written when the poet was comparatively a young man.


IME has a Doomsday-Book, upon whose
pages he is continually recording illus-
trious names. But, as often as a new
name is written there, an old one disappears. Only
a few stand in illuminated characters never to be
effaced. These are the high nobility of Nature,-
Lords of the Public Domain of Thought. Pos-
terity shall never question their titles. But
those, whose fame lives only in the indiscreet opinion
of unwise men, must soon be as well forgotten as if
they had never been. To this great oblivion must
most men come. It is better, therefore, that they
should soon make up their minds to this: well know-
ing that, as their bodies must ere long be resolved
into dust again, and their graves tell no tales of them,
so must their names likewise be utterly forgotten, and
their most cherished thoughts, purposes, and opinions
have no longer an individual being among men; but
be resolved and incorporated into the universe of
thought.
Yes, it is better that men should soon make up
their minds to be forgotten, and look about them, or
within them, for some higher motive, in &har they
do, than the approbation of men, v. l;.h ik Fame.
namely, their duty; that they shoul.l hb- consta3ndi
and quietly at work, each in his sphere, ri-g.irllet- ..:.
effects, and leaving their fame to take care of itself.
Difficult must this indeed be, in our imperfection;
impossible, perhaps, to achieve it wholly. Yet the
resolute, the indomitable will of man can achieve
much,-at times even this victory over himself; being
persuaded that fame comes only when deserved, and
then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny.
It has become a common saying, that men of genius
are always in advance of their age; which is true.
There is something equally true, yet not so common;
namely, that, of these men of genius, the best and
bravest are in advance not only of their own age, but
of every age. As the German prose-poet says, every


possible future is behind them. We cannot suppose
that a period of time will ever arrive, when the world,
or any considerable portion of it, shall have come up
abreast with these great minds, so as fully to compre-
hend them.
And, oh! how majestically they walk in history I
some like the sun, with all his traveling glories
round him;" others wrapped in gloom, yet glorious
as a night with stars. Through the else silent dark-
ness of the past, the spirit hears their slow and solemn
footsteps. Onward they pass, like those hoary elders
seen in the sublime vision of an earthly paradise,
attendant angels bearing golden lights before them,
and, above and behind, the whole air painted with
seven listed colors, as from the trail of pencils !
And yet, on earth, these men were not happy,-
not all happy, in the outward circumstance of their
lives. They were in want, and in pain, and familiar
with prison-bars, and the damp, weeping walls of
dungeons. Oh, I have looked with wonder upon
those who, in sorrow and privation, and bodily dis-
comfort, and sickness, which is the shadow of death,
have worked right on to the accomplishment of their
great purposes; toiling much, enduring much, ful-
filling much ;-and then, with shattered nerves, and
sinews all unstrung, have laid themselves down in the
grave, and slept the sleep of death,-and the world
talks of them, while they sleep !
It would seem, indeed, as if all their sufferings had
but sanctified them! As if the death-angel, in pass-
ing, had touched them with the hem of his garment,
and made them holy As if the hand of disease had
been stretched out over them only to make the sign
of the cross upon their souls And as in the sun's
eclipse we can behold the great stars shining in the
heavens, so in this life-eclipse have these men beheld
the lights of the great eternity, burning solemnly and
forever !



























U--, l- .v r- Ii IA
'tl.f,'s lin ,s
Ow '1j '-3l1lbt-)s




d, or




--7-




ro t a R


















EDGAR ALLEN POE.

THE WEIRD AND MYSTERIOUS GENIUS.
DGAR ALLEN POE, the author of The Raven," Annabel Lee,"
"The Haunted Palace," "To One in Paradise," "Israfel" and
"Lenore," was in his peculiar sphere, the most brilliant writer, per-
haps, who ever lived. His writings, however, belong to a different
world of thought from that in which Bryant, Longfellow, Emerson,
Whittier and Lowell lived and labored. Theirs was the'realm of
nature, of light, of human joy, of happiness, ease, hope and cheer. Poe spoke
from the dungeon of depression. He was in a constant struggle with poverty. His
whole life was a tragedy in which sombre shades played an unceasing role, and yet
from out these weird depths came forth things so beautiful that their very sadness
is charming and holds us in a spell of bewitching enchantment. Edgar Fawcett
says of him:-
He loved all shadowy spots, all seasons drear;
All ways of darkness lured his ghastly whim;
Strange fellowships he held with goblins grim,
At whose demoniac eyes he felt no fear.
By desolate paths of dream where fancy's owl
Sent long lugubrious hoots through sombre air,
Amid thought's gloomiest caves he went to prowl
And met delirium in her awful lair."

Edgar Poe was born in Boston February 19th, 1809. His father was a Mary-
lander, as was also his grandfather, who was a distinguished Revolutionary soldier
and a friend of General Lafayette. The parents of Poe were both actors who toured
the country in the ordinary manner, and this perhaps accounts for his birth in
Boston. Their home was in Baltimore, Maryland.
When Poe was only a few years old both parents died, within two weeks, in
Richmond, Virginia. Their three children, two daughters, one older and one
younger than the subject of this sketch, were all adopted by friends of the family.
Mr. John Allen, a rich tobacco merchant of Richmond, Virginia, adopted Edgar
(who was henceforth called Edgar Allen Poe), and had him carefully educated, first
in England, afterwards at the Richmond Academy and the University of Virginia,
45






EDGAR ALLEN POE.


and subsequently at West Point. He always distinguished himself in his studies;
but from West Point he was dismissed after one year, it is said because he refused to
submit to the discipline of the institution.
In common with the custom in the University of Virginia at that time, Poe
acquired the habits of drinking and gambling, and the gambling debts which he
contracted incensed Mr. Allen, who refused to pay them. This brought on the
beginning of a series of quarrels which finally led to Poe's disinheritance and per-
manent separation from his benefactor. Thus turned out upon the cold, unsympa-
thetic world, without business training, without friends, without money, knowing
not how to make money-yet, with a proud, imperious, aristocratic nature,-we have
the beginning of the saddest story of any life in literature-struggling for nearly
twenty years in gloom and poverty, with here and there a ray of sunshine, and
closing with delirium tremens in Baltimore, October 7th, 1849, at forty years of age.
To those who know the full details of the sad story of Poe's life it is little wonder
that his sensitive, passionate nature sought surcease from disappointment in the
nepenthe of the intoxicating cup. It was but natural for a man of his nervous
temperament and delicacy of feeling to fall into that melancholy moroseness which
would chide even the angels for taking away his beautiful "Annabel Lee;" or that
he should wail over the Lost Lenore," or declare that his soul should "nevermore"
be lifted from the shadow of the Raven" upon the floor. These poems and others
are but the expressions of disappointment and despair of a soul alienated from
happy human relations. While we admire their power and beauty, we should
remember at what cost of pain and suffering and disappointment they were produced.
They are powerful illustrations of the prodigal expense of human strength, of
broken hopes and bitter experiences through which rare specimens of our literature
are often grown.
To treat the life of Edgar Allen Poe, with its lessons, fully, would require the
scope of a volume. Both as a man and an author there is a sad fascination which
belongs to no other writer, perhaps, in the world. His personal character has been
represented as pronouncedly double. It is said that Stevenson, who was a great
admirer of Poe, received the inspiration for his novel, Dr. Jekyll and Mr, Hyde"
from the contemplation of his double character. Paul Hamilton Fayne has also
written a poem entitled, Poe," which presents in a double shape Cho angel and
demon in one body. The first two stanzas of which we quote:-
Two mighty spirits dwelt in him:
One, a wild demon, weird and dim,
The darkness of whose ebon wings
Did shroud unutterable things:
One, a fair angel, in the skies
Of whose serene, unshadowed eyes
Were seen the lights of Paradise.
To these, in turn, he gave the whole
Vast empire of- his brooding soul;
Now, filled with strains of heavenly swell,
Now thrilled with awful tones of hell:
Wide were his being's strange extremes,
'Twixt nether glooms, and Eden gleams
Of tender, or majestic dreams."






EEGAR ALLEN POE.


