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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories of Authors, British and American, by 
+Edwin Watts Chubb
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Stories of Authors, British and American
+
+Author: Edwin Watts Chubb
+
+Release Date: October 13, 2008 [EBook #26910]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTHORS, BRITISH AND AMERICAN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Jeannie Howse and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Transcriber's Note:                                       |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |
+    | been preserved.                                           |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |
+    | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+   [Illustration: GEOFFREY CHAUCER
+   From a portrait in Occleve's Poems in the British Museum]
+
+
+
+
+Stories of Authors
+
+_British and American_
+
+BY
+EDWIN WATTS CHUBB
+Professor of English Literature
+in the Ohio University.
+
+
+_ILLUSTRATED_
+
+
+New York
+STURGIS & WALTON
+COMPANY
+1910
+
+_All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1910
+BY STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
+
+Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910
+
+Reprinted May, 1910
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+The purpose of this book is to help in making literature and the
+makers of literature alive and interesting. Few schools have libraries
+including the bound volumes of the magazines of the past quarter of a
+century. But what an aid such a collection is to the appreciation of
+literature! The dignified and abbreviated history of literature cannot
+indulge in such delightful gossip as is found in the freer essay and
+fuller biography. To show the excellences of the art and the
+lovableness of the artist rather than to hunt for defects is the duty
+and the delight of the teacher of literature. This does not mean,
+however, that one dare never see the weaker side, the foibles and
+eccentricities of the man of genius.
+
+I like Macaulay none the less because his cock-sureness and loquacity
+came dangerously near to making him a bore; Dr. Johnson grows in
+interest when I learn that he found it a continual and almost hopeless
+struggle to become an early riser, that he feared death, and could
+drink tea as long as the housekeeper could brew it; that Tennyson was
+a slave to tobacco and acted like a yokel when the newly-wedded
+Müllers entertained him at breakfast does not detract from my
+enjoyment of the exquisite pathos of _Tears, Idle Tears_; that the
+marriage of the Brownings was a runaway romance is a whole commentary
+of explanation when I read their poems of romantic love; that
+Longfellow is said to have declined an invitation to the Adirondacks
+because he was told that Emerson was to carry a gun is really far more
+delightful, and I may add valuable, information than to know the exact
+date of the birth of either. Of knowledge such as this is the kingdom
+of literary interest. It is not well to place our literary lights upon
+a pedestal so lofty that the radiating warmth and light never reach
+our hearts.
+
+While many of the articles may be somewhat gossipy in tone, the
+serious phase has not been overlooked. The sketches have been gathered
+from many sources. Some have been written by myself, others have been
+gathered from magazines and books. I wish to acknowledge the kindness
+of _Scribners' Magazine_, of the _Bookman_, and of the _New England
+Magazine_ in permitting me to use articles originally appearing in
+these respective magazines. To all who have wittingly or unwittingly
+made it possible for me to gather my material I wish to acknowledge my
+indebtedness. Every article has been written, selected, or adapted
+because of some special value. In these pages the reader may find what
+Lamb earned during the years of his famous clerkship, or the exciting
+details of Shelley's death. How many times have we heard of Sir Philip
+Sidney's immortal act of chivalry as he _lay_ on the field at Zutphen!
+But definite information has it otherwise. To learn of the prodigious
+industry of the youthful Mill, the perseverance of Darwin, the heroic
+struggle of Scott, the gentleness of Stevenson, the modesty of
+Browning, the lifelong consecration of Motley,--is not the leaven of
+inspiration made of knowledge such as this?
+
+I have an unshaken conviction that the highest art of the teacher is
+manifested in the awakening of such an interest that the pupil shall
+forever after be an eager learner. Am I wrong in hoping that no one,
+though with but a meager knowledge of literature, can read these
+sketches without a desire to know more of the men and women who are
+the glory of England and America? Here is but a taste of a more
+sumptuous feast.
+
+    Dreams, books are each a world; and books, we know,
+    Are a substantial world, both pure and good:
+    Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
+    Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
+
+                                     EDWIN WATTS CHUBB.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ENGLISH WRITERS
+
+CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
+
+      I. The Ancient Tabard Inn                                      1
+
+     II. Sir Philip Sidney at Zutphen                                4
+
+    III. About Shakspere                                             9
+
+     IV. John Milton                                                17
+
+      V. Charles Lamb, the Clerk of the India House                 24
+
+     VI. Dr. Johnson and Charles Lamb                               28
+
+    VII. The Death of Dr. Johnson                                   33
+
+   VIII. Gray Writes the Elegy                                      37
+
+     IX. Cowper as a Letter Writer                                  42
+
+      X. Gibbon and His Visit to Rome                               46
+
+     XI. Burns Falls in Love                                        50
+
+    XII. Burns' First Book of Poems                                 54
+
+   XIII. Samuel Taylor Coleridge in School and College              59
+
+    XIV. Byron as Swimmer and Feaster                               64
+
+     XV. Shelley as a Freshman                                      71
+
+    XVI. The Death of Shelley                                       76
+
+   XVII. The School-days of John Keats                              82
+
+  XVIII. The Heroism of Sir Walter Scott                            88
+
+    XIX. Walter Savage Landor                                       93
+
+     XX. Leigh Hunt's Business Ability                             100
+
+    XXI. De Quincey Runs Away                                      102
+
+   XXII. Macaulay's Childhood                                      108
+
+  XXIII. Macaulay Becomes Famous                                   114
+
+   XXIV. Dickens Writes the Pickwick Papers                        119
+
+    XXV. Charles Dickens as Reader                                 123
+
+   XXVI. On the Death of Dickens                                   126
+
+  XXVII. Ruskin's Childhood                                        130
+
+ XXVIII. The Marriage of the Brownings                             135
+
+   XXIX. Robert Browning                                           140
+
+    XXX. Knight's Reminiscences of Tennyson                        145
+
+   XXXI. Emerson on Carlyle and Tennyson                           150
+
+  XXXII. Literary Recollections of Max Müller                      156
+
+ XXXIII. The Early Education of John Stuart Mill                   162
+
+  XXXIV. Carlyle Goes to the University                            167
+
+   XXXV. Carlyle and His Wife                                      170
+
+  XXXVI. Carlyle as Lecturer                                       175
+
+ XXXVII. Carlyle on Wordsworth and Browning                        180
+
+XXXVIII. The Author of "Jane Eyre"                                 184
+
+  XXXIX. Thackery in America                                       189
+
+     XL. George Eliot Becomes a Writer of Fiction                  194
+
+    XLI. The Author of "Alice in WonderLand"                       200
+
+   XLII. About Darwin                                              203
+
+  XLIII. Anecdotes of Huxley                                       209
+
+   XLIV. Stevenson at Vailima                                      214
+
+    XLV. Kipling in India                                          221
+
+
+AMERICAN WRITERS
+
+   XLVI. Benjamin Franklin Runs Away                               226
+
+  XLVII. Washington Irving                                         234
+
+ XLVIII. Cooper and "The Spy"                                      242
+
+   XLIX. John Lothrop Motley and Bismarck                          249
+
+      L. The Youth of George Ticknor                               254
+
+     LI. Fitz-Greene Halleck                                       259
+
+    LII. The Author of Thanatopsis                                 262
+
+   LIII. Curtis and Hawthorne at the Brook Farm                    266
+
+    LIV. Hawthorne and the Scarlet Letter                          270
+
+     LV. Max Müller's Recollections of Emerson, Lowell and Holmes  279
+
+    LVI. Howells Calls on Emerson, and Describes Longfellow        284
+
+   LVII. Longfellow, the Universal Poet                            290
+
+  LVIII. Henry David Thoreau                                       297
+
+    LIX. The Last Days of Edgar Allan Poe                          303
+
+     LX. Artemus Ward                                              313
+
+    LXI. Edmund Gosse Visits Whittier                              317
+
+   LXII. Personal Recollections of Whittier                        320
+
+  LXIII. Henry Ward Beecher                                        329
+
+   LXIV. The London "Times" on Lowell                              333
+
+    LXV. The Writing of "America"                                  338
+
+   LXVI. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and her First Story               340
+
+  LXVII. Sidney Lanier                                             344
+
+ LXVIII. The Story of Mark Twain's Debts                           349
+
+   LXIX. Hamlin Garland's Literary Beginning                       358
+
+    LXX. Stephen Crane: A "Wonderful Boy"                          361
+
+   LXXI. Eugene Field                                              364
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+Geoffrey Chaucer                                        _Frontispiece_
+
+                                                           FACING PAGE
+
+The Old Tabard Inn                                                   2
+
+William Shakspere                                                    8
+
+John Milton                                                         16
+
+Robert Burns                                                        50
+
+Lord Byron                                                          64
+
+Percy Bysshe Shelley                                                70
+
+Charles Dickens                                                    122
+
+Robert Browning                                                    134
+
+Alfred Tennyson                                                    144
+
+Ralph Waldo Emerson                                                150
+
+Thomas Carlyle                                                     175
+
+Benjamin Franklin                                                  226
+
+William Cullen Bryant                                              262
+
+Henry Wadsworth Longfellow                                         290
+
+John Greenleaf Whittier                                            320
+
+
+
+
+STORIES OF AUTHORS
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE ANCIENT TABARD INN
+
+
+The picture we see here is that of an inn whose fame is as widespread
+as the love of English poetry, for it is at the Tabard Inn that
+Chaucer more than five hundred years ago assembled his nine and twenty
+pilgrims who were preparing to visit the tomb of Thomas à Becket at
+Canterbury. The witchery of the springtime had stirred the blood of
+these Londoners who, perhaps, were enticed from home more by the soft
+April showers and the melody of the birds than by their need of
+spiritual consolation. This, at least, is the impression we receive as
+in imagination we join these immortal pilgrims at the Tabard. Our
+guide is
+
+    Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath
+      Preluded those melodious bursts that fill
+    The spacious times of great Elizabeth
+      With sounds that echo still,--
+
+and as he moves among his motley group, let us take a glance at the
+Tabard.
+
+The picture we have is that of the typical old English inn. "As late
+as 1870 the ruins of the famous Tabard could be found. It was near St.
+Saviour in the Borough High Street. Turning from the street into one
+of those courtyards which abound in the east of London, the visitor
+comes upon the ruins of the once famous inn the very name of which has
+been transformed by time. It is now known as the '_Talbot_,' but the
+inscription above the doorway contradicts the modern signboard and
+proclaims the house to be '_The Ancient Tabard Inn_.' The whole yard
+is redolent of dilapidation. Facing the visitor on entering is an
+interesting block of old buildings, forming part of the left side, and
+the bottom of what once was an ample courtyard. This part of the
+building contains not improbably the shell of the corresponding
+portion of the original inn. The doors of the first floor all open
+into one of the wide balustraded galleries or verandas so common in
+the genuine old English hostelry. Until recently the landlord of the
+_Talbot_, then a small public-house, and still forming part of the
+modern mass of brick building that blocks up the right side and part
+of the center of the courtyard, rented the rooms by which this
+balustraded gallery was, and still is, surrounded. They were then let
+as bedrooms, and kept in good repair; and are supposed to occupy the
+site of the very rooms once tenanted by the Canterbury pilgrims; the
+gallery probably differing but little in appearance from what it was
+when Chaucer frequented it in search of good wine. The landlord
+eventually became insolvent; the paltry tavern was shut up, and the
+bedrooms were dismantled. In that plight they might be seen some years
+ago, may still possibly be seen--empty, dusty, dreary--ranged above
+ground-floor premises which do duty as a parcels' conveyance office,
+and abutting on a mean, ill-kept yard. Until within the last few
+years the coigne of the old balustraded gallery was connected on the
+right with the modern brick mass by an ancient wood-work bridge,
+coeval at least with the oldest portion of the building as it stands.
+But the bridge is gone, and the lust of gold and the pride of life
+have so destroyed that spirit of reverence and refined superstitious
+love for the venerable which should characterize an advanced
+civilization, that it is greatly to be feared the rest of the
+structure will soon follow. Yet it was in this courtyard, and before
+this very inn, that Chaucer and his nine-and-twenty pilgrims stood in
+picturesque confusion in the early dawn of that spring morning, long,
+long ago; and agreed for their common amusement on the road each one
+of them should tell at least one tale in going to, and another in
+returning from Canterbury; the best story teller to be treated to a
+supper by his fellow travelers on their return to the Tabard Inn. The
+company comprises representatives from all classes of society except
+the two extremes; there is neither a prince nor a beggar. The
+characters are taken from middle-class life, of which they may be
+accepted as fair and truthful types; being described with a vigorous
+fidelity which has never been surpassed in the whole range of art.
+Every figure stands out from the canvas sharp and clear like pictures
+seen through a stereoscope. Not a touch, not a line is wanting; each
+trick of speech and peculiarity of feature or of dress, is
+photographed with Preraphaelite fidelity."
+
+   [Illustration: THE OLD TABARD INN
+   From a drawing by Herbert Railton]
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+SIR PHILIP SIDNEY AT ZUTPHEN
+
+
+Whenever the name of Sir Philip Sidney is mentioned one involuntarily
+thinks of noble generosity and knightly gentleness and self-sacrifice.
+And here is the story of the act that forever united his name with the
+highest ideals of chivalry:
+
+In August, 1586, Leicester assembled his troops at Arnheim, which he
+made his headquarters. After reducing Doesburg, he prepared to besiege
+Zutphen, an important town on the Yssel. The garrison was in sore need
+of provisions, which Parma, before marching to its relief, determined
+to supply. A convoy of corn, meat, and other necessaries, sufficient
+to victual the place for three months, was accordingly collected, and
+on the twenty-second of September left the Spanish camp. So high was
+Parma's estimate of the importance of preserving Zutphen, that the
+escort despatched with the convoy numbered twenty-nine hundred foot
+and six hundred horse. Leicester was informed of the enemy's movement,
+but not of the force which protected it. An ambuscade of five hundred
+men, under Sir John Norris, was held sufficient to intercept the
+convoy. About fifty young officers volunteered to add their services.
+This gallant band was composed of the flower of the English army....
+It was indeed "an incredible extravagance to send a handful of such
+heroes against such an army," but Leicester can scarcely be blamed for
+failing to restrain the impulsive ardor which animated his entire
+staff. Sidney's characteristic magnanimity betrayed him that day into
+a fatal excess. He had risen at the first sound of the trumpet and
+left his tent completely armed, but observing that Sir William Pelham,
+an older soldier, had not protected his legs with cuishes, returned
+and threw off his own. The morning was cold and densely foggy, as the
+little company galloped forth to join their comrades in ambush. Just
+as they came up, Sir John Norris had caught the first sounds of the
+approaching convoy. Almost at the same moment the fog cleared off and
+revealed at what terrible odds the battle was to be fought that day.
+Mounted arquebusiers, pikemen and musketeers on foot, Spaniards,
+Italians, and even, it is said, Albanians, to the number of
+thirty-five hundred, guarded the wagons before and behind. The English
+were but five hundred and fifty men. Yet among them all, the historian
+has the right of blood to say with confidence, "There was no thought
+of retreat." The indomitable national spirit embodied itself in the
+war-cry of young Essex: "Follow me, good fellows, for the honor of
+England and England's queen!" At the word a hundred horsemen, Sidney
+in the midst, with lance in hand and curtel-axe at saddle-bow, spurred
+to the charge. The enemy's cavalry broke, but the musketeers in the
+rear fired a deadly volley, under cover of which it formed anew. A
+second charge re-broke it. In the onset Sidney's horse was killed, but
+he remounted and rode forward. Lord Willoughby, after unhorsing and
+capturing the Albanian leader, lost his own horse. Attacked on all
+sides, he must have fallen and yielded, when Sidney came to the rescue
+and struck down his assailants. Individual valor, however, proved
+unavailing against the might of numbers. After nearly two hours'
+desperate opposition, the convoy still made way. Charge succeeded
+charge in the vain effort to prevent its effecting a junction with the
+garrison, two thousand of whom were waiting for the right moment to
+sally forth. In the last of these onsets, Sir Philip's impetuosity
+carried him within musket-shot of the camp. A bullet struck his
+unprotected leg, just above the knee, and shattered the bone. He
+endeavored to remain on the field, but his horse became unmanageable,
+and in agonies of pain and thirst he rode back to the English
+quarters, a mile and a half distant. An incident of that ride, as told
+in the quaint language of Lord Brooke, retains the immortal charm of
+pathos which commands our tears, how often soever repeated:
+
+    In which sad progress, passing along by the rest of the army,
+    where his uncle the general was, and being thirsty with excess
+    of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought
+    him, but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a
+    poor soldier carried along who had eaten his last at that same
+    feast, ghastly, casting up his eyes at the bottle, which Sir
+    Philip perceiving, took it from his head before he drank, and
+    delivered it to the poor man with these words, "Thy necessity
+    is greater than mine." And when he had pledged this poor
+    soldier, he was presently carried to Arnheim.
+
+The golden chain of heroic actions, Christian and pagan, may contain
+examples of self-denial sublimer and more absolute than this; but in
+the blended grace and tenderness of its knightly courtesy, we know not
+where to find its parallel.
+
+Leicester met his nephew as he was borne back to the camp, and burst
+into a genuine passion of sorrow. Many a rough soldier among those
+who, in returning from the failure of their impossible enterprise, now
+came up with their comrade, was unmanned for the first time that day.
+Sir William Russell, as tender-hearted as he was daring, embraced him
+weeping, and kissed his hand amid broken words of admiration and
+sympathy. But Sidney needed no consolation. "I would," said Leicester,
+in a letter to Sir Thomas Heneage, "you had stood by to hear his most
+loyal speeches to her Majesty, his constant mind to the cause, his
+loving care over me, and his most resolute determination for death;
+not one jot appalled for his blow, which is the most grievous that
+ever I saw with such a bullet."
+
+The English surgeons at first gave hopes of his speedy restoration to
+health, and the favorable news was sent to England. Lady Sidney, who
+had followed him to Flushing some months before, at once hastened to
+him, but with no idea of his danger. The nation at large thought him
+convalescent. He himself, however, never expected to recover, although
+submitting with fortitude to whatever systems of treatment were
+proposed. Nothing was left untried that affection could suggest or the
+imperfect science of the age effect. His wife tenderly nursed him, and
+his two younger brothers were constantly at his side. His quondam foe,
+Count Hohenlo, though himself dangerously wounded, sent off his own
+physician, Adrian Van den Spiegel, to his aid. After examining the
+injuries Adrian pronounced them mortal, and then hastened back to the
+Count, whose case was not so desperate. "Away, villain!" cried the
+generous soldier in a transport of wrath; "never see my face again
+till thou bring better news of that man's recovery, for whose
+redemption many such as I were happily lost!"
+
+From the first to the last moment of his suffering Sir Philip's temper
+was calm and cheerful. During the three weeks that he lingered at
+Arnheim he occupied himself with the thoughts befitting a
+death-bed.... On the 17th of October he felt himself dying, and
+summoned his friends to say farewell. His latest words were addressed
+to his brother Robert: "Love my memory; cherish my friends; their
+faith to me may assure you they are honest. But, above all things,
+govern your will and affections by the will and word of your Creator;
+in me beholding the end of this world with all her vanities." When
+powerless to speak, he replied to the entreaty of friends, who desired
+some token of his trust in God, by clasping his hands in the attitude
+of prayer, and a few moments afterwards had ceased to breathe.
+
+                 --Adapted from the _Edinburgh Review_.
+
+   [Illustration: WILLIAM SHAKSPERE
+   From the portrait by Martin Droeshout]
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+ABOUT SHAKSPERE
+
+
+What would we not give to be able to relate a half-dozen good
+anecdotes about Shakspere? It is true there are traditions, the best
+known of which is the story that he poached deer in the park of Sir
+Thomas Lucy. Men have discussed the pros and cons of this
+deer-stealing tradition with a gravity and fulness worthy of a
+weightier cause. Suppose he did engage in the exciting sport of
+worrying a nobleman who had a game preserve. Does that fact blacken
+the youth's character? It is said the students at Oxford were the most
+notorious poachers in the kingdom, although expulsion was the penalty.
+Dr. Forman relates how a student who afterwards became a bishop was
+more given to poaching than to study.
+
+What do we know about the life of Shakspere? We know that he was born
+at Stratford-on-Avon in 1564, that he died there in 1616, April 23.
+Some years ago I stood in the house which is reputed to be the place
+of his birth; over 20,000 pilgrims from all lands each year pay their
+shilling for the privilege of going through that house; the town
+corporation has purchased the property and controls it; the place has
+been photographed until the reading world is familiar with the
+picture,--and yet we do not positively know that Shakspere was born in
+that house. For Shakspere's father owned two houses at the time of the
+son's birth; in which of the two he lived at this time we can but
+guess. We suppose he lived in the Henley Street house, for it was the
+better of the two houses and the Shakspere family was prospering when
+William was born. The house itself has been remodeled. I think it is
+Sidney Lee who says that the only thing that remains as it was in
+Shakspere's time is the cellar. We do not know the day of Shakspere's
+birth. In Holy Trinity Church one may look into the book containing
+the baptismal record of the babe, William. He was baptized on April 26
+and as children were usually baptized three days after their birth we
+infer he was born April 23. We know that he married Anne Hathaway, a
+woman eight years his senior; that in early manhood he went to London;
+that he became an actor, dramatist, manager of a theater; that in
+1597 he bought New Place, the stateliest residence in Stratford; that
+he lived in Stratford during the last years of his life as a highly
+esteemed and worthy man, and that he died in 1616 and was buried in
+Trinity Church. These are the facts in the records of Shakspere's
+life. They, however, are not the important facts. The main fact in his
+life is his work, the matchless collection of literary masterpieces
+that bear the imprint of his genius. It is also well to keep in mind
+that our paucity of definite documentary records is not characteristic
+of Shakspere alone. We may know little of Shakspere, but we know less
+of Marlowe, his most brilliant competitor.
+
+It is because we know so little of fact in the life of Shakspere that
+we delight to let fancy paint its charming pictures. We are led into
+the old Grammar School which Shakspere in all probability attended.
+Tradition points out the desk at which he used to sit. We can infer
+what he studied. The name of the Latin grammar then used we can deduce
+from his quoting a Latin sentence just as it was misquoted in Lilly's
+grammar. Artists have painted from imagination the picture of the boy
+Shakspere. Poets have wandered over the Warwickshire region and in
+their mind's eye have seen the youthful bard as he walked over the
+same picturesque region. In _Midsummer-Night's Dream_ we read
+
+    I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
+    Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
+    Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
+    With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.--
+
+and we see the young Shakspere, keen-eyed, observant, reveling in the
+beauty of nature. In _Macbeth_ we read
+
+    This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
+    Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
+    Unto our gentle senses.--
+
+and we recall that Kenilworth and Warwick Castles are near Stratford
+and we see the boyish Shakspere as he walks about these magnificent
+testimonies to the might and power of feudal England, or perhaps
+mingling with the crowd when Royalty has come to Kenilworth to be
+entertained by the lavish Leicester. So, too, when we find in _Much
+Ado About Nothing_
+
+    The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
+    Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
+    And greedily devour the treacherous bait,--
+
+we have a picture before us of the boy standing on the banks of the
+placid Avon, enjoying the sports of boyhood and unconsciously
+receiving impressions that shall later be reproduced to adorn with
+freshest imagery the poetry of the world's greatest genius.
+
+After years of labor the scholars of the world have scraped together
+enough definite information to make the Life of Shakspere, as Mr.
+Raleigh puts it, "assume the appearance of a scrap-heap of respectable
+size." But to us the great fact in the life of Shakspere is that he
+has given us his masterpieces. Perhaps it is just as well that we know
+so little about the facts in his life. We have all the more time to
+study his works. About their quality there is little of disagreement.
+Three hundred years ago Ben Jonson wrote
+
+            ... I confess thy writings to be such
+    As neither man nor muse can praise too much,--
+
+and the critic of to-day is saying the same thing, only he uses two
+volumes instead of two lines to say it. It is true an occasional
+voice, like that of Tolstoy's, will be heard in protest, but the
+protest and the critic are both likely to be forgotten before the
+consensus of three centuries shall be set aside.
+
+Shakspere lives and shall live as long as the human race shall delight
+in the study of the human heart, not because of the chastity and
+clearness of his diction, not because of the supremacy of his
+imagination, nor because of the variety of his melodious verse,--not
+even because of the matchless combination of all these charms; but the
+Bard of Stratford lives and shall live because his sanity enabled him
+to see the "God of things as they are," and his passion penetrated
+into the deepest sorrows and rose to the highest aspirations of the
+human heart,--and throughout all this sympathizing with goodness and
+while despising the depraved yet pitying with a heart of love.
+
+No system-maker or formula-builder can account for Shakspere. Genius
+is ever a miracle. However, we can study the environment in which
+genius moves and has its being. When we ask ourselves how does it
+happen that the plays of Shakspere breathe such a wholesome and
+vigorous morality, we are led to two conclusions,--first, that the
+England of Shakspere's time was a wholesome and vigorous England;
+second, that the man Shakspere was sound to the core.
+
+The close of the sixteenth century is one of the most remarkable
+periods in the history of the world. Indeed, so striking is the
+intellectual activity of this age that lately an eminent scientist
+advanced the hypothesis that some electric influence, some magnetic
+current must have let itself loose to work upon the destinies of the
+world in the production of great men. For in that period in Italy we
+find Tasso, the greatest of modern epic poets; then too lived Galileo
+and Kepler, the astronomers; in France we find the philosophic
+essayist, Montaigne; in Spain the world-renowned Cervantes, the author
+of the immortal Don Quixote; in England both Bacon and Shakspere,
+beside a host of other writers, generals, admirals and artists. This
+same age is the most flourishing period in Mahometan India; so, too,
+in China, in Japan, and even in far away Persia we find an unusual
+degree of intellectual activity.
+
+The England of Shakspere! The phrase suggests a train of associations
+that kindle the imagination. The age of literature, war, conquest,
+adventure, and achievement. The era of Edmund Spenser, "called from
+faeryland to struggle 'gainst dark ways;" of Sir Philip Sidney, the
+scholar, the courtier, the gentleman; of Sir Walter Raleigh, author,
+knight, and explorer; of Bacon, "the wisest, meanest, brightest of
+mankind." It is the time when in the _Golden Hind_ Drake is
+circumnavigating the globe; when Hawkins is exploring the Indies, and
+Frobisher is becoming the hero of the Northwest passage; the age of
+marvelous tales told by intrepid explorers and adventurers returning
+from America, a land whose fountains renewed youth and whose rivers
+flowed over sands of gold. It is the era of English sea-dogs pillaging
+Spanish provinces in spite of imperial manifestos,--above all, it is
+the age of the Spanish Armada.
+
+To recall what this means it is necessary to remember that Spain was
+the great dominating empire of the sixteenth century. Philip II, the
+Duke of Alva, the horrors of the Spanish inquisition, condemn Spain's
+power in this period. But one midsummer morn all England awoke to the
+glorious news that the Invincible Armada lay at the bottom of the sea.
+England had triumphed, and now for the first time national life
+dreamed of the possibility of leadership in the great game of
+world-politics. The atmosphere was electric with new life. In rural
+England along lanes flanked with green hedges Englishmen walked with
+bosoms swelling with new pride, in bustling London vigorous burghers
+strode the city's streets with hearts pulsating with new warmth, and
+everywhere the eyes of all Englishmen flashed with new fire.
+
+Could a soul so sensitive as Shakspere's live in such an atmosphere
+and not be influenced by it? Listen to him as he pays his beautiful,
+patriotic tribute to England's national glory:
+
+    This other Eden, demi-paradise,
+    This fortress built by Nature for herself,
+    This precious stone set in the silver sea,
+    This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
+    This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
+    Dear for her reputation through the world.
+
+And the second cause, we say, is the personality of the man himself.
+Shakspere wrote pure and lofty poetry because his was a pure and lofty
+nature. I know the disparagers of Shakspere and the advocates of the
+Baconian theory make much of the traditional wildness of Shakspere's
+youth. The common argument is that a man who is charged with the
+poaching of deer in his youth is too bad to write good poetry,
+therefore Bacon wrote Shakspere. Was Bacon an angel? By the same
+process of reasoning Burns could not have written the Cotter's
+Saturday Night. But I deny that Shakspere was profligate, and in
+making this denial I need not prove the impeccability of Shakspere.
+But his life was essentially pure, his heart good, because the
+influence of the life is sane and wholesome.
+
+Not alone the greatest intellect of his time, of all times, but also
+the greatest heart, was that possessed by this Warwickshire poet. As a
+man thinketh in his heart so he is. As Shakspere was, so he wrote.
+This crystalline wholesome water dashing over this rocky cliff did
+not have its origin in yonder pool. Pure water does not flow from a
+mud-puddle. Here is a man who in twenty years writes in round numbers
+forty productions--the task of Hercules. The product of the man
+attests the nobility of his soul. No man can labor for twenty years
+without putting his stamp upon his work. Shakspere was no bar-room
+brawler, no prodigal spender of time and substance in riotous living.
+He lived to the mature age of fifty-two and died a well-to-do man. The
+prodigals of the world do not retire with a competency. I repeat that
+Shakspere was not impeccable; he was no Puritan; but we cannot think
+of the creator of Hamlet, Ophelia, Othello, Desdemona, Cordelia,
+Portia, Rosalind, Miranda, and Prospero as other than a man of a
+contrite spirit and a pure heart. As he surpassed his contemporaries
+in breadth and loftiness of intellect, so too he surpassed them in the
+reach and vigor of his moral feeling.
+
+We cannot believe that this man who penetrated deeper than others into
+the mystery of life missed the meaning of his own life. Let us hear
+the conclusion of the whole matter--the power that moves the world is
+not brilliancy of intellect; it is purity of heart. Nobility of
+character is the essence of powerful personality. Lincoln is greater
+than Webster, Washington than Jefferson, not through greater mental
+grasp, but because of a purer spiritual essence. The world without
+takes its meaning and color from the world within. Shakspere saw a
+world of pure passion and wholesome sanity because his world within
+was pure and sane.
+
+   [Illustration: JOHN MILTON
+   From a miniature by Faithorne, painted in 1667]
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+JOHN MILTON
+
+
+In 1623, when Milton was a boy of fifteen, John Heminge and Henry
+Condell, "only to keep the memory of so worthy a friend and fellow
+alive as was our Shakspere," had given to the world the folio edition
+of Shakspere's works, very anxious that the said folio might commend
+itself to "the most noble and incomparable pair of brethern," William,
+Earl of this, and Philip, Earl of that, and exceedingly unconscious
+that, next to the production of the works themselves, they were doing
+the most important thing done, or likely to be done, in the literary
+history of the world. Milton read Shakspere, and in the lines which he
+wrote upon him in 1630, there seems to be the due throb of
+transcendent admiration....
+
+As Shakspere is the supreme name in this order of poets, the men of
+sympathy and of humor, Milton stands first in that other great order
+which is too didactic for humor, and of which Schiller is the best
+recent representative. He was called the lady of his college not only
+for his beautiful face, but because of the vestal purity and austerity
+of his virtue. The men of the former class are intuitive, passionate,
+impulsive; not steadily conscious of their powers; fitful,
+unsystematic. Their love is ecstasy; their errors are the intoxication
+of joy; their sorrows are the pangs of death....
+
+Milton, the poet of Puritanism, stands out in bold contrast to these
+imperfect characters. From his infancy there was nothing unregulated
+in his life. His father, clearly a superior man, of keen
+Protestantism, successful in business, well skilled in music, soon
+perceived that one of the race of immortals had been born in his
+house. He began, apparently with the conscious and delighted assent of
+his son, to give the young Apollo such an education as Plato might
+have prescribed. An eminently good education it proved to be; only not
+so good, with a view to the production of a world-poet, as that which
+nature, jealous of the Platos and pedagogues, and apt to tumble them
+and their grammatical appurtenances out of the window when she has one
+of her miraculous children in hand, had provided for that Stratford
+lad who came to London broken in character and probably almost broken
+in heart, some forty years earlier, to be a hanger-on of the theaters
+and to mount the intellectual throne of the world. No deer-stealing
+expeditions late o' nights when the moon silvered the elms of
+Charlecote chase; no passionate love affairs and wild boy-marriage.
+
+Milton, carefully grounded in the tongues, went in due course to
+Cambridge University, and during those years when the youthful mind is
+in its stage of richest recipiency, lived among the kind of men who
+haunt seats of learning,--on the whole, the most uninteresting men in
+existence, whose very knowledge is a learned ignorance; not bees of
+industry, who have hoarded information by experience, but
+book-_worms_.... It is important, also, that Milton was never to any
+distracting extent in love. If Shakspere had been a distinguished
+university man, would he have told us of a catch that could "draw
+three souls out of one weaver?" And if the boy of eighteen had not
+been in a fine frenzy about Anne Hathaway, could he have known how
+Juliet and Romeo, Othello and Desdemona, loved?
