Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Oliver Wendell Holmes
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
 Nathaniel Hawthorne
 The story of Bryant
 James Russell Lowell
 Louisa Alcott
 Back Cover

Group Title: Young folk's library of choice literature
Title: Stories of our authors
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00086580/00001
 Material Information
Title: Stories of our authors Holmes - Longfellow - Hawthorne - Bryant - Lowell - Alcott
Physical Description: 178 p. : ill., port. ; 21 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Macomber, Hattie E
Educational Publishing Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Educational Publishing Company
Place of Publication: Boston ;
New York ;
Chicago ;
San Francisco
Publication Date: c1898
Subject: Authors -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Biographies -- 1898   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1898
Genre: Biographies   ( rbgenr )
collective biography   ( marcgt )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Illinois -- Chicago
United States -- California -- San Francisco
Statement of Responsibility: by Hattie E. Macomber.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00086580
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002233617
notis - ALH4026
oclc - 245157785

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
    Oliver Wendell Holmes
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
    Nathaniel Hawthorne
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
    The story of Bryant
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
    James Russell Lowell
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
    Louisa Alcott
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
    Back Cover
        Page 177
        Page 178
Full Text

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Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime."
There are all kinds of great men.
There have been great heroes famed for
their bravery.
Great patriots have served their country.
And there are great musicians, great
scientists, and an innumerable host of others
deserving to be called great.
But why should we call a poet great?
It is easy to understand why others deserve
the title of greatness.
But does a poet, a person who has a cunning
sense of rhyme, and a talent for putting into


rhyme enough reason to attract readers,
deserve to be called great?
Let us think about it.
Does a poet need to do anything more than
make rhymes?
Oh, yes! the poet sees all the world through
magic spectacles.
Most people are blind to much of the
beauty which a poet sees.
And a poet must first have beautiful
thoughts before he can write them.
So, in a world where everyone is so busy
how much the poets have helped people to
better and higher thoughts.
And this poet of whom you are to read,
could' more than picture the good, the true,
and the beautiful.
He could make people laugh.
Who was it who said, A laugh is worth a
hundred groans in any market."


So, when Oliver Wendell Holmes made
people laugh, he surely made the world better.
And you should know, just here, this about
the poet.
Though he lived a long life, and made jokes
as long as he lived, he never made one which
hurt a fellow human-being.
His fun was of the kind which even the
person laughed at could enjoy.
And now let us take a peep at his early life.
In Cambridge, Massachusetts, there once
stood the gabrel-roofed house, where this poet
was born.
This hose had been a General's head-
quarters at the beginning of the Revolution.
The tall form of General Washington was
probably often seen there.
This house was opposite the buildings of
Harvard University.


Dr. Holmes once said: In the last week of
August used to fall Commencement Day at
I remember that week well, for something
happened to me once at that time; namely,
I was born."
The year 1809, in which Oliver Wendell
Holmes was born, was also the birth-year of
Gladstone, Tennyson, Darwin and Lincoln.
Dr. Holmes's father was a minister.
His mother's girlhood name was Sarah
He was brought up, he says, in a library.
There he bumped about among books from
the time when he was hardly taller than one
of his father's or grandfather's folios.
Like other boys of his time, he was sent
first to a dame's school.
From ten to fifteen years of age he was in


Then he went to Phillips Academy at
There he formed a friendship for a lad
named Phineas Barnes.
This friendship lasted until the death of
There have been few of the stories of his
childhood kept.
He himself tells that he was once feruled.
He must have been a pretty good boy to
have been whipped but once in those days
when whipping-was the fashion.
In 1815 came the news that a treaty of
peace had been signed in Europe between the
Americans and British.
This news is among the earliest recollections
of Dr. Holmes.
He was coming from the dame's school
when he heard the news.


He threw up his "jocky" as the other boys
He shouted Hoo-raw for Ameriky!"
What made him most glad was not the
news, but that he was told he might sit up
that night as long as he chose.
But it was hardly eight o'clock when he
"struck his colors" and gladly went off to
Some boys and girls will be glad to know
that even a great man may be afraid in the
Wendell Holmes had two dreads.
One was a midnight visitor.
The other was a visit from the doctor.
He didn't quite believe in ghosts.
But strange sounds at night, the creaking of
boards, the howling winds, the footfalls of
animals heard from a distance, kept him


awake, and brought him unpleasant feelings.
He never explored the garret as a boy.
There was an old building near by filled
with old and broken furniture.
This he shunned as if it had been filled
with living bipeds and quadrupeds."
As he grew older he became ashamed of
such feelings.
But he once said, To this day I fear a
solitary house.
And I would not sleep alone in it for the
fee of the.whole farm."
These fears of his were caused by foolish
stories told him in his childhood by servants.
The doctor, whose visits he dreaded, gave
him rhubarb and ipecac.
These visits and the having his teeth drawn
were his greatest childhood troubles.
His father often exchanged pulpits with the
ministers of other towns.


Wendell was fond of going with him at
such times.
He was fond of contriving things.
But he said he was generally in too much of
a hurry to do things well.
Before he had any skates he made a wooden
one to experiment with.
With this he went skating over the frozen
ditches on one foot.
He often went hunting, too, for birds and
squirrels, carrying an old flint lock like those
our grandfathers used in the Revolution.
This is the poet's story of his hunting:
An old king's arm had been hanging up in
the store closet ever since I could remember.
This I shouldered, and blazed away at every
living thing that was worthy the smallest
shot I could employ."
His father's library contained between one
thousand and two thousand books.