It must be said in justice to Poe's memory, however, that the above idea of his
being both demon and angel became prevalent through the first biography pub-
lished of him, by Dr. Rufus Griswold, who no doubt sought to avenge himself on
the dead poet for the severe but unanswerable criticisms which the latter had
passed upon his and other contemporaneous authors' writings. Later biographies,
notably those of J. H. Ingram and Mrs. Sarah Ellen Whitman, as well as pub-
lished statements from his business associates, have disproved many of Griswold's
damaging statements, and placed the private character of Poe in a far more favor-
able light before the world. He left off gambling in his youth, and the appetite
for drink, which followed him to the close of his life, was no doubt inherited from
his father who, before him, was a drunkard.
It is natural for admirers of Poe's genius to contemplate with regret akin to sor-
row those circumstances and characteristics which made him so unhappy, and yet
the serious question arises, was not that character and his unhappy life necessary to
the productions of his marvelous pen ? Let us suppose it was, and in charity draw
the mantle of forgetfulness over his misguided ways, covering the sad picture of his
personal life from view, and hang in its place the matchless portrait of his splendid
genius, before which, with true American pride, we may summon all the world to
stand with uncovered heads.
As a writer of short stories Poe had no equal in America. He is said to have
been the originator of the modern detective story. The artful ingenuity with which'
he works up the details of his plot, and minute attention to the smallest illustrative
particular, give his tales a vivid interest from which no reader can escape. His
skill in analysis is as marked as his power of word painting. The scenes of gloom
and terror which he loves to depict, the forms of horror to which he gives almost
actual life, render his mastery over the reader most exciting and absorbing.
As a poet Poe ranks among the most original in the world. He is pre-eminently
a poet of the imagination. It is useless to seek in his verses for philosophy or
preaching. He brings into his poetry all the weirdness, subtlety, artistic detail and
facility in coloring which give the charm to his prose stories, and to these he adds
a musical flow of language which has never been equalled. To him poetry was
music, and there was no poetry that was not musical. For poetic harmony he has
had no equal certainly in America, if, indeed, in the world. Admirers of his poems
are almost sure to read them over and over again, each time finding new forms of
beauty or charm in them, and the reader abandons himself to a current of melodious
fancy that soothes and charms like distant music at night, or the rippling of a near-
by, but unseen, brook. The images which he creates are vague and illusive. As
one of his biographers has written, He heard in his dreams the tinkling footfalls
of angels and seraphim and subordinated everything in his verse to the delicious
effect of musical sound." As a literary critic Poe's capacities were of the greatest.
"In that large part of the critic's perceptions," says Duyckinck, in knowledge of
the mechanism of composition, he has been unsurpassed by any writer in America."
Poe was also a fine reader and elocutionist. A writer who attended a lecture by
him in Richmond says: I never heard a voice so musical as his. It was full of
the sweetest melody. No one who heard his recitation of the "Raven" will ever
forget the beauty and pathos with which this recitation was rendered. rlhe





EDGAR ALLEN POE.


audience was still as death, and as his weird, musical voice filled the hall its effect
was simply indescribable. It seems to me that I can yet hear that long, plaintive
" nevermore."
Among the labors of Poe, aside from his published volumes and contributions to
miscellaneous magazines, should be mentioned his various positions from 1834 to 1848
as critic and editor on the Literary Messenger" of Richmond, Virginia, the
"Gentleman's Magazine" of Philadelphia, "Graham's Magazine" of Philadelphia,
the Evening Mirror" of New York, and the Broadway Journal" of New York,
which positions he successively held. The last he gave up in 1848 with the idea of
starting a literary magazine of his own, but the project failed, perhaps on account
of his death, which occurred the next year. His first volume of poems was pub-
lished in. 1829. In 1833 he won two prizes, one for prose and one for poetic com-
position, offered by the Baltimore "Saturday Visitor," his Manuscript Found in
a Bottle" being awarded the prize for prose and the poem "The Coliseum" for
poetry. The latter, however, he did not recieve because the judges found the same
author had won them both. In 1838 Harper Brothers published his ingenious
fiction, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket." In 1840 Tales
of the Grotesque and Arabesque" were issued in Philadelphia. In 1844 he took
up his residence at Fordham, NewYork, where his wife died in 1847, and where he
continued to reside for the balance of his life. His famous poem the Raven" was
-published in 1845, and during 1848 and 1849 he published "Eureka" and
" Ulalume," the former being a prose poem. It is the crowning work of his life, to
which he devoted the last and most matured energies of his wonderful intellect.
To those who desire a further insight into the character of the man and his labors
we would recommend the reading of J. H. Ingram's "Memoir" and Mrs. Sarah
Ellen Whitman's Edgar Poe and His Critics," the latter published in 1863.






EDGAR ALLEN POE.


THE CITY IN THE SEA.


TBE CITY IN THE SEA.

0! Death has rear'd himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim west,
Where the good and the bad and the
worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines, and palaces, and towers,
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
4


Streams up the turrets silently-
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
Up domes-up spires-up kingly halls-
Up fanes-up Babylon-like walls-
Up shadowy, long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;






EDGAR ALLEN POE.


But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye-
Not the gayly-jewell'd dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass-
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea-
No hearings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!


The wave-there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide-
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow-
The hours are breathing faint and low-
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.


ANNABEL LEE.


T was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may
know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my ANNABEL LEE-
.With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A .wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre,
In this kingdom by the sea.


The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes !-that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea),
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:
For the moon never beams, without bringing me
dreams
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my.darling-my darling-my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea-
In her tomb by the sounding sea.


TO HELEN.
The following poem was published first "To --," afterwards the title was changed, "To Helen." It
seems to have been written by Poe to Mrs. Sarah Ellen Whitman whom many years afterwards he was
engaged to marry. The engagement was, however, broken off. The poem was no doubt written before his
acquaintance with the lady; even before his marriage or engagement to his wife, and at a time perhaps
when he did not expect to be recognized as a suitor by the unknown woman who had completely captured
his heart, in the chance meeting which he here so beautifully describes.
SAW thee once-once only-years ago: Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
I must not say how many-but not many. Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe-
It was a July midnight; and from out Fell on the upturned faces of these roses
A full-orbed moon that, like thine own soul, That gave out, in return for the love-light,
soaring, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death-
Sought a precipitant pathway up through heaven, Fell on the upturned faces of these roses
There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted
With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, By thee and by the poetry of thy presence.
Upon the upturned faces of a thousand







EDGAR ALLEN POE.


CLAD ALL IN WHITE, UPON A VIOLET BANK
I SAW THEE HALF RECLINING; WHILE THE MOON
FELL ON THE UPTURNED FACES OF THE ROSES,
AND ON THINE OWN, UPTURNED-ALAS! IN SORROW.


Was it not Fate that, on this July midnight-
Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow)
That bade me pause before that garden-gate
To breathe the incense of those slumbering ruses ?
No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept,
Save only thee and me. I paused-I looked-
And in an instant all things disappeared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!)
The pearly lustre of the moon went out:
The mossy banks and the meandering paths,
The happy flowers and the repining trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses' odors
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All, all expired save thee-save less than thou:
Save only the divine light in thine eyes-
Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes.
I saw but them-they were the world to me.
I saw but them-saw only them for hours-
Saw only them until the moon went down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten


Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a wo, yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride !
How daring an ambition yet how deep-
How fathomless a capacity for love!

But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight
Into a western couch of thunder-cloud,
And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees
Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained.
They would not go-tney never yet have gone.
Lighting my lonely pathway home that night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.
They follow me, they lead me through the years;
They are my ministers-yet I their slave.
Their office is to illumine and enkindle-
My duty, to be saved by their bright light,
And purified in their electric fire-
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with beauty (which is hope),







EDGAR ALLEN POE.


And are far up in heaven, the stars I kneel to
In the sad, silent watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day


I see them still-two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!


ISRAFEL.*


N heaven a spirit doth dwell
Whose heart-strings are a lute;"
None sing so wildly well
As the angel ISRAFEL,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell)
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamour'd moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven)
Pauses in heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That ISRAFELI'S fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings-
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty-
Where Love's a grown-up god-


Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore, thou art not wrong,
ISRAFELI, who despisest
An unimpassion'd song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long !
The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit-
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute-
Well may the stars be mute!
Yes, heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely-flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.
If I could dwell
Where ISRAFEL
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky. .


TO ONE IN PARADISE.


HOU wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreath'd with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
" On! on "-but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!


For, alas! alas! with me
The light of life is o'er!
No more-no more-no more-
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar !

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams--
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.


*"And the angel ISRAFEL, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures."
KORAN.






EDGAR ALLEN POE.


LENORE.
Mrs. Whitman, in her reminiscences of Poe, tells us the following incident which gave rise to the writing
of'these touching lines. While Poe was in the Academy at Richmond, Virginia,-as yet a boy of about
sixteen years,-he was invited by a friend to visit his home. The mother of this friend was a singularly
beautiful and withal a most kindly and sympathetic woman. Having learned that Poe was an orphan she
greeted him with the motherly tenderness and affection shown toward her own son. The boy was so over-
come that it is said he stood for a minute unable to speak and finally with tears he declared he had never
before known his loss in the love of a true and devoted mother. From that time forward he was frequently
a visitor, and the attachment between him and this kind-hearted woman continued to grow. On Poe's
return from Europe when he was about twenty years of age, he learned that she had died a few days before
his arrival, and was so overcome with grief that he went nightly to her grave, even when it was dark and
rainy, spending hours in fancied communion with her spirit. Later he idealized in his musings the embodi-
ment of such a spirit in a young and beautiful woman, whom he made his lover and whose untiftely death
he imagined and used as the inspiration of this poem.
H, broken is the golden bowl, The sweet LENORE
The spirit flown forever Hath gone before,"
Let the bell toll! With Hope, that flew beside,
A saintly soul Leaving thee wild
Floats on the Stygian river; For the dear child
And, GUY DE VERE, That should have been thy bride-
Hast thou no tear? For her, the fair
Weep now or never more! And debonair,
See, on yon drear That now so lowly lies,
And rigid bier The life upon her yellow hair
Low lies thy love, LENORE! But not within her eyes-
Come, let the burial-rite be read- The life still there,
The funeral-song be sun !- Upon her hair-
An anthem for the queenliest dead The death upon her eyes.
That ever died so young-
A dirge for her the doubly dead, "Avaunt! to-night
In that she died so young! My heart is light.