+
+... It is a proof of the fiery and inextinguishable nature of Milton's
+genius that it triumphed over the artificiality of his training; that
+there is the pulse of a true poetical life in his most highly wrought
+poems, and that the whole mountain of his learning glows with the
+strong internal flame. His inspiration was from within, the
+inspiration of a profound enthusiasm for beauty and an impassioned
+devotion to virtue. The district in which he lived during much of his
+most elaborate self-education is not marked enough to have disturbed,
+by strong impressions from without, the development of his genius from
+within. Horton lies where the dead flat of southeastern Buckingham
+meets the dead flat of southwestern Middlesex. Egham Hill, not quite
+so high as Hampstead, and the chalk knoll on which Windsor Castle
+fails to be sublime, are the loftiest ground in the immediate
+neighborhood. Staines, the Pontes of the Romans, and Runnymede with
+its associations, are near the parish church of Horton, in which
+Milton worshiped for five or six years, and in which his mother is
+buried, has one of the Norman porches common in the district, but is
+drearily heavy in its general structure, and forms a notable contrast
+to that fine example of the old English church in which, by the
+willows of Avon, lie Shakspere's bones. The river Colne breaks itself,
+a few miles to the north, into a leash of streams, the most
+considerable of which flows by Horton. The abounding watercourses are
+veiled with willows, but the tree does not seem to have attracted
+Milton's attention. It was reserved for the poet-painter of the _Liber
+Studiorum_ to show what depths of homely pathos, and what exquisite
+picturesqueness of gnarled and knotted line, could be found in a
+pollard willow, and for Tennyson to reveal the poetic expressiveness
+of the tree as denoting a solemn and pensive landscape, such as that
+amid whose "willowy hills and fields" rose the carol
+
+                    ... mournful, holy,
+    Chaunted loudly, chaunted lowly,
+    Till her blood was frozen slowly,
+    And her eyes were darkened wholly,
+
+of the Lady of Shalott....
+
+Milton's bodily appearance at this time was in brilliant
+correspondence with the ideal which imagination might form of a
+youthful poet. Perfect in all bodily proportions, an accomplished
+fencer, with delicate flowing hair, and beautiful features through
+which genius, still half in slumber, shed its mystic glow, he was all
+that the imagination of Greece saw in the young Hyperion or Apollo.
+
+... His three daughters, Anne, Deborah, and Mary, were the children of
+his first wife. He was twice married after her death in 1653, but had
+no more children. So early as 1644 his sight began to fail, and when
+his little girls were left motherless, they could be known to him, as
+Professor Masson touchingly says, "only as tiny voices of complaint
+going about in the darkness." The tiny voices did not move him to love
+or pity. His impatient and imperious nature had doubtless undergone
+exquisite misery from the moaning discontent of his wife; the
+daughters took the mother's part so soon as they were able to
+understand her sorrows; and the grave Puritan displeasure with which
+Milton regards the mother seems to have been transferred to the
+children. His austerity as a Puritan and a pedagogue, and the worse
+than old Hebrew meanness of his estimate of women, appear to the
+greatest disadvantage in connection with his daughters. Had they been
+sons, he would have thrown all his ardor into the enterprise of their
+education. The training of boys was one of his enthusiasms; but his
+daughters were taught nothing except to read, and were ordered to read
+aloud to him in languages of which they did not understand a word.
+Naturally they never loved him; his fame, which they were not able to
+appreciate, cast on them no ray of comforting light; and they thought
+probably in sad and scared bewilderment of the relations between their
+unhappy wraith-like mother, and their Titan father. How different the
+warm and tender relations between Shakspere and his children! In that
+instance it was the daughter, the pet Judith, that was the demure
+sweet Puritan, yet with a touch of her father's wit in her, and able
+to enjoy all the depth of his smile when he would ask her whether
+cakes and ale were to be _quite_ abolished when the reign of the
+saints came in.
+
+... To the man himself we turn, for one brief glance before laying
+down the pen. In the evil times of the Restoration, in the land of
+the Philistines, Agonistes but unconquerable, the Puritan Samson ended
+his days. Serene and strong; conscious that the ambition of his youth
+had been achieved, he begins the day with the Hebrew Bible, listens
+reverently to words in which Moses or David or Isaiah spake of God.
+But he attends no church, belongs to no communion, and has no form of
+worship in his family; notable circumstances which we may refer, in
+part at least, to his blindness, but significant of more than that.
+His religion was of the spirit, and did not take kindly to any form.
+Though the most Puritan of the Puritan, he had never stopped long in
+the ranks of any Puritan party, or given satisfaction to Puritan
+ecclesiastics and theologians. In his youth he loved the night; in his
+old age he loves the sunlight of early morning as it glimmers on his
+sightless eyes. The music which had been his delight since childhood
+has still its charm, and he either sings or plays on the organ or
+bass-violin every day. In his gray coat, at the door of his house in
+Bunhill Fields, he sits on clear afternoons; a proud, ruggedly genial
+old man, with sharp satiric touches in his talk, the untunable fiber
+in him to the last. Eminent foreigners come to see him; friends
+approach reverently, drawn by the splendor of his discourse. It would
+range, one can well imagine, in glittering freedom, like "arabesques
+of lightning," over all ages and all literatures. He was the prince of
+scholars; a memory of superlative power waiting, as submissive
+handmaid, on the queenliest imagination. The whole spectacle of
+ancient civilization, its cities, its camps, its landscapes, was
+before him. There he sat in his gray coat, like a statue cut in
+granite. England had made a sordid failure, but he had not failed. His
+soul's fellowship was with the great Republicans of Greece and Rome,
+and with the Psalmist and Isaiah and Oliver Cromwell.
+
+       --From Peter Bayne in the _Contemporary Review_.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+CHARLES LAMB, THE CLERK OF THE INDIA HOUSE
+
+
+The author of the _Essays of Elia_ and _Tales Founded on the Plays of
+Shakspere_ worked for the greater part of his life in the employ of
+the Honorable East India Company. He received his appointment in 1792,
+the year of the birth of Shelley. He had been trained at Christ's
+Hospital for a university career; this gave him a good classical
+education but not especially good preparation for his new work. Had he
+been obliged to pass a civil service examination he would hardly have
+received the appointment. Of geography and arithmetic he knew little.
+The schoolboy of to-day will be surprised to learn that a boy a
+hundred and more years ago might reach the age of fifteen in a good
+grammar school of that period and yet not be able to use the
+multiplication table. As late as 1823 Lamb writes: "I think I lose a
+hundred pounds a year owing solely to my want of neatness in making up
+accounts: how I puzzle 'em out at last is the wonder!" There is no
+evidence, however, to show that Lamb did not overcome his lack of
+preparation. The contrary impression sometimes prevails, due, perhaps,
+to his supposed apology for his late arrival by his representation
+that he made up for it by a correspondingly early departure. His
+industry must have been appreciated, for his salary rose from nothing
+to a fair figure.
+
+The modern young man, desirous of earning a good salary at once, will
+be surprised at the statement that Lamb worked for nothing at first.
+He will be still more surprised to learn that in those days a clerk in
+the employ of the great India Company worked three years for nothing.
+This period evidently was considered as the apprenticeship. It is true
+a gratuity of 30 pounds was given, and by extra work one might earn
+small sums. In April, 1795, three years having ended, he received a
+salary of 40 pounds a year. The next year it rose to 70. By 1799 it
+had advanced to 90, and from then on to 1814 he received an increment
+of ten pounds every two years. He also received a gratuity each year.
+The gratuity by 1814 had amounted to 80 pounds. After a reorganization
+of the company in 1815 Lamb seems to have progressed in salary, for he
+then received 480 pounds, and in 1821 it was 700; and at the time of
+his retirement it was 730.
+
+On the whole, one can say that Lamb's lot was not a hard one. No
+doubt, many of his fellow-authors had reason to envy him his assured
+income. His work was hard and not always pleasant, but he knew, with
+all his half-pretended grumbling, that it would not be wise to rely on
+his pen for a livelihood. He once remonstrated with the poetical
+Quaker, Bernard Barton, who proposed to give up a bank-clerkship, in
+this wise: "Trust not the public; I bless every star that Providence,
+not seeing good to make me independent, has seen it next good to
+settle me down on the stable foundation of Leadenhall.... Henceforth
+I retract all my fond complaints of mercantile employments; look upon
+them as lovers' quarrels. I was but half in earnest. Welcome, dead
+timber of a desk that makes me live! a little grumbling is a wholesome
+medicine for the spleen; but in my inner heart do I improve and
+embrace this our close but unharassing way of life."
+
+That his work was no sinecure can be gathered from this letter of
+about 1815: "On Friday I was at office from ten in the morning (two
+hours dinner excepted) to eleven at night; last night till nine. My
+business and office business in general have increased so; I don't
+mean I am there every night, but I must expect a great deal of it. I
+never leave till four, and do not keep a holiday now once in ten
+times, where I used to keep all red-letter days and some five days
+besides, which I used to dub nature's holidays.... I had formerly
+little to do.... Hard work and thinking about it taints even the
+leisure hours--stains Sunday with workday contemplations."
+
+After thirty-three years of service he was granted by his company a
+pension of 450 pounds. On the minutes of the Court of Directors can be
+found the following resolution: "that the resignation of Mr. Charles
+Lamb, of the accountant-general's office, on account of certified
+ill-health be accepted, and it appearing that he has served the
+company faithfully for thirty-three years ... he be allowed a pension
+of 450 pounds annually."
+
+When the resolution was communicated to him he went home to enjoy one
+long holiday of leisure and literary study and authorship. "I am
+Retired Leisure.... I have worked task work, and have the rest of the
+day to myself." But his day did not last many years. "Lamb was but
+fifty when he quitted the service of the company; yet less than ten
+years of life were left to him. Not only so, but the happiness he had
+expected to find proved more and more elusive. The increasing
+frequency of his sister's aberration was a heavy burden for a back
+which grew daily less able to bear the strain. The leisure to which he
+had looked forward so eagerly was spent in listening to incoherent
+babblings, that rambling chat which was to him 'better than the sense
+and sanity of this world.' In her lucid intervals they played picquet
+together, or talked gravely but firmly of the inevitable separation
+looming nearer and nearer. In 1830 Hazlitt died. Four years later that
+'great and dear spirit,' Coleridge, passed away after long suffering.
+The blow to Lamb was stunning in its severity; and the loss of this
+earliest and best-loved friend possibly accelerated his own decease.
+Towards the close of the year a fall while walking caused a trifling
+wound. No harm was expected to result; but the general feebleness of
+his health brought on erysipelas, and upon Saturday, January 3, 1835,
+he was borne to his rest in a quiet corner of Edmonton Church-yard,
+there to await the coming, twelve years later, of the sister who had
+been throughout his life at once his greatest joy and his chiefest
+care."
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+DR. JOHNSON AND CHARLES LAMB
+
+
+Between Johnson and Lamb there would seem to be little in common. The
+ponderous old philosopher, "tearing his meat like a tiger, and
+swallowing his tea in oceans," presents a picture very dissimilar to
+that of the stammering Lamb whom Coleridge has well called the
+"gentle-hearted Lamb." And yet there are many points of similarity.
+
+Perhaps the most striking resemblance is in respect to their
+generosity. The unfailing testimony of all their friends is that
+neither could restrain the impulse to give. The celebrated De Quincey
+is led to characterize Lamb's munificence as _princely_, while
+Procter, one of his younger friends, simply says, "he gave away
+greatly." On the other hand, the testimony in regard to the generosity
+of Johnson is equally strong. He was so open-hearted that he could not
+trust himself to go upon the street with much money in his purse.
+Neither Lamb nor Johnson believed in the modern methods of attending
+to charitable giving through the mediation of boards and committees.
+Each violated the commonest precepts of a coldblooded political
+economy. If want and suffering were depicted upon the face of the
+mendicant, that was enough to call for the open purse. What if the
+beggar did look like a thief or drunkard? He might spend the money for
+gin or tobacco, but what of that? "Why should they be denied such
+sweeteners of their existence?" was Johnson's indulgent plea. This
+stern moralist so much enjoyed giving that he doubtless would have
+regretted the passing of laws prohibiting the beggar from plying his
+vocation in public. So too would the genial Elia, who obeyed his own
+precept of "give and ask no questions."
+
+While returning to his lodgings after midnight Johnson would often
+drop pennies into the hands of poor children sleeping on the
+thresholds and stalls, to furnish them with the means for a breakfast.
+This was done at a time when he was living on pennies himself.
+"Reader," pleads Elia in his _Praise of Chimney Sweepers_, "if thou
+meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to
+give him a penny--it is better to give him a twopence." And then Lamb
+describes the choice and fragrant drink, _Saloop_, the delight of the
+sweep, a basin of which together with a slice of delicate bread and
+butter will cost but a twopence. As we read the description we have no
+hesitancy in believing that the "unpennied sweep" frequently became a
+pennied sweep after the gentle Elia had passed by.
+
+Goldsmith once remarked that to be miserable was enough to insure the
+protection of Johnson. This generous quality of mind filled the house
+of Johnson with a queer assortment of pensioners. Had Lamb's home life
+permitted, equally full of the needy and homeless would it have been.
+In 1796 occurred the terrible tragedy that we may permit Lamb himself
+to describe in his letter to Coleridge,--"White, or some of my
+friends, or the public papers by this time may have informed you of
+the terrible calamities that have fallen on our family. I will only
+give you the outlines: My poor, dear, dearest sister, in a fit of
+insanity, has been the death of her own mother. I was at hand only
+time enough to snatch the knife out of her grasp. She is at present in
+a madhouse, from which I fear she must be moved to an hospital.... My
+poor father was slightly wounded, and I am left to take care of him
+and my aunt.... God Almighty have us well in his keeping!" Lamb
+assumed the tender care of his sister, and his watchfulness and loving
+care are more beautiful than the most charming essay he ever wrote.
+But this condition at home prevented that generous open-hearted
+hospitality so characteristic of Johnson. As it was he contributed to
+the support of several. For a long period he gave thirty pounds a year
+to his old schoolmistress. Telfourd relates that when Lamb saw the
+nurse who had waited on Coleridge during his last illness, he forced
+five guineas on her. Equally impulsive was his manner toward Procter,
+whom he one time noticed to be in low spirits and imagined the cause
+to be lack of money. "My dear boy," said he suddenly turning toward
+his friend, "I have a quantity of useless things, I have now in my
+desk a--a hundred pounds--that I don't _know_ what to do with. Take
+it."
+
+Some years ago when comparing these two men a Mr. Roose wrote in
+concluding his paper: "We are all familiar with Johnson's huge,
+ungainly form, arrayed in brown suit more or less dilapidated,
+singed, bushy wig, black stockings, and mean old shoes. A quaint
+little figure, Lamb comes before our vision, in costume uncontemporary
+and as queer as himself, consisting of a suit of black cloth (they
+both affected dark colors), rusty silk stockings shown from the knees,
+thick shoes a mile too large, shirt with a wide, ill-plaited frill,
+and tiny white neckcloth tied in a minute bow."
+
+It is pleasant to fancy these two originals being brought into
+personal contact. Nor is it hard, for all the tokens to the contrary,
+to imagine Elia taking the grand, humane old doctor into his embrace
+(a huger armful than his beloved folios), sitting up with him o'
+nights, as he did with them, delighting in the humor of his
+conversation, which was said by a contemporary to be unequaled except
+by the old comedians, in whom Lamb's spirit found diversion; piercing
+to heights and depths in his nature which Boswell never revealed to
+him; while Johnson, it may safely be inferred, would have loved this
+"poor Charles," in whom Carlyle could perceive but so slender a strain
+of worth. But had they met at all, it would have been on equal terms.
+Goldsmith maintained with difficulty, though he did maintain, his
+attitude of independence towards the colossus of his age. Charles
+Lamb, without any difficulty and without the show of assertiveness,
+would have maintained it better. Lamb, who from earliest manhood
+refused to knock under to the threatening intellectual arrogance of
+Coleridge; who shook Wordsworth by the nose instead of by the hand
+with the greeting, "How d'ye do, old Lake Poet!"--his stammering voice
+might have broken with impunity on the doctor's weightiest utterances
+with the absurdest quips and twists of speech of which even he was
+capable. Yet both were of wayward nature, and had they met might not
+have coalesced.
+
+Lamb would have understood Johnson better than Johnson would have
+understood the whimsicalities of the witty clerk. At one time while
+discussing authors with friends Lamb said,--"There is Dr. Johnson: I
+have no curiosity; no strange uncertainty about him."
+
+Johnson's restraint in the use of alcoholic drinks is in contrast with
+Lamb's indulgence. But Johnson's intemperate tea-drinking makes him
+one with Lamb in his struggle with tobacco. In writing to Coleridge
+for advice on smoking, Lamb asks: "What do you think of smoking? I
+want your sober _average noon opinion_ of it.... May be the truth is,
+that _one_ pipe is wholesome, _two_ pipes toothsome, _three_ pipes
+noisome, _four_ pipes fulsome, _five_ pipes quarrelsome; and that's
+the _sum_ on't. But that is deciding rather upon rhyme than reason."
+And Telfourd tells us that when Parr saw Lamb puffing like some
+furious enchanter, he asked how he had acquired the power of smoking
+at such a rate. Lamb replied, "I toiled after it, sir, as some men
+toil after virtue."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE DEATH OF DR. JOHNSON
+
+
+By common consent Boswell's _Life of Johnson_ takes first place as a
+biography. Some critics go so far as to say that the excellence of the
+biography is to be accounted for by the deficiency in the character of
+Boswell; that Boswell was such a blind and whole-souled worshiper of
+Johnson that he exposed the faults of his subject with the same zeal
+with which he published the virtues. This may be true. Whether true or
+not, it is not an altogether bad quality. Many of us think that the
+biographies of our modern men of letters would have more vivacity and
+lifelikeness were they to contain an occasional glimpse of the hero
+when he is not on the parade ground. The biography of Tennyson by his
+son, Lord Hallam, would be far more convincing had the son given us
+occasional pictures of the poet when he was not at his best. But,
+perhaps, it is too much to hope that a reverent and admiring son can
+give the world a vital, impartial, and comprehensive life of his
+father.
+
+Boswell has given us a full account of Johnson's last days. The gruff
+old lexicographer had lived a robust life; he had faced many
+temptations, and had not always retired from the conflict victorious.
+On the whole, however, he had lived an exemplary life, but like many
+another good man he had a dread of dying; he feared he might not meet
+the last foe as worthily as a man of his character and reputation
+should. But this was a groundless fear. For when the last illness was
+upon him, he asked his physician to tell him plainly whether there was
+any hope of his recovery. The doctor first asked his patient whether
+he could hear the whole truth, whatever it might be. Upon hearing an
+affirmative reply, the physician declared that in his opinion nothing
+short of a miracle would restore health.
+
+"Then," said Johnson, "I will take no more physic, not even my
+opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul unclouded."
+
+A brother of Boswell's wrote the following letter concerning the last
+hours of Johnson:
+
+"The Doctor, from the time that he was certain his death was near,
+appeared to be perfectly resigned, was seldom or never fretful or out
+of temper, and often said to his faithful servant, who gave me this
+account, 'Attend, Francis, to the salvation of your soul, which is the
+object of greatest importance:' he also explained to him passages in
+the Scripture, and seemed to have pleasure in talking upon religious
+subjects.
+
+"On Monday, the 13th of December, the day on which he died, a Miss
+Morris, daughter to a particular friend of his, called, and said to
+Francis, that she begged to be permitted to see the doctor, that she
+might earnestly request him to give her his blessing. Francis went
+into the room, followed by the young lady, and delivered the message.
+The doctor turned himself in the bed, and said, 'God bless you, my
+dear!' These were the last words he spoke. His difficulty of breathing
+increased till about seven o'clock in the evening, when Mr. Barber and
+Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in the room, observed that the noise
+he made in breathing had ceased, went to the bed, and found he was
+dead."
+
+This account, together with several others given by various friends,
+assures us that the death of Johnson was trustful and tranquil. It is
+another illustration of that beautiful dispensation of nature which,
+as a rule, makes death a mere slipping away, a falling asleep. The
+Francis who is mentioned in the letter is the faithful negro servant
+whom Johnson so generously provided for in his will. In making his
+will the doctor had asked a friend how much of an annuity gentlemen
+usually gave to a favorite servant, and was told that in the case of a
+nobleman fifty pounds a year was considered an adequate reward for
+many years of faithful service:
+
+"Then," said Johnson, "shall I be _nobilissimus_, for I mean to leave
+Frank seventy pounds a year, and I desire you to tell him so."
+
+This generosity was too much for the equanimity of Sir John Hawkins,
+one of the executors of the will, who, when he found that this negro
+servant would receive about fifteen hundred pounds, including an
+annuity of seventy pounds a year, grumbled and muttered "a caveat
+against ostentatious bounty and favor to negroes." But however much
+the Sir Johns may grumble, we cannot think the less of Johnson for his
+kindness in remembering a faithful and deserving servant.
+
+Johnson's refusal to take either wine or opiates recalls that in an
+age in which the use of alcoholic drinks was very common he was an
+uncompromising foe to wine, and that he was, in his latter years, loud
+in his praise of water. "As we drove back to Ashbourne," says Boswell,
+"Dr. Johnson recommended to me, as he had often done, to drink water
+only. 'For,' said he, 'you are then sure not to get drunk; whereas if
+you drink wine, you are never sure.'" And this was not the only matter
+in which he was in advance of his contemporaries, and of most of ours
+too. Johnson liked satisfying food, such as a leg of pork, or veal pie
+well stuffed, with plum pie and sugar, and he devoured enormous
+quantities of fruit, especially peaches. His inordinate love of tea
+has almost passed into a proverb,--he has actually been credited with
+twenty-five cups at a sitting, and he would keep Mrs. Thrale brewing
+it for him till four o'clock in the morning. The following impromptu,
+spoken to Miss Reynolds, points its own moral:
+
+    For hear, alas, the dreadful truth,
+      Nor hear it with a frown:
+    Thou can'st not make the tea so fast
+      As I can gulp it down.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+GRAY WRITES THE ELEGY
+
+
+Recently I was conversing with a practical man of affairs who had just
+returned from his first visit to Europe. Art galleries had proved
+tiresome and Westminster Abbey had bored him. But there was one place
+that he had determined to see and see it he did.
+
+"What place was that?" I asked.
+
+"Stoke Pogis," was the reply.
+
+Is not this answer indicative of the attitude of thousands who can
+never forget the exquisite charm cast over their youth by the
+melancholy beauty of the _Elegy in a Country Church-yard_? If fame was
+the end of General Wolfe's ambition, he was wise in saying that he
+would rather have written the _Elegy_ than be able to take Quebec on
+the morrow; for of all English poems the _Elegy_ is the most popular
+and widely known; it is the flower of the "literature of melancholy."
+The _Elegy_ is the glorification of the obscure; therein lies its
+popularity. The most of us are obscure. The _Elegy_ flatters us by
+suggesting that we might have swayed the rod of empire or "waked to
+ecstasy the living lyre," if we had had the chance,--or, what we think
+is more likely the explanation, if we had not had a saner insight into
+the values of life than the Miltons and Cromwells.
+
+Stoke Pogis is always associated with the name of Gray. It is a
+village, if such it may be called, between London and Windsor Castle.
+The church is "on a little level space about four miles north of the
+Thames at Eton. From the neighborhood of the church no vestige of
+hamlet or village is visible, and the aspect of the place is slightly
+artificial, like a rustic church in a park on a stage. The traveler
+almost expects to see the grateful peasantry of an opera, cheerfully
+habited, make their appearance, dancing on the greensward."
+
+Gray and his mother, the father having died in 1741, went to Stoke
+Pogis in 1742. At West End House, a simple farmhouse of two stories,
+Gray lived for many years. In the autumn of 1742 was begun the _Elegy
+in a Country Church-yard_. The common impression is that the whole
+poem was written at Stoke Pogis, but this is not the truth. It is
+better to say that it was begun in October or November at Stoke Pogis,
+continued seven years later at the same place and at Cambridge, and
+finished at Stoke Pogis on June 12th, 1750. It is interesting to note
+that in each case an impetus was given to the composition of the poem
+by the death of a friend. Several months before the poem was begun in
+1742, West, a friend whose death made a very deep impression upon the
+sensitive nature of Gray, had passed away; and on October 31 Jonathan
+Rogers, an uncle of Gray's, died at Stoke Pogis; and when the poem was
+next taken up Gray was mourning the death of his aunt. In commenting
+on this subject Mr. Gosse writes,--"He was a man who had a very
+slender hold on life himself, who walked habitually in the Valley of
+the Shadow of Death, and whose periods of greatest vitality were
+those in which bereavement proved to him that, melancholy as he was,
+even he had something to lose and to regret."
+
+On the 12th of June, 1750, Gray wrote to his friend, Horace
+Walpole,--"Having put an end to a thing whose beginning you have seen
+long ago, I immediately send it to you. You will, I hope, look upon it
+in the light of a thing with an end to it: a merit that most of my
+writings have wanted, and are like to want." Walpole was naturally
+delighted with the poem--so delighted, in fact, that he handed it
+about from friend to friend and even made manuscript copies of it.
+This caused some embarrassment to the poet. In February, 1751, he was
+annoyed to find that the publisher of the _Magazine of Magazines_ was
+actually printing his _Elegy_ in his periodical. So Gray immediately
+wrote to Walpole: "As I am not at all disposed to be either so
+indulgent or so correspondent as they desire, I have but one bad way
+to escape the honor they would inflict upon me: and therefore am
+obliged to desire you would make Dodsley print it immediately (which
+may be done in less than a week's time) from your copy, but without my
+name, in what form is most convenient for him, but on his best paper
+and character; he must correct the press himself, and print it without
+any interval between the stanzas, because the sense is in some places
+continued without them." On the 16th of February, only five days after
+this letter was received, _An Elegy wrote in a Country Church-yard_
+appeared as a large quarto pamphlet, anonymous, price sixpence.
+
+From the very first it achieved great popularity. Magazine after
+magazine published it without giving the author any compensation.
+Gray was soon hit upon as the author. Unfortunately, the success of
+the poem gave no increased income to the poet. Dodsley, the publisher,
+is said to have made about a thousand pounds from the various poems of
+Gray, but Gray had the impractical idea that it was not dignified for
+a poet to make money from poetry.
+
+In view of this lack of compensation for his poetic writings, it is
+very gratifying to know that during the latter days of his life Gray
+enjoyed the emolument arising from his holding the chair of Modern
+Literature and Modern Languages at Cambridge. This paid him 400 pounds
+a year, and did not require much work, as the office was a sinecure.
+
+One of the biographers points out that this promotion was brought
+about inadvertently through the riotous living of Gray's great enemy,
+Lord Sandwich. Professor Lawrence Brockett, the incumbent of the chair
+of Literature at Cambridge, dined with Lord Sandwich at Hinchinbroke.
+He became so drunk that in riding home to Cambridge he fell from his
+horse and broke his neck. At once five obscure dons made brisk
+application for the vacant place, and Gray, sensitive and lacking the
+arts of the politician, did not expect the place. But the author of
+the _Elegy_ was no longer to be neglected. He soon received a letter
+highly complimenting his work and offering him the professorship. Gray
+accepted and was summoned to court to kiss the hand of the monarch,
+George III. The king made several complimentary remarks to Gray.
+Afterwards when the poet's friends asked Gray to tell them what the
+king had said he replied that the room was so hot and he so
+embarrassed that he really did not know what the king had said.
+
+    Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
+      Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
+    He gave to misery--all he had--a tear,
+      He gained from Heaven--'twas all he wished--a friend.
+
+    No farther seek his merits to disclose,
+      Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,--
+    There they alike in trembling hope repose,--
+      The bosom of his father and his God.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+COWPER AS A LETTER WRITER
+
+
+William Cowper is well known as a poet, having written one of the most
+popular hymns in the English language, and he is also one of the best
+of letter writers. It is commonly said that we have lost the gentle
+art of writing a good letter. When a man can send a postal card from
+Boston to San Francisco for one cent and one from New York to Paris
+for two cents, he is not likely to be so choice in his use of language
+as when he paid a shilling for the privilege of getting a letter. In
+the first letter which is here quoted we find Cowper writing an urgent
+invitation to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, to visit him at Olney.
+
+"And now, my dear, let me tell you once more that your kindness in
+promising us a visit has charmed us both. I shall see you again. I
+shall hear your voice. We shall take walks together. I will show you
+my prospects, the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse and its banks,
+everything that I have described. Talk not of an inn! Mention it not
+for your life! We have never had so many visitors but we could
+accommodate them all, though we have received Unwin and his wife, and
+his sister, and his son, all at once. My dear, I will not let you
+come till the end of May, or beginning of June, because before that
+time my greenhouse will not be ready to receive us, and it is the only
+pleasant room belonging to us. When the plants go out, we go in. I
+line it with mats, and spread the floor with mats; and there you shall
+sit with a bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge of
+honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine; and I will make you a bouquet of
+myrtle every day. Sooner than the time I mention the country will not
+be in complete beauty; and I will tell you what you shall find at your
+first entrance. Imprimis, as soon as you have entered the vestibule,
+if you cast a look on either side of you, you shall see on the right
+hand a box of my making. It is the box in which have been lodged all
+my hares, and in which lodges Puss (Cowper's pet hare) at present. But
+he, poor fellow, is worn out with age and promises to die before you
+can see him. On the right hand stands a cupboard, the work of the same
+author; it was once a dove-cage, but I transformed it. Opposite to you
+stands a table, which I also made. But a merciless servant having
+scrubbed it till it became paralytic, it serves no purpose now but of
+ornament, and all my clean shoes stand under it. On the left hand, at
+the farther end of this superb vestibule, you will find the door of
+the parlor, into which I will conduct you, and where I will introduce
+you to Mrs. Unwin, unless we should meet her before, and where we will
+be as happy as the day is long. Order yourself, my cousin, to the
+_Swan_ at Newport and there you shall find me ready to conduct you to
+Olney. My dear, I have told Homer what you say about casks and urns,
+and have asked him whether he is sure that it is a cask in which
+Jupiter keeps his wine. He swears that it is a cask, and that it will
+never be anything better than a cask to eternity. So if the god is
+content with it, we must even wonder at his taste, and be so
+too.--Adieu! my dearest, dearest cousin,--W.C."
+
+Cowper's letters are not interesting because they treat of the great
+men and important affairs of his day. They are interesting because he
+lived a quiet life and was able in his own way to paint a picture
+treating of the common doings of an apparently unimportant life. Here
+is a picture of an election in the country, or rather of the
+candidates' methods in the old days:
+
+"We were sitting yesterday after dinner, the two ladies and myself,
+very composedly, and without the least apprehension of any such
+intrusion, in our snug parlor, one lady knitting, the other netting,
+and the gentleman winding worsted, when, to our unspeakable surprise,
+a mob appeared before the window, a smart rap was heard at the door,
+the boys halloed, and the maid announced Mr. Grenville. Puss was
+unfortunately let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his
+good friends at his heels, was refused entrance at the grand entry,
+and referred to the back door, as the only possible way of approach.
+Candidates are creatures not very susceptible to affronts, and would
+rather, I suppose, climb in at a window than be absolutely excluded.
+In a minute the yard, the kitchen, and the parlor were filled. Mr.
+Grenville, advancing toward me, shook me by the hand with a degree of
+cordiality that was extremely seducing. As soon as he and as many more
+as could find chairs were seated, he began to open the intent of his
+visit. I told him I had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit.
+I assured him I had no influence, which he was not equally inclined to
+believe, and the less, no doubt, because Mr. Ashburner, the drapier,
+addressing himself to me at that moment, informed me that I had a
+great deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such a treasure
+without knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first assertion by saying
+that if I had any I was utterly at a loss to imagine where it could
+be, or wherein it consisted. Thus ended the conference. Mr. Grenville
+squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He
+kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a
+most loving, kissing, kind-hearted gentleman."
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+GIBBON AND HIS VISIT TO ROME
+
+
+In that celebrated literary club founded by Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua
+Reynolds were Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick, Fox, Gibbon, and Sheridan. Of
+these Gibbon is not the least distinguished. He is an illustrious
+example of what an ordinary personality can accomplish by reason of an
+extraordinary devotion to one purpose. Some few men achieve fame by
+their brilliant versatility; some, as in the case of Samuel Johnson,
+by their commanding personal force; Gibbon has won a permanent place
+in literary history by spending his life in doing one thing. That one
+thing he did so well that E.A. Freeman, one of the prominent
+historians of the nineteenth century, has truthfully said,--"He
+remains the one historian of the eighteenth century whom modern
+research has neither set aside nor threatened to set aside."