These were a great pleasure to him.
He read in many books, but didn't make a
business of reading each book through.
A sermon was about the only thing which
he disliked reading.
He heard plenty of those from the pulpit.
Once Wendell paid ten cents for a peep
through a telescope on the Common.
He saw the transit of Venus.
He said that his whole idea of creation
changed from that moment.
He began to think of the other worlds
beside our own.
And his boyish heart was filled with
thoughts of a great universe, of which the
earth is only a little, little part.
Cambridge, where he lived, is a beautiful
place only three miles from Boston.
It is particularly noted for its beautiful elm



It was under one of these trees that Wash-
ington took command of the American army.
This tree, and many others equally beauti-
ful, could be seen from the "gabrel-roofed
Perhaps it was because these grand trees
surrounded, his childhood home that Dr.
Holmes loved trees all his life.
His first poem is said to have been written
about a tree.
A little boy named James had planted a
willow twig in his father's garden.
The twig took root and grew.
James lived long enough to call it his tree.
It was after his death that Wendell Holmes,
then but seventeen years of age, wrote a poem
called "James's Tree."
It was published in the Youtl's Companion.
Dr. Holmes said of it, I took the printed


copy containing it from the postoffice, peeped
within, and then walked home on air.
I have seen my work in type since until I
am sick of the sight of it, but I can never
forget the great joy of that occasion."
Dr. Holmes carried in his pocket a tape
thirty-two feet in length, which he actually
wore to shreds measuring the trunks of trees.
Perhaps it was because he was such a little
man that he loved great trees.
He wrote for his friend, Phineas Barnes,
this description of himself.
I, then, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Junior in
Harvard, am a plumeless biped of the height of
exactly five feet, three inches, when standing in
a pair of substantial boots made by Mr. Russell
of this town; having eyes which I call blue,-
and hair which I do not know what to call."
Mr. Holmes graduated from Harvard
University in 1829.


One of his classmates was Mr. S. T. Smith,
who wrote the hymn so dear to us all,-
Mr. Holmes's first published poems were in
a college paper.
And for many years he wrote class poems
for the yearly re-union of his class.
Indeed, he did this until there were too few
of the class left to make the meeting pleasant.
When this young man was ready to choose
his life work, he found it a hard thing to
He first tried to study law, but gave it up
and began the study of medicine.
In 1833, he went to the beautiful French
city, Paris, to continue his study of medicine.
There he spent a number of years in hard
He learned to love Paris.


He learned to speak the French language
almost as well as his own.
Sometimes he took journeys through
different parts of Europe.
One of these journeys was upon the Rhine.
Dr. Holmes returned home in the autumn of
He began the practice of medicine.
His heart was so tender that the sight of
sick people made him sad and troubled.
The pale faces of the sick in hospitals
haunted him.
In 1836, his first volume of poems was
In this volume were the poems, Old Iron-
sides," and The Last Leaf."
Read them both.
"Old Ironsides" is about a ship,- the


This vessel had won many sea-battles and
had captured many British ships.
Because of these victories she was well
known and very much loved by the people.
She had been launched in 1797.
And in 1833 she was pronounced unsea-
It was decided to destroy her.
Oliver Wendell Holmes read of this inten-
tion in a newspaper.
He thought it would be a shame.
So he sat down then and there, and with a
pencil, on some scraps of paper, wrote this
poem, and sent it to a paper to be published.

or prIP)lnsII)I. S.


" Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar: -
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee; -
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

O, better that her tattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale "


This poem traveled fast and far.
It was printed on handbills and scattered
through the streets of Washington.
Everybody was indignant at the thought of
destroying this good old ship.
And at length, because of the feeling, the
old Constitution was saved.
She was thoroughly repaired and put to sea
And many years of glory have since been
Dr. Holmes also wrote medical essays, which
have done much good.
And if he had done nothing more to make
the world better, these would entitle him to a
place among great men.
In 1840, he married and made for himself a
Mrs. Holmes is said to have possessed
every good trait known.


They had three children, two sons and a
The eldest son, Oliver Wendell, Jr., was
three times wounded in the Civil War.
Once the wound was in his heel.
He came home to get well again.
A piece of carrot was placed in the wound
to keep it from healing too fast.
Dr. Holmes, in treating the wound, touched
the carrot and made Oliver, Jr. start with pain.
The Doctor asked his son to tell him into
what he had changed his vegetable.
Of course he didn't know.
"Why, into a pa's nip (parsnip)," said the
witty doctor.
The doctor's second son died when but a
young man.
Among Dr. Holmes's friends were Long-
fellow, Motley and Mrs. Stowe.


-- TfL' -.* 1 .



11 ..-_


His old home, the gambrel-roofed house,
was torn down.
He wrote to Mr. Lowell: Our old home is
gone. I went all over it,- into every
chamber and closet, and found a ghost in each
and all of them, to which I said good bye.
Be very thankful that you still keep your
"This earth has a homeless look to me since
mine has disappeared from its face."
Dr. Holmes was unfortunate in seeing his
home destroyed.
When he was married he bought a home in
But business came too near and he removed
to another street.
When he found workmen tearing the other
house down, he said, "We Americans live in


Afterwards he had a home on Charles
Street, with a beautiful outlook over the
Charles River.
But business drove him from that
He now moved to Beacon Street, where
he resided until his death.
Dr. Holmes was very fond of Nature.
He owned a beautiful country place at
There he spent seven summers.
This place of 280 acres had been purchased
from the Indians by the state.
The great grandfather of Dr. Holmes
bought it from the state.
It was called, Canoe Meadows."
Dr. Holmes said that from its windows
might be seen wonderful things among th'e


He could see a lion rampant, a Shanghai
chicken, and General Jackson on horseback.
These were done by green leaves, each by a
single tree.
Dr. Holmes sold this place and bought
That place was called Beverly Farms.
It is on the north shore of Massachusetts
Dr. Holmes became a professor in Harvard
He lectured to young students who intended
to be physicians.
They came to him after listening many
hours to other lectures.
Of course they were very tired.
But Dr. Holmes was a wonderful talker.
He could make them interested no matter
how tired they were.