"Wretches ye loved her for her wealth,
And hated her for her pride;
And when she fell in feeble health,
Ye bless'd her-that she died !
How sh&ll the ritual, then, be read?
The requiem how be sung
By you-by yours, the evil eye-
By yours the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence
That died, and died so young ?"

Peccavimus ;
But rave not thus!
And let a sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly, the dead may feel no
wrong!


No dirge will I praise,
But waft the angel on her flight
With a pman of old days!
Let no bell toll!-
Lest her sweet soul,
Amid its hallow'd mirth,
Should catch the note,
As it doth float-
Up from the damned earch.
To friends above, from fiends below,
The indignant ghost is riven-
From hell unto a high estate
Far up within the heaven-
From grief and groan,
To a golden throne,
Beside the King of Heaven."


THE BELLS.
This selection is a favorite with reciters. It is an excellent piece for voice culture. The musical flow of
the metre and happy selection of the words make it possible for the skilled speaker to closely imitate the
sounds of the ringing bells.
EAR the sledges with the bells- How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
Silver bells! In the icy air of night!
What a world of merriment their melody While the stars that oversprinkle
foretells All the heavens, seem to twinkle







EDGAR ALLEN POE.


With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells-
Golden bells !
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells !
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells !
How it swells !
How it dwells.

On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their afright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now-now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar I
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air I
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;


Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the
bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody
compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright,
At the melancholy menace of their tone 1
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people-ah, the people-
They-that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
A pmean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pmean of the bells!
And he dances and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells-
Of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the tolling of the bells,-
Of the bells, bells, bells,-
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,-
Bells, bells, bells,-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.







EDGAR ALLEN POE.


THE RAVEN.

This poem is generally allowed to be one of the most remarkable examples of a harmony of sentiment
with rhythmical expression to be found in any language. While the poet sits musing in his study, endeavor-
ing to win from books "surcease of sorrow for the lost Lenore," a raven-the symbol of despair-enters
the room and perches upon a bust of Pallas. A colloquy follows between the poet and the bird of ill omen
with its haunting croak of "Nevermore.''


THE RAVEN.


NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pon-
dered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume
of forgotten lore,-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly
there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at
my chamber-door.
'Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping
at my chamber-door-
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak De-
oember,


And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost
upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought
to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the
lost Lenore,-
For the rare and raidant maiden whom the angels
name Lenore,-
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple
curtain,
Thrilled me,-filled me with fantastic terrors never
felt before;







EDGAR ALLEN POE.


So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
repeating,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-
door,-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-
door;
That it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no
longer,
" Sir," said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I
implore;
But the fact is, I was iq|t.;'I, and so gently you
came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my
chamber-door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you "-here I opened
wide the door:
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there,
wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to
dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave
no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered
word, "Lenore! "
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the
word, LENORE "
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within
me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than
before.
Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my
window-lattice;
Let me see then what threat is and this mystery
explore,-
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery
explore;-
'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a
flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days
of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute
stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my
chamber-door,-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my cham-
ber-door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into
smiling,


By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance
it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I
said, art sure no craven;
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the
nightly shore,
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plu-
tonian shore?"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse
so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy
bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human
being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his
Chamber-door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his
chamber-door
With such name as Nevermore! "

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke
only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then
he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, Other friends
have flown before,
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have
flown before.
Then the bird said, "Nevermore! "

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly
spoken,
Doubtless," said I, what it utters is its only stock
and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful
disaster
Follow'd fast and followed faster, till his songs one
burden bore,
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden
bore,
Of-' Never-nevermore!' "

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into
smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird
and bust and door,
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to
linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird
of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and omin
nous bird of yore
Meant in croaking Nevermore I"






EDGAR ALLEN POE.


This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex-
pressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my
bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease
reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light
gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light
gloating o'er
She shall press--ah nevermore !

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from
an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the
tufted floor,
"Wretch," I cried, thy God hath lent thee,-by
these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of
Lenore!
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget the
lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

Prophet cried I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if
bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed
thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en-
chanted--
On this home by horror haunted-tell me truly, I
implore,-
Is there-is there balm in Gilead?-tell me-tell
me, I implore "
Quoth the raven, Nevermore 1"


"Prophet !" cried I, thing of evil I-prophet still, if
bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we
both adore,
Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within the distant
Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels
name Lenore;
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels
name Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, Nevermore!"

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !" I
shrieked, upstarting,-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the night's
Plutonian shore.
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul
hath spoken !
Leave my loneliness unbroken !-quit the bust above
my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form
from off my door "
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is
sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-
door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that
is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his
shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating
on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore I





















I -.'.

I. II


j;49~Cj~


RALPH WALDO EMERSON AND HIS BROOK FARM FRIENDS.


rlq~lr.
~i~~F~ ~-
-~--


-

.r '--1--I
''' '':'f
~.
, .J I.
I... ,.
'
"''


''
















RALPH WALDO EMERSON

THE LIBERATOR OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.

0 classify Emerson is a matter of no small difficulty. He was a
philosopher, he was an essayist, he was a poet-all three so eminently
that scarcely two of his friends would agree to which class he most
belonged. OliverWendell Holmes asks:
Where in the realm of thought whose air is song
Does he the Buddha of the west belong ?
He seems a winged Franklin sweetly wise,
Born to unlock the secret of the skies."
But whatever he did was done with a poetic touch. Philosophy, essay or song, it
was all pregnant with the spirit of poetry. Whatever else he was Emerson was
pre-eminently a poet. It was with this golden key that he unlocked the chambers of
original thought, that liberated American letters.
Until Emerson came, American authors had little independence. James Russell
Lowell declares, "We were socially and intellectually bound to English thought,
until Emerson cut the cable and gave us a chance at the dangers and glories of blue
waters. He was our first optimistic writer. Before his day, Puritan theology had
seen in man only a vile nature and considered his instincts for beauty and pleasure,
proofs of his total depravity." Under such conditions as these, the imagination was
fettered and wholesome literature was impossible. As a reaction against this Puri-
tan austerity came Unitarianism, which aimed to establish the dignity of man, and
out of this came the further growth of the idealism or transcendentalism of Emer-
son. It was this idea and these aspirations of the new theology that Emerson con-
verted into literature. The indirect influence of his example on the writings of/
Longfellow, Holmes, Whittier and Lowell, and its direct influence on Thoreau,
Hawthorne, Chas. A. Dana, Margaret Fuller, G. W. Curtis and others, formed the
very foundation for the beautiful structure of our representative American literature.
Emerson was profoundly a thinker who pondered the relation of man to God
and to the universe. He conceived and taught the noblest ideals of virtue and a
spiritual life. The profound study which Emerson devoted to his themes and his
philosophic cast of mind made him a writer for scholars. He was a prophet who,
without argument, announced truths which, by intuition, he seems to have perceived;
but the thought is often so shadowy that the ordinary reader fails to catch it. For
7i





RALPH WALDO EMERSON.


this reason he will never be like Longfellow or Whittier, a favorite with the masses.
Let it not be understood, however, that all of Emerson's writings are heavy or
shadowy or difficult to understand. On the contrary, some of his poems are of a
popular character and are easy of comprehension. For instance, The Hymn,"
sung at the completion of the Concord Monument in 1836, was on every one's lips
at the time of the Centennial celebration, in 1876. His optimistic spirit is also beau-
tifully and clearly expressed in the following stanza of his Voluntaries :"
So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When duty whispers low, Thou must,"
The youth replies, I can."

These are but two instances of many that may be cited. No author is, perhaps,
more enjoyed by those who understand him. He was a master of language. He
never used the wrong word. His sentences are models. But he was not a logical
or methodical writer. Every sentence stands by itself. His paragraphs might be
arranged almost at random without essential loss to the essays. His philosophy con-
sists largely in an array of golden sayings full of vital suggestions to help men
make the best and most of themselves. He had no compact system of philosophy.
Ralph Waldo Emerson was born in Boston, May 25, 1803, within "A kite-string
of the birth place of Benjamin Franklin" with whom he is frequently compared.
The likeness, however, consists only in the fact that they were both decidedly repre-
sentative Americans of a decidedly different type. Franklin was prose, Emerson
poetry; Franklin common sense, real; Emerson imaginative, ideal. In these oppo-
site respects they both were equally representative of the highest type. Both were
hopeful, kindly and shrewd. Both equally powerful in making, training and guid-
ing the American people.
In his eighth year young Emerson was sent to a grammar school, where he
made such rapid progress, that he was soon able to enter a higher department
known as a Latin school. His first attempts at writing were not the dull efforts
of a school boy; but original poems which he read with real taste and feeling.
He completed his course and graduated from Harvard College at eighteen. It is
said that he was dull in mathematics and not above the average in his class in
general standing; but he was widely read in literature, which put him far in
advance, perhaps, of any young man of his age. After graduating, he taught school
for five years in connection with his brother; but in 1825, gave it up for the minis-
try. For a time he was pastor of a Unitarian Congregation in Boston; but his inde-
pendent views were not in accordance with the doctrine of his church, therefore, he
resigned in 1835, and retired to Concord, where he purchased a home near the
spot on which the first battle of the Revolution was fought in 1775, which he
commemorated in his own verse:-

"There first the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world."
In this city, Emerson resided until the day of his death, which occurred in Con-
cord, April 27, 1882, in the seventy-eighth year of his age.