+
+In his memoirs Gibbon reveals himself as a man with little dignity or
+heroism. There is a droll story that is apt to suggest itself when one
+thinks of Gibbon. At one time, when asking a dignified lady for her
+hand in marriage, he fell upon his knees in proper lover-like manner.
+Unfortunately Gibbon was so stout that upon her refusal he found
+himself in the embarrassing need of calling in a servant to help him
+to his feet again. Memories such as these, however, cannot blind us to
+the essential worth in the character of the great historian. In the
+light of his consecration to a worthy purpose his life is not without
+its heroism. To write _The History of the Decline and Fall of the
+Roman Empire_ is a monumental achievement. To bend every energy to the
+fulfilling of a high resolve is heroic. From 1764 to 1787 his one aim
+in life was to write a scholarly history that should cover the vast
+field that he had chosen. He may lack that spiritual insight which
+enables one to estimate world movements in the upper regions of
+religion, but he did not lack unfaltering devotion to his purpose. So
+well did he do his work that his six volumes can be found in the
+library of every student of the past. The story is told of a great
+German who learned English in order to read Gibbon in the original.
+
+In the following extract from his Autobiography is found his own
+explanation of the circumstances under which he conceived his vast
+project "amid the ruins of the Capitol," in 1764:
+
+"My temper is not very susceptible of enthusiasm; and the enthusiasm
+which I do not feel, I have ever scorned to affect. But, at the
+distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express the
+strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and
+entered the eternal city. After a sleepless night, I trod, with a
+lofty step, the ruins of the Forum; each memorable spot where Romulus
+stood, or Tully spoke, or Cæsar fell, was at once present to my eye;
+and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed before I could
+descend to a cool and minute investigation. My guide was Mr. Byers, a
+Scotch antiquary of experience and taste; but in the daily labor of
+eighteen weeks, the powers of attention were sometimes fatigued, till
+I was myself qualified, in a last review, to select and study the
+capital works of ancient and modern art. Six weeks were borrowed for
+my tour of Naples, the most populous of cities, relative to its size,
+whose luxurious inhabitants seem to dwell on the confines of paradise
+and hell-fire. I was presented to the boy-king by our new envoy, Sir
+William Hamilton, who, wisely diverting his correspondence from the
+Secretary of State to the Royal Society and British Museum, has
+elucidated a country of such inestimable value to the naturalist and
+antiquarian. On my return, I fondly embraced, for the last time, the
+miracles of Rome.... In my pilgrimage from Rome to Loretto I again
+crossed the Apennine; from the coast of the Adriatic I traversed a
+fruitful and populous country, which could alone disprove the paradox
+of Montesquieu, that modern Italy is a desert....
+
+"The use of foreign travel has been often debated as a general
+question; but the conclusion must be finally applied to the character
+and circumstances of each individual. With the education of boys,
+where or how they may pass over some juvenile years with the least
+mischief to themselves or others, I have no concern. But after
+supposing the previous and indispensable requisites of age, judgment,
+a competent knowledge of men and books, and a freedom from domestic
+prejudices, I will briefly describe the qualifications which I deem
+most essential to a traveler. He should be endowed with an active,
+indefatigable vigor of mind and body, which can seize every mode of
+conveyance, and support, with a careless smile, every hardship of the
+road, the weather, or the inn. The benefits of foreign travel will
+correspond with the degrees of these qualifications; but, in this
+sketch, those to whom I am known will not accuse me of framing my own
+panegyric. It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat
+musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare-footed friars
+were singing vespers in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of
+writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind."
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+BURNS FALLS IN LOVE
+
+
+When Robert Burns and his brother were working hard on the Mount
+Oliphant farm, Robert fell in love. This experience, alas, in after
+years became too frequent an occurrence to occasion much comment, for
+the ease with which the poet fell in and out of love was the chief
+fault in a faulty life. But when this episode occurred the boy was
+still an innocent country lad in his fifteenth year, a lad perhaps
+somewhat rude and clownish, at least such is an unfounded tradition.
+Out of the monotony of this life of prosaic toil and drudgery, Burns
+is lifted by the romance which fortunately he has himself described.
+
+"You know," he says, "our country custom of coupling a man and woman
+together as partners in the labors of the harvest. In my fifteenth
+summer my partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than
+myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her
+justice in that language, but you know the Scottish idiom. She was a
+bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to
+herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, which in spite of
+acid disappointment, gin-house prudence, and book-worm philosophy,
+I hold to be the first of human joys here below! How she caught the
+contagion I cannot tell.... Indeed, I did not know myself why I liked
+so much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the evening from
+our labors; why the tones of her voice made my heartstrings thrill
+like an Æolian harp; and especially why my pulse beat such a furious
+ratan when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to pick out the
+cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among her love-inspiring qualities,
+she sung sweetly; and it was her favorite reel to which I attempted
+giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to
+imagine that I could make verses like printed ones, composed by men
+who read Greek and Latin; but my girl sung a song which was said to be
+composed by a country laird's son, on one of his father's maids, with
+whom he was in love; and I saw no reason why I might not rhyme as well
+as he; for, excepting that he could shear sheep and cast peats, his
+father living in the moorlands, he had no more scholar-craft than
+myself. Thus with me began love and poetry."
+
+   [Illustration: ROBERT BURNS
+   From the portrait by Nasmyth]
+
+The song that was due to this boyish passion is called "Handsome
+Nell," and is said to be the first he wrote. It can be found in any
+complete edition of the poet's work. In after years he himself calls
+it puerile and silly, but, while lacking the exquisite perfection of
+Burns' later lyrics, it is far superior to the usual first attempts of
+poets. The last two stanzas run thus:
+
+    A gaudy dress and gentle air
+      May slightly touch the heart;
+    But it's Innocence and Modesty
+      That polishes the dart.
+
+    'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
+      'Tis this enchants my soul!
+    For absolutely in my breast
+      She reigns without control.
+
+"I composed it," says Burns, "in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and to
+this hour I never recollect it but my heart melts, my blood sallies at
+the remembrance."
+
+Poor Burns! How much happier he would have been had all his loves been
+as innocent as this first experience! In one of Tennyson's most
+vigorous passages in the _Idylls_ we read,
+
+                      ... for indeed I knew
+    Of no more subtle master under heaven
+    Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
+    Not only to keep down the base in man,
+    But teach high thoughts, and amiable words
+    And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
+    And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
+
+Perhaps, if Burns in a later love affair had been successful in his
+suit, his life and reputation would not have suffered as they have,
+for the most culpable trait in the character of the famous Scotch poet
+is the ease with which he abandoned one lover for another. He was
+forever falling in love, and there is some evidence to the effect that
+he loved two or three at the same time. There is only too much truth
+in Burns' own lines,
+
+    Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,
+    A mistress still I had aye.
+
+But perhaps all this would have been different had Ellison Begbie, the
+daughter of a small farmer, smiled favorably upon the advances of the
+young farmer from Lochlea. She is said to have been a young woman of
+great charm and liveliness of mind, though not a beauty. In after
+years Burns always spoke of her with the greatest of respect and as
+the one woman, of the many upon whom he had lavished his fickle
+affection, who most likely would have made a pleasant partner for
+life.
+
+His love affair with this young lady took place near the close of his
+twenty-second year. Her refusal seems to have had a malign influence
+upon the career of our poet. Up to this time his love affairs,
+although numerous, were innocent. As his brother Gilbert says, they
+were "governed by the strictest rules of virtue and modesty." But
+henceforth there is a change in the character of Burns. Shortly after
+the fair Ellison had turned a deaf ear to the letters and love-songs
+of the importunate wooer, Robert and his brother Gilbert went to
+Irvine, hoping that in this flax-dressing center they could increase
+their income by dressing the flax raised on their own farm. Here
+Burns, always very susceptible to new influences,--he would not be the
+poet he is had he not been keenly alive and susceptible,--fell under
+the malignant charm of a wild sailor-lad whose habits were loose and
+irregular. "He was," says Burns, "the only man I ever knew who was a
+greater fool than myself, where woman was the presiding star; but he
+spoke of lawless love with levity, which hitherto I had regarded with
+horror. _Here his friendship did me a mischief._"
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+BURNS' FIRST BOOK OF POEMS
+
+
+Burns was in trouble; he had failed as a farmer, and as a young man he
+had wounded the sensibilities of his family. It seemed best to try a
+new life in a new land, so he promised a Mr. Douglas to go to Jamaica
+and become a bookkeeper on his estate there. But where should he get
+the money to pay his passage? There were the poems lying in his
+table-drawer--might they not be published and money be raised by the
+sale? His friends encouraged him to publish them, and what is more to
+the point, they subscribed in advance for a number of the copies. John
+Wilson of Kilmarnock was to do the printing. During May, June, and
+July of 1786 the printer was doing his work. At the end of July the
+volume appeared, and soon the fame of the Ayrshire Plowman was
+established. Let us hear Burns himself give his account of the
+venture:
+
+"I gave up my part of the farm to my brother, and made what little
+preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But, before leaving my native
+country forever, I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my
+productions as impartially as was in my power; I thought they had
+merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever
+fellow, even though it should never reach my ears--a poor
+negro-driver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and gone
+to the world of spirits! I can truly say that _pauvre inconnu_ as I
+then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of my works as I have at
+this moment, when the public has decided in their favor....
+
+"I threw off about six hundred copies, of which I got subscriptions
+for about three hundred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by
+the reception I met with from the public; and besides, I pocketed, all
+expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very
+seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money,
+to procure a passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the
+price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in
+the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for
+
+    'Hungry ruin had me in the wind.'
+
+"I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all
+the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the
+merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell
+of my friends; my chest was on the way to Greenock; I had composed the
+last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, '_The gloomy night is
+gathering fast_,' when a letter from Dr. Blackwood to a friend of mine
+overthrew all my schemes, by opening up new prospects to my poetic
+ambition."
+
+The success of the first edition of his poems was so pronounced that
+Burns soon gave up the idea of going away to Jamaica. Ayrshire was
+flattered to discover that within its borders lived a genuine poet.
+Robert Heron, a young literary man living in that neighborhood, gives
+us an account of the reception of the little book of poems: "Old and
+young, high and low, grave and gay, learned or ignorant, were alike
+delighted, agitated, transported. I was at that time resident in
+Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire, and I can well remember how even
+plowboys and maidservants would have gladly bestowed the wages they
+earned most hardly, and which they wanted to purchase necessary
+clothing, if they might procure the works of Burns."
+
+When Burns wished a second edition of his poems, he had a very poor
+offer from his printer. So he went to Edinburgh to see whether he
+could not make a more advantageous bargain in the Scottish capital. He
+reached that famous city on the 28th of November, 1786. Here he was
+feted and banqueted, admired and criticised. In April, 1787, the
+second edition appeared. The volume was a handsome octavo. The
+Scottish public had subscribed very liberally, and eventually Burns
+received 500 pounds, but Creech, his publisher, was so slow in making
+payments that Burns had to wait a long time before he received his
+due.
+
+Walter Scott was among the many who met Burns during his stay in
+Edinburgh. Scott was but a boy of fifteen, but he never forgot the
+glance of approval bestowed upon him by the poet. We are especially
+fortunate in having Scott's own account of the incident: "As for
+Burns, I may truly say, '_Virgilium vidi tantum_.' I was a lad of
+fifteen when he came to Edinburgh. I saw him one day at the late
+venerable Professor Adam Fergusson's. Of course we youngsters sat
+silent, looked, and listened. The only thing I remember which was
+remarkable in Burns' manner, was the effect produced upon him by a
+print of Bunbury's, representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, his
+dog sitting in misery on one side--on the other his widow, with her
+child in her arms. These lines were written beneath:
+
+    Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,
+    Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain--
+    Bent o'er the babe, her eye dissolved in dew,
+    The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,
+    Gave the sad presage of his future years,
+    The child of misery baptized in tears.
+
+"Burns seemed much affected by the print: he actually shed tears. He
+asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself
+remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's,
+called by the unpromising title of _The Justice of Peace_. I whispered
+my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, who
+rewarded me with a look and a word, which though of mere civility, I
+then received with very great pleasure. His person was strong and
+robust; his manner rustic, not clownish; a sort of dignified plainness
+and simplicity. His countenance was more massive than it looks in any
+of the portraits. I would have taken the poet, had I not known who he
+was, for a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch school--the
+_douce gudeman_ who held his own plow. There was a strong expression
+of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments; the eye alone, I think,
+indicated the poetical character and temperament. It was large, and
+of a dark cast, which glowed (I say literally, glowed) when he spoke
+with feeling or interest. I never saw such another eye in a human
+head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time."
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE IN SCHOOL AND COLLEGE
+
+
+The following affecting narrative, written in Coleridge's person by
+the tender-hearted Elia, gives the best view possible of Coleridge's
+scanty and suffering commencement of life. At that time, it may be
+premised, the dietary of Christ's Hospital was of the lowest:
+breakfast consisting of a "quarter of penny loaf, moistened with
+attenuated small beer in wooden piggins, smacking of the pitched
+leathern jack it was poured from," and the weekly rule giving "three
+banyan-days to four meat days."
+
+"I was a poor, friendless boy; my parents, and those who should have
+cared for me, were far away. Those few acquaintances of theirs, whom
+they could reckon upon being kind to me in the great city, after a
+little forced notice, which they had the grace to take of me on my
+first arrival in town, soon grew tired of my holiday visits. They
+seemed to them to recur too often, though I thought them few enough.
+One after another they all failed me, and I felt myself alone among
+six hundred playmates. Oh the cruelty of separating a poor lad from
+his early homestead! The yearnings which I used to have towards it in
+those unfledged years!... The warm, long days of summer never return
+but they bring with them a gloom from the haunting memory of those
+_whole days' leave_, when, by some strange arrangement, we were turned
+out for the livelong day, upon our own hands, whether we had friends
+to go to or none. I remember those bathing excursions to the New River
+which Lamb recalls with so much relish, better, I think, than he
+can--for he was a home-seeking lad, and did not care much for such
+water-parties. How we would sally forth into the fields, and strip
+under the first warmth of the sun, and wanton like young dace in the
+streams, getting appetites for the noon; which those of us that were
+penniless (our scanty morning crust long since exhausted) had not the
+means of allaying--while the cattle and the birds and the fishes were
+at feed about us, and we had nothing to satisfy our cravings; the very
+beauty of the day and the exercise of the pastime, and the sense of
+liberty setting a keener edge upon them! How faint and languid,
+finally, we would return toward nightfall to our desired morsel, half
+rejoicing, half reluctant, that the hours of uneasy liberty had
+expired!
+
+"It was worse in the days of winter, to go prowling about the streets
+objectless, shivering at cold windows of printshops, to extract a
+little amusement; or haply, as a last resort, in the hope of a little
+novelty, to pay a fifty-times-repeated visit (where our individual
+faces would be as well known to the warden as those of his own
+charges) to the lions in the Tower, to whose _levée_, by courtesy
+immemorial, we had a prescriptive right of admission."
+
+This melancholy and harsh life was, however, ameliorated by some
+curious personal incidents. Once, for example, the solitary boy,
+moving along the crowded streets, fancied, in the strange vividness of
+his waking dream, that he was Leander swimming across the Hellespont.
+His hand "came in contact with a gentleman's pocket" as he pursued
+this visionary amusement, and for two or three minutes Coleridge was
+in danger of being taken into custody as a pickpocket. On finding out
+how matters really stood, however, this stranger--genial, nameless
+soul--immediately gave to the strange boy the advantage of a
+subscription to a library close by, thus setting him up, as it were,
+in life. On another occasion, one of the higher boys, a
+"deputy-Grecian," found him seated in a corner reading Virgil. "Are
+you studying your lesson?" he asked. "No, I am reading for pleasure,"
+said the boy, who was not sufficiently advanced to read Virgil in
+school. This introduced him to the favorable notice of the head-master
+Bowyer, and made of the elder scholar, Middleton by name, a steady
+friend and counselor for years. Yet at this time Coleridge was
+considered by the lower-master, under whom he was, "a dull and inept
+scholar who could not be made to repeat a single rule of syntax,
+although he would give a rule in his own way." The life, however, of
+this great school, with all its injudicious liberties and
+confinements, must have been anything but a healthy one. Starved and
+solitary, careless of play as play, and already full of that consuming
+spiritual curiosity which never left him, Coleridge's devotion to the
+indiscriminate stores of the circulating library gave the last
+aggravation to all the unwholesome particulars of his life. "Conceive
+what I must have been at fourteen," he exclaims. "I was in a continual
+low fever. My whole being was, with eyes closed to every object of
+present sense, to crumple myself up in a sunny corner and read, read,
+read; fancy myself on Robinson Crusoe's island finding a mountain of
+plum-cake, and eating a room for myself, and then eating it into the
+shapes of tables and chairs--hunger, and fancy!" ...
+
+A droll incident occurred about this period of his life, which shows
+... his absolute want of ambition. The friendless boy had made
+acquaintance with a shoemaker and his wife, who had a shop near the
+school, and who were kind to him; and thereupon he conceived the
+extraordinary idea of getting himself apprenticed to his friend, whom
+he persuaded to go to the head-master to make this wonderful proposal.
+"Od's, my life, man, what d'ye mean?" cried the master, with not
+unnatural indignation mingling with his amazement; and notwithstanding
+Coleridge's support of the application, the shoemaker was turned out
+of the place, and the would-be apprentice chosen, "against my will,"
+he says, "as one of those destined for the university." The same
+irascible yet excellent master flogged the boy severely on hearing
+that he boasted of being an infidel....
+
+His next stage in life was not a shoemaker's shop in Newgate Street,
+but Jesus College, Cambridge, which he entered in 1791 at the age of
+nineteen--the object of many high prophecies and hopes on the part of
+his school and schoolfellows, who had unanimously determined that he
+was to be great and do them honor. The first thing he did, however,
+was alas! too common an incident: he got into debt, though not, it
+would appear, for an overwhelming sum, or in any discreditable way. So
+long as his friend of Christ's Hospital, Middleton, remained in
+Cambridge, Coleridge pursued his studies with a great deal of
+regularity and in his first year won the prize for a Greek ode. But
+after awhile his industry slackened, and a kind of dreamy
+idleness--implying no languor of the soul or common reluctance to
+mental work, but rather, it would seem, a disinclination to work in
+the usual grooves, and do what was expected of him--took possession of
+the young scholar. "He was very studious, but his reading was
+desultory and capricious," writes a fellow-student. "He was ready at
+any time to shed his mind in conversation, and for the sake of this
+his rooms were a constant rendezvous of conversation-loving friends.
+What evenings I have spent in these rooms! What little suppers, or
+_sizings_, as they were called, have I enjoyed; when Aeschylus and
+Plato and Thucydides were pushed aside with a pile of lexicons and the
+like, to discuss the pamphlets of the day! Ever and anon a pamphlet
+issued from the pen of Burke. There was no need of having the book
+before us; Coleridge had read it in the morning and in the evening he
+would repeat whole pages _verbatim_."
+
+                 --Adapted from _Blackwood's Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+BYRON AS SWIMMER AND FEASTER
+
+
+In 1858 Trelawney published his _Recollections of the Last Days of
+Shelley and Byron_. In many ways this is a remarkable book. It is the
+one source of information as to the last days of Shelley; concerning
+Byron's, others have furnished material. Trelawney is suspected of
+mingling some fiction with his truth, but the general tendency
+nowadays is to place confidence in these _Recollections_. He may not
+always give us a literal report, but he has likely reproduced the
+spirit. He is much more sympathetic in his treatment of Shelley than
+he is in his account of Byron. Trelawney himself was a remarkable
+character. He lived far into the time of a new generation, dying in
+his eighty-ninth year in 1881. Mary Shelley, in a letter to Maria
+Gisborne, February, 1822, describes him as "A kind of half-Arab
+Englishman.... He is clever: for his moral qualities I am yet in the
+dark. He is a strange web which I am endeavoring to unravel."
+
+In the _Recollections_ occurs this interesting account of Byron:
+
+Byron has been accused of drinking deeply. Our universities,
+certainly, did turn out more famous drinkers than scholars. In the
+good old times, to drink lustily was the characteristic of all
+Englishmen, just as tuft-hunting is now. Eternal swilling, and the
+rank habits and braggadocio manners which it engendered, came to a
+climax in George IV's reign. Since then, excessive drinking has gone
+out of fashion, but an elaborate style of gastronomy has come in to
+fill the void; so there is not much gained. Byron used to boast of the
+quantity of wine he had drunk. He said, "We young Whigs imbibed
+claret, and so saved our constitutions: the Tories stuck to port, and
+destroyed theirs and their country's."
+
+   [Illustration: LORD BYRON
+   From the portrait by T. Phillips]
+
+He bragged, too, of his prowess in riding, boxing, fencing, and even
+walking; but to excel in these things feet are as necessary as hands. It
+was difficult to avoid smiling at his boasting and self-glorification. In
+the water a fin is better than a foot, and in that element he did well;
+he was built for floating,--with a flexible body, open chest, broad beam,
+and round limbs. If the sea was smooth and warm, he would stay in it for
+hours; but as he seldom indulged in this sport, and when he did,
+over-exerted himself, he suffered severely; which observing, and knowing
+how deeply he would be mortified at being beaten, I had the magnanimity
+when contending with him to give in.
+
+He had a misgiving in his mind that I was trifling with him; and one
+day as we were on the shore, and the _Bolivar_ at anchor, about three
+miles off, he insisted on our trying conclusions; we were to swim to
+the yacht, dine in the sea alongside of her, treading water the while,
+and then to return to the shore. It was calm and hot, and seeing he
+would not be fobbed off, we started. I reached the boat a long time
+before he did; ordered the edibles to be ready, and floated until he
+arrived. We ate our fare leisurely, from off a grating that floated
+alongside, drank a bottle of ale, and I smoked a cigar, which he tried
+to extinguish,--as he never smoked. We then put about, and struck off
+towards the shore. We had not got a hundred yards on our passage, when
+he retched violently, and, as that is often followed by cramp, I urged
+him to put his hand on my shoulder that I might tow him back to the
+schooner.
+
+"Keep off, you villain, don't touch me. I'll drown ere I give in."
+
+I answered as Iago did to Roderigo:
+
+"'A fig for drowning! drown cats and blind puppies.' I shall go on
+board and try the effects of a glass of grog to stay my stomach."
+
+"Come on," he shouted, "I am always better after vomiting."
+
+With difficulty I deluded him back; I went on board, and he sat on the
+steps of the accommodation-ladder, with his feet in the water. I
+handed him a wineglass of brandy, and screened him from the burning
+sun. He was in a sullen mood, but after a time resumed his usual tone.
+Nothing could induce him to be landed in the schooner's boat, though I
+protested I had had enough of the water.
+
+"You may do as you like," he called out, and plumped in, and we swam
+on shore.
+
+He never afterwards alluded to this event, nor to his prowess in
+swimming, to me, except in the past tense. He was ill, and kept to his
+bed for two days afterwards.
+
+To return to his drinking propensities, after this digression about
+his gymnastic prowess: I must say, that of all his vauntings, it was,
+luckily for him, the emptiest--that is, after he left England and his
+boon companions, as I know nothing of what he did there. From all that
+I heard or witnessed of his habits abroad, he was and had been
+exceedingly abstemious in eating and drinking. When alone, he drank a
+glass or two of small claret or hock, and when utterly exhausted at
+night, a single glass of grog; which when I mixed it for him I lowered
+to what sailors call "water bewitched," and he never made any remark.
+I once, to try him, omitted the alcohol; he then said, "Tre, have you
+not forgotten the creature comfort?" I then put in two spoonfuls, and
+he was satisfied. This does not look like an habitual toper. His
+English acquaintances in Italy were, he said in derision, all
+milksops. On the rare occasion of any of his former friends visiting
+him, he would urge them to have a carouse with him, but they had grown
+wiser. He used to say that little Tommy Moore was the only man he knew
+who stuck to the bottle and put him on his mettle, adding, "But he is
+a native of the damp isle, where men subsist by suction."
+
+Byron had not damaged his body by strong drinks, but his terror of
+getting fat was so great that he reduced his diet to the point of
+absolute starvation. He was of that soft, lymphatic temperament which
+it is almost impossible to keep within moderate compass, particularly
+as in his case his lameness prevented his taking exercise. When he
+added to his weight, even standing was painful, so he resolved to keep
+down to eleven stone, or shoot himself. He said everything he
+swallowed was instantly converted into tallow and deposited on his
+ribs.
+
+He was the only human being I ever met with who had sufficient
+self-restraint and resolution to resist this proneness to fatten: he
+did so, and at Genoa, where he was last weighed, he was ten stone and
+nine pounds, and looked much less. This was not from vanity about his
+personal appearance, but from a better motive; and as, like Justice
+Greedy, he was always hungry, his merit was the greater. Occasionally
+he relaxed his vigilance, when he swelled apace.
+
+I remember one of his old friends saying, "Byron, how well you are
+looking!" If he had stopped there it had been well, but when he added,
+"You are getting fat," Byron's brow reddened, and his eyes
+flashed--"Do you call getting fat looking well, as if I were a hog?"
+and, turning to me, he muttered, "The beast, I can hardly keep my
+hands off him." The man who thus offended him was the husband of the
+lady addressed as "Genevra," and the original of his "Zuleika," in the
+_Bride of Abydos_. I don't think he had much appetite for his dinner
+that day, or for many days, and never forgave the man who, so far from
+wishing to offend, intended to pay him a compliment.
+
+Byron said he had tried all sorts of experiments to stay his hunger,
+without adding to his bulk. "I swelled," he said, "at one time to
+fourteen stone, so I clapped the muzzle to my jaws, and, like the
+hibernating animals, consumed my own fat."
+
+He would exist on biscuits and soda-water for days together, then, to
+allay the eternal hunger gnawing at his vitals, he would make up a
+horrid mess of cold potatoes, rice, fish, or greens, deluged in
+vinegar, and gobble it up like a famished dog. On either of these
+unsavory dishes, with a biscuit and a glass or two of Rhine wine, he
+cared not how sour, he called feasting sumptuously. Upon my observing
+he might as well have fresh fish and vegetables, instead of stale, he
+laughed and answered:
+
+"I have an advantage over you, I have no palate; one thing is as good
+as another to me."
+
+"Nothing," I said, "disagrees with the natural man; he fasts and
+gorges, his nerves and brain don't bother him; but if you wish to
+live?--
+
+"Who wants to live?" he replied, "not I. The Byrons are a short-lived
+race on both sides, father and mother; longevity is hereditary: I am
+nearly at the end of my tether. I don't care for death a ----; it is
+her sting! I can't bear pain."
+
+His habits and want of exercise damaged him, not drink. It must be
+borne in mind, moreover, that his brain was always working at high
+pressure. The consequences resulting from his way of life were low or
+intermittent fevers; these last had fastened on him in his early
+travels in the Levant; and there is this peculiarity in malarial
+fevers, that if you have once had them, you are ever afterwards
+susceptible to a renewal of their attacks if within their reach, and
+Byron was hardly ever out of it. Venice and Ravenna are belted in with
+swamps, and fevers are rife in the autumn. By starving his body Byron
+kept his brains clear; no man had brighter eyes or a clearer voice;
+and his resolute bearing and prompt replies, when excited, gave to
+his body an appearance of muscular power that imposed on strangers. I
+never doubted, for he was indifferent to life, and prouder than
+Lucifer, that if he had drawn his sword in Greece, or elsewhere, he
+would have thrown away the scabbard.
+
+   [Illustration: PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
+   From a chalk drawing after the original painting by Miss
+   Curran]
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+SHELLEY AS A FRESHMAN
+
+
+If one were to name ten of the greatest English poets beginning with
+Chaucer and ending with Tennyson, the name of Shelley would be
+included, although he died before he was thirty years old. Hogg, a
+friend of Shelley's, has given us an interesting account of their
+meeting when both were freshmen at Oxford.
+
+"At the commencement of Michaelmas Term," writes Hogg, "that is, at
+the end of October in the year 1801, I happened one day to sit next a
+freshman at dinner; it was his first appearance in hall. His figure
+was slight, and his aspect remarkably youthful, even at our table,
+where all were very young. He seemed thoughtful and absent. He ate
+little and had no acquaintance with any one. I know not how we fell
+into conversation, for such familiarity was unusual, and, strange to
+say, much reserve prevailed in a society where there could not
+possibly be occasion for any." This conversation led into a heated
+discussion of the merits of German and Italian literature. When the
+time for leaving the dining hall had come, Hogg invited his new
+acquaintance over to his rooms. During the transit the thread of the
+argument was lost, and while Hogg was lighting the candles Shelley
+frankly said that he was not competent to argue the point, as he had
+little knowledge of either German or Italian literature. Then Hogg
+with equal ingenuousness confessed that he knew but little of Italian
+and nothing of German literature.
+
+So the talk went merrily on. Shelley said it made little difference
+whether Italian or German literature were the more worthy, for all
+literature, what was it but vain trifling? What is the study of
+language but the study of words, of phrases, of the names of things?
+How much better and wiser to study things themselves!
+
+"I inquired," says Hogg, "a little bewildered, how this was to be
+effected. He answered, 'Through the physical sciences, and especially
+through chemistry,' and raising his voice, his face flushing as he
+spoke, he discoursed, with a degree of animation that far outshone his
+zeal in defense of the Germans, of chemistry and chemical analysis."
+While this is going on Hogg studies the youthful speaker. What manner
+of man is this brilliant guest? "It was a sum of many contradictions.
+His figure was slight and fragile, and yet his bones were large and
+strong. He was tall, but he stooped so much that he seemed of low
+stature. His clothes were expensive and made after the most approved
+mode of the day; but they were tumbled, rumpled, unbrushed. His
+gestures were abrupt, and sometimes violent, occasionally even
+awkward, yet more frequently gentle and graceful. His complexion was
+delicate and almost feminine, of the purest red and white; yet he was
+tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn,
+as he said, in shooting. His features, his whole face and
+particularly his head, were, in fact, unusually small, yet the last
+appeared of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in
+fits of absence, and in the agonies (if I may use the word) of anxious
+thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with his hands, or passed his
+fingers quickly through his locks unconsciously, so that it was
+singularly wild and rough. In times when it was the mode to imitate
+stage-coachmen as closely as possible in costume, and when the hair
+was invariably cropped, like that of our soldiers, this eccentricity
+was very striking. His features were not symmetrical (the mouth,
+perhaps, excepted), yet was the effect of the whole extremely
+powerful. They breathed an animation, a fire, an enthusiasm, a vivid
+and preternatural intelligence, that I never met with in any other
+countenance. Nor was the moral expression less beautiful than the
+intellectual, for there was a softness, a delicacy, a gentleness, and
+especially (though this will surprise many) that air of profound
+religious veneration that characterizes the best works, and chiefly
+the frescoes of the great masters of Florence and Rome."
+
+The next day Hogg pays a visit to Shelley's rooms. The furniture was
+new and the walls were freshly papered, but everything in the room was
+in confusion. "Books, boots, papers, shoes, philosophical instruments,
+clothes, pistols, linen, crockery, ammunition, and phials innumerable,
+with money, stockings, prints, crucibles, bags, and boxes, were
+scattered on the floor in every place, as if the young chemist, in
+order to analyze the mystery of creation, had endeavored first to
+reconstruct the primeval chaos. The tables, and especially the carpet,
+were already stained with large spots of various hues, which
+frequently proclaimed the agency of fire. An electrical machine, an
+air pump, the galvanic trough, a solar microscope, and large glass
+jars were conspicuous amidst the mass of matter. Upon the table by his
+side were some books lying open, several letters, a bundle of new
+pens, and a bottle of japan ink, that served as an ink-stand, a piece
+of deal, lately part of the lid of a box, with many chips, and a
+handsome razor that had been used as a knife. There were bottles of
+soda-water, sugar, pieces of lemon, and the traces of an effervescent
+beverage. Two piles of books supported the tongs, and these upheld a
+small glass retort above an argand lamp. I had not been seated many
+minutes before the liquor in the vessel boiled over, adding fresh
+stains to the table, and rising in fumes with a disagreeable odor.
+Shelley snatched the glass quickly, and dashing it in pieces among
+ashes under the grate, increased the unpleasant and penetrating
+effluvium."
+
+Hogg and Shelley soon became fast friends and met every evening. "I
+was enabled," writes Hogg, "to continue my studies in the evening in
+consequence of a very remarkable peculiarity. My young and energetic
+friend was then overcome by extreme drowsiness, which speedily and
+completely vanquished him; he would sleep from two to four hours,
+often so soundly that his slumbers resembled a deep lethargy; he lay
+occasionally upon the sofa, but more commonly stretched upon the rug
+before a large fire, like a cat, and his little round head was
+exposed to such fierce heat, that I used to wonder how he was able to
+bear it. Sometimes I have interposed some shelter, but rarely with any
+permanent effect, for the sleeper usually contrived to turn himself,
+and to roll again into the spot where the fire glowed the brightest.