At one time a gentleman drew at a fair an
autograph album.
On its leaves were painted beautiful flowers
and foliage.
The owner passed the book to Mr. Long-
fellow, Mr. Emerson, Dr. Holmes and others
who were present, requesting their autographs.
Each selected one of the beautiful pages.
Dr. Holmes selected a page containing a
cluster of autumn leaves.
He wrote these lines:-
Who that can pluck the flower would chose the weed,
Leave the sweet rose and gather blooms less fair?
And who my homely verse shall stay to read,
Straying enchanted through this bright parterre,
Where morning's herald lifts his purple bell
And spring's young violet woes the wanderer's eye?
Nay, let me seek the falling leaves that tell
Of beggared winter's footsteps drawing nigh;
There shall my shred of song unshrouded lie,
A leaf that dropped in memory's flowery dell;
The breath of friendship stirred it, and it fell
Tinged with the loving hue of Autumn's fond farewell."


You have known of the magazine called the
Atlantic Monthly.
Its first editor was the poet, James Russell
He asked Dr. Holmes to name the
And he it was who called it the "Atlantic."
It was to this magazine that Dr. Holmes
sent his work for long, long years.
In its pages were printed the wise sayings of
the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table."
So well did people like it that Dr. Holmes
came to be called the Autocrat.
You will often hear him called that even
It was his nom de plume, or name of his
He wrote, too, some stories.
One was called Elsie Venner."


Another was "The Guardian Angel."
You will like to know this poet's favorite
Perhaps it is your favorite, too.
It is the Chambered Nautilus."
The Nautilus is a little sea creature.
It lives in a queer shell.
New chambers grow as it needs them.
So it constantly has new rooms to live in as
it grows.
This makes a shell spiral in shape.
Dr. Holmes found a lesson for our lives in
this queer shell.
So he wrote the lesson into this beautiful
poem of The Chambered Nautilus."
Dr. Holmes has written a poem about one
of his grandmothers.
A nephew'of the poet had a little daughter.
They called her Dorothy Q. Upham, after


the well-known Dorothy Q. of the Doctor's
Dr. Holmes was always a very busy man.
Many strangers wrote letters to him.
They wanted all sorts of things.
But oftenest they wanted his advice about
trying to write books.
The good Doctor answered every letter
kindly, though it grew to be a great task.
He was such a pleasant companion that he
was wanted at many social affairs.
He could not attend all, though he enjoyed
society greatly.
But here is a case where he made people
laugh even though far away.
Once a club in San Francisco voted Dr.
Holmes a member.
They sent him a telegram which reached
him at dead of night.


No reply was expected.
The people of the club were greatly aston-
ished at receiving a despatch before their
meeting adjourned.
This was the message:--
Message from San Francisco! Whisper low-
Asleep in bed an hour or more ago,
While on the peaceful pillow he reclines
Say to his friend who sent these loving lines
Silent, unanswering, still to friendship true,
He smiles in slumber for he dreams of you."
Dr. Holmes was fond of receiving letters.
He said to a lady correspondent: There is
something in a live letter, just from the mail,
like a hot cake just from the griddle. A book
can give much, but the hot cake and the warm
letter have a charm all their own."
So this dear poet of ours spent his years.
Though he cheered the world with many a
laugh, he did more than that.
He wrote much that made the world better
in other ways.


He wrote very carefully and consulted many
He was very particular about the language
in his writings.
He won praise from the printers for his
careful copies.
Indeed, he did nothing carelessly.
Dr. Holmes was fond of other things besides
medicine and writing.
He was fond of inventing.
He invented a valuable physician's instru-
He took out no patent for this invention.
Had he done so he might have been a rich
He loved fine horses and knew all about
their good points.
He tried bringing out the music hidden in a


He tried photography and was quite
successful with it.
His knowledge of trees became so great that
he was consulted by the great botanist,
Professor Gray.
He became proficient in the use of the
It was when using this instrument that he
discovered a trouble with his eyes.
A growth, called cataract, threatened to
make him blind.
But this sad thing never happened, though
his sight became dimmed.
Dr. Holmes had a great love for Boston.
He had spent nearly all his life there.
In 1886 he took a trip to Europe.
His daughter, Mrs. Sargent, was with:him.
Many honors were given him there.
He visited the great University at Oxford.


Some saucy students in the gallery inquired
if he came in the One-Hoss-Shay."
But Dr. Holmes enjoyed a joke even when
at his expense.
The students liked him.
You will enjoy reading The One-Hoss-
In 1871 he wrote the Poet at the Breakfast
But it was in his old age, in 1888, that he
wrote Over the Teacups."
This is considered a wonderful thing for so
old a man to do.
But Dr. Holmes seems hardly to have
grown old.
Age came on him so slowly, and he was so
bright and active, that even his friends hardly
realized his many years.
He died in his chair, painlessly, Oct. 7, 1894.


There was a giant in time of old,.
A mighty one was he;
He had a wife, but she was a scold,
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold;
And he had children three.

It happened to be an election day,
And the giants were choosing a king;
The people were not democrats then,
They did not talk of the rights of men,
And all that sort of thing.

Thdn the giant took his children three
And fastened them in the pen;
The children roared; quoth the giant, Be still! "
And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill
Rolled back the sound again.

Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums
As big as the State-House dome;
Quoth he, "There's something for you to eat;
So stop your mouth with your electionn treat,
And wait till your dad comes home."

So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout,
And whittled the boughs away;
The boys and their mother set up a shout,
Said he, "You're in, and you can't get out,
Bellow as loud as you may."