RALPH WALDO EMERSON.


It was in Concord that the poet and essayist, as the prophet of the advanced
thought of his age, gathered around him those leading spirits who were dissatisfied
with the selfishness and shallowness of existing society, and, who had been led by
him to dream of an ideal condition in which all should live as one family. Out of
this grew the famous Brook Farm Community." This was not an original idea
of Emerson's, however. Coleridge and Southey, of England, had thought of found-
ing such a society in Pennsylvania, on the Susquehanna River. Emerson regarded
this community of interests as the clear teachings of Jesus Christ; and, to put into
practical operation this idea, a farm of about two hundred acres was bought at
Roxbury, Mass., and a stock company was formed under the title of "The Brook
Farm Institution of Agriculture and Education." About seventy members joined






















HOME OF RALPH WALDO EMERSON, CONCORD, MASS.

in the enterprise. The principle of the organization was cooperative, the members
sharing the profits. Nathaniel Hawthorne, the greatest of romancers, Chas. A.
Dana, of the New York Sun, George W. Curtis, of Harper's Monthly, Henry D.
Thoreau, the poet naturalist, Amos Bronson Alcott, the transcendental dreamer and
writer of strange shadowy sayings, and Margaret Fuller, the most learned woman of

Emerson, himself, never really lived there; but was a member and frequent visitor,
as were other prominent scholars of the same school. The project was a failure.
After five years of experience, some of the houses were destroyed by fire, the enter-
prise given up, and the membership scattered.
aswr'the prmien scoaso'.esm cho.Teprjc afiue





RALPH WALDO EMERSON.


But the Brook Farm served its purpose in literature by bringing together some
of the best intellects in America, engaging them for five years in a common course
of study, and stimulating a commerce of ideas. The breaking up of the community
was better, perhaps, than its success would have been. It dispersed and scattered
abroad the advanced thoughts of Emerson, and the doctrine of the society into every
profession. Instead of being confined to the little paper, The Dial," (which was
the organ of the society) its literature was transferred into a number of widely cir-
culated national mediums.
Thus, it will be seen how Emerson, the "Sage of Concord," gathered around him
oa td dominated, by his charming personality, his powerful mind, and his wholesome
influence, some of the brightest minds that have figured in American literature;
and how, through them, as well as his own writings, he has done so much, not only
to lay the foundation of a new literature, but to mould and shape leading minds for
generations to come. The Brook Farm idea was the uppermost thought in Edward
Bellamy's famous novel, "Looking Backward," which created such a sensation in
the reading world a few years since. The progressive thought of Emerson was
father to the so-called "New Theology," or "Higher Criticism," of modern scholars
and theologians. It is, perhaps, for the influence which Emerson has exerted, rather
than his own works, that the literature of America is mostly indebted to him. It
was through his efforts that the village of Concord has been made more famous in
American letters than the city of New York.
The charm of Emerson's personality has already been referred to,-and it is not
strange that it should have been so great. His manhood, no less than his genius
was worthy of admiration and of reverence. His life corresponded with his brave,
cheerful and steadfast teachings. He "practiced what he preached." His manners
were so gentle, his nature so transparent, and his life so singularly pure and happy,
that he was called, while he lived, "the good and great Emerson;" and, since his
death, the memory of his life and manly example are among the cherished posses-
sions of our literature.
The reverence of his literary associates was little less than worship. Amos Bron-
son Alcott,-father of the authoress, Louisa M. Alcott,-one of the Brook Farm
members, though himself a profound scholar and several years Emerson's senior,
declared that it would have been his great misfortune to have lived without knowing
Emerson, whom he styled, "The magic minstrel and speaker! whose rhetoric, voiced
as by organ stops, delivers the sentiment from his breast in cadences peculiar to
himself; now hurling it forth on the ear, echoing them; then,-as his mood and
matter invite it-dying like
Music of mild lutes
Or silver coated flutes.
. such is the rhapsodist's cunning in its structure and delivery."
Referring to his association with Emerson, the same writer acknowledges in a
poem, written after the sage's death:
Thy fellowship was my culture, noble friend:
By the hand thou took'st me, and did'st condescend
To bring me straightway into thy fair guild;
And life-long hath it been high compliment






RALPH WALDO EMERSON.


By that to have been known, and thy friend styled,
Given to rare thought and to good learning bent;
Whilst in my straits an angel on me smiled.
Permit me, then, thus honored, still to be
A scholar in thy university.



HYMN SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE CONCORD MONUMENT, 1836.
Y the rude bridge that arched the flood, On this green bank, by this soft stream,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, We set to day a votive stone,
Here once the embattled farmers stood, That memory may their deed redeem
And fired the shot heard round the world. When, like our sires, our sons are gone.


The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.


Spirit that made those heroes dare
To die or leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.


---0


THE RHODORA.


N May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless bloomsin a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook ;
The purple petals fallen in the pool
Made the black waters with their beauty gay;
Young RAPHAEL might covet such a school;
The lively show beguiled me from my way.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why


This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky,
Dear tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for being.
Why, thou wert there, O, rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew,
But in my simple ignorance suppose
The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought
you.


THE TRUE HERO.

AN EXTRACT FROM "VOLUNTARIES."

The following story is told of the manner in which the poem, "Voluntaries," obtained its title. In 1863,
Mr. Emerson came to Boston and took a room in the Parker House, bringing with him the unfinished sketch
of a few verses which he wished Mr. Fields, his publisher, to hear. He drew a small table to the centre
of the room and read aloud the lines he proposed giving to the press. They were written on separate slips
of paper which were flying loosely about the room. (Mr. Emerson frequently wrote in such independent
paragraphs, that many of his poems and essays might be rearranged without doing them serious violence.)
The question arose as to title of the verses read, when Mr. Fields suggested Voluntaires," which was cor-
dially accepted by Mr. Emerson.


WELL for the fortunate soul
Which Music's wings unfold,
Stealing away the memory
Of sorrows new and old !
Yet happier he whose inward sight,
Stayed on his subtle thought,
Shuts his sense on toys of time,
To vacant bosoms brought;
But best befriended of the God
He who, in evil times,
Warned by an inward voice,


Heeds not the darkness and the dread,
Biding by his rule and choice,
Telling only the fiery thread,
Leading over heroic ground
Walled with immortal terror round,
To the aim which him allures,
And the sweet heaven his deed secures.
Peril around all else appalling,
Cannon in front and leaden rain,
Him duty through the clarion calling
To the van called not in vain.






RALPH WALDO EMERSON.


Stainless soldier on the walls,
Knowing this,-and knows no more,-
Whoever fights, whoever falls,
Justice conquers evermore,
Justice after as before;-
And he who battles on her side,
God, though he were ten times slain,
Crowns him victor glorified,
Victor over death and pain


Forever: but his erring foe,
Self-assured that he prevails,
Looks from his victim lying low,
And sees aloft the red right arm
Redress the eternal scales.
He, the poor for whom angels foil,
Blind with pride and fooled by hate,
Writhes within the dragon coil,
Reserved to a speechless fate.


---- 0~-


MOUNTAIN AND SQUIRREL.


HE mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel;
And the former called the latter Little
Prig."
Bun replied:
" You are doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together,
To make up a year
And a sphere.


And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut."


~0~


THE SNOW STORM.


NNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky
Arrives the snow, and driving o'er the
fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delay'd, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fire-place, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north-wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnish'd with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.


Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs, and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are number'd, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonish'd Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.


THE PROBLEM.


LIKE a church, I like a cowl,
I love a prophet of the soul,
And on my heart monastic aisles
Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles,
Yet not for all his faith can see
Would I that cowled churchman be.
Why should the vest on him allure,
Which I could not on me endure?
Not from a vain or shallow thought
His awful Jove young Phidias brought;
Never from lips of 'sunning fell


The thrilling Delphic oracle;
Out from the heart of nature roll'd
The burdens of the Bible old;
The litanies of nations came,
Like the volcano's tongue of flame,
Up from the burning core below,-
The canticles of love and wo.
The hand that rounded Peter's dome,
And groin'd the aisles of Christian Rome,
Wrought in a sad sincerity.
Himself from God he could not free;






RALPH WALDO EMERSON.


He builded better than he knew,
The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Know'st thou what wove yon wood-bird's nest
Of leaves, and feathers from her breast?
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell,
Painting with morn each annual cell?
Or how the sacred pine tree adds
To her old leaves new myriads?
Such and so grew these holy piles,
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
As the best gem upon her zone;
And morning opes with haste her lids
To gaze upon the Pyramids;
O'er England's Abbeys bends the sky
As on its friends with kindred eye;
For, out of Thought's interior sphere
These wonders rose to upper air,
And nature gladly gave them place,
Adopted them into her race,
And granted them an equal date
With Andes and with Ararat.
These temples grew as grows the grass,
Art might obey but not surpass.
The passive Master lent his hand


To the vast Soul that o'er him planned,
And the same power that rear'd the shrine,
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.
Ever the fiery Pentecost
Girds with one flame the countless host,
Trances the heart through chanting choirs,
And through the priest the mind inspires.
The word unto the prophet spoken,
Was writ on tables yet unbroken;
The word by seers or sybils told
In groves of oak or fanes of gold,
Still floats upon the morning wind,
Still whispers to the willing mind.
One accentwof the Holy Ghost
The heedless world hath never lost.
I know what say the Fathers wise,-
The book itself before me lies,-
Old Chrysostom, best Augustine,
And he who blent both in his line,
The younger Golden Lips or mines,
Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines;
His words are music in my ear,
I see his cowled portrait dear,
And yet, for all his faith could see,
I would not the good bishop be.