+His torpor was generally profound, but he would sometimes discourse
+incoherently for a long while in his sleep. At six he would suddenly
+compose himself, even in the midst of an animated narrative or of
+earnest discussion, and he would lie buried in entire forgetfulness,
+in a sweet and mighty oblivion, until ten, when he would suddenly
+start up, and rubbing his eyes with great violence, and passing his
+fingers swiftly through his long hair, would enter at once into a
+vehement argument, or begin to recite verses, either of his own
+composition or from the works of others, with a rapidity and an energy
+that were often quite painful. During the period of his occultation I
+took tea, and read or wrote without interruption. He would sometimes
+sleep for a shorter time, for about two hours, postponing for the like
+period the commencement of his retreat to the rug, and rising with
+tolerable punctuality at ten, and sometimes, though rarely, he was
+able entirely to forego the accustomed refreshment."
+
+After supper, which Shelley would take upon awaking at ten, the two
+friends would talk and read together until two o'clock.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+THE DEATH OF SHELLEY
+
+
+In the Protestant cemetery at Rome one can find in an obscure place a
+plain stone bearing record of Percy Bysshe Shelley, and these lines
+from Shakspere's Tempest:
+
+    Nothing of him that doth fade,
+    But doth suffer a sea-change
+    Into something rich and strange.
+
+And this is the story of how Shelley happens to have a memorial in the
+Roman cemetery:
+
+Shelley was a revolutionist in religion and politics, and
+revolutionists are seldom popular at home. Shelley's lyric poetry is
+unsurpassed, but his theories in some respects will never meet with
+the approval of common-sense humanity. England proved uncomfortable
+and so he left his country to live in other lands. In 1822 we find him
+with his family and a Mr. and Mrs. Williams in Casa Magni, a Roman
+villa in a cove on the bay of Spezzia. Here the poet and his friends
+became very fond of sailing in a boat which had been made for them.
+The boat, which they called the Ariel, was twenty-eight feet long and
+eight feet broad, and this with the assistance of a lad they learned
+to manage fairly well. To Shelley, whose health had been failing, the
+out-of-door life gave renewed vigor.
+
+On the eighth of July, Shelley and Williams, accompanied by a
+sailor-lad, left the harbor of Leghorn to go home to their wives, from
+whom they had been absent for several days. They had gone to Pisa to
+welcome Leigh Hunt to Italy, to meet other friends (among the number
+was Byron), and to do some business. Neither Shelley, Williams, nor
+the lad, was ever seen alive after that day. As we are indebted to
+Hogg for the best pen-pictures of the boy Shelley, so we are indebted
+to Trelawney for the best description of the closing scene. So we
+shall follow Trelawney's account in the main.
+
+Trelawney was in Leghorn and intended to accompany his friends out of
+the harbor in a separate boat, but owing to the refusal of the health
+officer of the harbor he was not allowed to go. As from his own vessel
+he watched the Ariel, containing the small party happy in the thought
+that in seven short hours they should be at home with their loved
+ones, his Genoese mate turned to him and said: "They are standing too
+much in-shore; the current will set them there." "They will soon have
+the land-breeze," replied Trelawney. "Maybe," said the mate, "she will
+soon have too much breeze; that gaff topsail is foolish in a boat with
+no deck and no sailor on board." Then he added as he pointed to the
+southwest, "Look at those black lines and dirty rags hanging on them
+out of the sky; look at the smoke on the water; the devil is brewing
+mischief."
+
+"Although the sun was obscured by mists," Trelawney writes, "it was
+oppressively sultry. There was not a breath of air in the harbor. The
+heaviness of the atmosphere and an unwonted stillness benumbed my
+senses. I went down into the cabin and sank into a slumber. I was
+roused up by a noise overhead, and went on deck. The men were getting
+up another chain-cable to let go another anchor. There was a general
+stir amongst the shipping; shifting berths, getting down yards and
+masts, veering out cables, hauling in of hawsers, letting go anchors,
+hailing from the ships and quays, boats sculling rapidly to and fro.
+It was almost dusk, although only half-past six o'clock. The sea was
+of the color and looked as solid and smooth as a sheet of lead, and
+covered with an oily scum. Gusts of wind swept over without ruffling
+it, and big drops of rain fell on its surface, rebounding, as if they
+could not penetrate it. There was a commotion in the air, made up of
+many threatening sounds, coming upon us from the sea. Fishing craft
+and coasting vessels, under bare poles, rushed by us in shoals,
+running foul of the ships in the harbor. As yet the din and hubbub was
+that made by men, but their shrill pipings were suddenly silenced by
+the crashing voice of a thunder-squall that burst right over our
+heads. For some time no other sounds were to be heard than the
+thunder, wind, and rain. When the fury of the storm, which did not
+last for more than twenty minutes, had abated and the horizon was in
+some degree cleared, I looked to sea anxiously, in the hope of
+descrying Shelley's boat amongst the many small craft scattered about.
+I watched every speck that loomed on the horizon, thinking that they
+would have borne up on their return to the port, as all the other
+boats that had gone out in the same direction had done."
+
+Then followed a period of painful suspense. Were they safe or had they
+gone down? On the third day Trelawney went to Pisa to ascertain
+whether any one had heard anything of Shelley. "I told my fears to
+Hunt," he writes, "and then went upstairs to Byron. When I told him
+his lip quivered, and his voice faltered as he questioned me."
+
+And what of the wives at Casa Magni awaiting the return of their
+husbands? Let one of the two tell the story. Mary is the wife of
+Shelley, and Jane is Mrs. Williams.
+
+"Yet I thought when he, when my Shelley returns, I shall be happy--he
+will comfort me; if my boy be ill, he will restore him and encourage
+me.... Thus a week passed. On Monday, 8th, Jane had a letter from
+Edward dated Saturday; he said that he waited at Leghorn for Shelley,
+who was at Pisa; that Shelley's return was certain; 'but,' he
+continued, 'if I should not come by Monday, I will come in a felucca,
+and you may expect me on Thursday evening at furthest.'
+
+"This was Monday, the fatal Monday, but with us it was stormy all day,
+and we did not at all suppose that they could put to sea. At twelve at
+night we had a thunder-storm. Tuesday it rained all day and was
+calm--the sky wept on their graves. On Wednesday, the wind was fair
+from Leghorn, and in the evening several feluccas arrived thence. One
+brought word they had sailed Monday, but we did not believe them.
+Thursday was another day of fair wind, and when twelve at night came,
+and we did not see the tall sails of the little boat double the
+promontory before us, we began to fear, not the truth, but some
+illness, some disagreeable news for their detention."
+
+"Jane got so uneasy that she determined to proceed the next day to
+Leghorn in a boat to see what was the matter. Friday came and with it
+a heavy sea and bad wind. Jane, however, resolved to be rowed to
+Leghorn, since no boat could sail, and busied herself in preparation.
+I wished her to wait for letters, since Friday was letter-day. She
+would not, but the sea detained her; the swell rose so that no boat
+would endure out. At twelve at noon our letters came; there was one
+from Hunt to Shelley; it said, 'Pray write to tell us how you got
+home, for they say that you had bad weather after you sailed on Monday
+and we are anxious.' The paper fell from me. I trembled all over. Jane
+read it. 'Then it is all over,' she said. 'No, my dear Jane,' I cried,
+'it is not all over, but this suspense is dreadful. Come with me--we
+will go to Leghorn, we will post, to be swift and learn our fate.'
+
+"We crossed to Lerici ... we posted to Pisa. It must have been fearful
+to see us--two poor, wild, aghast creatures, driving (like Matilda)
+towards the sea to learn if we were to be forever doomed to misery. I
+knew that Hunt was at Pisa, at Lord Byron's house, but I thought that
+Lord Byron was at Leghorn. I settled that we should drive to Casa
+Lanfranchi, that I should get out and ask the fearful question of
+Hunt, 'Do you know anything of Shelley?' On entering Pisa, the idea of
+seeing Hunt for the first time for four years under such circumstances
+and asking him such a question was so terrific to me that it was with
+difficulty that I prevented myself from going into convulsions. My
+struggles were dreadful. They knocked at the door and some one called
+out, 'Chi e?' It was the Guiccioli's maid. Lord Byron was in Pisa.
+Hunt was in bed, so I was to see Lord Byron instead of him. This was a
+great relief to me. I staggered upstairs; the Guicciola came to meet
+me smiling, while I could hardly say, 'Where is he--Sapete alcuna cosa
+di Shelley?' They knew nothing; he had left Pisa on Sunday; on Monday
+he had sailed; there had been bad weather Monday afternoon; more they
+knew not."
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+THE SCHOOL-DAYS OF JOHN KEATS
+
+
+In the village of Enfield, in Middlesex, ten miles on the North Road
+from London, my father, John Clarke, says Charles Cowden Clarke in
+_The Gentleman's Magazine_, kept a school. The house had been built by
+a West India merchant in the latter end of the seventeenth or
+beginning of the eighteenth century. It was of the better character of
+the domestic architecture of that period, the whole front being of the
+purest red brick, wrought by means of molds into rich designs of
+flowers and pomegranates, with heads of cherubim over niches in the
+center of the building. The elegance of the design and the perfect
+finish of the structure were such as to procure its protection when a
+branch railway was brought from the Ware and Cambridge line to
+Enfield....
+
+Here it was that John Keats all but commenced, and did complete, his
+school education. He was born on the twenty-ninth of October, 1795,
+and he was one of the little fellows who had not wholly emerged from
+the child's costume upon being placed under my father's care. It will
+be readily conceived that it is difficult to recall from the "dark
+backward and abysm" of seventy-odd years the general acts of perhaps
+the youngest individual in a corporation of between seventy and
+eighty youngsters; and very little more of Keats's child-life can I
+remember than that he had a brisk, winning face, and was a favorite
+with all, particularly my mother....
+
+Keats's father was the principal servant at the Swan and Hoop
+stables--a man of so remarkably fine a common-sense, and native
+respectability, that I perfectly remember the warm terms in which his
+demeanor used to be canvassed by my parents after he had been to visit
+his boys. John was the only one resembling him in person and feature,
+with brown hair and dark hazel eyes. The father was killed by a fall
+from his horse in returning from a visit to the school. This detail may
+be deemed requisite when we see in the last memoir of the poet the
+statement that "John Keats was born on the twenty-ninth of October,
+1795, in the upper rank of the middle class." His two brothers--George,
+older, and Thomas, younger than himself--were like the mother, who was
+tall, of good figure, with large oval face and sensible deportment. The
+last of the family was a sister--Fanny, I think, much younger than
+all,--and I hope still living (in 1874)--of whom I remember, when once
+walking in the garden with her brothers, my mother speaking of her with
+much fondness for her pretty and simple manners....
+
+In the early part of his school-life John gave no extraordinary
+indications of intellectual character; but it was remembered of him
+afterwards, that there was ever present a determined and steady spirit
+in all his undertakings: I never knew it misdirected in his required
+pursuit of study. He was a most orderly scholar. The future
+ramifications of that noble genius were then closely shut in the seed,
+which was greedily drinking in the moisture which made it afterwards
+burst forth so kindly into luxuriance and beauty.
+
+My father was in the habit, at each half-year's vacation, of bestowing
+prizes upon those pupils who had performed the greatest quantity of
+voluntary work; and such was Keats's indefatigable energy for the last
+two or three successive half-years of his remaining at school, that,
+upon each occasion he took the first prize by a considerable distance.
+He was at work before the first school hour began, and that was at
+seven o'clock, almost all the intervening times of recreation were so
+devoted, and during the afternoon holidays, when all were at play, he
+would be in the school--almost the only one--at his Latin or French
+translation, and so unconscious and regardless was he of the
+consequences of so close and persevering an application that he never
+would have taken the necessary exercise had he not been sometimes
+driven out for the purpose by one of his masters.
+
+It has just been said that he was a favorite with all. Not the less
+beloved was he for having a highly pugnacious spirit, which, when
+roused, was one of the most picturesque exhibitions--off the stage--I
+ever saw. One of the transports of that marvelous actor, Edmund
+Kean--whom, by the way, he idolized--was its nearest resemblance; and
+the two were not very dissimilar in face and figure. Upon one
+occasion, when an usher, on account of some impertinent behavior, had
+boxed his brother Tom's ears, John rushed up, put himself in the
+received posture of offense, and, it was said, struck the usher--who
+could, so to say, have put him into his pocket. His passion at times
+was almost ungovernable, and his brother George, being considerably
+the taller and stronger, used frequently to hold him down by main
+force, laughing when John was in "one of his moods," and was
+endeavoring to beat him. It was all, however, a wisp-of-straw
+conflagration, for he had an intensely tender affection for his
+brothers and proved it upon the most trying occasions. He was not
+merely the "favorite of all," like a pet prize-fighter, for his
+terrier courage; but his high-mindedness, his utter unconsciousness of
+a mean motive, his placability, his generosity, wrought so general a
+feeling in his behalf, that I never heard a word of disapproval from
+any one, superior or equal, who had known him.
+
+In the latter part of the time--perhaps eighteen months--that he
+remained at school, he occupied the hours during meals in reading.
+Thus, his whole time was engrossed. He had a tolerably retentive
+memory, and the quantity that he read was surprising. He must in those
+last months have exhausted the school library, which consisted
+principally of abridgments of all the voyages and travels of any note;
+Mavor's collection, also his _Universal History_; Robertson's
+histories of Scotland, America, and Charles the Fifth; all Miss
+Edgeworth's productions, together with many other works equally well
+calculated for youth. The books, however, that were his constantly
+recurring sources of attraction were Tooke's _Pantheon_, Lemprière's
+_Classical Dictionary_, which he appeared to _learn_, and Spence's
+_Polymetis_. This was the store whence he acquired his intimacy with
+the Greek mythology; here was he "suckled in that creed outworn;" for
+his amount of classical attainment extended no farther than the
+_Æneid_, with which epic, indeed, he was so fascinated that before
+leaving school he had _voluntarily_ translated in writing a
+considerable portion. And yet I remember that at that early
+age--mayhap under fourteen--notwithstanding, and through all its
+incidental attractiveness, he hazarded the opinion to me (and the
+expression riveted my surprise), that there was feebleness in the
+structure of the work. He must have gone through all the better
+publications in the school library, for he asked me to lend him some
+of my books, and, in my "mind's eye" I now see him at supper (we had
+our meals in the school-room), sitting back on the form, from the
+table, holding the folio volume of Burnet's _History of His Own Time_
+between himself and the table, eating his meal from beyond it. This
+work, and Leigh Hunt's _Examiner_--which my father took in, and I used
+to lend to Keats--no doubt laid the foundation of his love of civil
+and religious liberty. He once told me, smiling, that one of his
+guardians, being informed what books I had lent him to read, declared
+that if he had fifty children he would not send one of them to that
+school. Bless his patriot head!
+
+When he left Enfield at fourteen years of age, he was apprenticed to
+Mr. Thomas Hammond, a medical man, residing in Church Street,
+Edmonton, and exactly two miles from Enfield. This arrangement
+evidently gave him satisfaction, and I fear it was the most placid
+period of his painful life; for now, with the exception of the duty he
+had to perform in the surgery--by no means an onerous one--his whole
+leisure hours were employed in indulging his passion for reading and
+translating. During his apprenticeship he finished the _Æneid_.
+
+The distance between our residences being so short, I gladly
+encouraged his inclination to come over when he could claim a leisure
+hour; and in consequence I saw him about five or six times a month on
+my own leisure afternoons. He rarely came empty-handed; either he had
+a book to read, or brought one to be exchanged. When the weather
+permitted, we always sat in an arbor at the end of a spacious garden,
+and--in Boswellian dialect--"we had a good talk." ...
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+THE HEROISM OF SIR WALTER SCOTT
+
+
+When Carlyle wrote and lectured on _Heroes and Hero Worship_, he would
+have made no mistake in selecting one of his contemporary countrymen
+as a fine example of the man of letters as hero. But it is one of the
+characteristics of human nature to see the heroic in the remote in
+time and place rather than in the near. Carlyle, had he closely
+examined the life of his Scotch neighbor, would have been forced to
+acknowledge that no knight battling with chivalric valor in the
+fiction of Sir Walter ever displayed more nobility of soul than that
+displayed by Walter Scott in his adversity. Critics may find flaws in
+Scott's style, but as time reveals more fully the character of the man
+they are unable to find fault with the man himself. Some years ago was
+published Scott's journal. Parts of this had been published before,
+but, owing to the nature of some of the information, much of this had
+been suppressed until sixty years after the death of the writer. To
+quote from this journal is, perhaps, the best method of giving a
+first-hand impression of the real man. He is his own revealer. Scott
+called the big book in which he from time to time records for several
+years his thoughts his "Gurnal," because his daughter Sophia had once
+spelled the word in that way. This book could be closed with a lock
+and key. On the title-page was written:
+
+    As I walked by myself,
+    I talked to myself,
+    And thus myself said to me.
+                    (Old Song.)
+
+Scott's poems and novels brought him much revenue. This he spent in
+purchasing land. He became a Scotch "laird" owning many acres, and a
+most beautiful home, Abbotsford. But unfortunately he formed a bad
+business partnership. When the firm through mismanagement and
+speculation, in which Scott had no part, went down in ruin, Scott
+found to his surprise that he owed a vast sum. In his "Gurnal" of
+September 5, 1827, he wrote: "The debts for which I am legally
+responsible, though no party to this contraction, amount to £30,000."
+But although his legal responsibility was for so great a sum, he felt
+that morally he was responsible for a far greater amount. When the
+printing house of James Ballantyne & Co., the publishing house of
+Constable, and Hunt and Robinson, failed, they failed for upwards of
+half a million pounds. Of this enormous total, Scott could be held
+morally responsible for one hundred and thirty thousand pounds.
+
+For several weeks after intimations of failure had reached Scott, he
+lived in a state of uncertainty. On the 18th of December, 1825, he
+wrote a long account in his journal. It was published lately for the
+first time, appearing in the _Quarterly Review_. What a revelation of
+the man it is!
+
+"Ballantyne called on me this morning. _Venit illa suprema dies._ My
+extremity is come. Cadell has received letters from London which all
+but positively announce the failure of Hurst and Robinson, so that
+Constable and Co. must follow, and I must go with poor James
+Ballantyne for company. I suppose it will involve my all.... I have
+been rash in anticipating funds to buy lands, but then I made from
+£5,000 to £10,000 a year, and land was my temptation. I think nobody
+can lose a penny--that is my one comfort. Men will think pride has had
+a fall. Let them indulge their own pride in thinking that my fall
+makes them higher, or seems so at least. I have the satisfaction to
+recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage to many, and that
+some at least will forgive my transient wealth on account of the
+innocence of my intentions, and my real wish to do good to the poor.
+This news will make sad hearts at Darnick, and in the cottages of
+Abbotsford, which I do not cherish the least hope of preserving. It
+has been my Delilah, and so I have often termed it; and now the
+recollection of the extensive woods I planted, and the walks I have
+formed, from which strangers must derive both the pleasure and profit,
+will excite feelings likely to sober my gayest moments. I have half
+resolved never to see the place again. How could I tread my hall with
+such a diminished crest? How live a poor indebted man where I was once
+the wealthy, and honored? My children are provided [for]; thank God
+for that! I was to have gone there in joy and prosperity to receive my
+friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish, but the
+thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved me more than
+any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things, I must
+get them kind masters; there may be yet those who loving me may love
+my dog because it has been mine. I must end this, or I shall lose the
+tone of mind with which men should meet distress. I find my dogs' feet
+on my knees. I hear them whining and seeking me everywhere--this is
+nonsense, but it is what they would do could they know how things are.
+Poor Will Laidlaw! Poor Tom Purdie! this will be news to wring your
+heart, and many a poor fellow's besides to whom my prosperity was
+daily bread."
+
+After touching on some other matters he comes back to
+Abbotsford,--"Yet to save Abbotsford I would attempt all that was
+possible. My heart clings to the place I have created. There is scarce
+a tree on it that does not owe its being to me, and the pain of
+leaving it is greater than I can bear."
+
+A Mr. Skene, in whose gardens Scott while in Edinburgh about a month
+later took a walk, has left a record of a conversation with Scott. He
+wrote immediately after the walk so as to record the conversation.
+This is what Scott said: "Do you know I experience a sort of
+determined pleasure in confronting the very worst aspect of this
+sudden reverse--in standing, as it were, in the breach that has
+overthrown my fortunes, and saying, Here I stand, at least, an honest
+man. And God knows if I have enemies, this I may at least with truth
+say, that I have never wittingly given cause of enmity in the whole
+course of my life, for even the burnings of political hate seemed to
+find nothing in my nature to feed the flame. I am not conscious of
+having borne a grudge towards any man, and at this moment of my
+overthrow, so help me God, I wish well and feel kindly to every one.
+And if I thought that any of my works contained a sentence hurtful to
+any one's feelings, I would burn it."
+
+Scott worked so assiduously that by January, 1828, he had reduced his
+debt $200,000. On the 17th of December, 1830, more than the half of
+his debt had been paid. On that day his creditors had a meeting during
+which the following resolutions were passed:
+
+"That Sir Walter Scott be requested to accept of his furniture, plate,
+linen, paintings, library, and curiosities of every description as the
+best means the creditors have of expressing their very high sense of
+his most honorable conduct, and in grateful acknowledgment for the
+unparalleled and most successful exertions he has made, and continues
+to make, for them."
+
+That the creditors of Scott would be glad to show their gratitude is
+easy to believe when one learns that while Scott was paying pound for
+pound the other members of the firm paid their creditors less than
+three shillings to the pound. That Scott did his herculean task at
+great sacrifice is known. How much of pain and worry he endured is not
+so well known. At one time he writes: "After all, I have fagged
+through six pages, and made poor Wurmser lay down his sword on the
+glacis of Mantua--and my head aches--my eyes ache--my back aches--so
+does my breast--and I am sure my heart aches--what can duty want
+more?"
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR
+
+
+Walter Savage Landor, whose course of life ran from 1775 to 1864, in
+his old age confessed, "I never did a single wise thing in the whole
+course of my existence, although I have written many which have been
+thought so." This is the exaggeration of an old man who has been
+impressed by the frailty of human endeavor. Nevertheless, Landor is a
+striking illustration of the artistic temperament. He was impractical.
+Landor could not make a good fist. Even when angry, a frame of mind in
+which he found himself very frequently, he did not clench his fists
+without leaving his thumbs in relaxation--a sure sign, it is said, of
+the lack of tenacity of purpose and tact in practical dealings. He
+would adjust his spectacles on his forehead, and then, forgetting what
+he had done, would overturn everything in his wild search for them.
+When he started out on a trip he would take the greatest pains to
+remember the key of his portmanteau, and then forget to take the
+portmanteau; and then on discovering the absence of the portmanteau he
+would launch out into the most vehement denunciation of the
+carelessness and depravity of the railroad officials, heaping
+objurgations upon them, their fathers, and their grandfathers. Then
+after he had exhausted his vocabulary of invective and eased his soul,
+the humor of the situation would appeal to him and he would begin to
+laugh, quietly at first, and then in louder and louder strains until
+his merriment seemed more formidable than his wrath.
+
+When Landor says that he never did a wise thing but has written many,
+one is led to think of his marriage. No one wrote about marriage more
+seriously than Landor, no one entered upon marriage more recklessly.
+"Death itself," he once wrote, "to the reflecting mind is less serious
+than marriage. The elder plant is cut down that the younger may have
+room to nourish; a few tears drop into the loosened soil, and buds and
+blossoms spring over it. Death is not even a blow, it is not even a
+pulsation; it is a pause. But marriage unrolls the awful lot of
+numberless generations." The man who could write thus impressively
+about marriage one spring evening at Bath attended a ball. There he
+met a beautiful young lady whom he admired. As soon as he set eyes on
+her he exclaimed, "By heaven! that's the nicest girl in the room, and
+I'll marry her." He married her and was ever after unhappy. "God
+forbid," once growled Landor, "that I should do otherwise than declare
+that she always _was_ agreeable--to every one but _me_." Landor was
+not in the habit of talking about his domestic troubles, but at one
+time when he was contrasting other and more agreeable marriages he was
+heard to say that he "unfortunately was taken by a pretty face."
+
+Kenyon related to a friend an incident of the Landor honeymoon that is
+significant. On one occasion, it seems, the newly married couple were
+sitting side by side; Landor was reading some of his own verses to his
+bride--and who could read more exquisitely?--when all at once the
+lady, releasing herself from his arm, jumped up, saying, "Oh, do stop,
+Walter, there's that dear delightful Punch performing in the street. I
+must look out of the window." Exit poetry forever.
+
+It would have been difficult for any woman to live amicably with
+Landor. In his youth he was suspended from college, and when he was a
+very old man he was fined $5,000 for writing a libelous article.
+Between these two periods his life was made up of many fits of
+passion. His rustication, or suspension from Trinity College,
+Cambridge, came about in the following manner: One evening Landor
+invited his friends to wine. His gun, powder, and shot were in the
+next room, as he had been out hunting in the morning of that day. In a
+room opposite to Landor's lived a young man whom Landor disliked. The
+two parties exchanged taunts. Finally in a spirit of bravado Landor
+took his gun and fired a shot through the closed shutters of the
+enemy. Quite naturally this bit of pleasantry was not appreciated by
+the owner of the shutters and complaint was lodged. When the
+investigation was made the president tried to be as lenient as he
+possibly could, but his conciliatory manner was stubbornly met by the
+youthful culprit. When rustication was pronounced it was hoped that
+Landor would return to the college to honor it and himself by an
+earnest devotion to his studies. But he never returned.
+
+When Landor was living in Florence the Italians thought him the
+ideally mad Englishman. He lived for a time in the Medici palace, but
+his friendly relations with the landlord, a nobleman bearing the
+distinguished name of the palace, had an abrupt termination. Landor
+imagined that the marquis had unfairly coaxed away his coachman, and
+he wrote a letter of complaint. The next day in comes the strutting
+marquis with his hat on in the presence of Mrs. Landor and some
+visitors. One of the visitors describes the scene: "He had scarcely
+advanced three steps from the door, when Landor walked up to him
+quickly and knocked his hat off, then took him by the arm and turned
+him out. You should have heard Landor's shout of laughter at his own
+anger when it was all over; inextinguishable laughter, which none of
+us could resist." This reminds one of the story Milnes told to
+Emerson, that Landor once became so enraged at his Italian cook that
+he picked him up and threw him out of the window, and then exclaimed,
+"Good God, I never thought of those violets!"
+
+Quite in strong contrast to the irascible side of his nature was his
+tender love for his children, of which he had four, the last born in
+1825. In them he took constant delight. In their games _Babbo_, as he
+was affectionately termed, was the most gleeful and frolicsome of them
+all. When he was separated from them he was in continual anxiety. On
+one of his trips he received the first childish letter from his son
+Arnold. In his reply the concluding lines reveal the intense affection
+of the father:
+
+    I shall never be quite happy until I see you again and put my
+    cheek upon your head. Tell my sweet Julia that if I see twenty
+    little girls I will not romp with any of them before I romp
+    with her, and kiss your two dear brothers for me. You must
+    always love them as much as I love you, and you must teach
+    them how to be good boys, which I cannot do so well as you
+    can. God preserve and bless you, my own Arnold. My heart beats
+    as if it would fly to you, my own fierce creature. We shall
+    very soon meet.
+
+                                        Love your,
+                                                 BABBO.
+
+In literature Landor will be remembered as the author of _Imaginary
+Conversations_, composed during his years of retirement at Florence.
+In these _Conversations_ we hear the great men and women of the past
+who converse as Landor imagined they might have talked. Landor's prose
+style is admired, because of its simplicity and classic purity. After
+the publication of the first two volumes of this work Landor was
+visited as a man of genius by Englishmen and Americans. One day Hogg,
+the friend of Shelley, was announced while Hare, a well-known
+Englishman, was sitting in the room. Landor said, as he considered the
+names of his two visitors, that he felt like La Fontaine with all the
+better company of the beasts about him. Hazlitt was one of his
+frequent visitors. One of their reported conversations is about
+Wordsworth. Upon Landor's saying that he had never seen the famous
+Lake poet, Hazlitt asked, "But you have seen a horse, I suppose?" and
+on receiving an affirmative answer, continued, "Well, sir, if you have
+seen a horse, I mean his head, sir, you may say you have seen
+Wordsworth, sir."
+
+Emerson was desirous of seeing Landor. One of the motives that led him
+to take his first trip abroad was the desire to see five distinguished
+men. These men were Coleridge, Wordsworth, Landor, DeQuincey, and
+Carlyle. "On the 15th May," writes Emerson in his _English Traits_,
+"I dined with Mr. Landor. I found him noble and courteous, living in
+a cloud of pictures at his Villa Gherardesca, a fine house commanding
+a beautiful landscape. I had inferred from his books, or magnified
+from some anecdotes, an impression of Achillean wrath,--an untamable
+petulance. I do not know whether the imputation were just or not, but
+certainly on this May day his courtesy veiled that haughty mind and he
+was the most patient and gentle of hosts."
+
+Landor used to say somewhat loftily, "I do not remember that
+resentment has ever made me commit an injustice." And in this
+connection he related to a friend an incident of his early married
+life, when he was living at Como, where he had for his next-door
+neighbor the Princess of Wales. Landor and his royal neighbor had a
+quarrel arising from trespassing by the domestics of the Princess.
+"The insolence of her domestics," said Landor, "was only equaled by
+the intolerable discourtesy of her Royal Highness when she was
+appealed to in the matter."
+
+Some years later when the Milan Commission was carrying on its
+"delicate investigation" concerning the character of the Queen, about
+whom there had been rumors detrimental to her character, Landor was
+asked to give confidential testimony against Queen Caroline. This made
+Landor indignant and he replied,--"Her Royal Highness is my enemy; she
+has deeply injured me, therefore I can say nothing against her, and I
+never will."
+
+It is significant that shortly before this application for testimony
+was made, George IV took an opportunity to ask Landor to dinner. "I
+declined the honor," said the old lion, "on the plea that I had an
+attack of quinsy. I always have quinsy when royal people ask me to
+dinner," he added, laughing immoderately.
+
+    Ah, what avails the sceptered race,
+      Ah, what the form divine!
+    What every virtue, every grace!--
+      Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
+
+    Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
+      May weep but never see,
+    A night of memories and of sighs
+      I consecrate to thee.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+LEIGH HUNT'S BUSINESS ABILITY
+
+
+Sir George Murray Smith, leading member of the famous publishing house
+of Smith, Elder and Company, was well acquainted with the leading
+literary men of England during an active career of sixty years. The
+following account of Leigh Hunt is especially entertaining:
+
+"Business was by no means Leigh Hunt's strong point. In this respect,
+but not otherwise, he may have suggested Skimpole to Charles Dickens.
+On one of my visits I found him trying to puzzle out the abstruse
+question of how he should deduct some such sum as thirteen shillings
+and ninepence from a sovereign. On another occasion I had to pay him a
+sum of money, £100 or £200, and I wrote him a check for the amount.
+'Well,' he said, 'what am I to do with this little bit of paper?' I
+told him that if he presented it at the bank they would pay him cash
+for it, but I added, 'I will save you that trouble.' I sent to the
+bank and cashed the check for him. He took the notes away carefully
+inclosed in an envelope. Two days afterward Leigh Hunt came in a state
+of great agitation to tell me that his wife had burned them. He had
+thrown the envelope, with the bank notes inside, carelessly down, and
+his wife had flung it into the fire. Leigh Hunt's agitation while on
+his way to bring this news had not prevented him from purchasing on
+the road a little statuette of Psyche which he carried, without any
+paper round it, in his hand. I told him I thought something might be
+done in the matter; I sent to the bankers and got the numbers of the
+notes, and then in company with Leigh Hunt went off to the Bank of
+England. I explained our business, and we were shown into a room where
+three old gentlemen were sitting at tables. They kept us waiting some
+time, and Leigh Hunt, who had meantime been staring all round the
+room, at last got up, walked up to one of the staid officials, and
+addressing him said in wondering tones: 'And this is the Bank of
+England! And do you sit here all day, and never see the green woods
+and the trees and flowers and the charming country?' Then in tones of
+remonstrance he demanded, 'Are you contented with such a life?' All
+this time he was holding the little naked Psyche in one hand, and with
+his long hair and flashing eyes made a surprising figure. I fancy I
+can still see the astonished faces of the three officials; they would
+have made a most delightful picture. I said, 'Come away, Mr. Hunt,
+these gentlemen are very busy.' I succeeded in carrying Leigh Hunt
+off, and, after entering into certain formalities, we were told that
+the value of the notes would be paid in twelve months. I gave Leigh
+Hunt the money at once, and he went away rejoicing."