Off he went, and he growled a tune
As he strode the fields along;
'Tis said a buffalo fainted away,
And fell as cold as a lump of clay,
When he heard the giant's song,

But whether the story's true or not,
It is not for me to show;
There's many a thing that's twice as queer
In somebody's lectures that we hear,
And those are true, you know.

What are those lone ones doing now.
The wife and the children sad?
O they are in a terrible rout,
Screaming and throwing their pudding about,
Acting as they were mad.

They flung it over to Roxbury hills,
They flung it over the plain,
And all over Milton and Dorchester too
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw;
They tumbled as thick as rain..

Giant and mammoth have passed away,
For ages have floated by;
The suet is hard as a marrow bone,
And every plum is turned to a stone,
But there the puddings lie.

And if, some pleasant afternoon,
You'll ask me out to ride,
The whole of the story I will tell,
And you shall see where the puddings fell,
And pay for the punch beside.

I 1



S '




Upon the eastern shores of our country lies
a fair city.
This is Portland in the state of Maine.
It is built upon a peninsula and looks down
upon the beautiful waters of a bay.
Far in the distance is Mount Washington.
The streets of the city are shaded with great
elm trees.
The cool sea-breezes are ever active in
driving away the heat of summer.


Here was born, February 27, 1807, the poet
He was named for his mother's brother,
whose name was Henry Wadsworth.
This young man had given his life to his
country's service.
He was in the United States navy on board
the ship, Intrepid.
They were far away upon the northern coast
of Africa.
Rather than be taken by the enemy, this
ship was blown to pieces by the crew.
And among others, Henry Wadsworth
perished with the good ship.
Henry Longfellow's father was a lawyer.
He was a man greatly honored by all who
knew him.
His mother, too, was a woman of noble


Henry was the second son in a family of
four sons and four daughters.
The earliest mention of the poet is in a letter
which his mother wrote to a friend when he
was but eight months old.
I think you would like my little Henry W.
He is an active rogue and wishes for nothing
so much as for singing or dancing."
When he was five years of age, people were
talking much about a war with England.
His aunt wrote: Our little Henry is ready
to march; he had his tin gun prepared and
his head powdered a week ago."
The next time we hear of him, he has given
up his warlike playthings for a pen.
He sent this message:-
"Oh, tell papa I am writing at school a,
b, c; and send my love to him, and I hope he
will bring me a drum."


This is the first letter he wrote:
DEAR PAPA, -" Ann wants a little Bible
like Betsey's. Will you please buy her one if
you can find any in Boston ? I have been at
school all the week, and got only seven marks.
I shall have a billet on Monday. I wish you
would buy me a drum."
His father wrote him a pleasant letter in
Once Henry lamed his elbow in turning a
somersault when coming out of school.
He had to carry his arm in a sling.
By all this you will see he was a boy like
other boys.
He is remembered by those who knew him
as a lively boy.
His hair was of a chestnut brown color.


His cheeks were rosy.
He was very active and enjoyed all sorts of
Sometimes he was impatient.
And he had what is called a quick temper.
But he was kind hearted and affectionate.
He loved neatness and order.
He was true, highminded and noble.
He could not endure injustice to any one.
He was industrious, and did with all his
might whatever he undertook.
Unlike most boys, he did not enjoy the racket
of a Fourth of July.
Once he begged to have cotton in his
ears, to deaden the sound of the cannon.
Some one accused him of being afraid.
This he indignantly denied.
But he thoroughly enjoyed ball, kite-flying,
swimming,- snowballing, coasting and skating.


With his brother Stephen he made many
excursions through the woods.
Stephen was fond of a gun.
But once Henry shot a robin.
He came home with his eyes filled with
tears, and never went hunting again.
Sometimes. circuses came to Portland.
These boys were fond of attending such
Afterwards they came home and performed
before an audience consisting of their sisters.
Henry had a rocking-horse,
He was once riding this so boldly that
horse and rider fell together.
The neck of the poor horse was broken.
There were many kinds of books in his
And there was a good library in Portland.
So this boy read much.


The first book with which he became familiar
was the "Sketch Book."
This was written by Washington Irving.
On Sunday the children went to meeting"
twice a day.
There were no Sunday-schools then.
But on Sunday afternoons Mrs. Longfellow
gathered her children about her.
Together they read in the Bible and en-
joyed the talks about it.
The evenings were spent in the family
The children gathered about the table with
their books and slates.
Everything was quiet until lessons were
Then there were games until bedtime.
Then they went to bed-rooms, which were
never warmed.


Often in the morning they broke the ice in
the pitchers to obtain water for washing.
Henry's school life began when he was but
three years of age.
He went to a lady's school and learned his
Afterwards he attended several schools:
While at the academy he one day brought
home this note, signed by his teacher:
Master Henry Longfellow is one of the
best boys we have in school. He spells and
reads very well. He can also add and mul-
tiply numbers. His conduct last quarter was
very correct and amiable. June 30, 1813."
The vacations were often spent at the
There the boys played they were farmers.
They followed the mowers.
They went after the cows in the evening.


They picked the sweet, wild strawberries.
And how interested they were in the diary!
The cheese-making and butter-making were
full of mystery to them.
Then in-doors how delightful to watch the
Sometimes they went to see Grandfather
He was their mother's father and lived
farther away.
Mr. Wadsworth dressed in the fashion of
the days of long ago.
He had been a soldier and still carried
himself like one.
He wore a bright scarlet coat, a buff vest,
full ruffled shirt bosom, ruffles over his hands,
knee breeches, white stockings, and shoes with
silver buckles.
His hair was powdered and tied in a knot
upon his shoulders.