TRAVELING.


HAVE no churlish objection to the cir-
cumnavigation of the globe, for the pur-
poses of art, of study, and benevolence,
so that the man is first domesticated, or does not
go abroad with the hope of finding somewhat greater
than he knows. He who travels to be amused, or
to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels
away from himself, and grows old even in youth
among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, his will
and mind have become old and dilapidated as they.
He carries ruins to ruins.
Traveling is a fool's paradise. We owe to our
first journeys the discovery that place is nothing. At
home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be in-
toxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack
my trunk, embrace my friends, and embark on the
sea, and at last wake up at Naples, and there beside
me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identi-
cal that I fled from. I seek the Vatican and the
palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and
suggestions; but I am not intoxicated. My giant
goes with me wherever I go.
But the rage of traveling is itself only a symptom
of a deeper unsoundness affecting the whole intel-


lectual action. The intellect is vagabond, and the
universal system of education fosters restlessness.
Our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay
at home. We imitate; and what is imitation but
the traveling of the mind? Our houses are built
with foreign taste; our shelves are garnished with
foreign ornaments; our opinions, our tastes, our
whole minds, lean to and follow the past and the dis-
tant as the eyes of a maid follow her mistress. The
soul created the arts wherever they have flourished.
It was in his own mind that the artist sought his
model. It was an application of his own thought to
the thing to be done and the conditions to be ob-
served. And why need we copy the Doric or the
Gothic model? Beauty, convenience, grandeur of
thought and quaint expression are as near to us as to
any, and if the American artist will study with hope
and love the precise thing to be done by him, con-
sidering the climate, the soil, the length of the day,
the wants of the people, the habit and form of
the government, he will create a house in which all
these will find themselves fitted, and taste and senti-
ment will be satisfied also.







RALPH WALDO EMERSON..


THE COMPENSATION OF CALAMITY.


E cannot part with our friends. We can-
not let our angels go. We do not see
that they only go out that archangels
may come in. We are idolaters of the old. We
do not believe in the riches of the soul, in its proper
eternity and omnipresence. We do not believe
there is any force in to-day to rival or recreate that
beautiful yesterday. We linger in the ruins of
the old tent, where once we had bread and shelter
and organs, nor believe that the spirit can feed, cover
and nerve us again. We cannot find aught so dear,
so sweet, so graceful. But we sit and weep in vain.
The voice of the Almighty saith, Up and onward
for evermore!" We cannot stay amid the ruins,
neither will we rely on the new; and so we walk ever
with reverted eyes, like those monsters who look
backwards.
And yet the compensations of calamity are made
apparent to the understanding also, after long inter-
vals of time. A fever, a mutilation, a cruel disap-


pointment, a loss of wealth, a loss of friends, seems at
the moment unpaid loss, and unpayable. But the
sure years reveal the deep remedial force that under-
lies all facts. The death of a dear friend, wife,
brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation,
somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or
genius; for it commonly operates revolutions in our
way of life, terminates an epoch of infancy or of
youth which was waiting to be closed; breaks up a
wonted occupation, or a household, or style of living,
and allows the formation of new ones more friendly
to the growth of character. It permits or constrains
the formation of new acquaintances, and the reception
of new influences that prove of the first importance
to the next years; and the man or woman who would
have remained a sunny garden-flower, with no room
for its roots and too much sunshine for its head, by
the falling of the walls and the neglect of the
gardener, is made the banian of the forest, yielding
shade and fruit to wide neighborhoods of men.


SELF-RELIANCE.


NSIST on yourself; never imitate. Your
own gift you can present every moment
with the cumulative force of a whole
life's cultivation; but of the adopted talent of
another you have only an extemporaneous, half
possession. That which each can do best, none but
his Maker can teach him. No man yet knows
what it is, nor can, till that person has exhibited it.
Where is the master who could have taught Shaks-
peare ? Where is the master who could have in-


structed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon or
Newton? Every great man is a unique. The
Scipionism of Scipio is precisely that part he could
not borrow. If anybody will tell me whom the
great man imitates in the original crisis when he per-
forms a great act, I will tell him who else than him-
self can teach him. Shakspeare will never be made
by the study of Shakspeare. Do that which is as-
signed thee, and thou canst not hope too much or
dare too much.


-~0~-


FROM "NATURE."


O go into solitude a man needs to retire as
much from his chamber as from society.
I am not solitary whilst I read and write,
though nobody is with me. But if a man would be
alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come
from those heavenly worlds will separate between
him and vulgar things. One might think the atmos-
phere was made transparent with this design, to
give man,'in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual pres-


ence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities,
how great they are!
If the stars should appear one night in a thousand
years, how would men believe and adore and preserve
for many generations the remembrance of the city of
God which had been shown But every night come
out these preachers of beauty and light the universe
with their admonishing smile.
The stars awaken a certain reverence, because,






TAL1AH WALDO EMEtSON.


though always present, they are always inaccessible;
but all natural objects make kindred impression when
the mind is open to their influence. Nature never
wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest
man extort all her secrets and lose his curiosity by
finding out all her perfection. Nature never became
a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the
mountains reflected all the wisdom of his best hour
as much as they had delighted the simplicity of his
childhood.
When we speak of Nature in this manner, we have
a distinct but most poetical sense in the mind. We
mean the integrity of impression made by manifold
Nature objects. It is this which distinguishes the
stick of timber of the wood-cutter from the tree of
the ppet. The charming landscape whiph I saw this
morning is indubitably made up of some twenty or
thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and
Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them
owns the landscape. There is a property in the hori-
zon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate
all the parts-that is, the poet. This is the best
part of these men's farms, yet to this their land-deeds
give them no title.
To speak truly, few adult persons can see Nature.
Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have
a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only
the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the
heart of the child. The lover of Nature is he whose
inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to
each other-who has retained the spirit of infancy
even into the era of manhood. His intercourse with
heaven and earth becomes part of his daily food. In
the presence of Nature a wild delight runs through
the man in spite of real sorrows. Nature says, He
is my creature, and, maugre all his impertinent griefs,
he shall be glad with me. Not the sun nor the sum-
mer alone, but every hour and season, yields its tribute
of delight; for every hour and change corresponds
to and authorizes a different state of the mind, from
breathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a


setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning
piece. In good health the air is a cordial of incredi-
ble virtue. Crossing a bare common in snow-puddles
at twilight under a clouded sky, without having in
my thoughts any occurrence of special good-fortune,
I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. Almost I fear
to think how glad I am. In the woods, too, a man
casts off his years as the snake his slough, and at
what period soever of his life is always a child. In
the woods is perpetual youth. Within these planta-
tions of God a decorum and sanctity reign, a peren-
nial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he
should tire of them in a thousand years. In the
woods we return to reason and faith. There I feel
that nothing can befall me in life-no disgrace, no
calamity (leaving me my eyes)--which Nature can-
not repair. *
The greatest delight which the fields and woods
minister is the suggestion of an occult relation be-
tween man and the vegetable. I am not alone and
unacknowledged. They nod to me and I to them.
The waving of the boughs in the storm is new to me
and old.
It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown.
Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better
emotion coming over me when I deemed I was think-
ing justly or doing right.
Yet it is certain that the power to produce this de-
light does not reside in Nature, but in man or in r
harmony of both. It is necessary to use these pleas-
ures with great temperance. For Nature is not al-
ways tricked iq holiday attire, but the same scene
which yesterday breathed perfume and glittered as
for the frolic of the nymphs is overspread with mel-
ancholy to-day. Nature always wears the colors of
the spirit. To a man laboring under calamity the
heat of his own fire hath sadness in it. Then there
is a kind of contempt of the landscape felt by him
who has just lost by death a dear friend. The sky
is less grand as it shuts down over less worth in the
population.

















JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

"THE POET OF FREEDOM."

N A solitary farm house near Haverhill, Massachusetts, in the valley
of the Merrimac, on the 17th day of December, 1807, John Green-
leaf Whittier was born. Within the same town, and Amesbury,
nearby, this kind and gentle man, whom all the world delights to
S honor for his simple and beautiful heart-songs, spent most of his life,
dying at the ripe old age of nearly eighty-five, in Danvers, Massa-
chusetts, September 7th, 1892. The only distinguishing features about his ancestors
were that Thos. Whittier settled at Haverhill in 1647, and brought with him from
Newberry the first hive of bees in the settlement, that they were all sturdy Quakers,
lived simply, were friendly and freedom loving. The early surroundings of the
farmer boy were simple and frugal. He has pictured them for us in his masterpiece,
"Snowbound." Poverty, the necessity of laboring upon the farm, the influence of
Quaker traditions, his busy life, all conspired against his liberal education and literary
culture. This limitation of knowledge is, however, at once to the masses his charm,
and, to scholars, his one defect. It has led him to write, as no other poet could,
upon the dear simplicity of New England farm life. He has written from the heart
and not from the head; he has composed popular pastorals, not hymns of culture.
Only such training as the district schools afforded, with a couple of years at Haver-
hill Academy comprised his advantages in education.
In referring to this alma mater in after years, under the spell of his muse, the
poet thus writes:-
Still sits the school house by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow
And black-berry vines are running.
Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep-scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife carved initial."