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+DE QUINCEY RUNS AWAY
+
+
+My father died when I was about seven years old, says the author of
+the _Confessions of an Opium-Eater_, and left me to the care of four
+guardians. I was sent to various schools, great and small, and was
+very early distinguished for my classical attainments, especially for
+my knowledge of Greek. At thirteen I wrote Greek with ease, and at
+fifteen my command of that language was so great, that I not only
+composed Greek verses in lyric meters, but would converse in Greek
+fluently, and without embarrassment--an accomplishment which I have
+not since met with in any scholar of my times, and which, in my case,
+was owing to the practice of daily reading off the newspapers into the
+best Greek I could furnish _extempore_; for the necessity of
+ransacking my memory and invention for all sorts and combinations of
+periphrastic expressions, as equivalents for modern ideas, images,
+relations of things, etc., gave me a compass of diction which would
+never have been called out by a dull translation of moral essays, etc.
+"That boy," said one of my masters, pointing the attention of a
+stranger to me, "that boy could harangue an Athenian mob better than
+you or I could address an English one." He who honored me with this
+eulogy was a scholar, "and a ripe and good one," and of all my tutors,
+was the only one whom I loved or reverenced. Unfortunately for me
+(and, as I afterwards learned, to this worthy man's great
+indignation), I was transferred to the care, first of a blockhead, who
+was in a perpetual panic lest I should expose his ignorance; and,
+finally, to that of a respectable scholar, at the head of a great
+school on an ancient foundation. This man had been appointed to his
+situation by ---- College, Oxford, and was a sound, well-built
+scholar, but (like most men whom I have known from that college)
+coarse, clumsy, and inelegant. A miserable contrast he presented, in
+my eyes, to the Etonian brilliancy of my favorite master; and,
+besides, he could not disguise from my hourly notice the poverty and
+meagerness of his understanding. It is a bad thing for a boy to be,
+and know himself, far beyond his tutors, whether in knowledge or power
+of mind. This was the case, so far as regarded knowledge at least, not
+with myself only, for the two boys who jointly with myself composed
+the first form were better Grecians than the head-master, though not
+more elegant scholars.... I who had a small patrimonial property, the
+income of which was sufficient to support me at college, wished to be
+sent thither immediately. I made earnest representations on the
+subject to my guardians, but all to no purpose. One, who was more
+reasonable, and had more knowledge of the world than the rest, lived
+at a distance; two of the other three resigned all their authority
+into the hands of the fourth, and this fourth, with whom I had to
+negotiate, was a worthy man, in his way, but haughty, obstinate, and
+intolerant of all opposition to his will. After a certain number of
+letters and personal interviews, I found that I had nothing to hope
+for, not even a compromise of the matter, from my guardian:
+unconditional submission was what he demanded, and I prepared myself,
+therefore, for other measures. Summer was now coming on with hasty
+steps, and my seventeenth birthday was fast approaching, after which
+day I had sworn within myself that I would no longer be numbered among
+schoolboys. Money being what I chiefly wanted, I wrote to a woman of
+high rank, who, though young herself, had known me from a child, and
+had latterly treated me with great distinction, requesting that she
+would "lend" me five guineas. For upward of a week no answer came, and
+I was beginning to despond, when at length a servant put into my hands
+a double letter, with a coronet on the seal. The letter was kind and
+obliging; the fair writer was on the sea-coast, and in that way the
+delay had arisen; she inclosed double of what I had asked, and
+good-naturedly hinted that if I should _never_ repay her, it would not
+absolutely ruin her. Now, then, I was prepared for my scheme: ten
+guineas, added to about two that I had remaining from my pocket-money,
+seemed to me sufficient for an indefinite length of time, and at that
+happy age, if no _definite_ boundary can be assigned to one's power,
+the spirit of hope and pleasure makes it virtually infinite.
+
+It is a just remark of Dr. Johnson's (and, what cannot often be said of
+his remarks, it is a very feeling one) that we never do anything
+consciously for the last time (of things, that is, which we have long
+been in the habit of doing) without sadness of heart. This truth I felt
+deeply when I came to leave ----, a place which I did not love, and
+where I had not been happy. On the evening before I left ---- forever,
+I grieved when the ancient and lofty schoolroom resounded with the
+evening service, performed for the last time in my hearing; and at
+night, when the muster-roll of names was called over, and mine (as
+usual) was called first, I stepped forward, and passing the
+head-master, who was standing by, I bowed to him, and looked earnestly
+in his face, thinking to myself, "He is old and infirm, and in this
+world I shall not see him again." I was right; I never _did_ see him
+again, nor never shall. He looked at me complacently, smiled
+good-naturedly, returned my salutation (or rather my valediction), and
+we parted (though he knew it not) forever. I could not reverence him
+intellectually, but he had been uniformly kind to me, and had allowed
+me many indulgences, and I grieved at the thought of the mortification
+I should inflict upon him.
+
+The morning came which was to launch me into the world, and from which
+my whole succeeding life has, in many important points, taken its
+coloring. I lodged in the head-master's house, and had been allowed,
+from my first entrance, the indulgence of a private room, which I used
+both as a sleeping-room and as a study. At half after three I rose,
+and gazed with deep emotion at the ancient towers of ----, "drest in
+earliest light," and beginning to crimson with the radiant luster of a
+cloudless July morning. I was firm and immovable in my purpose, but
+yet agitated by anticipation of uncertain danger and troubles; and if
+I could have foreseen the hurricane, and perfect hail-storm of
+affliction, which soon fell upon me, well might I have been agitated.
+To this agitation the deep peace of the morning presented an affecting
+contrast, and in some degree a medicine. The silence was more profound
+than that of midnight, and to me the silence of a summer morning is
+more touching than all other silence, because, the light being broad
+and strong as that of noonday at other seasons of the year, it seems
+to differ from perfect day chiefly because man is not yet abroad, and
+thus, the peace of nature, and of the innocent creatures of God, seem
+to be secure and deep, only so long as the presence of man, and his
+restless and unquiet spirit, are not there to trouble its sanctity.
+
+I dressed myself, took my hat and gloves, and lingered a little in the
+room. For the last year and a half this room had been my "pensive
+citadel:" here I had read and studied through all the hours of the
+night, and, though true it was that, for the latter part of this time,
+I, who was framed for love and gentle affections, had lost my gayety
+and happiness, during the strife and fever of contention with my
+guardian, yet, on the other hand, as a boy so passionately fond of
+books, and dedicated to intellectual pursuits, I could not fail to
+have enjoyed many happy hours in the midst of general dejection. I
+wept as I looked round on the chair, hearth, writing-table, and other
+familiar objects, knowing too certainly that I looked upon them for
+the last time. While I write this, it is eighteen years ago, and yet,
+at this moment, I see distinctly, as if it were yesterday, the
+lineaments and expressions of the object on which I fixed my parting
+gaze: it was a picture of the lovely ----, which hung over the
+mantelpiece, the eyes and mouth of which were so beautiful, and the
+whole countenance so radiant with benignity and divine tranquillity,
+that I had a thousand times laid down my pen, or my book, to gather
+consolation from it, as a devotee from his patron saint. While I was
+yet gazing upon it, the deep tones of ---- clock proclaimed that it
+was four o'clock. I went up to the picture, kissed it, and then gently
+walked out and closed the door forever!
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+MACAULAY'S CHILDHOOD
+
+
+Macaulay is one of the brilliant lights of the first half of the last
+century. Trevelyan's _Life and Letters_ of Macaulay gives us an
+interesting glimpse of his childhood. When his parents moved from the
+heart of London into a less crowded district, Macaulay, baby though he
+was, kept the early impressions of the place.
+
+"He remembered," says his biographer, "standing up at the nursery
+window by his father's side, looking at a cloud of black smoke pouring
+out of a tall chimney. He asked if that was hell: an inquiry that was
+received with great displeasure which at the time he could not
+understand. The kindly father must have been pained almost against his
+own will at finding what feature of his stern creed it was that had
+embodied itself in so very material a shape before his little son's
+imagination. When in after days, Mrs. Macaulay was questioned as to
+how soon she began to detect in the child a promise of the future, she
+used to say that his sensibilities and affections were remarkably
+developed at an age which to her hearers appeared next to incredible.
+He would cry for joy on seeing her after a few hours' absence, and
+(till her husband put a stop to it) her power of exciting his feelings
+was often made an exhibition to her friends. She did not regard this
+precocity as a proof of cleverness, but, like a foolish young mother,
+only thought that so tender a nature was marked for early death.
+
+"The new residence was in the High Street of Clapham, a more
+commodious part of London than that which they had just left. "It was
+a roomy, comfortable dwelling, with a very small garden behind, and in
+front a very small one indeed, which has entirely disappeared beneath
+a large shop thrown out toward the roadway by the present occupier,
+who bears the name of Heywood. Here the boy passed a quiet and most
+happy childhood. From the time that he was three years old he read
+incessantly, for the most part lying on the rug before the fire, with
+his book on the floor, and a piece of bread and butter in his hand. A
+very clever woman who then lived in the house as parlor-maid told how
+he used to sit in his nankeen frock, perched on the table by her as
+she was cleaning the plate, and expounding to her out of a volume as
+big as himself. He did not care for toys, but was very fond of taking
+his walk, when he would hold forth to his companion, whether nurse or
+mother, telling interminable stories, out of his own head, or
+repeating what he had been reading in language far above his years.
+His memory retained without effort the phraseology of the book which
+he had been last engaged on, and he talked, as the maid said, 'quite
+printed words,' which produced an effect that appeared formal, and
+often, no doubt, exceedingly droll. Mrs. Hannah More was fond of
+relating how she called at Mr. Macaulay's, and was met by a fair,
+pretty, slight child, with abundance of light hair, about four years
+of age, who came to the front door to receive her, and tell her that
+his parents were out, but that if she would be good enough to come in
+he would bring her a glass of old spirits, a proposition which greatly
+startled the old lady, who had never aspired beyond cowslip-wine. When
+questioned as to what he knew about old spirits he could only say that
+Robinson Crusoe often had some. About this period his father took him
+on a visit to Lady Waldegrave at Strawberry Hill, and was much pleased
+to exhibit to his old friend the fair, bright boy, dressed in a green
+coat with red collar and cuffs, a frill at the throat, and white
+trousers. After some time had been spent among the wonders of the
+Orford Collection, of which he ever after carried a catalogue in his
+head, a servant who was waiting on the company in the great gallery
+spilled some hot coffee over his legs. The hostess was all kindness
+and compassion, and when, after a while, she asked him how he was
+feeling, the little fellow looked up in her face, and replied, 'Thank
+you, madam, the agony is abated.'
+
+"But it must not be supposed his quaint manners proceeded from
+affectation or conceit, for all testimony declares that a more simple
+and natural child never lived, or a more lively and merry one. He had
+at his command the resources of the Common; to this day the most
+unchanged spot within ten miles of St. Paul's, and which to all
+appearance will ere long hold that pleasant pre-eminence within ten
+leagues. That delightful wilderness of gorse bushes, and poplar groves
+and gravel pits, and ponds great and small, was to little Tom Macaulay
+a region of inexhaustible romance and mystery. He explored its
+recesses; he composed, and almost believed, its legends; he invented
+for its different features a nomenclature which has been faithfully
+preserved by two generations of children. A slight ridge intersected
+by deep ditches toward the west of the Common, the very existence of
+which no one above eight years old would notice, was dignified with
+the title of the Alps; while the elevated island, covered with shrubs,
+that gives a name to the Mount pond, was regarded with infinite awe,
+as being the nearest approach within the circuit of his observation to
+a conception of the majesty of Sinai. Indeed, at this period his
+infant fancy was much exercised with the threats and terrors of the
+Law. He had a little plot of ground at the back of the house, marked
+out as his own by a row of oyster shells, which a maid one day threw
+away as rubbish. He went straight to the drawing-room, where his
+mother was entertaining some visitors, walked into the circle and
+said, very solemnly, 'Cursed be Sally; for it is written, cursed be he
+that removeth his neighbor's landmark.'
+
+"When still the merest child, he was sent as a day-scholar to Mr.
+Greaves, a shrewd Yorkshireman with a turn for science, who had been
+brought originally to the neighborhood in order to educate a number of
+African youths sent over to imbibe Western civilization at the
+fountain-head. The poor fellows had found as much difficulty in
+keeping alive at Clapham as Englishmen experience at Sierra Leone;
+and, in the end, their tutor set up a school for boys of his own
+color, and one time had charge of almost the entire rising generation
+of the Common. Mrs. Macaulay explained to Tom that he must learn to
+study without the solace of bread-and-butter, to which he replied,
+'Yes, Mama, industry shall be my bread and attention my butter.' But,
+as a matter of fact, no one ever crept more unwillingly to school.
+Each several afternoon he made piteous entreaties to be excused
+returning after dinner, and was met by the unvarying formula, 'No,
+Tom, if it rains cats and dogs, you shall go.'
+
+"His reluctance to leave home had more than one side to it. Not only
+did his heart stay behind, but the regular lessons of the class took
+him away from occupations which in his eyes were infinitely more
+delightful and important; for these were probably the years of his
+greatest literary activity. As an author he never again had more
+facility, or anything like so wide a range. In September, 1808, his
+mother writes: 'My dear Tom continues to show marks of uncommon
+genius. He gets on wonderfully in all branches of his education, and
+the extent of his reading, and of the knowledge he derived from it,
+are truly astonishing in a boy not yet eight years old. He is at the
+same time as playful as a kitten. To give you some idea of the
+activity of his mind I will mention a few circumstances that may
+interest you and Colin. You will believe that to him we never appear
+to regard anything he does as anything more than a schoolboy's
+amusement. He took it into his head to write a compendium of universal
+history about a year ago, and he really contrived to give a tolerably
+connected view of the leading events from the creation to the present
+time, filling about a quire of paper. He told me one day that he had
+been writing a paper which Henry Daly was to translate into Malabar,
+to persuade the people of Travancore to embrace the Christian
+religion. On reading it, I found it to contain a very clear idea of
+the leading facts and doctrines of that religion, with some strong
+arguments for its adoption. He was so fired with reading Scott's _Lay_
+and _Marmion_, the former of which he got entirely, and the latter
+almost entirely, by heart, merely from his delight in reading them,
+that he determined on writing himself a poem in six cantos which he
+called _The Battle of Cheviot_.'"
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+MACAULAY BECOMES FAMOUS
+
+
+In 1848 Macaulay was a famous man. He had served in India and had
+written the first part of his _History of England_. In this year after
+a lapse of nine years he again keeps a diary. From this diary we quote
+extracts showing how he became famous.
+
+"Dec. 4th, 1848.--I have felt to-day somewhat anxious about the fate
+of my book. The sale has surpassed expectation: but that proves only
+that people have formed a high idea of what they are to have. The
+disappointment, if there is disappointment, will be great. All that I
+hear is laudatory. But who can trust to praise that is poured into his
+own ear? At all events, I have aimed high; I have tried to do
+something that may be remembered; I have had the year 2000, or even
+3000, often in my mind; I have sacrificed nothing to temporary
+fashions of thought and style; and if I fail, my failure will be more
+honorable than nine-tenths of the successes that I have witnessed."
+
+"Dec. 12th, 1848.--Longman called. A new edition of three thousand
+copies is preparing as fast as they can work. I have reason to be
+pleased. Of the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_ two thousand two hundred
+and fifty copies were sold in the first year; of _Marmion_ two
+thousand copies in the first month; of my book three thousand copies
+in ten days. Black says that there has been no such sale since the
+days of _Waverley_. The success is in every way complete beyond all
+hope and is the more agreeable to me because expectation had been
+wound up so high that disappointment was almost inevitable. I think,
+though with some misgivings, that the book will live."
+
+"January 11th, 1849.--I am glad to find how well my book continues to
+sell. The second edition of three thousand was out of print almost as
+soon as it appeared, and one thousand two hundred and fifty of the
+third edition are already bespoken. I hope all this will not make me a
+coxcomb. I feel no intoxicating effect; but a man may be drunk without
+knowing it. If my abilities do not fail me, I shall be a rich man, as
+rich, that is to say, as I wish to be. But that I am already, if it
+were not for my dear ones. I am content, and should have been so with
+less. On the whole, I remember no success so complete, and I remember
+all Byron's poems and all Scott's novels."
+
+"Saturday, January 27th.--Longman has written to say that only sixteen
+hundred copies are left of the third edition of five thousand, and
+that two thousand more copies must be immediately printed, still to be
+called the third edition.... Of such a run I had never dreamed. But I
+had thought that the book would have a permanent place in our
+literature, and I see no reason to alter that opinion."
+
+"February 2d.--Mahon sent me a letter from Arbuthnot, saying that the
+Duke of Wellington was enthusiastic in admiration of my book. Though I
+am almost callous to praise now, this praise made me happy for two
+minutes. A fine old fellow!"
+
+The above selections are from Macaulay's diary, as was said. Now come
+several from letters to a Mr. Ellis, to whom Macaulay sent many.
+
+                                           "March 8th, 1849.
+
+    "At last I have attained true glory. As I walked through Fleet
+    Street the day before yesterday, I saw a copy of Hume at a
+    book-seller's window with the following label: 'Only £2 2s.
+    Hume's _History of England_, in eight volumes, highly valuable
+    as an introduction to Macaulay.' I laughed so convulsively
+    that the other people who were staring at the books took me
+    for a poor demented gentleman. Alas for poor David! As for me,
+    only one height of renown remains to be attained. I am not yet
+    in Madam Tussaud's wax-works. I live, however, in hope of
+    seeing one day an advertisement of a new group of figures--Mr.
+    Macaulay, in one of his own coats, conversing with Mr. Silk
+    Buckingham in Oriental costume, and Mr. Robert Montgomery in
+    full canonicals."
+
+                                           "March 9th, 1850.
+
+    "I have seen the hippopotamus, both asleep and awake, and I
+    can assure you that, awake or asleep, he is the ugliest of the
+    works of God. But you must hear of my triumphs. Thackeray
+    swears that he was eye-witness and ear-witness of the proudest
+    event of my life. Two damsels were about to pass that doorway
+    which we, on Monday, in vain attempted to enter, when I was
+    pointed out to them. 'Mr. Macaulay,' cried the lovely pair.
+    'Is that Mr. Macaulay? Never mind the hippopotamus.' And
+    having paid a shilling to see Behemoth, they left him in the
+    very moment at which he was about to display himself to them
+    in order to see--but spare my modesty. I can wish for nothing
+    more on earth, now that Madam Tussaud, in whose Parthenon I
+    once hoped for a place, is dead."
+
+In his diary of June 30th, 1849, we find: "Today my yearly account
+with Longman is wound up. I may now say that my book has run the
+gauntlet of criticism pretty thoroughly. The most savage and dishonest
+assailant has not been able to deny me merit as a writer. All critics
+who have the least pretense to impartiality have given me praise which
+I may be glad to think that I at all deserve.... I received a note
+from Prince Albert. He wants to see me at Buckingham Palace at three
+to-morrow. I answered like a courtier; yet what am I to say to him?
+For, of course, he wants to consult me about the Cambridge
+professorship. How can I be just at once to Stephen and to Kemble?"
+
+"Saturday, July 1st--To the Palace. The Prince, to my extreme
+astonishment, offered me the professorship, and very earnestly and
+with many flattering expressions, pressed me to accept it. I was
+resolute, and gratefully and respectfully declined. I should have
+declined, indeed, if only in order to give no ground to anybody to
+accuse me of foul play, for I have had difficulty enough in steering
+my course so as to deal properly both by Stephen and Kemble, and if I
+had marched off with the prize, I could not have been astonished if
+both had entertained a very unjust suspicion of me. But, in truth, my
+temper is that of the wolf in the fable, I cannot bear the collar, and
+I have got rid of much finer and richer collars than this. It would be
+strange if, having sacrificed for liberty, a seat in the Cabinet and
+twenty-five hundred pounds a year, I should now sacrifice liberty for
+a chair at Cambridge and four hundred pounds a year. Besides, I never
+could do two things at once. If I lectured well, my _History_ must be
+given up, and to give up my _History_ would be to give up much more
+than the emoluments of the professorship--if emolument were my chief
+object, which it is not now, nor ever was. The prince, when he found
+me determined, asked me about the other candidates."
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+DICKENS WRITES THE PICKWICK PAPERS
+
+
+We are always interested in the beginnings of a successful career, for
+humanity with all its selfishness takes a generous pleasure in the
+advancement of those who have made an honest fight for fame or wealth.
+The first success of Dickens came with the publication of the
+_Pickwick Papers_, by the publication of which the publishers, it is
+said, made $100,000,--much to their astonishment.
+
+We all know the early career of the famous novelist: How he passed a
+boyhood of poverty; how he became a stenographer, a good one, for said
+a Mr. Beard, "There never was such a shorthand writer," at the time
+Dickens entered the gallery as a Parliament reporter; how he later
+became a reporter for the _Morning Chronicle_. In the December number
+of the _Old Monthly Magazine_ his first published story saw the light.
+This was in 1833, when Dickens was twenty-one. The story first went
+under the name of _A Dinner at Poplar Walk_, but it afterwards was
+changed to _Mr. Mims and his Cousin_. Then came _Sketches by Boz_ in
+1835, and in 1836 _Pickwick_ appeared in serial form, the book coming
+out a year later.
+
+An amusing and striking illustration of the widespread interest in
+the story of _Pickwick_, if we may call so rambling an account as
+_Pickwick_ a story, is related by Carlyle: "An archdeacon with his own
+venerable lips repeated to me the other night a strange profane story:
+of a solemn clergyman who had been administering ghostly consolation
+to a sick person; having finished, satisfactorily as he thought, and
+got out of the room, he heard the sick person ejaculate, 'Well, thank
+God, _Pickwick_ will be out in ten days any way!'--this is dreadful."
+
+We are always interested in knowing whether the author received
+adequate remuneration for his work. Literature is not a commercial
+venture. The man who says, "Go to, now I shall make money by my pen!"
+is not the one who achieves a masterpiece. Nevertheless we are glad to
+know that genius is rewarded. It is more comforting to learn that Pope
+received $45,000 for his translations of Homer than that Milton got
+$25 for his _Paradise Lost_; that Scott received over $40,000 for
+_Woodstock_, a novel written in three months, than that the author of
+the _Canterbury Tales_ two years before his death was obliged to
+petition the king, "for God's sake and as a work of charity," for the
+grant of a hogshead of wine yearly at the port of London.
+
+Did Dickens receive anything for his _Pickwick_? Mr. Chapman, one of
+the publishers, told Mr. Forster, the friend and biographer of
+Dickens, that there was but a verbal agreement. The publishers were to
+pay 15 guineas for each number and as there were twenty numbers it is
+not hard to estimate his receipts on such a basis. The publishers,
+however, were to add to this compensation according to the sale. Mr.
+Chapman thinks that his firm paid about 3,000 pounds for _Pickwick_,
+but Mr. Forster thinks the sum was about 2,500 pounds. While this sum
+bears but a small proportion to what Dickens would have received had
+he made a good bargain with his publishers, it is yet a large sum to
+one beginning his literary career, and must have been deeply
+appreciated by Dickens, who had been so poor that he was paid 30
+pounds in advance for the first two numbers, so that he might "go and
+get married."
+
+_Pickwick_ was soon followed by _Oliver Twist_, and then came
+_Nicholas Nickleby_, and the long series of successful novels that
+brought the author both fame and money. For when Dickens died he had a
+fortune of £93,000. Some of this was made in America, where his
+"readings" were attended by great crowds. On his second tour to
+America, after he had given thirty-seven readings, about one-half the
+entire number, he sent home a check for £10,000. Some evenings he took
+in $2,000.
+
+One reason why Dickens is a popular novelist is that he understands
+the common emotions of humanity. He may be "stagey," be lacking in
+plot, given to exaggeration, indulge in cheap pathos, but in spite of
+all these defects his abounding vitality, his sympathy with the common
+lot, his imagination, are of such transcendent power that his world of
+readers adores the name of Dickens. Dickens was a good man. While not
+closely following the forms of religion, his life was better than that
+of many who follow the letter but break the spirit. As an illustration
+of his Christian belief I quote an extract from his letter to his
+youngest son, who was about to go to Australia:
+
+                                            September, 1868.
+
+    Never take a mean advantage of any one in any transaction, and
+    never be hard upon people who are in your power. Try to do to
+    others as you would have them do to you, and do not be
+    discouraged if they fail sometimes. It is much better for you
+    that they should fail in obeying the greatest rule laid down
+    by our Saviour than that you should. I put a New Testament
+    among your books for the very same reasons, and with the very
+    same hopes, that made me write an easy account of it for you,
+    when you were a little child. Because it is the best book that
+    ever was, or will be, known in the world; and because it
+    teaches you the best lessons by which any human creature, who
+    tries to be truthful and faithful to duty, can possibly be
+    guided.... You will remember that you have never at home been
+    harassed about religious observances, or mere formalities--I
+    have always been anxious not to weary my children with such
+    things, before they are old enough to have opinions respecting
+    them. You will therefore understand the better that I now most
+    solemnly impress upon you the truth and beauty of the
+    Christian Religion, as it came from Christ Himself, and the
+    impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but
+    heartily respect it.... Never abandon the wholesome practice
+    of saying your own private prayers, night and morning. I have
+    never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it.
+
+   [Illustration: CHARLES DICKENS]
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+CHARLES DICKENS AS READER
+
+
+My first sight of Dickens, writes Herman Merivale in a gossipy article
+in an English magazine, was characteristic enough. I was in the second
+or third row of seats with some friends, at one of his readings of
+_Oliver Twist_. As Thackeray was a gossip on the platform, so Dickens
+was an actor. Like all speakers and actors, he longed for sympathy
+somewhere; an unanswering audience kills us, on whichever side the
+fault may lie. In the days of my political measles I have harangued a
+London audience for an hour and twenty minutes when I have meant to
+speak for a quarter of an hour; and in an out-of-the-way Hampshire
+district, where I had gone on purpose to address the rurals for a set
+hour, I have sate down, covered with confusion, in ten minutes, not
+being able to hit on anything that interested them at all. I saw too
+plainly, in all their good-natured faces, that they regarded me as the
+greatest ass they had ever seen, or as an odd kind of cow gone wrong,
+and of no use to the three acres. Dickens's audience that night was
+dull, and he became so, too. I was disappointed. His characters were
+not lifelike, and his acting was not good, and got worse as he went
+on. It was the inevitable law of reaction. His audience bored him, and
+he began to bore me, amongst the rest. He was not "in touch" with us,
+that is all; and his eyes wandered as hopelessly in search of some
+sympathetic eye to catch them, as the gladiators of old, for mercy in
+the circus. Then suddenly, at one point of his reading, he had to
+introduce the passing character of a nameless individual in a London
+crowd, a choleric old gentleman who has only one short sentence to
+fire off. This he gave so spontaneously, so inimitably, that the
+puppet became an absolute reality in a second. I saw him, crowd,
+street, man, temper, and all. For I am, I may say, what is called a
+very good audience. I like what I like, and I hate what I hate; and on
+one occasion growled at the theater so audibly at what I thought some
+very bad acting that I began to hear ominous cries of "Turn him out!"
+It was the first night of one of my own plays, Dickens's electric
+flash bowled me over so completely and instantly that I broke into a
+peal of laughter, and as we sometimes do when hard hit, kept on
+laughing internally, which is half tears, and half hiccough, for some
+time afterwards. Upon my word, I am laughing now, as I recall it. It
+was so funny. The audience of course glared at me with the well-known
+look of rebuke. "How _dare_ you express your feelings out loud, and
+disturb us!"
+
+But Dickens's eye--I wasn't much more than a boy, and he didn't know
+me from Adam--went at once straight for mine. "Here's somebody who
+likes me, anyhow," it said. For the next few minutes he read at me, if
+ever man did. The sympathetic unit is everything to us. And on my
+word the result was that he so warmed to his work that he got the
+whole audience in his hand, and dispensed with me. Only once
+again--oh, how like him it was!--he fixed me with his eye just towards
+the end of the reading, and made a short but perceptible pause. I
+wondered what was coming--and soon knew. The choleric old party in the
+street had to appear for one passing instant more, and fire off one
+more passing sentence. Which he did--with the same results. Good
+heavens! what an actor Dickens was.
+
+When that reading ended--with the success which it deserved--never did
+that most expressive of all human features, the eye, thank a boy more
+expressively. Over all things cultivate sympathy. If antipathy goes
+with it, so much the better. If the magnet must attract, it likewise
+must repel. Dickens was a magnet of the magnets; but in his case I
+must confess, that when a modern specimen tells me he can't laugh at
+him, he makes me feel rather as Heine felt when somebody told him that
+he--the somebody--was an atheist; frightened.
+
+... Dickens is perhaps best described as to my immense amusement, and
+by the most delicious misprint I ever saw, I found myself once
+described in the "Visitors' List" in an English paper abroad--"Human
+Marvel, and family." It looked like some new kind of acrobat. Of
+Charles Dickens's great kindnesses to me in after days, and of some
+personal experiences of his stage passion, at the end of his life, I
+ventured to gossip with readers of the _Bar_, some months ago, in a
+paper called "With the Majority." In one sense, yes; but in
+another--in what a minority, Thackeray and he!
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+ON THE DEATH OF DICKENS
+
+
+When Charles Dickens died the English papers and magazines were filled
+with criticisms and appreciations of the great writer. It may be
+interesting to glance at a few extracts from these:
+
+From _Fraser's Magazine_.--On the eighth of June, 1870, the busiest
+brain and the busiest hand that ever guided pen over paper finished
+their appointed work, and that pen was laid aside forever. Words of
+its inditing were sure of immediately reaching and being welcomed by a
+larger number of men and women than those of any other living
+writer--perhaps of any writer who has ever lived.
+
+About six o'clock on that summer evening, having done his day's work
+with habitual assiduity, Charles Dickens sat down to dinner with some
+members of his family. He had complained of headache, but neither he
+nor any one felt the least apprehension. The pain increased, the head
+drooped forward, and he never spoke again. Breathing went on for
+four-and-twenty hours, and then there was nothing left but ... dismay
+and sorrow. When the sad news was made public it fell with the shock
+of a personal loss on the hearts of countless millions, to whom the
+name of the famous author was like that of an intimate and dear
+friend....
+
+Anthony Trollope in _St. Paul's_.--It seems to have been but the other
+day that, sitting where I now sit, in the same chair, at the same
+table, with the same familiar things around me, I wrote for the
+_Cornhill Magazine_ a few lines in remembrance of Thackeray, who had
+then been taken from us, and when those lines appeared they were
+preceded by others, very full of feeling, from his much older friend,
+Charles Dickens. Now I take up my pen again because Charles Dickens
+has also gone, and because it is not fit that this publication should
+go forth without a word spoken to his honor.
+
+It is singular that two men in age so nearly equal, in career so
+nearly allied, friends so old, and rivals so close, should each have
+left us so suddenly, without any of that notice, first doubting and
+then assured, which illness gives; so that in the case of the one as
+of the other, the tidings of death's dealings have struck us a hard
+and startling blow, inflicting not only sorrow, but for a while that
+positive, physical pain which comes from evil tidings which are
+totally unexpected. It was but a week or two since that I was
+discussing at the club that vexed question of American copyright with
+Mr. Dickens, and while differing from him somewhat, was wondering at
+the youthful vitality of the man who seemed to have done his forty
+years of work without having a trace of it left upon him to lessen his
+energy, or rob his feelings of their freshness. It was but the other
+day that he spoke at the Academy dinner, and those who heard him then
+heard him at his best; and those who did not hear him, but only read
+his words, felt how fortunate it was that there should be such a man
+to speak for literature on such an occasion. When he took farewell of
+the public as a public reader, a few months since, the public wondered
+that a man in the very prime of his capacity should retire from such a
+career. But though there was to be an end to his readings, there was
+not, therefore, to be an end of his labors. He was to resume, and did
+resume, his old work, and when the first number of _Edwin Drood's
+Mystery_ was bought up with unprecedented avidity by the lovers of
+Dickens's stories, it was feared, probably, by none but one that he
+might not live to finish his chronicle. He was a man, as we all
+thought, to live to be a hundred. He looked to be full of health, he
+walked vigorously, he stood, and spoke, and, above all, he laughed
+like a man in the full vigor of his life....
+
+He would attempt nothing--show no interest in anything--which he could
+not do, and which he did not understand. But he was not on that
+account forced to confine himself to literature. Every one knows how
+he read. Most readers of these lines, though they may never have seen
+him act,--as I never did,--still know that his acting was excellent.