The boys, were never tired of listening to
the General's story of his capture by the
British, his imprisonment and escape.
Near the home of this grandfather was a
small lake, called Lovell's Pond.
It had once been the scene of a fight with
the Indians.
Henry was much interested in the story.
And in November of 1820 there were some
verses printed in a Portland newspaper.
Their title was "The Battle of Lovell's
They were signed Henry."
These were the first verses written by the
He told no one but his favorite sister about
They were very anxious to see the paper.
One cold November evening, when the


paper was being printed, Henry stood outside
the windows and watched the printers.
He was afraid to go in.
Their father received his paper and unfolded
it slowly.
He held it before the fire to dry the still
damp sheet.
Slowly he read it through.
Patiently the children waited.
But he said nothing about the verses.
Perhaps he didn't see them.
The children kept their secret.
But when they could get the paper, how
great was their delight!
The poem was there.
In the evening Henry went with his father
to the home of a judge, his father's friend.
The Judge- took up the morning paper.
Did you see this piece in today's paper?"


he said. "Very stiff, remarkably stiff; more-
over it is all borrowed, every word of it."
Poor Henry's heart sank.
He left the house as soon as possible.
There were tears on his pillow that night.
But he didn't give up writing verses.
With a boy friend he continued to write.
You may read a very beautiful poem about
the poet's childhood and beautiful Portland
which he loved so much.
This poem, written after he became a great
man, is called, My Lost Youth."
Mr. Longfellow became a student in
Bowdoin College.
He had grown to be a handsome young man.
He won many friends by his kind and
pleasant ways.
During his whole life he was a true


He was a hard student.
It is said he never allowed himself to come
to a recitation with a lesson unprepared.
He always held a high rank in college.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, who afterward became
so famous, was a member of his class.
While in college Mr. Longfellow wrote and
published a number of poems.
A few of these were afterward published
with his later poems.
When a boy is in college he begins to think
seriously of what he is to do in his manhood
Mr. Longfellow wished to devote his life to
the study and writing of books:
He feared his father would object to this.
He asked his father to allow him a year at
But after graduating, another plan was


He was asked to study in Europe for a
Then he was to become a professor in
Bowdoin College.
Ocean steamships were then unknown.
Voyages to Europe were made in sailing
Mr. Longfellow spent the fall and winter in
In April he went to New York.
There he set sail, and reached France in
Months were spent in Paris in the study of
Sometimes he grew quite discouraged.
At the same time he studied Italian.
He wished to study Spanish in Spain.
Travelers in those days were afraid to
travel in Spain.


The mountains were full of robbers.
But Mr. Longfellow determined to go.
He found Spain a poverty-stricken country.
Many of the people were idle and ragged.
Both the rich and poor in Spain wear cloaks.
Sometimes the cloak is only a blanket.
But a cloak of some kind each must have.
The Spaniards wear these garments very
Sometimes the poor beggar carries himself
with the air of a nobleman.
In the capital city of Spain Mr. Longfellow
found other Americans.
Among them was Washington Irving, the
author of the Sketch Book."
Mr. Longfellow grew as fond of Mr. Irving
as he had always been of the Sketch Book."
But no robbers attacked him in all Spain.
He learned to like the country very much.


Long afterwards he was fond of thinking
and speaking about this country.
He never visited it again.
He feared that his pleasant memory of it
might be spoiled if he went again.
The Spanish have strange greetings.
When greeting a lady they say, Senora, I
throw myself at your Grace's feet."
And the lady replies, I kiss your Grace's
hand Senor."
After visiting many beautiful places, and
spending eight months in Spain, Mr. Long-
fellow sailed upon the blue Mediterranean to
Then he went to Italy.
In Rome he met a dear friend, and spent
many pleasant hours with him.
He studied Italian among those who spoke
it best.


He said every language learned opened a
new world for him.
He urged his sisters at home to study
So he wandered from one country to another.
Often he saw strange customs among the
Often his heart glowed as he looked upon the
beautiful scenes.
After a few days spent in the greatest of
cities, London, he set sail for America.
He reached home in August, 1829.
In the autumn he took up his residence
in Brunswick, where Bowdoin College is.
There, at the age of twenty-two, he became
a teacher where he had once been a pupil.
Not finding books which suited him for
the teaching of languages, he published one
of his own.


The new professor was much liked.
He was so pleasant, so courteous and full
of sympathy, that the students regarded him
as a friend.
One person, in whose home he visited, said,
"His coming into our house was like sun-
In 1831 he married Miss Mary Storer
She was finely educated.
And in character and person she was very
Mr. and Mrs. Longfellow began house-
Then the poet began to collect a library.
He continued to write.
You may know that his was a busy life.
It was at Brunswick that he wrote his
book, "Outre-Mer."


This was written in prose.
And although he is much better known
as a poet, he has written several books of
Outre Mer" describes many of the scenes
of his travels in Europe.
In 1834 Mr. Longfellow received an
offer to become a professor in Harvard
It was suggested that he spend more time
in Europe in the study of languages.
This was a pleasing offer and he accepted
So, with his wife and two young lady friends,
he again sailed for Europe.
A few weeks were spent in London, where
he met many nice people.
Then there were journeys in Germany,
Denmark, and Sweden.


In a Swedish city Mr. Longfellow wrote of
reading easily at midnight.
For they were in the "Land of the Mid-
night Sun."
The watchman cried aloud from the watch-
tower four times:-
Ho, watchman, ho! Twelve the clock has
stricken. God keep our town from fire and
brand and enemy's hand."
In Stockholm Mr. Longfellow studied the
Swedish language.
In Copenhagen he studied Danish.
Mrs. Longfellow had been in poor health.
In Rotterdam she became very ill.
She became no better, and died upon
November 29th.
This was indeed a heavy blow to Mr.
He found it hard to go on with his work.