It was natural for Whittier to become the poet of that combination of which
Garrison was the apostle, and Phillips and Sumner the orators. His early poems were
published by Garrison in his paper, "The Free Press," the first one when Whittier
so80-


















L.~F


*:,jI7 JIua.i


JOHN G. WHITTIER, HIS HOME AND BIRTHPLACE.


t;~4~'
"\ ;C
*c, I
~'~gbpp~ilY~.
T-"~

'


'
r
,.

.~a~Cf~4r:


"-----'~
I~l~mm



d






JOHN GREENLEAF WHIUTIER.


was nineteen years of age and Garrison himself little more than a boy. The farmer
lad was elated when he found the verses which he had so timidly submitted in print
with a friendly comment from the editor and a request for more. Garrison even
visited Whittier's parents and urged the importance of giving him a finished educa-
tion. Thus he fell early under the spell of the great abolitionist and threw himself
with all the ardor of his nature into the movement. His poems against slavery and
disunion have a ringing zeal worthy of a Cromwell. "They are," declares one
writer, "like the sound of the trumpets blown before the walls of Jericho."
As a Quaker Whittier could not have been otherwise than an abolitionist, for that
denomination had long since abolished slavery within its own communion. Most
prominent among his poems of freedom are "The Voice of Freedom," published in
1849, The Panorama and Other Poems," in 1856, In War Times," in 1863, and
" Ichabod," a pathetically kind yet severely stinging rebuke to Daniel Webster for
his support of the Fugitive Slave Law. Webster was right from the standpoint of
law and the Constitution, but Whittier argued from the standpoint of human right
and liberty. "Barbara Frietchie,"-while it is pronounced purely a fiction, as
is also his poem about John Brown kissing the Negro baby on his way to the gal-
lows,-is perhaps the most widely quoted of his famous war poems.
Whittier also wrote extensively on subjects relating to New England history,
witchcraft and colonial traditions. This group includes many of his best ballads,
which have done in verse for colonial romance what Hawthorne did in prose in his
"Twice-Told Tales" and "Scarlet Letter." It is these poems that have entitled
Whittier to be called the greatest of American ballad writers." Among them are
to be found "Mabel Martin," "The Witch of Wenham," "Marguerite" and
"Skipper Ireson's Ride." But it is perhaps in the third department of his writings,
namely, rural tales and idyls, that the poet is most widely known. These pastoral
poems contain the very heart and soul of New England. They are faithful and
loving pictures of humble life, simple and peaceful in their subject and in their
style. The masterpieces of this class are "Snowbound," "Maud Muller," "The
Barefoot Boy," "Among the Hills," Telling the Bees," etc. The relation of these
simple experiences of homely character has carried him to the hearts of the people
and made him, next to Longfellow, the most popular of American poets. There is
a pleasure and a satisfaction in the freshness of Whittier's homely words and home-
spun phrases, which we seek in vain in the polished art of cultivated masters. As
a poet of nature he has painted the landscapes of New England as Bryant has the
larger features of the continent.
Whittier was never married and aside from a few exquisite verses he has given
the public no clew to the romance of his youth. His home was presided over for
many years by his sister Elizabeth, a most lovely and talented woman, for whom he
cherished the deepest affection, and he has written nothing more touching than his
tribute to her memory in Snowbound." The poet was shy and diffident among
strangers and in formal society, but among his friends genial and delightful, with a
fund of gentle and delicate humor which gave his conversation a great charm.
Aside from his work as a poet Whittier wrote considerable prose. His first volume
was "Legends of New England," published in 1831, consisting of prose and verse.
Subsequent prose publications consisted of contributions to the slave controversy,
6







JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


biographical sketches of English and American reformers, studies of scenery and
folk-lore of the Merrimac valley. Those of greatest literary interest were the
"Supernaturalisms of New England," (1847,) and "Literary Recreations and
Miscellanies," (1852.)
In 1836 Whittier became secretary of the American Anti-Slavery Society, and
he was all his life interested in public affairs, and wrote much for newspapers and
periodicals. In 1838 he began to edit the Pennsylvania Freeman in Philadel-
phia, but in the following year his press was destroyed and his office burned by a
pro-slavery mob, and he returned to New England, devoting the larger part of his
life, aside from his anti-slavery political writings, to embalming its history and
legends in his literature, and so completely has it been done by him it has been
declared: "If every other record of the early history and life of New England
were lost the story could be constructed again from the pages of Whittier. Traits,
habits, facts, traditions, incidents-he holds a torch to the dark places and illumines
them every one."
Mr. Whittier, perhaps, is the most peculiarly American poet of any that our country
has produced. The woods and waterfowl of Bryant belong as much to one land
as another; and all the rest of our singers-Emerson, Longfellow, Lowell, and their
brethren-with the single exception of Joaquin Miller, might as well have been born
in the land of Shakespeare, Milton and Byron as their own. But Whittier is
entirely a poet of his own soil. All through his verse we see the elements that
created it, and it is interesting to trace his simple life, throughout, in his verses from
the time, when like that urchin with whom he asserts brotherhood, and who has won
all affections, he ate his
milk and bread,
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone gray and rude.
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple curtains fringed with gold
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;"

and, when a little older his fancy dwelt upon the adventures of Chalkley-as
"Following my plough by Merrimac's green shore
His simple record I have pondered o'er
With deep and quiet joy."

In these reveries, "The Barefoot Boy" and others, thousands of his countrymen
have lived over their lives again. Every thing he wrote, to the New Englander has
a sweet, warm familiar life about it. To them his writings are familiar photo-
graphs, but they are also treasury houses of facts over which the future antiquarian
will pour and gather all the close details of the phase of civilization that they give.
The old Whittier homestead at Amesbury is now in charge of Mrs. Pickard, a
neice of the poet. She has recently made certain changes in the house; but this
has been done so wisely and cautiously that if the place some day becomes a shrine
-as it doubtless will-the restoration of the old estate will be a simple matter. The
library is left quite undisturbed, just as it was when Whittier died.






JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


MY PLAYMATE.


HE pines were dark on Ramoth Hill,
Their song was soft and low;
The blossoms in the sweet May wind
Were falling like the snow.

The blossoms drifted at our feet,
The orchard birds sang clear;
The sweetest and the saddest day
It seemed of all the year,

For more to me than birds or flowers,
My playmate left her home,
And took with her the laughing spring,
The music and the bloom.

She kissed the lips of kith and kin,
She laid her hand in mine:
What more could ask the bashful boy
Who fed her father's kine ?

She left us in the bloom of May:
The constant years told o'er
The seasons with as sweet May morns,
But she came back no more.

I walk with noiseless feet the round
Of uneventful years;
Still o'er and o'er I sow the Spring
And reap the Autumn ears.

She lives where all the golden year
Her summer roses blow ;
The dusky children of the sun
Before her come and go.

There haply with her jeweled hands
She smooths her silken gown,-
No more the homespun lap wherein
I shook the walnuts down.


The wild grapes wait us by the brook,
The brown nuts on the hill,
And still the May-day flowers make sweet
The woods of Follymill.

The lilies blossom in the pond,
The birds build in the tree,
The dark pines sing on Ramoth Hill
The slow song of the sea.

I wonder if she thinks of them,
And how the old time seems,-
If ever the pines of Ramoth wood
Are sounding in her dreams.

I see her face, I hear her voice;
Does she remember mine?
And what to her is now the boy
Who fed her father's kine ?

What cares she that the orioles build
For other eyes than ours,-
That other hands with nuts are filled,
And other laps with flowers?

O playmate in the golden time I
Our mossy seat is green,
Its fringing violets blossom yet,
The old trees o'er it lean.

The winds so sweet with birch and fern
A sweeter memory blow;
And there in spring the veeries sing
The song of long ago.

And still the pines of Ramoth wood
Are moaning like the sea,-
The moaning of the sea of change
Between myself and thee I


THE CHANGELING.


OR the fairest maid in Hampton
They needed not to search,
Who saw young Anna Favor
Come walking into church,-

Or bringing from the meadows,
At set of harvest-day,
The frolic of the blackbirds,
The sweetness of the hay.


Now the weariest of all mothers,
The saddest two-years bride,
She scowls in the face of her husband,
And spurns her child aside.

" Rake out the red coals, goodman,
For there the child shall lie,
Till the black witch comes to fetch her,
And both up chimney fly.






JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


"It's never my own little daughter,
It's never my own," she said ;
" The witches have stolen my tanna,
And left me an imp instead.

" O, fair and sweet was my baby,
Blue eyes, and ringlets of gold;
But this is ugly and wrinkled,
Cross, and cunning, and old.