+As an actor he would have been at the top of his profession. And he
+had another gift,--had it so wonderfully, that it may almost be said
+that he has left no equal behind him. He spoke so well, that a public
+dinner became a blessing instead of a curse, if he was in the
+chair,--had its compensating twenty minutes of pleasure, even if he
+were called upon to propose a toast, or to thank the company for
+drinking his health. For myself, I never could tell how far his
+speeches were ordinarily prepared:--but I can declare that I have
+heard him speak admirably when he has had to do so with no moment of
+preparation.
+
+A great man has gone from us--such a one that we may surely say of him
+that we shall not look upon his like again. As years roll on, we shall
+learn to appreciate his loss. He now rests in the spot consecrated to
+the memory of our greatest and noblest; and Englishmen would certainly
+not have been contented had he been laid elsewhere.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+
+RUSKIN'S CHILDHOOD
+
+
+We are fortunate in having Ruskin's own account of how he passed his
+childhood days. In _Præterita_ we have his autobiography. His
+description of his early days runs as follows:
+
+"I am and my father was before me a violent Tory of the old school
+(Walter Scott's school, that is to say, and Homer's); I name these two
+out of the numberless great Tory writers, because they were my own two
+masters. I had Walter Scott's novels and the _Iliad_ (Pope's
+translation), for my only reading when I was a child, on weekdays; on
+Sunday their effect was tempered by _Robinson Crusoe_ and the
+_Pilgrim's Progress_, my mother having it deeply in her heart to make
+an evangelical clergyman of me. Fortunately, I had an aunt more
+evangelical than her mother, and my aunt gave me cold mutton for
+Sunday's dinner, which, as I much preferred it hot, greatly diminished
+the influence of the _Pilgrim's Progress_, and the end of the matter
+was, that I got all of the imaginative teachings of De Foe and Bunyan,
+and yet--am not an evangelical clergyman.
+
+"I had, however, still better teaching than theirs, and that
+compulsorily, and every day of the week.
+
+"Walter Scott and Pope's Homer were reading of my own election, but my
+mother forced me, by steady daily toil, to learn long chapters of the
+Bible by heart, as well as to read it every syllable through, aloud,
+hard names and all, from Genesis, to the Apocalypse, about once a
+year: and to that discipline--patient, accurate, and resolute--I owe,
+not only a knowledge of the book, which I find occasionally
+serviceable, but much of my general power of taking pains, and the
+best part of my taste in literature. From Walter Scott's novels I
+might easily, as I grew older, have fallen to other people's novels;
+and Pope might, perhaps, have led me to take Johnson's English, or
+Gibbon's, as types of language; but once knowing the 32d of
+Deuteronomy, or the 119th Psalm, the 15th of 1st Corinthians, the
+Sermon on the Mount, and most of the Apocalypse, every syllable by
+heart, and having always a way of thinking with; myself what words
+meant, it was not possible for me, even in the foolishest times of
+youth, to write entirely superficial or formal English, and the
+affectation of trying to write like Hooker or George Herbert was the
+most innocent I could have fallen into."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"As years went on, and I came to be four or five years old he (the
+father) could command a post-chaise and pair for two months in the
+summer, by help of which, with my mother and me, he went the round of
+his country customers (who liked to see the principal of the house,
+his own traveler); so that, at a jog-trot pace, and through the
+panoramic opening of the four windows of a post-chaise, made more
+panoramic still to me because my seat was a little bracket in front
+(for we used to hire the chaise regularly for the two months out of
+Long Acre, and so could have it bracketed and pocketed as we liked), I
+saw all the highroads, and most of the cross ones, of England and
+Wales, and great part of lowland Scotland, as far as Perth, where
+every other year we spent the whole summer; and I used to read the
+_Abbot_ at Kinross, and the _Monastery_ at Glen Farg, which I used to
+confuse with 'Glendearg,' and thought that the White Lady had as
+certainly lived by the streamlet in the glen of the Ochlis, as the
+Queen of Scots in the island of Loch Leven.
+
+"To my farther benefit, as I grew older, I thus saw nearly all the
+noblemen's houses in England, in reverent and healthy delight of
+uncovetous admiration,--perceiving, as soon as I could perceive any
+political truth at all, that it was probably much happier to live in a
+small house, and have Warwick castle to be astonished at, than to live
+in Warwick castle and have nothing to be astonished at; but that, at
+all events, it would not make Brunswick Square in the least more
+pleasantly habitable, to pull Warwick castle down."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Contented, by reason of these occasional glimpses of the rivers of
+Paradise, I lived until I was more than four years old in Hunter
+Street, Brunswick Square, the greater part of the year; for a few
+weeks in the summer breathing country air, by taking lodgings in small
+cottages (real cottages, not villas, so-called) either about
+Hampstead, or at Dulwich, at 'Mrs. Ridley's,' the last of a row in a
+lane which led out into the Dulwich fields on one side, and was itself
+full of buttercups in spring, and blackberries in autumn. But my
+chief remaining impressions of those days are attached to Hunter
+Street. My mother's general principles of first treatment were, to
+guard me with steady watchfulness from all avoidable pain or danger,
+and, for the rest, to let me amuse myself as I liked, provided I was
+neither fretful or troublesome. But the law was, that I should find my
+own amusement. No toys of any kind were at first allowed, and the pity
+of my Croydon aunt for my monastic poverty in this respect was
+boundless. On one of my birthdays, thinking to overcome my mother's
+resolution by splendor of temptation, she bought the most radiant
+Punch and Judy she could find in the Soho bazaar, as big as a real
+Punch and Judy, all dressed in scarlet and gold, and that would dance,
+tied to the leg of a chair. I must have been greatly impressed, for I
+remember well the look of the two figures, as my aunt herself
+exhibited their virtues. My mother was obliged to accept them, but
+afterward quietly told me it was not right that I should have them,
+and I never saw them again.
+
+"Nor did I painfully wish, what I was never permitted for an instant
+to hope, or even imagine, the possession of such things as one saw in
+toyshops. I had a bunch of keys to play with, as long as I was capable
+only of pleasure in what glittered and jingled, as I grew older I had
+a cart and a ball, and when I was five or six years old, two boxes of
+well-cut wooden bricks. With these modest, but I still think, entirely
+sufficient possessions, and being always summarily whipped if I cried,
+did not do as I was bid, or tumbled on the stairs, I soon attained
+serene and secure methods of life and motion, and could pass my days
+contentedly in tracing the squares and comparing the colors of my
+carpet; examining the knots in the wood of the floor or counting the
+bricks in the opposite houses; with rapturous intervals of excitement
+during the filling of the water-cart, through its leathern pipe, from
+the dripping iron post at the pavement edge; or the still more
+admirable proceedings of the turncock, when he turned and turned till
+a fountain sprang up in the middle of the street. But the carpet, and
+what patterns I could find in bed-covers, dresses, or wall papers to
+be examined, were my chief resources, and my attention to the
+particulars in these was soon so accurate, that when at three and a
+half I was taken to have my portrait painted by Mr. Northcote, I had
+not been ten minutes alone with him before I asked him why there were
+holes in his carpet."
+
+   [Illustration: ROBERT BROWNING
+   From the portrait by Field Talfourd]
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+THE MARRIAGE OF THE BROWNINGS
+
+
+When Wordsworth heard of the marriage of Robert Browning to Elizabeth
+Barrett, he is reported to have said, "So Robert Browning and Miss
+Barrett have gone off together. I hope they understand each
+other--nobody else would." When Wordsworth said this he was an old man
+and like most old men unable to appreciate the new. Compared with the
+simplicity of much of Wordsworth's poetry a poem like _A Death in the
+Desert_ might seem unintelligible; but surely the same objection
+cannot be urged against the poetry of Mrs. Browning.
+
+The marriage of Robert Browning to Miss Barrett is the one dramatic
+event in his quiet life. To one who has read his passionate and at
+times fiery, unconventional poetry, the runaway, unconventional
+marriage is not unaccountable, but altogether consistent. The manner
+of it was thus:
+
+In her youth Miss Barrett became an invalid through an injury to her
+spine, an accident occurring while she was fixing the saddle of her
+riding horse. As she grew older she was confined to her room. To move
+from a bed to a sofa seemed a perilous adventure requiring a family
+discussion. Her father was a strange unaccountable man, selfish and
+obstinate, and passionately jealous of the affection of his children.
+In the meantime Miss Barrett had written poetry that attracted the
+attention of a kindred spirit. Robert Browning in 1845 wrote to her
+saying that he had once nearly met her and that his sensations then
+were those of one who had come to the outside of a chapel of marvelous
+illumination and found the door barred against him. A little later he
+suggested that he would like to call on her. This commonplace and
+altogether natural suggestion threw the invalid into a state of
+tremulous disapproval. With robust insistence Robert replied, "If my
+truest heart's wishes avail, you shall laugh at east winds yet as I
+do." Miss Barrett replied, "There is nothing to see in me nor to hear
+in me. I never learned to talk as you do in London, although I can
+admire that brightness of carved speech in Mr. Kenyon and others. If
+my poetry is worth anything to any eye, it is the flower of me. I have
+lived most and been most happy in it, and so it has all my colors. The
+rest of me is nothing but a root fit for the ground and dark." A reply
+such as this would be construed by any gentleman as a challenge. The
+substance of Browning's reply was, "I will call at two on Tuesday."
+
+On May 20, 1845, they met. In September, 1846, Miss Barrett walked
+quietly out of her father's house, was married in a church, and
+afterwards returned to her father's house as though nothing had
+happened. Between the marriage and the elopement Robert Browning did
+not call at the Barrett house on Wimpole Street. One of his
+biographers says that this absence was due to an inability of
+Browning to ask the maid at the door for Miss Barrett when there no
+longer was a Miss Barrett whom he wished to see.
+
+In passing judgment upon the elopement of this remarkable couple one
+must remember that they were no longer giddy and rash youth. Browning
+was thirty-four and the romantic Juliet was three years older. Again
+it must be remembered that the objecting father was a most
+unreasonable and selfish man. The climax of his selfishness was
+reached when in opposition to the advice of the physicians Mr. Barrett
+refused to allow his daughter to go to Italy. "In the summer of 1846,"
+writes Mr. Chesterton, "Elizabeth Barrett was still living under the
+great family convention which provided her with nothing but an elegant
+deathbed, forbidden to move, forbidden to see proper daylight,
+forbidden to see a friend lest the shock should destroy her suddenly.
+A year or two later, in Italy, as Mrs. Browning, she was being dragged
+up hill in a wine hamper, toiling up the crests of mountains at four
+o'clock in the morning, riding for five miles on to what she calls 'an
+inaccessible volcanic ground not far from the stars.'"
+
+Miss Mitford, the literary gossip of the period, writes a letter to
+Charles Bonar, in which she gives expression to an opinion concerning
+Browning's poetry which is not dissimilar to the one we quoted from
+Wordsworth. Miss Mitford was an intimate friend of Elizabeth Barrett:
+
+"The great news of the season is the marriage of my beloved friend
+Elizabeth Barrett to Robert Browning. I have seen him once only, many
+years ago. He is, I hear from all quarters, a man of immense
+attainment and great conversational power. As a poet I think him
+overrated.... Those things on which his reputation rests, _Paracelsus_
+and _Bells and Pomegranates_, are to me as so many riddles."
+
+In a later letter she writes to the same correspondent: "I at Miss
+Barrett's wedding! Ah, dearest Mr. Bonar, it was a runaway match.
+Never was I so much astonished. He prevailed on her to meet him at
+church with only the two necessary witnesses. They went to Paris.
+There they stayed a week. Happening to meet with Mrs. Jameson, she
+joined them in their journey to Pisa; and accordingly they traveled by
+diligence, by Rhone boat,--anyhow,--to Marseilles, thence took
+shipping to Leghorn, and then settled themselves at Pisa for six
+months. She says she is very happy. God grant it continue! I felt just
+exactly as if I had heard that Dr. Chambers had given her over when I
+got the letter announcing her marriage, and found that she was about
+to cross to France. I never had an idea of her reaching Pisa alive.
+She took her own maid and her (dog) Flush. I saw Mr. Browning once.
+Many of his friends and mine, William Harness, John Kenyon, and Henry
+Chorley, speak very highly of him. I suppose he is an accomplished
+man, and if he makes his angelic wife happy, I shall of course learn
+to like him."
+
+The runaway match proved to be a most happy one. This is in disproof
+of the common thought that a poet is of so sensitive and irritable a
+disposition that no woman should expect a calm life with a poet. But
+in this case we have two distinguished poets joining hands. They
+lived in great happiness, nor was this peace and harmony purchased at
+the price of servitude and humility of the one. Each respected the
+other. Their romantic passion was based on a spiritual affinity. The
+love letters of the Brownings may have some degree of obscurity, but
+it should be said that the obscurity is one of expression, not the
+obscurity of misunderstanding in the sense in which some of the
+Carlyle letters are obscure. The list of literary men whose marriages
+have proved unhappy is not so long and distinguished as is commonly
+supposed. Milton, Landor, Coleridge, Shelley, Byron, and Ruskin are
+conspicuous examples of men who made shipwreck of marriage, but in
+contrast shine forth the names of Browning, Tennyson, Wordsworth, and
+Shakspere, for there is no evidence against the belief that
+Shakspere's marriage was a happy one; then add to these the American
+names, Longfellow, Lowell, Emerson, Hawthorne, and Holmes, and the
+list is still incomplete.
+
+In verse Mrs. Browning has most exquisitely expressed the power of
+love to transform the gloom of her sick-room into the wholesome
+sunshine of life,--
+
+    I saw in gradual vision through my tears,
+    The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
+    Those of my own life, who by turn had flung
+    A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
+    So weeping, how a mystic shape did move
+    Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
+    And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
+    "Guess now who holds thee?"--"Death!" I said. But, there,
+    The silver answer rang. "Not Death, but Love."
+
+
+
+
+XXIX
+
+ROBERT BROWNING
+
+
+Shortly after Browning's death a young man published his recollections
+of the poet in an English magazine. The extracts from that article
+will help one to appreciate the kindliness of the great poet.
+
+"My first meeting with Browning came about in this wise. I was sitting
+in the studio of a famous sculptor, who, kindly forgetful of my
+provincial rawness, was entertaining me with anecdotes of his great
+contemporaries; amongst them, Browning. To name him was to undo the
+flood-gates of my young enthusiasm. Would my sculptor friend help me
+to meet the poet, whose teaching had been my only dogma? 'Oh,' said my
+friend, 'that's easy. Write to him--he is the most amiable fellow in
+the world--and tell him about yourself, and tell him how much you want
+to know him. Say, if you like, that you are a friend of mine.' The
+advice seemed simple but useless. I felt that not even the portfolio
+of unpublished poems which the imaginative eye might have beheld
+palpable under my arm could so fortify my modesty. But my friend
+assured me that Browning would not be offended, so, after waiting some
+weeks for my crescent courage, I wrote....
+
+"I was taken up to his study and shown in. The first thing that struck
+me was that he had built up a barrier of books around his table,
+perhaps because he feared a too practical enthusiasm. Huge heaps of
+books lay on the floor, the chairs, the table, and at first I thought
+the room otherwise unoccupied. But suddenly a dapper little figure
+emerged from a huge armchair by the fire, and stepped briskly across
+the room. For a moment I was bewildered. The poet's face was familiar
+in photographs, but I had somehow imagined him a tall, gaunt man. I
+recovered myself to find him standing before me, holding both my hands
+and saying, 'Now this is really very kind of you, to come so far just
+to see an old man like me.' Then he dragged up a companion chair and
+forced me into it, standing for some moments by my side, with his hand
+on my shoulder. Then he sat down and said, 'Well, tell me all about
+yourself. Have you not brought some of your poems to show me?' Of
+course I had not. I wanted to see him and talk of his work. But for a
+while he would not let me do so. 'We'll talk about me later, if you
+like, though I'm rather tired of the subject,' he said, and proceeded
+to question me pretty closely about my aim and work. Then he sat and
+thought awhile, then came across to me and said, 'Do you know that I
+was nearly fifty before I made any money out of my writings? That's
+the truth, and you will understand my reluctance to advise any one to
+embark on such a cruel career. But--if you really mean to go in for
+it--I would do anything I could to shorten your time of waiting. So
+you must just send me some of your work, that I may give you my candid
+opinion, if you think it's worth having. And now come and see my
+books.'
+
+... "We went down to lunch, and I was introduced to the poet's sister,
+who is, I was instantly ready to aver, the most charming little lady
+in the world. I don't remember much of the talk at lunch--except that
+it turned on Ruskin and his art views, with which latter, it seemed to
+me, Browning had not much sympathy. He told me two anecdotes designed
+to prove Ruskin's technical inaccuracy; one relating to Michael
+Angelo, the other to Browning's own exquisite poem, _Andrea del
+Sarto_. 'But never mind,' said Browning, 'he writes like an angel.'
+
+"Lunch was finished, and my host apologized for having to turn me out,
+as he was obliged to attend some 'preposterous meeting,' he said. I
+was standing in the hall, saying good-by, when suddenly he turned and
+ran up-stairs. Presently he returned, bringing with him a copy of his
+wife's poems. 'Will you take this as a record of what I hope is only
+the first of many meetings?' he said. 'I can't find any of my own in
+that muddle upstairs, but I would rather you would have this than any
+of mine.' Yes, I took it, as proud as a boy could be who receives such
+an honor from his chief idol; prouder than I shall ever be again as I
+read the inscription: 'With the best wishes and regards of Robert
+Browning.' And I went away after he had made me promise--as though it
+were a thing I might be unwilling to do--to let him know when I should
+be next in town.
+
+... "I called again at the beautiful house in De Vere Gardens. The
+poet had just come in, he told me, from a meeting of the committee
+for the memorial to Matthew Arnold, and he was evidently very
+depressed by the sad thoughts which had come upon him of his 'dear old
+friend, Mat.' 'I have been thinking all the way home,' he said, 'of
+his hardships. He told me once, when I asked him why he had written no
+poetry lately, that he could not afford to do it; but that, when he
+had saved enough, he intended to give up all other work, and go back
+to poetry. I wonder if he has gone back to it _now_.' Here Browning's
+voice shook, and he was altogether more deeply moved than I had ever
+seen him. 'It's very hard, isn't it?' he went on, 'that a useless
+fellow like me should have been able to give up all his life to
+it--for, as I think I told you, my father helped me to publish my
+early books--while a splendid poet like Arnold actually could not
+afford to write the poetry we wanted of him.'
+
+... "The last visit I paid to Browning was short enough, but since it
+_was_ the last, and was marked by one of the most graceful acts ever
+done to me, I may record it as the conclusion of these memories. He
+had written inviting me to call soon, but without naming a day or
+hour. 'If I should happen to be engaged,' he had said, 'I know that
+your kindness will understand and forgive me.' So I called on the
+first morning when I was free for an hour. He came across the room
+with his accustomed heartiness of voice and hand. 'But, my dear boy,
+why did you come to-day? In ten minutes I have an important business
+appointment which I _must_ keep.' The ten minutes went all too soon,
+and I took my hat to go. He was profuse, but plainly sincere, in his
+apologies for turning me out, and made me promise to come again at a
+specified hour. I had hardly left the door, when I heard the scurry of
+footsteps and his voice calling me. I turned and saw him, hatless, at
+the foot of the steps. 'One moment,' he cried; 'I can't let you go
+till you tell me again that you are not offended, and I shan't believe
+_that_ till you promise once again to come. Now, promise'--holding
+both my hands. Of course I promised, wondering how many smaller men
+would have shown the same courtesy. For some reason on my part, which
+I now forget, that appointment was never kept, and I saw him no more.
+
+"As I stood in Poet's Corner that bitter day of last January, and saw
+him put to rest, I could not but think of him as I had seen him last,
+with the sunlight on his white hair, and I felt his warm hands, and
+heard his kindly voice saying, 'Now, promise!' and I could but think
+of that meeting as a tryst not broken, but deferred. And as I thought
+again of that life, so rich, so vivid, so complete; of that strong
+soul which looked ever forth, and saw promise of clear awaking to
+something nobler than the sweetest dream, I knew that here, at least,
+was one to whom death could do no wrong."
+
+                 --Adapted from _Littell's Living Age_.
+
+   [Illustration: ALFRED TENNYSON
+   From a photograph from life]
+
+
+
+
+XXX
+
+KNIGHT'S REMINISCENCE OF TENNYSON
+
+
+William Knight, a celebrated Scotch professor and the great expounder
+of the life and poetry of Wordsworth, in 1890 spent two days with
+Tennyson at Farringford. In an English magazine he has published his
+reminiscence of that visit. After relating the feelings of respect and
+the reverential sentiment with which he approached the place he says:
+"In the avenue leading to the house, the spreading trees just opening
+into leaf, with spring flowers around and beneath--yellow cowslips and
+blue forget-me-nots--and the song of birds in the branches overhead,
+seemed a fitting prelude to all that followed. Shortly after I was
+seated in the ante-room, the poet's son appeared, and, as his father
+was engaged, he said, 'Come and see my mother.' We went into the
+drawing-room, where the old lady was reclining on a couch. Immediately
+the lines beginning 'Such age, how beautiful' came into mind. No one
+could ever forget his first sight of Lady Tennyson, her graciousness,
+and the radiant though fragile beauty of old age. Both her eye and her
+voice had an inexpressible charm. She inquired with much interest for
+the widow of one of my colleagues at the University, who used formerly
+to live in the island, close to Farringford, and whose family were
+friends as well as near neighbors. Soon afterwards Tennyson entered,
+and almost at once proposed that we should go out of doors. After a
+short stroll on the lawn under the cedars, we went into the 'careless
+ordered garden,' walked round it, and then sat down in the small
+summer-house. It is a quaint rectangular garden, sloping to the west,
+where nature and art blend happily,--orchard trees, and old-fashioned
+flower-beds, with stately pines around, giving to it a sense of
+perfect rest. This garden is truly a 'haunt of ancient peace.' Left
+there alone with the bard for some time, I felt that I sat in the
+presence of one of the Kings of Men. His aged look impressed me. There
+was the keen eagle eye, and, although the glow of youth was gone, the
+strength of age was in its place. The lines in his face were like the
+furrows in the stem of a wrinkled oak-tree, but his whole bearing
+disclosed a latent strength and nobility, a reserve of power, combined
+with a most courteous grace of manner. I was also struck by the
+negligé air of the man, so different from that of Browning or Arnold
+or Lowell....
+
+"We talked much of the sonnet. He thought the best in the language
+were Milton's, Shakspere's, and Wordsworth's; after these three those
+by his own brother Charles. He said, 'I at least like my brother's
+next to those by the "three immortals."' ...
+
+"He had no great liking, he said, for arranging the poets in a
+hierarchy. He found so much that surpassed him in different ways in
+all the great ones; but he thought that Homer, Æschylus, Sophocles,
+Virgil, Dante, Shakspere, and Goethe,--these seven,--were the
+greatest of the great, up to the year 1800. They are not all equal in
+rank, and even in the work of that heptarchy of genius, there were
+trivial things to be found....
+
+"Just at this stage of our talk Mrs. Hallam Tennyson, Mrs. Douglas
+Freshfield, and her daughter came up the garden-walk to the
+summer-house. Miss Freshfield wore a hat on which was an artificial
+flower, a lilac-branch. It at once caught Tennyson's eye. There was a
+lilac-tree in bloom close at hand, and he said, 'What is that you are
+wearing? It's a flowery lie, it's a speaking mendacity.' He asked how
+she could wear such a thing in the month of May! We rose from the
+bower, and all went down the garden-walk to see the fig-tree at the
+foot of it, and sundry other things at the western entrance-door,
+where Miss Kate Greenaway was painting. We returned along a twisting
+alley under the rich green foliage of elms and ilexes....
+
+"Listening to the wind in the trees and the sound of running
+water--although it was the very tiniest of rillets--led us away from
+philosophy, and he talked of Sir Walter Scott, characterizing him as
+the greatest novelist of all time. He said, 'What a gift it was that
+Scotland gave to the world in him. And your Burns! He is supreme
+amongst your poets.' He praised Lockhart's _Life of Scott_, as one of
+the finest of biographies; and my happening to mention an anecdote of
+Scott from that book led to our spending the greater part of the rest
+of our walk in the telling of stories. Tennyson was an admirable
+storyteller. He asked me for some good Scotch anecdotes, and I gave
+him some, but he was able to cap each of them with a better one of
+his own--all of which he told with arch humor and simplicity.
+
+"He then told some anecdotes of a visit to Scotland. After he had left
+an inn in the island of Skye, the landlord was asked, 'Did he know who
+had been staying in his house? It was the poet Tennyson.' He replied,
+'Lor', to think o' that! and sure I thoucht he was a shentleman!' Near
+Stirling the same remark was made to the keeper of the hotel where he
+had stayed. 'Do you ken who you had wi' you t' other night?' 'Naa, but
+he was a pleesant shentleman.' 'It was Tennyson, the poet.' 'An' what
+may _he_ be?' 'Oh, he is the writer o' verses such as you see i' the
+papers.' 'Noo, to think o' that, jest a pooblic writer, an' I gied him
+ma best bedroom!' Of Mrs. Tennyson, however, the landlord remarked,
+'Oh, but _she_ was an angel!'
+
+"I have said that the conversational power of Tennyson struck me quite
+as much as his poetry had done for forty years. To explain this I must
+compare it with that of some of his contemporaries. It was not like
+the meteoric flashes and fireworks of Carlyle's talk, which sometimes
+dazzled as much as it instructed, and it had not that torrent-rush in
+which Carlyle so often indulged. It was far more restrained. It had
+neither the continuousness nor the range of Browning's many-sided
+conversation, nor did it possess the charm of the ethereal
+visionariness of Newman's. It lacked the fullness and consummate sweep
+of Mr. Buskin's talk, and it had neither the historic range and
+brilliance of Dean Stanley's, nor the fascinating subtlety--the
+elevation and the depth combined--of that of the late F.D. Maurice.
+_But_ it was clear as crystal, and calm as well as clear. It was terse
+and exact, precise and luminous. Not a word was wasted and every
+phrase was suggestive. Tennyson did not monopolize conversation. He
+wished to know what other people thought, and therefore to hear them
+state it, that he might understand their position and ideas. But in
+all his talk on great problems, he at once got to their essence,
+sounding their depths with ease, or, to change the illustration, he
+seized the kernel, and let the shell and fragments alone. There was a
+wonderful simplicity allied to his clear vision and his strength. He
+was more child-like than the majority of his contemporaries, and along
+with this there was--what I have already mentioned--_a great reserve
+of power_. His appreciation of other workers belonging to his time was
+remarkable. Neither he nor Browning disparaged their contemporaries,
+as Carlyle so often did, when he spotted their weaknesses, and put
+them in the pillory. From first to last, Tennyson seemed to look
+sympathetically on all good works, and he had a special veneration for
+the strong silent thinkers and workers.
+
+"Tennyson appreciated the work of Darwin and Spencer far more than
+Carlyle did, and many of the ideas and conclusions of modern science
+are to be found in his poetry. Nevertheless he knew the limitation of
+science, and he held that it was the noble office of poetry,
+philosophy, and religion combined to supplement and finally to
+transcend it."
+
+
+
+
+XXXI
+
+EMERSON ON CARLYLE AND TENNYSON
+
+
+On Christmas day, 1832, Emerson sailed out of Boston harbor to pay a
+visit to Europe. His health needed a change of work and scene. His
+wife had died, he had separated from his congregation, he manifestly
+was in need of some recreation, and so his friends had advised him to
+take a trip abroad. On the 2d of February he landed at Malta. From
+there he traveled through Italy and finally entered England, ready to
+make the acquaintance of English celebrities whom he had long admired.
+
+He writes in his journal: "Carlisle in Cumberland, Aug. 26. I am just
+arrived in merry Carlisle from Dumfries. A white day in my years. I
+found the youth I sought in Scotland, and good and wise and pleasant
+he seems to me, and his wife a most accomplished, agreeable woman.
+Truth and peace and faith dwell with them and beautify them. I never
+saw more amiableness than is in his countenance."
+
+This passage, of course, refers to his visit to Carlyle, to visit whom
+Emerson had driven over from Dumfries to Craigenputtock, where Carlyle
+had been living for the last five years. In this connection it is
+interesting to read what the man visited had to say about his
+visitor: "That man," Carlyle said to Lord Houghton, "came to see me. I
+don't know what brought him, and we kept him one night, and then he
+left us. I saw him go up the hill; I didn't go with him to see him
+descend. I preferred to watch him mount and vanish like an angel."
+
+   [Illustration: RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+   From a wood engraving of a life photograph]
+
+In writing of this interview, Mr. Cabot, one of the biographers of
+Emerson, says: "To Emerson the interview was a happy one, and
+gratified the chief wish he had in coming to England, though he did
+not find all that he had sought. He had been looking for a master, but
+in the deepest matters Carlyle, he found, had nothing to teach him.
+'My own feeling,' he says in a letter to Mr. Ireland a few days
+afterwards, 'was that I had met with men of far less power who had got
+greater insight into religious truth.' But he had come close to the
+affectionate nature and the nobility of soul that lay behind the cloud
+of whim and dyspepsia, and he kept to that, and for the rest, confined
+his expectations thenceforth to what Carlyle had to give. 'The
+greatest power of Carlyle,' he afterwards wrote, 'like that of Burke,
+seems to me to reside in the form. Neither of them is a poet, born to
+announce the will of the god, but each has a splendid rhetoric to
+clothe the truth.'"
+
+During this first visit Emerson dined with Lafayette and a hundred
+Americans. By the time he made his second visit Emerson was a far more
+distinguished man than during his first trip. His second visit was
+made in 1847. This time he was a lion among men. He again calls on the
+Carlyles. This time the door is opened by Jane.
+
+"They were very little changed (he writes) from their old selves of
+fourteen years ago, when I left them at Craigenputtock. 'Well,' said
+Carlyle, 'here we are, shoveled together again.' The flood-gates of
+his talk are quickly opened and the river is a great and constant
+stream. We had large communication that night until nearly one
+o'clock, and at breakfast next morning it began again. At noon or
+later we went together, Carlyle and I, to Hyde Park and the palaces,
+about two miles from here, to the National Gallery, and to the
+Strand--Carlyle melting all Westminster and London down into his talk
+and laughter as he walked. We came back to dinner at five or later,
+then Dr. Carlyle came in and spent the evening, which again was long
+by the clock, but had no other measure. Here in this house we
+breakfast about nine; Carlyle is very apt, his wife says, to sleep
+till ten or eleven, if he has no company. An immense talker he is, and
+altogether as extraordinary in his conversation as in his writing--I
+think even more so. You will never discover his real vigor and range,
+or how much more he might do than he has ever done, without seeing
+him. I find my few hours' discourse with him in Scotland, long since,
+gave me not enough knowledge of him, and I have now at last been taken
+by surprise.... Carlyle and his wife live on beautiful terms. Nothing
+could be more engaging than their ways, and in her book-case all his
+books are inscribed to her, as they came, from year to year, each with
+some significant lines."
+
+In another place he writes:
+
+"I had good talk with Carlyle last night. He says over and over for
+years, the same thing. Yet his guiding genius is his moral sense, his
+perception of the sole importance of truth and justice, and he too
+says that there is properly no religion in England. He is quite
+contemptuous about _Kunst_ (art) also, in Germans, or English, or
+Americans.... His sneers and scoffs are thrown in every direction. He
+breaks every sentence with a scoffing laugh--'windbag,' 'monkey,'
+'donkey,' 'bladder;' and let him describe whom he will, it is always
+'poor fellow.' I said 'What a fine fellow you are to bespatter the
+whole world with this oil of vitriol!' 'No man,' he replied, 'speaks
+truth to me.' I said, 'See what a crowd of friends listen to and
+admire you.' 'Yes, they come to hear me, and they read what I write;
+but not one of them has the smallest intention of doing these
+things.'"
+
+While Emerson was in London he was elected to membership in the
+Athenæum Club, during his stay in England. Here he had the opportunity
+of meeting many famous men. He writes:
+
+"Milnes and other good men are always to be found there. Milnes is the
+most good-natured man in England, made of sugar; he is everywhere and
+knows everything. He told of Landor that one day, in a towering
+passion, he threw his cook out of the window, and then presently
+exclaimed, 'Good God, I never thought of those violets!' The last time
+he saw Landor he found him expatiating on our custom of eating in
+company, which he esteems very barbarous. He eats alone, with
+half-closed windows, because the light interferes with the taste. He
+has lately heard of some tribe in Crim Tartary who have the practice
+of eating alone, and these he extols as much superior to the
+English.... Macaulay is the king of diners-out. I do not know when I
+have seen such wonderful vivacity. He has the strength of ten men,
+immense memory, fun, fire, learning, politics, manners, and pride, and
+talks all the time in a steady torrent. You would say he was the best
+type of England."