But he tried to be brave.
In a poem, called Footsteps of Angels," he
speaks of her as
the being beautiful
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me."
He studied in the German city of Heidelberg.
There he met another of our poets, William
Cullen Bryant.
Mr. Bryant spent the winter in Heidelberg.
In the spring Mr. Longfellow took a trip
through beautiful Switzerland.
Here were the great Alps.
The greatest mountain in Europe, Mount
Blanc, looked down on him.
Rivers of ice were to be seen.
In Switzerland he met some Boston friends.
These helped to cheer his loneliness.
Soon he was in Paris again.


At the hotel table one day, one of the
dishes was frog-pie.
A little boy asked, Do they pull the
stems off and put them right in whole?"
In 1836 Mr. Longfellow took up his work in
Harvard College.
He became as great a favorite here as in
other places.
He made the acquaintance of Mr. Charles
A friendship was formed which lasted all
their lives.
You may read of Mr. Sumner in the history
of our country.
He became a great orator.
He' worked for the freedom of the slaves.
Have you seen a picture of the Craigie House
in Cambridge ?
It is a low, old-fashioned house, shaded with


Upon the door is a great brass knocker.
This house was built a long time ago, about
After the battle of Bunker Hill the American
army gathered about Boston.
General Washington took this house for his
Here Mrs. Washington came and joined her
The room which was Washington's after-
wards became Mr. Longfellow's study.
He wrote these lines about it:-
Yes, within this very room
Sat he in those hours of gloom
Weary both in heart and head."
Some queer stories are told of this house in
Washington's time.
An old woman was one day captured within
the American lines.


She was accused of being a spy, and was
brought before General Putnam.
The general thought she should be taken
before the commander-in-chief.
The party arrived at the gate before Wash-
ington's headquarters.
There the woman refused to go any farther.
General Putnam seized her and carried her
upon his back up the pathway to the door.
Washington, seeing him from the window,
laughed heartily at the scene.
At another time several generals were at the
Word was brought that the British were
doing some firing in Boston.
The officers rushed for their war gear.
General Greene called to the barber, My
wig! where is my wig?"
Behind the looking-glass, General," said
some one.


The general's wig was upon his head.
In time, this house was owned by Mr.
Craigie, a very wealthy gentleman.
After his death his wife continued to live in
the house.
She rented the rooms she did not use.
When Mr. Longfellow went to Cambridge,
he went to the Craigie House, looking for a
He was a very young looking gentleman.
Mrs. Craigie showed him over the house.
But she kept saying, "That's a good room,
but you cannot have it."
At length Mr. Longfellow said he should
like certain rooms which she showed him.
Mrs. Craigie said, I do not rent those rooms
to students."
But," said Mr. Longfellow, I am not a
student. I am a professor."

~--""- ----- "-
_-- .- ,
Ai ____
m 11I .




Mrs. Craigie was much pleased to make his
She said she had read Outre-Mer."
Soon the bargain about the rooms was
So the poet became an inmate of the Craigie
There he read, studied and thought.
There he prepared the lectures for his classes.
There he wrote his sweet verses.
The first poem written there was called
" Flowers."
It begins this way:-
" Spoke full well in language quaint and olden
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars that in earth's firmament do shine."
The next poem was the well known Psalm
of Life."


Often people came to Mr. Longfellow and
thanked him for his poem.
They said it had helped them to live better
Mr. Longfellow loved his friends.
He had a great many. One was Nathaniel
.He was never happier than when entertaining
Charles Dickens, when a young man, came
to America.
Mr. Longfellow and he became fast friends.
Mr. Longfellow tells this funny story in a
letter to a friend.
A little girl lay in her crib.
She saw a father-long-legs" .crawl over her
She cried to her mother Oh, mamma. here's
Mr. Longfellow in here."


Mr. Longfellow continued to write prose.
Some of his finest short poems were written
during his first years at Cambridge.
He read one day of the dreadful wreck of a
vessel upon some rocks called the Reef of
Norman's Woe.
Then he wrote the Wreck of the Hesperus."
So much hard work told upon the poet's
In 1842 he went to Europe to regain his
He visited Mr. Dickens and made the
acquaintance of his family.
On the voyage home he wrote some poems
about slavery.
A few people were already beginning to think
slavery a great evil.
In 1843 Mr. Longfellow again married.
His bride was Miss Frances Appleton of


Her father bought the Craigie House and
gave it to them for their home.
He also gave them the large grounds sur-
rounding it.
These grounds reached to the River Charles.
They had a beautiful view of the river.
Mr. Longfellow wrote a poem called the
" River Charles."
Mr. Longfellow had injured his eyes reading
in the twilight.
Mrs. Longfellow did much of his writing for
Much of the poem Evangeline" was written
in the dark with a pencil.
Evangeline was a beautiful girl, who lived in
The people of her village were taken from
their homes by the English troops.
The people were separated and scattered.


Evangeline and her lover were separated.
She searched many years for him.
But she did not find him until he was an old
He was dying in a hospital.
It is a sad, but beautiful poem.
You have no doubt read The Children's
Mr. Longfellow had six children.
There were two boys, Charles and Ernest.
The girls' names were Alice, Edith and
One little daughter, Frances, died.
Mr. Longfellow loved his children dearly.
He was fond of giving them pleasure.
And they enjoyed nothing better than a
romp with their poet papa.
Mr. Longfellow gave up his pleasant study
to the children.



He then took the room just below theirs.
Mr. Lowell was another of Mr. Longfellow's
Mr. Lowell's beautiful young wife died upon
the same night that a little daughter was born
in the Longfellow home.
Mr. Longfellow wrote The Two Angels."
The college work, with his writing, proved
too much for Mr. Longfellow's health.
So Mr. Lowell took his place in Harvard
Mr. Longfellow had won many friends
The English people liked him and enjoyed
his poems.
In one school the boys voted him the poet of
the age.
It was- during these pleasant years that
SHiawtha" was written.