"I hate the touch of her fingers,
I hate the feel of her skin ;
It's not the milk from my bosom,
But my blood, that she sucks in.

" My face grows sharp with the torment;
Look my arms are skin and bone !-
Rake open the red coals, goodman,
And the witch shall have her own.

"She'll come when she hears it crying,
In the shape of an owl or bat,
And she'll bring us our darling Anna
In place of her screeching brat."

Then the goodman, Ezra Dalton,
Laid his hand upon her head:
"Thy sorrow is great, 0 woman I
I sorrow with thee," he said.

"The paths to trouble are many,
And never but one sure way
Leads out to the light beyond it:
My poor wife, let us pray."

Then he said to the great All-Father,
"Thy daughter is weak and blind ;
Let her sight come back, and clothe her
Once more in her right mind.

"Lead her out of this evil shadow,
Out of these fancies wild ;
Let the holy love of the mother,
Turn again to her child.

"Make her lips like the lips of Mary,
Kissing her blessed Son ;
Let her hands, like the hands of Jesus,
Rest on her little one.

Comfort the soul of thy handmaid,
Open her prison door,
And thine shall be all the glory
And praise forevermore."


Then into the face of its mother,
The baby looked up and smiled;
And the cloud of her soul was lifted,
And she knew-her little child.

A beam of slant west sunshine
Made the wan face almost fair,
Lit the blue eyes' patient wonder
And the rings of pale gold hair.

She kissed it on lip and forehb'd,
She kissed it on cheek and chin;
And she bared her snow-white bosom
To the lips so pale and thin.

O, fair on her bridal morning
.Was the maid who blushed and smiled
But fairer to Ezra Dalton
Looked the mother of his child.

With more than a lover's fondness
He stooped to her worn young face
And the nursing child and the mother
He folded in one embrace.

" Now mount and ride, my goodman
As lovest thine own soul!
Woe's me if my wicked fancies
Be the death of Goody Cole !"

His horse he saddled and bridled,
And into the night rode he,-
Now through the great black woodland;
Now by the white-beached sea.

He rode through the silent clearings,
He came to the ferry wide,
And thrice he called to the boatman
Asleep on the other side.

He set his horse to the river,
He swam to Newburg town,
And he called up Justice Sewall
In his nightcap and his gown.

And the grave and worshipful justice,
Upon whose soul be peace !
Set his name to the jailer's warrant
For Goody Cole's release.

Then through the night the hoof-beats
Went sounding like a flail:
And Goody Cole at cock crow
Came forth from Ipswich jail.







JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

THE WORSHIP OF NATURE.


HE ocean looketh up to heaven,
As weree a living thing;
The homage of its waves is given
In ceaseless worshiping.

They kneel upon the sloping sand,
As bends the human knee,
A beautiful and tireless band,
The priesthood of the sea!

They pour the glittering treasures out
Which in the deep have birth,
And chant their awful hymns about
The watching hills of earth.

The green earth sends its incense up
From every mountain-shrine,
From every flower and dewy cup
That greeteth the sunshine.

The mists are lifted from the rills,
Like the white wing of prayer;


THE
LESSINGS on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan !
With thy turned up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace I
From my heart I give thee joy;
I was once a barefoot boy.
Prince thou art-the grown-up man,
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride !
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy,
In the reach of ear and eye:
Outward sunshine, inward joy,
Blessings on the barefoot boy.

0 for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools:
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl, and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,


They lean above the ancient hills,
As doing homage there.

The forest-tops are lowly cast
O'er breezy hill and glen,
As if a prayerful spirit pass'd
On nature as on men.

The clouds weep o'er the fallen world,
E'en as repentant love;
Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurl'd,
They fade in light above.

The sky is as a temple's arch,
The blue and wavy air
Is glorious with the spirit-march
Of messengers at prayer.

The gentle moon, the kindling sun,
The many stars are given,
As shrines to burn earth's incense on
The altar-fires of Heaven!


BAREFOOT BOY.
How the oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine.
Of the black wasp's cunning war,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Part and parcel of her joy,
Blessings on the barefoot boy.

O for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for!
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight,
Through the day, and through the nig i.
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the. walnut slopes beyond, _







JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still, as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too,
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

O, for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread,
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude I
O'er me like a regal tent,
Cloudy ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch; pomp and joy


Waited on the barefoot boy!
Cheerily, then, my little man!
Live and laugh as boyhood can;
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil,
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!


~0~


MAUD
AUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast-

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid.

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

" Thanks! said the Judge, a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed."


MULLER.
He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: Ah me
That I the Judge's bride might be!

He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

My father should wear a broadcloth coat;
My brother should sail a painted boat.

I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.

And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.

A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.






JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


" And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.
, Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay:
" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,
" But low of cattle, and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."
But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;
And the young girl mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.
Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go;

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.
Oft when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead;

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.
And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain,
" Ah, that I were free again !
" Free as when I rode that day,
Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay."
She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.


But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new mown hay in the meadow lot,.

And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,

In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein,

And gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned;

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.

Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, It might have been."

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!

God pity them both and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: It might have been I"

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;

And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away


MEMORIES.


BEAUTIFUL and happy girl
With step as soft as summer air,
And.fresh young lip and brow of pearl
Shadow'd by many a carelessgcurl
Of unconfined and flowing hair:


A seeming child in every thing
Save thoughtful brow, and ripening
charms,
As nature wears the smile of spring
When sinking into summer's arms.






JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


A mind rejoicing in the light
Which melted through its graceful bower,
Leaf after leaf serenely bright
And stainless in its holy white
Unfolding like a morning flower:
A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute
With every breath of feeling woke,
And, even when the tongue was mute,
From eye and lip in music spoke.

3ow thrills once more the lengthening chain
Of memory at the thought of thee !-
Old hopes which long in dust have lain,
Old dreams come thronging back again,
And boyhood lives again in me;
I feel its glow upon my cheek,
Its fulness of the heart is mine,
As when I lean'd to hear thee speak;
Or raised my doubtful eye to thine.

I hear again thy low replies,
I feel thy arm within my own,
And timidly again uprise
The fringed lids of hazel eyes
With soft brown tresses overblown.
Ah memories of sweet summer eves,
Of moonlit wave and willowy way,
Of stars and flowers and dewy leaves,
And smiles and tones more dear than they!

Ere this thy quiet eye hath smiled
My picture of thy youth to see,
When half a woman, half a child,
Thy very artlessness beguiled,
And folly's self seem'd wise in thee.
I too can smile, when o'er that hour
The lights of memory backward stream,
Yet feel the while that manhood's power
Is vainer than my boyhood's dream,


Years have pass'd'on, and left their trace
Of graver care and deeper thought;
And unto me the calm, cold face
Of manhood, and to thee the grace
Of woman's pensive beauty brought,
On life's rough blasts for blame or praise
The schoolboy's name has widely flown;
Thine in the green and quiet ways
Of unobtrusive goodness known.

And wider yet in thought and deed
Our still diverging thoughts incline,
Thine the Genevan's sternest creed,
While answers to my spirit's need
The Yorkshire peasant's simple line.
For thee the priestly rite and prayer,
And holy day and solemn psalm,
For me the silent reverence where
My brethren gather, slow and calm.

Yet hath thy spirit left on me
An impress time has not worn out,
And something of myself in thee,
A shadow from the past, I see
Lingering even yet thy way about;
Not wholly can the heart unlearn
That lesson of its better hours,
Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn
To common dust that path of flowers.

Thus, while at times before our eye
The clouds about the present part,
And, smiling through them, round us lie
Soft hues of memory's morning sky-
The Indian summer of the heart,
In secret sympathies of mind,
In founts of feeling which retain
Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find
Our early dreams not wholly vain!


THE PRISONER FOR DEBT.


OOK on him-through his dungeon-grate,
Feebly and cold, the morning light
Comes stealing round him, dim and late,
As if it loathed the sight.
Reclining on his strawy bed,
His hand upholds his drooping head-
His bloodless cheek is seam'd and hard,
Unshorn his gray, neglected beard;
And o'er his bony fingers flow
His long, dishevell'd locks of snow.

No grateful fire before him glows,-
And yet the winter's breath is chi:i;


And o'er his half-clad person goes
The frequent ague-thrill!
Silent-save ever and anon,
A sound, half-murmur and half-groan,
Forces apart the painful grip
Of the old sufferer's bearded lip:
0, sad and crushing is the fate
Of old age chain'd and desolate !

Just GOD why lies that old man there?
A murderer shares his prison-bed,
Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair,
Gleam on him fierce and red;






JOHN G(REENLEAF WHITTIER.


And the rude oath and heartless jeer
Fall ever on his loathing ear,
And, or in wakefulness or sleep
Nerve, flesh, and fibre thrill and creep,
Whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb,
Crimson'd with murder, touches him !
What has the gray-hair'd prisoner done ?
Has murder stain'd his hands with gore?
Not so: his crime's a fouler one:
God made the old man poor !
For this he shares a felon's cell--
The fittest earthly type of hell!
For this-the boon for which he pour'd
His young blood on the invader's sword,
And counted light the fearful cost-
His blood-gain'd liberty is lost!
And so, for such a place of rest,
Old prisoner, pour'd thy blood as rain
On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest,
And Saratoga's plain ?
Look forth, thou man of many scars,
Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars !
It must be joy, in sooth, to see
Yon monument uprear'd to thee-
Piled granite and a prison cell-
The land repays thy service well!
Go, ring the bells and fire the guns,
And fling the starry banner out;


Shout Freedom !" till your lisping ones
Give back their cradle-shout:
Let boasted eloquence declaim
Of honor, liberty, and fame ;
Still let the poet's strain be heard,
With glory for each second word,
And everything with breath agree
To praise, our glorious liberty !"