+
+Of Tennyson he writes: "I saw Tennyson, first at the house of Coventry
+Patmore, where we dined together. I was contented with him at once. He
+is tall and scholastic looking, no dandy, but a great deal of plain
+strength about him, and though cultivated, quite unaffected. Quiet,
+sluggish sense and thought; refined, as all English are, and
+good-humored. There is in him an air of great superiority that is very
+satisfactory. He lives with his college set, ... and has the air of
+one who is accustomed to be petted and indulged by those he lives
+with. Take away Hawthorne's bashfulness, and let him talk easily and
+fast, and you would have a pretty good Tennyson. I told him that his
+friends and I were persuaded that it was important to his health to
+make an instant visit to Paris, and that I was to go on Monday if he
+was ready. He was very good-humored, and affected to think that I
+should never come back alive from France; it was death to go. But he
+had been looking for two years for somebody to go to Italy with, and
+was ready to set out at once, if I would go there.... He gave me a
+cordial invitation to his lodgings (in Buckingham Palace), where I
+promised to visit him before I went away.... I found him at home in
+his lodgings, but with him was a clergyman whose name I did not know,
+and there was no conversation. He was sure again that he was taking a
+final farewell of me, as I was going among the French bullets, but
+promised to be in the same lodgings if I should escape alive....
+Carlyle thinks him the best man in England to smoke a pipe with, and
+used to see him much; had a place in his little garden, on the wall,
+where Tennyson's pipe was laid up."
+
+
+
+
+XXXII
+
+LITERARY RECOLLECTIONS OF MAX MUELLER
+
+
+Another poet whom I knew at Oxford as an undergraduate, and whom I
+watched and admired to the end of his life, was Matthew Arnold. He was
+beautiful as a young man, strong and manly, yet full of dreams and
+schemes. His Olympian manners began even at Oxford; there was no harm
+in them, they were natural, not put on. The very sound of his voice
+and the wave of his hand were Jovelike.... Sometimes at public
+dinners, when he saw himself surrounded by his contemporaries, most of
+them judges, bishops, and ministers, he would groan over the drudgery
+he had to go through every day of his life in examining dirty
+school-boys and school-girls. But he saw the fun of it, and laughed.
+What a pity it was that his friends--and he had many--could find no
+better place for him. Most of his contemporaries rose to high position
+in Church and State, he remained to the end an examiner of elementary
+schools. Of course it may be said that like so many of his literary
+friends, he might have written novels and thus eked out a living by
+potboilers of various kinds. But there was something nobler and
+refined in him which restrained his pen from such work. Whatever he
+gave to the world was to be perfect, as perfect as he could make it,
+and he did not think that he possessed the talent for novels. His
+saying that "no Arnold can ever write a novel" is well known, but it
+has been splendidly falsified of late by his own niece. Arnold was a
+delightful man to argue with, not that he could easily be convinced
+that he was wrong, but he never lost his temper, and in the most
+patronizing way he would generally end by, "Yes, yes! my good fellow,
+you are quite right, but, you see, my view of the matter is different,
+and I have little doubt it is the true one!" This went so far that
+even the simplest facts failed to produce any impression on him....
+
+Ruskin often came to spend a few days with his old friends, and as
+uncompromising and severe as he could be when he wielded his pen, he
+was always most charming in conversation. He never, when he was with
+his friends, claimed the right of speaking with authority, even on his
+own special subjects, as he might well have done. It seemed to be his
+pen that made him say bitter things.... He was really the most
+tolerant and agreeable man in society. He could discover beauty where
+no one else saw it, and make allowance where others saw no excuse. I
+remember him as diffident as a young girl, full of questions, and
+grateful for any information. Even on art topics I have watched him
+listening almost deferentially to others who laid down the law in his
+presence. His voice was always most winning, and his language simply
+perfect. He was one of the few Englishmen I knew who, instead of
+tumbling out their sentences like so many portmanteaus, bags, tugs,
+and hat-boxes from an open railway van, seemed to take a real delight
+in building up his sentences, even in familiar conversation, so as to
+make each deliverance a work of art....
+
+And what a beautiful mind his was, and what lessons of beauty he has
+taught us all. At the same time, he could not bear anything
+unbeautiful, and anything low or ignoble in men revolted him and made
+him thoroughly unhappy. I remember once taking Emerson to lunch with
+him, in his rooms in Corpus Christi College. Emerson was an old friend
+of his, and in many respects a cognate soul. But some quite
+indifferent subject turned up, a heated discussion ensued, and Ruskin
+was so upset that he had to quit the room and leave us alone. Emerson
+was most unhappy, and did all he could to make peace, but he had to
+leave without a reconciliation....
+
+Another though less frequent visitor to Oxford was Tennyson. His first
+visit to our house was rather alarming. We lived in a small house in
+High Street, nearly opposite Magdalen College, and our establishment
+was not calculated to receive sudden guests, particularly a poet
+laureate. He stepped in one day during the long vacation, when Oxford
+was almost empty. Wishing to show the great man all civility, we asked
+him to dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. At that time
+almost all the shops were in the market, which closed at one o'clock.
+My wife, a young housekeeper, did her best for our unexpected guest.
+He was known to be a gourmand, and at dinner he was evidently put out
+by finding the sauce with the salmon was not the one he preferred. He
+was pleased, however, with the wing of a chicken, and said it was the
+only advantage he got from being a poet laureate, that he generally
+received the liver-wing of a chicken. The next morning at breakfast,
+we had rather plumed ourselves on having been able to get a dish of
+cutlets, and were not a little surprised when our guest arrived, to
+see him whip off the cover of a hot dish, and to hear the exclamation,
+"Mutton chops! the staple of every bad inn in England." However, these
+were but minor matters, though not without importance in the eyes of a
+young wife to whom Tennyson had been like one of the immortals. He was
+full of interest and inquiries about the East, more particularly about
+Indian poetry, and I believe it was then that I told him that there
+was no rhyme in Sanskrit poetry, and ventured to ask him why there
+should be in English. He was not so offended as Samuel Johnson seems
+to have been, who would probably have answered my question by "You are
+a fool, sir; use your own judgment," while Tennyson made the very
+sensible answer that rhyme assisted the memory....
+
+It was generally after dinner ... that Tennyson began to thaw, and to
+take a more active part in conversation. People who have not known him
+then, have hardly known him at all. During the day he was often very
+silent and absorbed in his own thoughts, but in the evening he took an
+active part in the conversation of his friends. His pipe was almost
+indispensable to him, and I remember one time when I and several
+friends were staying at his house, the question of tobacco turned up.
+I confessed that for years I had been a perfect slave to tobacco, so
+that I could neither read nor write a line without smoking, but that
+at last I had rebelled against the slavery, and had entirely given up
+tobacco. Some of his friends taunted Tennyson that he could never give
+up tobacco. "Anybody can do that," he said, "if he chooses to do it."
+When his friends still continued to doubt and to tease him, "Well," he
+said, "I shall give up smoking from to-night." The very same evening I
+was told that he threw his tobacco and his pipes out of the window of
+his bedroom. The next day he was most charming, though somewhat
+self-righteous. The second day he became very moody and captious, the
+third day no one knew what to do with him. But after a disturbed night
+I was told that he got out of bed in the morning, went quietly into
+the garden, picked up one of his broken pipes, stuffed it with the
+remains of the tobacco scattered about, and then having had a few
+puffs, came to breakfast, all right again.
+
+He once very kindly offered to lend me his house in the Isle of Wight.
+"But mind," he said, "you will be watched from morning till evening."
+This was, in fact, his great grievance, that he could not go out
+without being stared at. Once taking a walk with me and my wife on the
+downs behind his house, he suddenly started, left us, and ran home,
+simply because he had descried two strangers coming towards us.
+
+I was told that he once complained to the queen, and said that he
+could no longer stay in the Isle of Wight, on account of the tourists
+who came to stare at him. The queen, with a kindly irony, remarked
+that she did not suffer much from that grievance, but Tennyson not
+seeing what she meant, replied, "No, madam, and if I could clap a
+sentinel wherever I liked, I should not be troubled either."
+
+It must be confessed that people were very inconsiderate. Rows of
+tourists sat like sparrows on the paling of his garden, waiting for
+his appearance. The guides were actually paid by sight-seers,
+particularly by those from America, for showing them the great poet.
+Nay, they went so far as to dress up a sailor to look like Tennyson,
+and the result was that, after their trick had been found out, the
+tourists would walk up to Tennyson and ask him, "Now, are you the real
+Tennyson?" This, no doubt, was very annoying, and later on Lord
+Tennyson was driven to pay a large sum for some useless downs near his
+house, simply in order to escape from the attentions of admiring
+travelers.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+THE EARLY EDUCATION OF JOHN STUART MILL
+
+
+At an age when most children are playing with a Noah's Ark or a doll,
+John Stuart Mill was initiated into the mysteries of the Greek
+language. "I have no remembrance of the time when I began to learn
+Greek," writes Mill, "I have been told that it was when I was three
+years old." Latin was not begun until his eighth year. By that time he
+had read in Greek,--Æsop, the Anabasis, the whole of Herodotus, the
+Cyropædia, the Memorabilia, parts of Diogenes Laertius, and of Lucian,
+Isocrates; also six dialogues of Plato. An equipment like this
+suggests the satiric lines of Hudibras:
+
+    Besides, 'tis known he could speak Greek
+    As naturally as pigs squeak.
+
+In considering the difficulties that this child--shall we say
+babe?--had to overcome one must remember that the aids to learning
+Greek were not then what they are now. In 1820 the Greek lexicon was a
+ponderous thing, almost as big and heavy as the infant student
+himself. Worse than this, the definitions were not in English, but in
+Greek and Latin, and as the boy had not yet learned Latin he had to
+ask his father for the meaning of every new word. The immense task
+placed thus upon the child makes one feel indignant and wish that some
+organization for the prevention of cruelty to infants had interfered
+with the ambition of the learned father. But we must admire the
+patience of the father, however we may question his good sense. "What
+he himself was willing to undergo for the sake of my instruction,"
+says the son in describing his father's teaching, "may be judged from
+the fact, that I went through the whole process of preparing my Greek
+lessons in the same room and at the same table at which he was
+writing.... I was forced to have recourse to him for the meaning of
+every word which I did not know. This incessant interruption, he, one
+of the most impatient of men, submitted to, and wrote under that
+interruption several volumes of his History and all else that he had
+to write during those years."
+
+But this does not tell the whole story. Fearing that the Greek might
+be too heavy and concentrated a food for the tender intellect of his
+child, the considerate father added a diet of English history and
+biography. The boy carefully studied and made notes upon Robertson,
+Hume, Gibbon, Watson, Hooke, Langhorne's _Plutarch_, Burnet's _History
+of His Own Time_, Millar's _Historical View of the English
+Government_, Mosheim's _Ecclesiastical History_. In biography and
+travel he read the life of Knox, the histories of the Quakers,
+Beaver's _Africa_, Collin's _New South Wales_, Anson's _Voyages_, and
+Hawkesworth's _Voyages Round the World_. "Of children's books, any
+more than of playthings, I had scarcely any, except an occasional
+gift from a relation or acquaintance.... It was no part, however, of
+my father's system to exclude books of amusement, though he allowed
+them very sparingly. Of such books he possessed at that time next to
+none, but he borrowed several for me; those which I remember are the
+_Arabian Nights_, Cazotte's _Arabian Tales_, _Don Quixote_, Miss
+Edgeworth's _Popular Tales_, and a book of some reputation in its day,
+Brooke's _Fool of Quality_."
+
+All this, it is to be remembered, was done by a boy who was not beyond
+his eighth year. In his eighth year he began Latin, not only as a
+learner but as a teacher. It was his duty to teach the younger
+children of the family what he had learned. This practice he does not
+recommend. "The teaching, I am sure, is very inefficient as teaching,
+and I well know that the relation between teacher and taught is not a
+good moral discipline to either." By the time this prodigy of
+intellect and industry reached the age of fourteen he had studied the
+following formidable list: Virgil, Horace, Phaedrus, Livy, Sallust,
+the Metamorphoses, Terence, Cicero, Homer, Thucydides, the Hellenica,
+Demosthenes, Æschines, Lysias, Theocritus, Anacreon, Aristotle's
+Rhetoric; Euclid, Algebra, the higher mathematics, Joyce's Scientific
+Dialogues, and various treatises on Chemistry; and in addition to all
+this he had read parts of other Greek and Latin authors, and much of
+English poetry and history.
+
+A boy with so heavy a burden of learning is very prone to an equal
+amount of self-conceit. But the father tried to overcome this danger
+by holding up a very high standard of comparison,--"not what other
+people did, but what a man could and ought to do." He succeeded so
+well that the boy was not aware that his attainments were
+extraordinary. "I neither estimated myself highly nor lowly; I did not
+estimate myself at all. If I thought anything about myself, it was
+that I was rather backward in my studies, since I always found myself
+so, in comparison of what my father expected of me." To this assertion
+Mr. Mill very candidly adds: "I assert this with confidence, though it
+was not the impression of various persons who saw me in my childhood.
+They, as I have since found, thought me greatly and disagreeably
+self-conceited; probably because I was disputatious, and did not
+scruple to give direct contradictions to things which I heard said."
+
+A boy who is kept at his studies as assiduously as was young Mill has
+little time for play or association with other boys. This lack of
+contact with companions is a grave defect in the education of Mill. "I
+constantly remained long," writes Mill, "and in a less degree have
+always remained, inexpert in anything requiring manual dexterity; my
+mind, as well as my hands, did its work very lamely when it was
+applied, or ought to have been applied, to the practical details
+which, as they are the chief interest of life to the majority of men,
+are also the things in which whatever mental capacity they have,
+chiefly shows itself."
+
+On the whole we feel that the childhood of Mill could hardly have been
+a happy one. The joy of physical achievement, the free-hearted
+abandonment of the young barbarian at his play, the power to do as
+well as to know--these are the birthright of every child. But while we
+may pity him for his lack of these joys, we dare not forget that to
+have lived the life or done the work of John Stuart Mill is no small
+thing. And perhaps this life could not have been lived had his
+education been other than it was.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV
+
+CARLYLE GOES TO THE UNIVERSITY
+
+
+One of the most tender pictures in the history of English literature
+is that of Carlyle as he starts for his University career. Just a boy,
+a child not yet fourteen! It is early morning in November at
+Ecclefechan--and Edinburgh with its famous University is a hundred
+miles away. The father and mother have risen early to get Thomas
+ready--not for the cab to take him to the "purple luxury and plush
+repose" of the Pullman on the Limited Express. No, Tom is going to
+walk,--his only companion a boy two or three years older. These
+rugged, poor, and godly parents had long discussed the sending of
+Tommy to the great University. James Bell, one of the wise men of the
+community, had said: "Educate a boy, and he grows up to despise his
+ignorant parents," but they knew that depended on the boy. "Thou hast
+not done so; God be thanked," said James Carlyle to his son in after
+years.
+
+But let us come back to our picture. In our mind's eye we see the
+Scotch lad starting out on his hundred-mile trip in the mist of a
+foggy November morning. Almost three-score years after, Carlyle
+himself beautifully describes the event: "How strangely vivid, how
+remote and wonderful, tinged with the views of far-off love and
+sadness, is that journey to me now after fifty-seven years of time! My
+mother and father walking with me in the dark frosty November morning
+through the village to set us on our way; my dear and loving mother,
+her tremulous affection, etc."
+
+That's the picture of an unknown boy going to the University to become
+what every pious Scotch mother wants her boy to be--a minister of the
+gospel.
+
+Here is another picture, taken about sixty years later. In a somewhat
+plainly furnished room in a house on a quiet street in Chelsea, a part
+of London, an old man "worn, and tired, and bent, with deep-lined
+features, a firm under-jaw, tufted gray hair, and tufted gray and
+white beard, and sunken and unutterably sad eyes, is returning from
+the fireplace, where with trembling fingers he had been lighting his
+long clay pipe, and now he resumes his place at a reading desk." Let
+us enter this room with Theodore L. Cuyler, who in his _Recollections
+of a Long Life_ tells us: "Thirty years afterwards, in June, 1872, I
+felt an irrepressible desire to see the grand old man once more, and I
+accordingly addressed him a note, requesting him the favor of a few
+minutes' interview.... After we had waited some time, a feeble,
+stooping figure, attired in a long blue flannel gown, moved slowly
+into the room. His gray hair was unkempt, his blue eyes were still
+keen and piercing, and a bright hectic spot of red appeared on each of
+his hollow cheeks. His hands were tremulous and his voice deep and
+husky. After a few personal inquiries the old man broke out into a
+most extraordinary and characteristic harangue on the wretched
+degeneracy of these evil days. The prophet Jeremiah was cheerfulness
+itself in comparison with him.... Most of his extraordinary harangue
+was like an eruption of Vesuvius, but the laugh he occasionally gave
+showed that he was talking about as much for his own amusement as for
+ours."
+
+Between these two pictures,--the one showing us the boy trudging away
+in the mist of the November morning, the other revealing an old man
+whose home in Chelsea had become the Mecca of the lovers of English
+literature,--what has occurred?
+
+The young boy has finished his studies at the University; has
+concluded not to enter the ministry; has studied law; served as tutor;
+translated a masterpiece of German into English, and finally dedicated
+his powers to becoming a notability in English literature: wrote
+_Sartor Resartus_, the _History of the French Revolution_, a _Life of
+Cromwell_, a _Life of Frederick the Great_, and has become
+world-renowned as one of the great figures of the Nineteenth Century.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV
+
+CARLYLE AND HIS WIFE
+
+
+In 1826 occurred what Saintsbury calls the most important event in the
+life of Carlyle,--his marriage with Jane Welsh, a young woman who
+traced her ancestry back to John Knox, the rugged Scotch reformer.
+Jane was a keen, active, high-strung, sensitive soul. There has arisen
+a formidable mass of literature discussing the relationship between
+Thomas and Jane. Were they happy or were they miserable?
+
+Jane Welsh was a Scotch lady whose family was socially superior to
+that of Carlyle's. Her father had been a physician, while Carlyle's
+was but a rude stone-mason,--and yet a great man. It is said she
+married Thomas because she was ambitious and wanted to be the wife of
+a famous man, and she had discovered in the unknown Thomas the marks
+of genius. In after years she is reported to have said: "I married for
+ambition. Carlyle had exceeded all that my wildest hopes ever imagined
+for him; _and I am miserable_."
+
+Jeannie had what she had bargained for and yet she was unhappy,--why?
+
+Carlyle was a big-hearted, hard-working, gruff, but kind-hearted
+individual. I have not a doubt that he loved his Jeannie. But he took
+no pains to show his love in those tender though trivial devotions
+that mean so much to the sensitive wife.
+
+During the first few years of their married life, they lived in a
+lonely place and had but a scant income. We have a very interesting
+picture of their life at Craigenputtock. Thomas could not eat bakers'
+bread, so Jeannie baked. The one servant they had was not competent.
+It may have been this same servant that was responsible for Thomas'
+finding, altogether unexpectedly, of course, a dead mouse at the
+bottom of his dish of oatmeal. As to the bread-baking Jean has given
+us a very graphic account:
+
+"Further we were very poor, and further and worst, being an only
+child, and brought up to 'great prospects,' I was sublimely ignorant
+of every branch of useful knowledge, though a capital Latin scholar,
+and very fair mathematician! It behooved me in these astonishing
+circumstances to learn to sew! Husbands, I was shocked to find, wore
+their stockings into holes, and were always losing buttons, and I was
+expected 'to look to all that;' also it behooved me to learn to
+_cook_! no capable servant choosing to live at such an out-of-the-way
+place, and my husband having bad digestion, which complicated my
+difficulties dreadfully. The bread, above all, bought at Dumfries,
+'soured on his stomach' (Oh heaven!), and it was plainly my duty as a
+Christian wife to bake at home. So I sent for Cobbett's _Cottage
+Economy_, and fell to work at a loaf of bread. But knowing nothing
+about the process of fermentation or the heat of ovens, it came to
+pass that my loaf got put into the oven at the time that myself ought
+to have been put into bed; and I remained the only person not asleep
+in a house in the middle of a desert. One o'clock struck, and then
+two, and then three, and still I was sitting there in an immense
+solitude, my whole body aching with weariness, my heart aching with a
+sense of forlornness and _degradation_. That I who had been so petted
+at home, whose comfort had been studied by everybody in the house, and
+who had never been required to _do_ anything, but _cultivate my mind_,
+should have to pass all those hours of the night in watching _a loaf
+of bread_, which mightn't turn out bread after all! Such thoughts
+maddened me, till I laid down my head on the table and sobbed aloud.
+It was then that somehow the idea of Benvenuto Cellini sitting up all
+night watching his Perseus in the furnace came into my head, and
+suddenly I asked myself: 'After all, in the sight of the Upper Powers,
+what is the mighty difference between a statue of Perseus and a loaf
+of bread, so that each be the thing that one's hand has found to do?'
+... If he had been a woman living at Craigenputtock, with a dyspeptic
+husband, sixteen miles from a baker, and he a bad one, all these same
+qualities would have come out more fitly in a _good_ loaf of bread.
+
+"I cannot express what consolation this germ of an idea spread over my
+uncongenial life during the years we lived at that savage place, where
+my two immediate predecessors had gone _mad_, and the third had taken
+to drink."
+
+While enjoying the description which Mrs. Carlyle has painted in such
+an entertaining manner, it is well to observe that she does not blame
+her husband. She seems to be writing the account while she is silently
+laughing at the absurd preparation her life had had for the duties of
+the wife of a poor man. But Mr. T.P. O'Connor, who writes in 1895, is
+outspoken:
+
+"I do not want to speak disrespectfully of poor Carlyle, but in spirit
+it is somewhat hard to keep one's hand off him, as we reconstruct
+those scenes in the gaunt house at Craigenputtock. There is a little
+detail in one scene which adds a deeper horror. I have said that Mrs.
+Carlyle had to scrub the floors, and as she scrubbed them Carlyle
+would look on smoking--drawing in from tobacco pleasant
+comfortableness and easy dreams--while his poor drudge panted and
+sighed over the hard work, which she had never done before. Do you not
+feel that you would like to break the pipe in his mouth, and shake him
+off the chair, and pitch him on to the floor, to take a share of the
+physical burden which his shoulders were so much more able to bear?"
+
+Another anecdote is that at a dinner while Carlyle was monopolizing
+the conversation, talking as only he could talk, he, the irritable,
+turned upon his wife with "Jeanie, don't breathe so hard!" And still
+again, we hear it said that Tennyson once remarked it was well the
+Carlyles had married each other for if each had married another there
+would have been _four_ instead of _two_ unhappy people. But I think
+the truer remark was made when Tennyson said to his son, Hallam: "Mr.
+and Mrs. Carlyle on the whole enjoy life together, or else they would
+not have chaffed one another so heartily."
+
+The _Century_ of some years ago contained this witty skit from the pen
+of Bessie Chandler:
+
+            And I sit here, thinking, thinking,
+            How your life was one long winking
+    At Thomas' faults and failings, and his undue share of bile!
+            Won't you own, dear, just between us,
+            That this living with a genius
+    Isn't, after all, so pleasant,--is it, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle?
+
+However, with all that may be said to the contrary, I do not think we
+dare say that the marriage of Thomas and Jeannie was an unhappy one.
+After reading fifteen hundred pages of biography and hundreds of
+letters passing to and fro, I am of the belief of Mr. Tennyson, that
+on the whole their union was a happy one.
+
+Shortly after Carlyle had been elected Rector of the University of
+Edinburgh, Jean died suddenly. While out driving one afternoon by Hyde
+Park, she jumped out to pick up her little dog, over whose foot a
+carriage had passed. She was never again seen alive. In her carriage
+she was found dead with her hands folded on her lap. When Carlyle
+heard of it he was away at Scotsbrig. Later in describing his feelings
+he wrote: "It had a kind of _stunning_ effect on me. Not for above two
+days could I estimate the immeasurable depth of it, or the infinite
+sorrow which had peeled my life all bare, and a moment shattered my
+poor world to universal ruin." And Froude tells us that in Carlyle's
+old age--he lived to be eighty-five--he often broke forth in these
+passionate words of Burns:
+
+    Had we never loved sae kindly,
+    Had we never loved sae blindly,
+    Never met and never parted,
+    We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
+
+   [Illustration: THOMAS CARLYLE
+   From a photograph from life]
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+CARLYLE AS LECTURER
+
+
+In 1834, the year of the death of Coleridge, we find Carlyle, like
+many another Scotchman, leaving Scotland to enter the great Babylon,
+London. The previous six years he had passed with his wife at
+Craigenputtock. He was almost forty years of age. His wife had great
+confidence in his ability, which up to this time the world had not
+recognized. So she urged him to struggle for influence and power in
+the great heart of the modern world. Number 5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, is
+the house they selected. There for the remaining forty-seven years of
+his life he worked and loved and stormed. Their neighborhood was one
+famous in association with the names of many _literati_. Near by
+Smollett wrote _Count Fathom_; in the same locality More had
+entertained the great scholar, Erasmus; there too had once lived
+Bolingbroke, and earlier, the Count de Grammont; and last but not
+least the author of Abou Ben Adhem, Leigh Hunt.
+
+When Emerson once suggested to Carlyle that he come over to America to
+lecture, Carlyle took kindly to the idea. He kept it in mind as a
+possibility for years, but he never carried it into effect. But he did
+lecture in London. His literary work was not bringing him the money
+he needed. His friends were struck with his ability. Why should he not
+lecture? This, if well managed, would bring him immediate
+remuneration. His friends set diligently to work, issued a prospectus,
+tickets at a guinea a course, and invited persons of influence to
+attend. Spedding wrote this letter to Monckton Milnes:
+
+"I take the opportunity of writing to make you know, if you do not
+know already, that Carlyle lectures on German literature next month;
+the particulars you will find in the inclosed syllabus, which, if it
+should convey as much knowledge to you as it does ignorance to me,
+will be edifying. Of course, you will be here to attend the said
+lectures, but I want you to come up a little before they begin, that
+you may assist in procuring the attendance of others. The list of
+subscribers is at present not large, and you are just the man to make
+it grow. As it is Carlyle's first essay in this kind, it is important
+that there should be a respectable number of hearers. Some name of
+decided piety is, I believe, rather wanted. Learning, taste, and
+nobility are represented by Hallam, Rogers, and Lord Lansdowne. H.
+Taylor has provided a large proportion of family, wit, and beauty, and
+I have assisted them to a little Apostlehood. We want your name to
+represent the great body of Tories, Roman Catholics, High Churchmen,
+metaphysicians, poets, and Savage Landor. Come!"
+
+Carlyle was busy with his _French Revolution_ and so did not make as
+careful preparation as he might have made. Yet he was so full of his
+subject that if he could overcome the difficulties of public
+speaking, he was bound to be interesting. As the day approached both
+he and his wife grew nervous. For diversion he drew up a humorous
+ending: "Good Christians, it has become entirely impossible for me to
+talk to you about German or any literature or terrestrial thing; one
+request only I have to make, that you would be kind enough to cover me
+under a tub for the next six weeks and to go your ways with all my
+blessing." This fortunately he did not need to use. Mrs. Carlyle
+worried lest he would be late, but by dint of close attention she felt
+she could have him "at the place of execution" at the appointed hour.
+How to get him to stop at "four precisely" was another problem. One
+humorous suggestion was that a lighted cigar might be laid on the
+table before him when the clock struck the hour.
+
+"May the First, 1837," says Professor MacMechan, "was a notable day.
+In the afternoon, Carlyle lectured at Almack's, and in the evening
+Macready produced young Mr. Browning's _Strafford_, for the first
+time, at Covent Garden. Hallam, of the _Middle Ages_,--'a broad, old,
+positive man, with laughing eyes,'--was chairman and brought the
+lecturer face to face with his first audience, the two hundred holders
+of guinea tickets. It was made up of the elements referred to in
+Spedding's letter. Learning, taste, nobility, family, wit, and beauty
+were all represented in that assembly; 'composed of mere quality and
+notabilities,' says Carlyle. It is easy to figure the scene; the men
+all clean-shaven, in the clumsy coats, high collars, and enormous
+neck-cloths of the period, the ladies, and there were naturally more
+ladies than men, following the vagaries of fashion in 'bishop' sleeves
+and the 'pretty church-and-state bonnets,' that seemed to Hunt at
+times, 'to think through all their ribbons.' We call that kind of
+bonnet 'coal-scuttle' now, but Maclise's portrait of Lady Morgan
+trying hers on before a glass justifies Hunt's epithet. The lecturer
+was the lean, wiry type of Scot, within an inch of six feet. In face,
+he was not the bearded, broken-down Carlyle of the Fry photograph, but
+the younger Carlyle of the Emerson portrait. Clean-shaven, as was then
+the fashion, the determination of the lower jaw lying bare, the thick
+black hair brushed carelessly and coming down on the bony, jutting
+forehead, violet-blue eyes, deep-set, and alert, the whole face shows
+the Scot and the peasant in every line. It was a striking face, the
+union of black hair, blue eyes, and, usually, ruddy color on the high
+cheek bones, 'as if painted ... at the plow's tail,' Lady Eastlake
+remarked, and she was an artist. Harriet Martineau remarks that he was
+as 'yellow as a guinea,' but this would be due to some temporary
+gastric disturbance. He was very nervous, as was most natural, and
+stood with downcast eyes, his fingers picking at the desk before him.
+
+At the beginning his speech was broken, and his throat was dry, drink
+as he would; but his desperate determination not to break down carried
+him through. The society people were 'very humane' to him, and the
+lecturer had a message for them; his matter was new, his manner was
+interesting; he knew his subject. The rugged Scottish accent came like
+a welcome draught of caller air from the moorlands of Galloway, to
+the dwellers in London drawing-rooms, and 'they were not a little
+astonished when the wild Annandale voice grew high and earnest.'"
+
+From this first venture which was so successful--he cleared one
+hundred and thirty-five guineas after all the expenses had been
+paid--Carlyle was induced to give other series in the next few years.
+One of the most popular books by Carlyle is _Heroes and Hero Worship_;
+this first was given in a course of lectures. When "The Hero as Man of
+Letters" was given, Caroline Fox, an ardent admirer of the Scot, was
+in attendance. She has left a vivid description of the man: "Carlyle
+soon appeared, and looked as if he felt a well-dressed London audience
+scarcely the arena for him to figure in as a popular lecturer. He is a
+tall, robust-looking man; rugged simplicity and indomitable strength
+are in his face, and such a glow of genius in it--not always
+smoldering there, but flashing from his beautiful gray eyes, from the
+remoteness of their deep setting under that massive brow. His manner
+is very quiet, but he speaks as one tremendously convinced of what he
+utters, and who had much, very much, in him that was quite
+unutterable, quite unfit to be uttered to the uninitiated ear; and
+when the Englishman's sense of beauty or truth exhibited itself in
+vociferous cheers, he would impatiently, almost contemptuously, wave
+his hand, as if that were not the kind of homage which truth demanded.
+He began in a rather low and nervous voice, with a broad Scotch
+accent, but it soon grew firm, and shrank not abashed from its great
+task."
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII
+
+CARLYLE ON WORDSWORTH AND BROWNING
+
+
+On our first day's journey, wrote Mr. Duffy in the _Contemporary
+Review_, the casual mention of Edmund Burke induced me to ask Carlyle
+who was the best talker he had met among notable people in London.
+
+He said that when he met Wordsworth first he had been assured that he
+talked better than any man in England. It was his habit to talk
+whatever was in his mind at the time, with total indifference to the
+impression it produced on his hearers. On this occasion he kept
+discoursing how far you could get carried out of London on this side
+and on that for sixpence. One was disappointed,--perhaps,--but, after
+all, this was the only healthy way of talking, to say what is actually
+in your mind, and let sane creatures who listen to make what they can
+of it. Whether they understood or not, Wordsworth maintained a stern
+composure, and went his way, content that the world went quite another
+road. When he knew him better, he found that no man gave you so
+faithful and vivid a picture of any person or thing which he had seen
+with his own eyes.
+
+I inquired if Wordsworth came up to this description he had heard of
+him as the best talker in England.
+
+"Well," he replied, "it was true you could get more meaning out of
+what Wordsworth had to say than from anybody else. Leigh Hunt would
+emit more pretty, pleasant, ingenious flashes in an hour than
+Wordsworth in a day. But in the end you would find, if well
+considered, that you had been drinking perfumed water in one case, and
+in the other you got the sense of a deep, earnest man, who had thought
+silently and painfully on many things. There was one exception to your
+satisfaction with the man. When he spoke of poetry he harangued about
+meters, cadences, rhythms, and so forth, and one could not be at the
+pains of listening to him. But on all other subjects he had more sense
+in him of a sound and instructive sort than any other literary man in
+England."