This was a poem made from Indian legends.
Mr. and Mrs. Longfellow went often into
Boston to attend fine entertainments.
They heard Jenny Lind, the fine Swedish
Mr. Longfellow said, "She sings like a
morning star."
The days sped on rapidly for this happy
Friends visited them from all parts of the
Craigie house seemed like a home to all who
visited it.
But a dreadful thing happened in the
Craigie House.
Upon July 9, 1861, Mrs. Longfellow was in
the library with her two little girls.
She had been cutting some of their curls.
Then she began sealing the curls in small


Somehow her light dress caught fire from a
match that had fallen to the floor.
She was so seriously burned that she died
the next morning.
She was buried upon the anniversary of her
Some one placed a wreath of orange blos-
soms upon her hair.
Mr. Longfellow was so seriously burned as
not to be able to attend the funeral.
This sudden and dreadful affliction almost
crushed him.
It was months before he could speak of it.
He wrote to one of his brothers, And now,
of what we both are thinking, I can write no
word. God's will be done."
But bravely he took up the work of his life.
He interested himself in books and in those
around him.


Some of his best work was done after this
His son Charles went into the war for the
freedom of the slaves.
In December, 1863, he received a telegram
that Charles had been seriously wounded.
In the greatest anxiety, he hastened, with his
son Earnest, to Washington.
There he was told that the wounded would
reach Washington the next day.
But it was several days before they came.
Charles had a terrible wound.
A ball entered his shoulder under one
shoulder-blade and passed out under the other.
The physicians were not very hopeful.
But with good care this boy of only nineteen
was saved.
Mr. Longfellow's love for children is well


Many children visited him in his study.
One little boy, of whom he was very fond,
came often.
One day this little fellow looked earnestly
down the long rows of books in the library.
At length he looked up and said, Have you
got Jack the Giant-Killer ? "
No," said Mr. Longfellow, I haven't that
book in my library."
Early next morning Mr. Longfellow saw him
coming up the walk.-
In his fists he held something very tightly.
The child had brought him two cents.
With this Mr. Longfellow was to buy him a
"Jack the Giant-Killer" for his very own.
Mr. Longfellow wrote a poem about the
village blacksmith.
"Under the spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands."


This chestnut tree was cut down.
A part of the wood was saved and made
into a beautiful chair.
The children of Cambridge presented this
chair to the poet on his seventy-second
Around the base of the chair are carved the
lines: -
The children coming home from school
Peep in at the open door
And watch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor! "

Mr. Longfellow wrote a poem to the children
in reply to their gift.
The last lines of the poem are-

"Only your love and remembrance could
Give life to this dead wood
And make these branches, leafless now so long,
Blossom again in song."


Mr. Longfellow lived until March, 1882.
He received his Harper's Magazine for
In it there was an article about Mexico.
It spoke of the convent of San Blas upon
the Pacific Coast as having been destroyed.
This suggested Mr. Longfellow's last poem,
"The Bells, of San Blas."
On March 15, he wrote the last stanza.

"O Bells of San Bias, in vain
Ye call back the Past again;
The Past is deaf to heed your prayer;
Out of the shadows of the night
The world rolls in light.
It is daybreak everywhere."

In the forenoon of March 18 there came
four school boys from Boston.
They asked permission to visit him.


He received them with his usual kindness.
He showed them the study and the view of
the Charles from the window.
He wrote his name in their albums.
In the afternoon he went to walk upon the
He took a severe chill.
And from the sickness that followed he did
not recover.
He died on Friday, March 24.
He was laid away in Mount Auburn.
Only kind words were said of this man, and
of his life among men.
Many honors were given him.
Many tributes to his memory were paid
The English people placed a bust of Mr.
Longfellow in Westminster Abbey in the Poets'


But no better words could be spoken of this
kindly poet than these by a brother poet:-
He has written no line which, dying, he
could wish to blot: nor one which, living, he
has not a right to be proud of."

* '.-






'~ "~9~4


One Fourth of July, many years ago, a little
boy was born.
His name was Nathaniel Hawthorne.
It was a long name for a little boy.
Perhaps his parents called him Natty, or
He lived in a very old town, called Salem.
Salem is in Massachusetts.
It contains many queer-looking houses with
gables on them.
Little Nathaniel liked to make up stories
about these houses.


-I-;-----~*Tr;-^---;-rr-r- arx---;l----ri--- -_,31


When he became a man, he wrote a long
story about one of them.
This story is called "The House of Seven
Nathaniel lived in his grandfather's house.
It was near the sea.
Back of the house was a beautiful garden.
He liked to roll on the grass under the
apple trees.
There he would watch the ships as they
came and went.
Nathaniel was a very pretty boy.
He had long, golden curls.
He had bright, blue eyes.
He had two sisters, who were older than he.
Their names were Louise and Elizabeth.
They were very proud of their little brother.
He had many aunts and uncles.
They all loved little Nathaniel very much,


But he was not a spoiled child.
He always was a good boy.
Mr. Hawthorne was a sea-captain.
He died at sea when Nathaniel was a little
There were many sea-captains in the
Hawthorne family.
Nathaniel did not care to go to sea.
He did not have a happy childhood.
His mother was always very sad.
Her husband's death was a great sorrow to
She very seldom left the house.
She always ate her meals alone in her own
So Nathaniel was very quiet at home.
He liked to play ball with the boys.
One day he was lamed by a. ball.
He had to use crutches for a long time.


For some time he could not even sit up.
He had to lie prostrate.
He used to lie on the floor and read.
He liked to read very much.
He did not always read children's books.
He would read anything he could find to
Pilgrim's Progress was his favorite book.
He was very fond of animals.
But he liked cats best of all,
When he was lame he played a great deal
with pussy.
Once he knit a pair of stockings for her.
Sometimes he teased his cats.
But he was never cruel to them.
Once he threw a kitten over the fence.
His sister told him that poor pussy would
not like him again.
He said, Oh, she'll think it was William."