And when the patriot cannon jars
That prison's cold and gloomy wall,
And through its grates the stripes and stars
Rise on the wind, and fall-
Think ye that prisoner's aged ear
Rejoices in the general cheer !
Think ye his dim and failing eye
Is kindled at your pageantry ?
Sorrowing of soul, and chain'd of limb,
What is your carnival to him ?

Down with the law that binds him thus I
Unworthy freemen, let it find
No refuge from the withering curse
Of GOD and human kind I
Open the prisoner's living tomb,
And usher from its brooding gloom
The victims of your savage code,
To the free sun and air of GOD !
No longer dare as crime to brand,
The chastening of the Almighty's hand I


THE STORM.
FROM SNOW-BOUND."
Snow-bound is regarded as Whittier's master-piece, as a descriptive and reminiscent poem. It is a New
England Fireside Idyl, which in its faithfulness recalls, "The Winter Evening," of Cowper, and Burns'
"Cotter's Saturday Night" ; but in sweetness and animation, it is superior to either of these. Snow-bound
is a faithful description of a winter scene, familiar in the country surrounding Whittier's home in Connect.
icut. The complete poem is published in illustrated form by Messrs. Heughton, Miflin & Co., by whose per.
mission this extract is here inserted.


NWARNED by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag wavering to and fro
Crossed and recrossed the winged snow;
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines


Of Nature's geometric signs,
In starry flake, and pellicle,
All day the hoary meteor fell;
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below,-
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sight of ours
Took marvelous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden wall, or belt of wood;






JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant splendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa's leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breath
Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!"
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy


Count such a summons less than joy?)
Our buskins on our feet we drew;
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low,
To guard our necks and ears from snow,
We cut the solid whiteness through,
And, where the drift was deepest, made
A tunnel walled and overlaid
With dazzling crystal: we had read
Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave,
And to our own his name we gave,
With many a wish the luck were ours
To test his lamp's supernal powers.



ICHABOD.


The following poem was written on hearing of Daniel Webster's course in supporting the Compromise
Measure," including the "Fugitive Slave Law". This speech was delivered in the United States Senate
on the 7th of March, 1850, and greatly incensed the Abolitionists. Mr. Whittier, in common with many
New Englanders, regarded it as the certain downfall of Mr. Webster. The lines are full of tender regret,
deep grief and touching pathos.


O fallen so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore !
The glory from his gray hairs gone
For evermore!

Revile him not,-the Tempter hath
A snare for all!
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,
Befit his fall.

Oh! dumb be passion's stormy rage,
When he who might
Have lighted up and led his age
Falls back in night.

Scorn would the angels laugh to mark
A bright soul driven,
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark,
From hope and heaven?

.Let not the land, once proud or nun,
Insult him now,


Nor brand with deeper shame his dim
Dishonor'd brow.

SBut let its humbled sons, instead,
From sea to lake,
A long lament, as for the dead,
In sadness make.

Of all we loved and honor'd, nought
Save power remains,-
A fallen angel's pride of thought
Still strong in chains.

All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul has fled:
When faith is lost, when honor dies,
The man is dead !

Then pay the reverence of old days
To his dead fame;
Walk backward with averted gaze,
And hide the shame !


rrgyAOSL~ZCLc~----~































4.Al







e\F~t\CF\ ~ CI:1RID~-. MA4w" C


vIritDELL















OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

POET, ESSAYIST AND HUMORIST.

'HIS distinguished author, known and admired throughout the Eng-
lish speaking world for the rich vein of philosophy, good fellowship
Sand pungent humor that runs through his poetry and prose, was born
in Cambridge, Massachussetts, August 29th, 1809, and died in Bos-
ton, October 27th 1894, at the ripe old age of eighty-five-the last
leaf on the tree" of that famous group, Whittier, Longfellow, Lowell,
Emerson, Bryant, Poe, Willis, Hawthorne, Richard Henry Dana, Thoreau, Mar-
garet Fuller and others who laid the foundation of our national literature, and-with
all of whom he was on intimate terms as a co-laborer at one time or another.
Holmes graduated at Harvard College in 1829. His genial disposition made him
a favorite with his fellows, to whom some of his best early poems are dedicated.
One of his classmates said of him:-" He made you feel like you were the best fel-
low in the world and he was the next best." Benjamin Pierce, the astronomer, and
Rev. Samuel F. Smith, the author of our National Hymn, were his class-mates and
have been wittily described in his poem The Boys." Dr. Holmes once humorously
said that he supposed the three people whose poems were best known were himself,
one Smith and one Brown. As for himself, everybody knew who he was; the one
Brown was author of 'I love to Steal a While Away,' and the one Smith was
author of 'My Country 'Tis of Thee.'"
After graduation Holmes studied medicine in the schools of Europe, but returned
to finish his course and take his degree at Harvard. For nine years he was Profes-
sor of Physiology and Anatomy at Dartmouth College, and in 1847 he accepted a
similar position in Harvard University, to which his subsequent professional labors
were devoted. He also published several works on medicine, the last being a volume
of medical essays, issued in 1883.
Holmes' first poetic publication was a small volume published in 1836, including
three poems which still remain favorites, namely, My Aunt," "The height of the
Ridiculous and The Last Leaf on the Tree." Other volumes of his poems were
issued in 1846, 1850, 1861, 1875 and 1880.
Dr. Holmes is popularly known as the poet of society, this title attaching because
most of his productions were called forth by special occasions. About one hundred
of them were prepared for his Harvard class re-unions and his fraternity (Phi Beta
Kappa) social and anniversary entertainments. The poems which will preserve
his fame, however, are those of a general interest, like The Deacon's Masterpiece,"
91






OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.


in which the Yankee spirit speaks out, "The Voiceless," "The Living Temple,"
" The Chambered Nautilus," in which we find a truly exalted treatment of a lofty
theme; The Last Leaf on the Tree," which is a remarkable combination of pathos
and humor; "The Spectre Pig" and "The Ballad of an Oysterman," showing to
what extent he can play in real fun. In fact, Dr. Holmes was a many-sided man,
and equally -presentable on all sides. It has been truthfully said of him, No other
American versifier has rhymed so easily and so gracefully. We might further add,
no other in his personality, has been more universally esteemed and beloved by those
who knew him.
As a prose writer Holmes was equally famous. His "Autocrat at the Breakfast
Table," "Professor at the Breakfast Table" and "Poet at the Breakfast Table,"
published respectively in 1858. 1859 and 1873, are everywhere known, and not to
have read them is to have neglected something important in literature. The
" Autocrat" is especially a masterpiece. An American boarding house with its
typical characters forms the scene. The Autocrat is the hero, or rather leader, of
the sparkling conversations which make up the threads of the book. Humor, satire
and scholarship are skilfully mingled in its graceful literary formation. In this
work will also be found The Wonderful One Horse Shay and The Chambered
NX:iutiliis," two of the author's best poems.
Hdlmes wrote two novels, Elsie Venner and The Guardian Angel," which
in their romance rival the weirdness of Hawthorne and show his genius in
this line of literature. "Mechanism in Thought and Morals" (1871), is a
scholarly essay on the function of the brain. As a biographer Dr. Holmes has also
given us excellent memoirs of John Lothrop Motley, the historian, and Ralph
Waldo Emerson. Among his later products may be mentioned "A Mortal Anti-
pathy," which appeared in 1885, and "One Hundred Days in Europe" (1887).
Holmes was one of the projectors of The Atlantic Monthly," which was started
in 1857, in conjunction with Longfellow, Lowell and Emerson, Lowell being its
editor. It was to this periodical that the Autocrat" and "The Professor at the
Breakfast Table were contributed. These papers did much to secure the perman-
ent fame of this magazine. It is said that its name was suggested by Holmes, and
he is also credited with first attributing to Boston the distinction of being the Hub
of the solar system," which he, with a mingling of humor and local pride, declared
was located exactly at the Boston State House."
Unlike other authors, the subject of this sketch was very much himself at all
times and under all conditions. Holmes the man, Holmes the professor of physio-
logy, the poet, philosopher, and essayist, were all one and the same genial soul.
His was the most companionable of men, whose warm flow of fellowship and good
cheer the winters of four score years and five could not chill,-" The last Leaf on
the Tree," whose greenness the frost could not destroy. He passed away at the age
of eighty-five still verdantly young in spirit, and the world will smile for many
generations good naturedly because he lived. Such lives are a benediction to the race.
Finally, to know Holmes' writings well, is to be made acquainted with a singularly
lovable nature. The charms of his personality are irresistible. Among the poor,
among the literary, and among the society notables, he was ever the most welcome
of guests. His geniality, humor, frank, hearty manliness, generosity and readiness