William was a little playmate.
I wonder if PuSsy did think so.
Nathaniel was not a strong boy.
He was lame so much that he could not run
about like other boys.
One of his teachers was Joseph Worcester.
Joseph Worcester is the author of the
dictionary which we sometimes use in school.
While Nathaniel was lame, Mr. Worcester
heard him recite his lessons every evening.
The family moved to a very quiet place in
It was near a beautiful lake.
This lake is called Lake Sebago.
The house was owned by an uncle.
It was a large, gloomy house.
There were many pine trees around it.
The neighbors were very few.
Nathaniel had no boy friends.


He liked to wander about alone.
In the winter he skated on the ice.
In the summer he liked to hunt and fish.
There were many forests in those days.
The land was not cleared as it is now.
So foxes and bears were often seen.
One day Nathaniel saw a large black bear.
He followed the bear a long distance.
But he was unable to shoot him.
It was like camping out to live near the
Nathaniel grew well and strong.
He loved the quiet of the woods.
He loved the fragrant odor of the pine trees.
The birds and squirrels were his playmates.
He used to take long walks.
Then he would make up strange stories
about what he saw and heard.
There was no school near.


So Nathaniel had to leave this delightful
He went back to Salem to study.
There he prepared for college.
He felt very proud when he started for
He had to travel by stage-coach.
In those days there were no railroads.
People had to travel in stage-coaches.
The stage-coach was drawn by four strong
The driver would go from house to house
for passengers.
When he was ready to start he would blow
his horn and crack his whip.
Then he would drive away in great state.
It was not so easy to travel then as it is now.
Nathaniel made some dear friends while at


One of his friends was the famous poet,
Another friend was afterwards President of
the United States.
Mr. Hawthorne was a handsome young man.
One day an old gipsy woman met him.
She looked at him a moment.
Then she asked him whether he was a man
or an angel.
He was very strong and brave.
He could walk many miles.
He could jump very high.
He often jumped as high as five feet.
After he left college he wrote a book about
his college life.
He was too shy to have it read.
After it was printed he burned the book.
When Mr. Hawthorne was a little boy he
and his sisters used to play with two little girls,


Their names were Sophia and Elizabeth
Mr. Hawthorne always remembered them.
He married Sophia.
She was a very charming woman.
They were very happy together.
They lived in a house called the Old Manse.
This house was in the country.
It was covered with moss and ivy.
In the orchard were all kinds of fruit.
A long avenue of trees hid the house from
the street.
There was a river near, where beautiful
water-lilies grew.
Every evening Mr. Hawthorne liked to
bathe in the river.
A dear little daughter came to them.
She was named Una.
One of her playmates was a big cat.


They called the cat Lion.
Mr. Hawthorne moved back to Salem.
But he liked the country better.
So they left Salem and went where it was
more quiet.
They lived in a house called the little red
It was a small house painted red.
There was a beautiful lake near.
In the distance were high mountains.
Una had a little brother and sister.
Their names were Rosebud and Julian.
Rosebud had blue eyes and rosy cheeks.
They had great fun together.
Mr. Hawthorne always played with them.
He was the best playfellow they had.
They had a large hen-coop and many hens.
The hens were tame.
Each hen knew its own name.


The children did not like to have their pets
They thought it was wicked to eat them.
Their father took them coasting in the
They had a large sled which Mr. Hawthorne
Sometimes they would all tumble into a big
In the autumn they went nutting.
Where do you suppose they put the nuts
which they gathered ?
They put them in a large oven which the
mother did not use.
This oven contained bags and bags of nuts.
They had a pet rabbit.
At first Bunny was named Spring."
Afterwards they changed his name to
" Hindlegs."


He was very nimble.
But poor Hindlegs was taken ill and died.
Little Julian said he had the scarlet fever.
They buried him in the garden.
Mr. Hawthorne wrote about Bunny.
Mr. Hawthorne wrote a book for children.
His own children knew it almost by heart.
It is called The Wonder Book."
Many children wrote to him and asked him
to write another book like it.
He did write several other books for
One of them is Grandfather's Chair."
He loved children very much or he would
not have written these books for them.
Mr. Hawthorne bought a house in Concord.
Concord is not far from Boston.
Louisa Alcott had lived in this house.
She has written many stories for children.


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They named this house The Wayside."
It was a quaint old house.
It had many pretty little piazzas.
There were many locust trees around the
Mr. Hawthorne loved to sit under these
locust trees.
He built a tower at the top of the house.
He used this tower for a study.
The tower was reached by narrow winding
It was well lighted by five windows.
The only thing in the tower was a high
writing desk.
Mr. Hawthorne always stood when he wrote.
Mr. Hawthorne was sent to England as
The children were delighted to cross the


They traveled a great deal in Europe.
They saw many beautiful pictures and
Mr. Hawthorne wrote a story about one of
the statues which he saw.
They were very glad to return home.
It was the time of the great Civil War.
Mr. Hawthorne felt very sad because there
was a war in our country.
He thought that the poor black people
should be free.
Little Julian was too young to go to war.
He drilled with the boys.
He said he was going to be a soldier when
he was old enough,
Mr. Hawthorne did not send his children to
He taught them at home.
He would often read to them from his


Julian has written a book about his father.
He has told us what a good man he was.
Mr. Hawthorne was always bashful.
He did not care to go into society.
He did not like to meet strangers.
He was much loved by those who knew
Now people in all parts of the world admire
and love him.
He tried to make the world better by
writing good books.
He hated everything that was evil.
You will all want to read the "Wonder
Book," and his other stories for boys and girls.


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