+
+I suggested that Wordsworth might naturally like to speak of the
+instrumental part of his art, and consider what he had to say very
+instructive, as by modifying the instrument, he had wrought a
+revolution in English poetry. He taught it to speak in unsophisticated
+language and of the humbler and more familiar interests of life.
+
+Carlyle said, "No, not so; all he had got to say in that way was like
+a few driblets from the great ocean of German speculation on kindred
+subjects by Goethe and others. Coleridge, who had been in Germany,
+brought it over with him, and they translated Teutonic thought into a
+poor, disjointed, whitey-brown sort of English, and that was nearly
+all. But Wordsworth, after all, was the man of most practical mind of
+any of the persons connected with literature whom he had encountered;
+though his pastoral pipings were far from being of the importance his
+admirers imagined. He was essentially a cold, hard, silent, practical
+man, who, if he had not fallen into poetry, would have done effectual
+work of some sort in the world. This was the impression one got of him
+as he looked out of his stern blue eyes, superior to men and
+circumstances."
+
+I said I had expected to hear of a man of softer mood, more
+sympathetic and less taciturn.
+
+Carlyle said, "No, not at all; he was a man quite other than that; a
+man of an immense head and great jaws like a crocodile's, cast in a
+mold designed for prodigious work."
+
+"I begged him," continued Mr. Duffy, in writing of conversations with
+Carlyle, "to tell me something of the author of a serial I had come
+across lately, called _Bells and Pomegranates_, printed in painfully
+small type, on inferior paper, but in which I took great delight.
+There were ballads to make the heart beat fast, and one little
+tragedy, _The Blot in the 'Scutcheon_, which, though not over-disposed
+to what he called sentimentality, I could not read without tears. The
+heroine's excuse for the sin which left a blot in a 'scutcheon
+stainless for a thousand years, was, in the circumstances of the case,
+as touching a line as I could recall in English poetry:
+
+    I had no mother, and we were so young."
+
+He said Robert Browning had a powerful intellect, and among the men
+engaged in literature in England just now was one of the few from whom
+it was possible to expect something. He was somewhat uncertain about
+his career, and he himself (Carlyle) had perhaps contributed to the
+trouble by assuring him that poetry was no longer a field where any
+true or worthy success could be won or deserved. If a man had anything
+to say entitled to the attention of rational creatures, all mortals
+would come to recognize after a little that there was a more effectual
+way of saying it than in metrical numbers. Poetry used to be regarded
+as the natural, and even the essential language of feeling, but it was
+not at all so; there was not a sentiment in the gamut of human passion
+which could not be adequately expressed in prose.
+
+Browning's earliest works had been loudly applauded by undiscerning
+people, but he was now heartily ashamed of them, and hoped in the end
+to do something altogether different from _Sordello_ and _Paracelsus_.
+He had strong ambition and great confidence in himself, and was
+considering his future course just now. When he first met young
+Browning, he was a youth living with his parents, people of
+respectable position among the Dissenters, but not wealthy neither,
+and the little room in which he kept his books was in that sort of
+trim that showed that he was the apple of their eyes. He was about six
+and thirty at present, and a little time before had married Miss
+Barrett. She had long been confined to a sofa by a spinal disease, and
+seemed destined to end there very speedily, but the ending was to be
+quite otherwise, as it proved. Browning made his way to her in a
+strange manner, and they fell mutually in love. She rose up from her
+sick-bed with recovered strength and agility, and was now, it was
+understood, tolerably well. They married and were living together in
+Italy, like the hero and heroine of a mediæval romance.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII
+
+THE AUTHOR OF "JANE EYRE"
+
+
+Charlotte Brontë was born in Yorkshire in 1816. A generation ago
+everybody was reading and talking about _Jane Eyre_, her most popular
+novel. The life of the author was not a happy one. She was compelled
+to teach for a living, and her position as governess was at times
+humiliating to her proud spirit. Her two sisters, whom she tenderly
+loved, died young; her brother was no credit to the family, and the
+life surrounding the parsonage--she was the daughter of a
+clergyman--was not particularly cheery, yet her many trials but
+enriched a rare and beautiful character.
+
+While living at the parsonage she would occasionally receive a box of
+books from her publisher. The following letter is self-explanatory:
+
+"Do not ask me to mention what books I should like to read. Half the
+pleasure of receiving a parcel from Cornhill consists in having its
+contents chosen for us. We like to discover, too, by the leaves cut
+here and there that the ground has been traveled before us. I took up
+Leigh Hunt's book, _The Town_, with the impression that it would be
+interesting only to Londoners, and I was surprised, ere I had read
+many pages, to find myself enchained by his pleasant, graceful, easy
+style, varied knowledge, just views, and kindly spirit. There is
+something peculiarly anti-melancholic in Leigh Hunt's writings, and
+yet they are never boisterous--they resemble sunshine, being at once
+bright and tranquil.
+
+I like Carlyle better and better. His style I do _not_ like, nor do I
+always concur in his opinions, nor quite fall in with his
+hero-worship; but there is a manly love of truth, an honest
+recognition and fearless vindication of intrinsic greatness, of
+intellectual and moral worth considered apart from birth, rank, or
+wealth, which commands my sincere admiration. Carlyle would never do
+for a contributor to the _Quarterly_. I have not read his _French
+Revolution_. Carlyle is a great man, but I always wish he would write
+plain English. Emerson's _Essays_ I read with much interest and often
+with admiration, but they are of mixed gold and clay,--deep,
+invigorating truth, dreary and depressing fallacy, seem to me combined
+therein.
+
+Scott's _Suggestions on Female Education_ I read with unalloyed
+pleasure; it is justly, clearly, and felicitously expressed. The girls
+of this generation have great advantages--it seems to me that they
+receive much encouragement in the acquisition of knowledge and the
+cultivation of their minds. In these days women may be thoughtful and
+well read, without being stigmatized as "blues" or pedants.
+
+I have lately been reading _Modern Painters_, and have derived from
+the work much genuine pleasure, and I hope, some edification; at any
+rate it has made me feel how ignorant I had previously been on the
+subjects which it treats. Hitherto I have only had instinct to guide
+me in judging of art; I feel now as if I had been walking
+blindfold--this book seems to give me eyes. I _do_ wish I had pictures
+within reach by which to test the new sense. Who can read these
+glowing descriptions of Turner's works without longing to see them!
+However eloquent and convincing the language in which another's
+opinion is placed before you, you still wish to judge for yourself. I
+like this author's style much; there is both energy and beauty in it.
+I like himself too, because he is such a hearty admirer. He does not
+give half measure of praise or veneration. He eulogizes, he reverences
+with his whole soul. One can sympathize with that sort of devout,
+serious admiration (for he is no rhapsodist), one can respect it. Yet,
+possibly, many people would laugh at it. I am truly obliged to Mr.
+Smith for giving me this book, not often having met with one that has
+pleased me more.
+
+I congratulate you on the approaching publication of Mr. Ruskin's new
+work. If the _Seven Lamps of Architecture_ resemble their predecessor,
+_Modern Painters_, they will be no lamps at all, but a new
+constellation--seven bright stars, for whose rising the reading world
+ought to be anxiously agaze.
+
+I am beginning to read Eckermann's _Goethe_--it promised to be a most
+interesting work. Honest, simple, single-minded Eckermann! Great,
+powerful, giant-souled, but also profoundly egotistical old Johann
+Wolfgang von Goethe! He _was_ a mighty egotist. He thought no more of
+swallowing up poor Eckermann's existence in his own, than the whale
+thought of swallowing Jonah.
+
+The worst of reading graphic accounts of such men, of seeing graphic
+pictures of the scenes, the society in which they moved, is that it
+excites a too tormenting longing to look on the reality; but does such
+reality now exist? Amidst all the troubled waters of European society,
+does such a vast, strong, selfish old leviathan now roll ponderous? I
+suppose not.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I often wish to say something on the "condition-of-women" question,
+but it is one on which so much cant has been talked, that one feels a
+sort of reluctance to approach it. I have always been accustomed to
+think that the necessity of earning one's living is not, in itself, an
+evil; though I feel it may become a heavy evil if health fails, if
+employment lacks, if the demand upon our efforts, made by the weakness
+of others dependent upon us becomes greater than our strength. Both
+sons and daughters should early be inured to habits of independence
+and industry.
+
+A governess' lot is frequently, indeed, bitter, but its results are
+precious. The mind, feelings, and temper are subjected to a discipline
+equally painful and priceless. I have known many who were unhappy as
+governesses, but scarcely one who, having undergone the ordeal, was
+not ultimately strengthened and improved--made more enduring for her
+own afflictions, more considerate for the afflictions of others. The
+great curse of a single female life is its dependency; daughters, as
+well as sons, should aim at making their way through life. Teachers
+may be hard-worked, ill-paid, and despised; but the girl who stays at
+home _doing nothing_ is worse off than the worse-paid drudge of a
+school; the listlessness of idleness will infallibly degrade her
+nature.
+
+Lonely as I am, how should I be if Providence had never given me
+courage to adopt a career, perseverance to plead through two long
+weary years with publishers till they admitted me? How should I be,
+with youth passed, sisters lost, a resident in a moorland parish where
+there is not a single resident family? In that case I should have no
+world at all. The raven weary of surveying the deluge, and with no ark
+to return to, would be my type.
+
+As it is, something like a hope and motive sustain me still. I wish
+every woman in England had also a hope and a motive. Alas! I fear
+there are many old maids who have neither.
+
+                 --Adapted from _Littell's Living Age_.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX
+
+THACKERAY IN AMERICA
+
+
+Thackeray, like many other Englishmen of note, came to America to
+lecture in order to make money. He had delivered lectures in London
+and in other towns in England on the _English Humorists_. Why not use
+his popularity in America as a means of acquiring a little fortune for
+the sake of his wife and two girls. "I must and will go," he wrote to
+his eldest daughter, "not because I like it, but because it is right I
+should secure some money against my death for your mother and you two
+girls. And I think, if I have luck, I may secure nearly a third of the
+sum that I think I ought to leave behind me by a six months' tour in
+the States."
+
+Let us, in order to get a first-hand impression, read from letters
+that he wrote from America:
+
+"The passage is nothing, now it is over; I am rather ashamed of gloom
+and disquietude about such a trifling journey. I have made scores of
+new acquaintances and lighted on my feet as usual. I didn't expect to
+like people as I do, but am agreeably disappointed and find many most
+pleasant companions, natural and good; natural and well read and well
+bred too, and I suppose am none the worse pleased because everybody
+has read all my books and praises my lectures (I preach in a
+Unitarian Church, and the parson comes to hear me. His name is Mr.
+Bellows, it isn't a pretty name), and there are 2,000 people nearly
+who come, and the lectures are so well liked that it is probable I
+shall do them over again. So really there is a chance of making a
+pretty little sum of money for old age, imbecility, and those young
+ladies afterwards.... Broadway is miles upon miles long, a rush of
+life such as I have never seen; not so full as the Strand, but so
+rapid. The houses are always being torn down and built up again, the
+railroad cars drive slap into the midst of the city. There are
+barricades and scaffoldings banging everywhere. I have not been into a
+house, except the fat country one, but something new is being done to
+it, and the hammerings are clattering in the passage, or a wall or
+steps are down, or the family is going to move. Nobody is quiet here,
+nor am I. The rush and restlessness please me, and I like, for a
+little, the dash of the stream. I am not received as a god, which I
+like too. There is one paper which goes on every morning saying I am a
+snob, and I don't say no. Six people were reading it at breakfast this
+morning, and the man opposite me this morning popped it under the
+table-cloth. But the other papers roar with approbation."
+
+In this letter, of which we have read a fragment, Mr. Thackeray
+inclosed a clipping from the New York _Evening Post_. This is what the
+newspaper had to say: "The building was crowded.... Every one who saw
+Mr. Thackeray last evening for the first time seemed to have had
+their impressions of his appearance and manner of speech corrected.
+Few expected to see so large a man; he is gigantic; six feet four at
+least; few expected to see so old a person; his hair appears to have
+kept silvery record over fifty years; and then there was a notion in
+the minds of many that there must be something dashing and 'fast' in
+his appearance, whereas his costume was perfectly plain; the
+expression of his face grave and earnest; his address perfectly
+unaffected, and such as we might expect to meet with, in a well-bred
+man somewhat advanced in years. His elocution also surprised those who
+had derived their impressions from the English journals. His voice is
+a superb tenor, and possesses that pathetic tremble which is so
+effective in what is called emotive eloquence, while his delivery was
+as well suited to the communication he had to make as could well have
+been imagined.
+
+"His enunciation is perfect. Every word he uttered might have been
+heard in the remotest quarters of the room, yet he scarcely lifted his
+voice above a colloquial tone. The most striking feature in his whole
+manner was the utter absence of affectation of any kind. He did not
+permit himself to appear conscious that he was an object of peculiar
+interest in the audience, neither was he guilty of the greater error
+of not appearing to care whether they were interested in him or not.
+In other words, he inspired his audience with a respect for him, as a
+man proportioned to the admiration, which his books have inspired for
+him as an author."
+
+From Philadelphia Thackeray writes: "Oh, I am tired of shaking hands
+with people, and acting the lion business night after night.
+Everybody is introduced and shakes hands. I know thousands of
+colonels, professors, editors, and what not, and walk the streets
+guiltily, knowing that I don't know 'em, and trembling lest the man
+opposite to me is one of my friends of the day before. I believe I am
+popular, except at Boston among the newspaper men who fired into me,
+but a great favorite with the _monde_ there and elsewhere. Here in
+Philadelphia it is all praise and kindness. Do you know there are
+500,000 people in Philadelphia? I daresay you had no idea thereof, and
+smile at the idea of there being a _monde_ here and at Boston and New
+York.... I am writing this with a new gold pen, in such a fine gold
+case. An old gentleman gave it to me yesterday, a white-headed old
+philosopher and political economist, there's something simple in the
+way these kind folks regard a man; they read our books as if we were
+Fielding, and so forth. The other night men were talking of Dickens
+and Bulwer as if they were equal to Shakespeare, and I was pleased to
+find myself pleased at hearing them praised. The prettiest girl in
+Philadelphia, poor soul, has read _Vanity Fair_ twelve times. I paid
+her a great big compliment yesterday, about her good looks of course,
+and she turned round delighted to her friend and said, '_Ai most
+tallut_,' that is something like the pronunciation."
+
+In another letter: "Now I have seen three great cities, Boston, New
+York, Philadelphia, I think I like them all mighty well. They seem to
+me not so civilized as our London, but more so than Manchester and
+Liverpool. At Boston is very good literate company indeed; it is like
+Edinburgh for that,--a vast amount of toryism and donnishness
+everywhere. That of New York the simplest and least pretentious; it
+suffices that a man should keep fine house, give parties, and have a
+daughter, to get all the world to him."
+
+
+
+
+XL
+
+GEORGE ELIOT BECOMES A WRITER OF FICTION
+
+
+As one is ready to call Elizabeth Barrett the greatest poetess of the
+nineteenth century, so there is little hesitation in pronouncing
+George Eliot the foremost of the many women who have written fiction.
+The literary critics sometimes dispute her supremacy by urging the
+claims of Jane Austen, who is said to have Shaksperean power in the
+delineation of character. But the name of Jane Austen is unknown to
+the general public. For every reader of _Pride and Prejudice_ there
+are a score of readers of _Adam Bede_.
+
+George Eliot is the pseudonym of Mary Ann Evans. She took the name of
+_George_ because it was the first name of Mr. Lewes, and Eliot "was a
+good, mouth-filling, easily pronounced word."
+
+George Eliot was almost thirty-seven years old before she began to
+write fiction; in this respect reminding us of Scott, who had first
+achieved fame as a poet before he began in his maturity to write
+fiction. We are happy in having from the pen of George Eliot herself
+the account of how she began to write fiction:
+
+"September, 1856, made a new era in my life, for it was then I began
+to write fiction. It had always been a vague dream of mine that some
+time or other I might write a novel; and my shadowy conception of what
+the novel was to be, varied, of course, from one epoch of my life to
+another. But I never went further toward the actual writing of the
+novel than an introductory chapter describing a Staffordshire village
+and the life of the neighboring farm-houses; and as the years passed
+on I lost any hope that I should ever be able to write a novel."
+
+Mr. Lewes encouraged George Eliot by admiring her introductory
+chapter. He first read it when they were together in Germany. When
+they had returned to England and she was more successful in her essay
+writing than he had expected, he continued to urge her to try to write
+a story. "He began to say very positively, 'You must try and write a
+story,' and when we were at Tenby he urged me to begin at once. I
+deferred it, however, after my usual fashion with work that does not
+present itself as an absolute duty. But one morning, as I was thinking
+what should be the subject of my first story, my thoughts merged
+themselves into a dreamy doze, and I imagined myself writing a story,
+of which the title was _The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton_.
+I was soon wide awake again and told G. (Mr. Lewes). He said 'Oh, what
+a capital title!' and from that time I had settled in my mind that
+this should be my first story. George used to say, 'It may be a
+failure--it may be that you are unable to write fiction. Or, perhaps,
+it may be just good enough to warrant your trying again.' Again, 'You
+may write a _chef-d'oeuvre_ at once--there's no telling.' But his
+prevalent impression was, that though I could hardly write a _poor_
+novel, my effort would want the highest quality of fiction--dramatic
+presentation. He used to say, 'You have wit, description, and
+philosophy--those go a good way towards the production of a novel. It
+is worth while for you to try the experiment.'"
+
+When she had finished the first part of _Amos Barton_, Mr. Lewes was
+no longer skeptical about her ability to write dialogue. The next
+question was whether she had the power of pathos. This was to be
+determined by the way in which the death of Milly was to be treated.
+"One night G. went to town on purpose to leave me a quiet evening for
+writing it. I wrote the chapter from the news brought by the shepherd
+to Mrs. Hackit, to the moment when Amos is dragged from the bedside,
+and I read it to G. when he came home. We both cried over it, and then
+he came up to me and kissed me, saying, 'I think your pathos is better
+than your fun.'"
+
+The first part of _Amos Barton_ appeared in the January number of
+_Blackwood_. The publisher paid the author fifty guineas. Afterwards,
+when the series of stories dealing with clerical life was published in
+book form, she was paid £120; later, when the publishing firm decided
+to issue a thousand copies instead of seven hundred and fifty, £60 was
+added to the original sum. George Eliot expressed herself as sensitive
+to the merits of checks for fifty guineas, but the success of her
+later writings was so pronounced that a check for fifty guineas would
+have made little impression, except a feeling of disdain.
+
+_Amos Barton_ was followed by _Mr. Gilfil's Love Story_, and _Janet's
+Repentance_. The three comprise _Scenes from Clerical Life_. The
+stories are based upon events which happened in the early life of the
+writer when she lived in Warwickshire. The village of Milby is really
+Nuneaton. When the villagers and country people read the _Scenes from
+Clerical Life_ there was great excitement. Who could this _George
+Eliot_ be? Some one who had lived among them and heard all the gossip
+of the neighborhood. But they could not recall any man with enough
+literary ability to do what had been done. Finally they did remember
+that a man, Liggins by name, had written poetry. The poetry was rather
+weak stuff, but perhaps his strength lay in fiction. Liggins was
+flattered by the suspicions of his neighbors. His own doubt was
+gradually changed to belief. Yes, he was the author of this new
+fiction, because every one said he was. The voice of the people is the
+voice of God. He was invited to write for a theological magazine.
+Finally George Eliot was obliged to reveal her identity when the
+public was about to subscribe a sum of money for the pseudo-literary
+Liggins who was so fastidious as to refuse money for the product of
+his genius. Here ends the career of Liggins, the liar.
+
+One reason the villagers had for believing one of their own number was
+the author was based on the conversations in the _Scenes from Clerical
+Life_. Not only were they true to life, but they were conversations
+that had actually taken place. How did George Eliot hear them? Had she
+loitered in the public room of the village tavern? Mr. C.S. Olcott
+writes in the _Outlook_,--"The real conversations which were so
+cleverly reported were actually heard by Robert Evans, the father of
+George Eliot, who doubtless often visited the Bull in company with his
+neighbors. He repeated them to his wife, not realizing that the little
+daughter who listened so attentively was gifted with a marvelous
+memory, or that she possessed a genius that could transform a simple
+tale into a novel of dramatic power. Mary Ann Evans had moved to
+Coventry sixteen years before, and was therefore scarcely known in
+Nuneaton at the time the stories appeared. She then had no literary
+fame, and was no more likely to be thought of in this connection than
+any one of a hundred other school-girls."
+
+In her journal she records on October 22, 1857,--"Began my new novel,
+_Adam Bede_." For it her publishers offered her £800 for the copyright
+for four years; later they added £400, and still later Blackwoods,
+finding a ready sale for their numerous editions, proposed to pay £800
+above the original price. And for the appearance of _Romola_ in the
+_Cornhill Magazine_, Mr. George Smith offered £10,000, but £7000 was
+accepted. For _Middlemarch_, which appeared in separate publication,
+that is, independent of a magazine, she received a still larger
+amount. Middlemarch is considered by many critics her best work. It
+was very popular from the first. In a letter to John Blackwood,
+November, 1873, George Eliot writes,--"I had a letter from Mr.
+Bancroft (the American ambassador at Berlin) the other day, in which
+he says that everybody in Berlin reads _Middlemarch_. He had to buy
+two copies for his house, and he found the rector of the university, a
+stupendous mathematician, occupied with it in the solid part of the
+day."
+
+The public may prefer _Adam Bede_ or _Middlemarch_ but it is reported
+that George Eliot herself preferred _Silas Marner_. This is the report
+of Justin McCarthy, who was a frequent visitor on Sunday afternoons at
+the Priory, the home of George Eliot, where many distinguished
+visitors, such as Herbert Spencer, Tyndall, and Huxley, loved to
+gather. "There is a legend," writes Mr. McCarthy, "that George Eliot
+never liked to talk about her novels. I can only say that she started
+the subject with me one day. It was, to be sure, about a picture some
+painter had sent her, representing a scene in _Silas Marner_, and she
+called my attention to it, and said that of all her novels _Silas
+Marner_ was her favorite. I ventured to disagree with her, and to say
+that the _Mill on the Floss_ was my favorite. She entered into the
+discussion quite genially, just as if she were talking of the works of
+some stranger, which I think is the very perfection of the manner
+authors ought to adopt in talking about their books."
+
+
+
+
+XLI
+
+THE AUTHOR OF "ALICE IN WONDERLAND"
+
+
+It is said that when Victoria, late queen of England, had read _Alice
+in Wonderland_ she was so pleased that she asked for more of the
+author's books. They brought her a treatise on logarithms by the Rev.
+C.L. Dodgson. Lewis Carroll and the Rev. C.L. Dodgson were one and the
+same person, although they were two dissimilar characters. The one was
+a popular author of nonsense that delighted children by the hundreds
+of thousands and the other was a scholarly mathematician.
+
+C.L. Dodgson came of good Northern-England stock. His father,
+grandfather, and great-grandfather were clergymen--a contradiction,
+says his biographer, Mr. Collingwood, of the scandalous theory that
+three generations of parsons end in a fool. As a boy he kept all sorts
+of odd and unlikely pets. From Rugby he entered Oxford. In 1856 he was
+made college lecturer in mathematics, a position which he filled for a
+quarter of a century. That he had thoughts of lighter material than
+mathematics is evidenced by a short poem that appeared about this time
+in a college paper called _College Rhymes_. Two of the stanzas run
+like this:
+
+    She has the bear's ethereal grace
+      The bland hyena's laugh,
+    The footsteps of the elephant,
+      The neck of the giraffe;
+
+    I love her still, believe me,
+      Though my heart its passion hides,
+    She is all my fancy painted her,
+      But oh! how much besides.
+
+The year 1862 saw the beginning of the world-famous _Alice_. He told
+the story to Dean Liddell's three daughters. "Alice," the second of
+the three (now Mrs. Reginald Hargreaves) thus tells the story:
+
+"I believe the beginning of _Alice_ was told one summer afternoon when
+the sun was so burning that we had landed in the meadows down the
+river, deserting the boat to take refuge in the only bit of shade to
+be found, and which was under a new-made hay-rick. Here from all three
+came the old petition of 'Tell us a story,' and so began the ever
+delightful tale. Sometimes to tease us--and perhaps being really
+tired--Mr. Dodgson would stop suddenly and say, 'And that's all till
+next time.' 'Oh! but it is next time,' would be the exclamation from
+all three; and after some persuasion the story would start afresh.
+Another day perhaps the story would begin in the boat, and Mr.
+Dodgson, in the midst of telling a thrilling adventure, would pretend
+to fall fast asleep, to our great dismay." ...
+
+"Many of Lewis Carroll's friendships with children began in a railway
+carriage. Once when he was traveling, a lady, whose little daughter
+had been reading _Alice_, startled him by exclaiming: 'Isn't it sad
+about poor Mr. Lewis Carroll? He's gone mad, you know.... I have it
+on the best authority.'"
+
+Lewis Carroll, or rather Mr. Dodgson, did not wish his acquaintances
+to speak of him as the author of _Alice_. In his every-day work he
+wanted to be known as the serious mathematician. He was conservative
+in his ideas and did not look with favor upon the movement to
+overthrow Euclid. In 1870 he published a book entitled _Euclid and his
+Modern Rivals_. The London _Spectator_ speaks of this as probably the
+most humorous contribution ever devoted to the subject of mathematics.
+In an academical discussion held at Oxford he once published three
+rules to be followed in debate. This is one of the three: "Let it be
+granted that any one may speak at any length on a subject at any
+distance from that subject."
+
+
+
+
+XLII
+
+ABOUT DARWIN
+
+
+When a prominent literary journal at the close of the last century
+asked a number of distinguished Americans and Englishmen to name the
+ten most influential books of the century, it was interesting to note
+that Darwin's _Origin of Species_ received more frequent mention than
+any other book. Five years after Charles Darwin had been buried (he
+was laid to rest in Westminster Abbey in 1882), his son published the
+_Life and Letters of Darwin_, which included an autobiographical
+chapter. From this work we can gather enough to show some aspects of
+this remarkable man.
+
+Men of genius are often in childhood very imaginative. It is sometimes
+pretty difficult to distinguish between playful imagination and lying.
+Let us give Darwin the benefit of the doubt in this instance:
+
+"One little event during this year (1817) has fixed itself very firmly
+in my mind, and I hope that it has done so from my conscience having
+been afterwards sorely troubled by it; it is curious as showing that
+apparently I was interested at this early age in the variability of
+plants! I told another little boy (I believe it was Leighton, who
+afterwards became a well-known lichenologist and botanist), that I
+could produce variously colored polyanthuses and primroses by watering
+them with certain colored fluids, which was of course a monstrous
+fable, and had never been tried by me."
+
+Darwin's school experiences were not always profitable. He says:
+
+"I had many friends, and got together a good collection of old verses,
+which by patching together, sometimes aided by other boys, I could
+work into any subject. Much attention was paid to learning by heart
+the lessons of the previous day. This I could effect with great
+facility, learning forty or fifty lines of Virgil or Homer whilst I
+was in morning chapel. But this exercise was utterly useless, for
+every verse was forgotten in forty-eight hours. I was not idle, and
+with the exception of versification, generally worked conscientiously
+at my classics, not using cribs. The sole pleasure I ever received
+from such studies, was from some of the odes of Horace, which I
+admired greatly."
+
+Of his years at Cambridge he writes:
+
+"During the three years which I spent at Cambridge my time was wasted,
+as far as the academical studies were concerned, as completely as at
+Edinburgh and at school. I attempted mathematics, and even went,
+during the summer of 1828, with a private tutor (a very dull man) to
+Barmouth, but I got on very slowly. The work was repugnant to me
+chiefly from my not being able to see any meaning in the very early
+steps in algebra. This impatience was very foolish, and in after years
+I have deeply regretted that I did not proceed far enough at least to
+understand something of the great leading principles of mathematics,
+for men thus endowed seem to have an extra sense.... In order to pass
+the B.A. examination, it was also necessary to get up Paley's
+_Evidences of Christianity_, and his _Moral Philosophy_. This was done
+in a thorough manner, and I am convinced that I could have written out
+the whole of the _Evidences_ with perfect correctness, but not of
+course in the clear language of Paley. The logic of this book and, as
+I may add, of his _Natural Theology_, gave me as much delight as did
+Euclid. The careful study of these works, without attempting to learn
+any part by rote, was the only part of the academical course which, as
+I then felt and as I still believe, was of the least use to me in the
+education of my mind. I did not at that time trouble myself about
+Paley's premises, and taking these on trust I was charmed and
+convinced by the long line of argumentation."
+
+One of the great opportunities of Darwin's life came to him when, some
+time after he had finished his course at Cambridge, he was offered a
+place as naturalist on the _Beagle_, a ship sent by the English
+government on a survey. At first Darwin thought he could not go
+because his father was opposed to the plan. Finally the father said he
+would consent if any man of common sense should advise his son to go.
+This common sense man "was found in the person of his uncle, a Josiah
+Wedgwood, who advised the father to permit his son to go. The voyage
+has been described by Darwin, and thousands have been interested and
+profited by the reading. Some of the letters that he wrote to his
+friends during his trip are also very interesting. Here is one he
+sent to his cousin, Fox:
+
+"My mind has been, since leaving England, in a perfect _hurricane_ of
+delight and astonishment, and to this hour scarcely a minute has
+passed in idleness.... Geology carries the day; it is like the
+pleasure of gambling. Speculating, on first arrival, what the rocks
+may be, I often mentally cry out, three to one tertiary against
+primitive; but the latter has hitherto won all the bets.... My life,
+when at sea, is so quiet, that to a person who can employ himself,
+nothing can be pleasanter; the beauty of the sky and brilliancy of the
+ocean together make a picture. But when on shore, and wandering in the
+sublime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than Claude ever
+imagined, I enjoy a delight which none but those who have experienced
+it can understand. If it is to be done, it must be by studying
+Humboldt. At our ancient snug breakfasts, at Cambridge, I little
+thought that the wide Atlantic would ever separate us; but it is a
+rare privilege that with the body, the feelings and memory are not
+divided. On the contrary, the pleasantest scenes of my life, many of
+which have been at Cambridge, rise from the contrast of the present
+the more vividly in my imagination."
+
+From Valparaiso, after he had been two years on the voyage, he writes
+to a friend:
+
+"That this voyage must come to a conclusion my reason tells me,
+otherwise I see no end to it. It is impossible not bitterly to regret
+the friends and other sources of pleasure one leaves behind in
+England; in place of it there is much solid enjoyment, some present,
+but more in anticipation, when the ideas gained during the voyage can
+be compared with fresh ones. I find in Geology a never-failing
+interest, as it has been remarked, it creates the same grand ideas
+respecting the world which astronomy does for the universe. We have
+seen much fine scenery; that of the tropics in its glory and
+luxuriance exceeds even the language of Humboldt to describe. A
+Persian writer could alone do justice to it, and if he succeeded he
+would in England be called the 'Grandfather of all liars.'"
+
+No one can read the life of Darwin without feeling great respect for
+his perseverance. His faithful devotion to his work can teach us all a
+useful lesson. Says his son:
+
+"No one except my mother, knows the full amount of suffering he
+endured, or the full amount of his wonderful patience. For all the
+latter years of his life she never left him for a night, and her days
+were so planned that all his resting hours might be shared with her.
+She shielded him from every possible annoyance, and omitted nothing
+that might save him trouble, or prevent his becoming overtired, or
+that might alleviate the many discomforts of his ill-health. I
+hesitate to speak thus freely of a thing so sacred as the life-long
+devotion which prompted this constant and tender care. But it is, I
+repeat, a principal feature of his life, that for nearly forty years
+he never knew one day of the health of ordinary men, and that thus his
+life was one long struggle against the weariness and strain of
+sickness. And this cannot be told without speaking of the one
+condition which enabled him to bear the strain and fight out the
+struggle to the end."
+
+That Darwin himself appreciated the goodness of his wife can be seen
+from the following tribute which has appeared in _More Letters of
+Charles Darwin_. It does not appear in the _Autobiography_ because
+Mrs. Darwin was living at the time of its publication. Where in all
+literature can a more tender and beautiful appreciation be found?--
+
+"You all know your mother, and what a good mother she has been to all
+of you. She has been my greatest blessing, and I can declare that in
+my whole life I have never heard her utter one word I would rather
+have been unsaid. She has never failed in kindest sympathy towards me,
+and has borne with the utmost patience my frequent complaints of
+ill-health and discomfort. I do not believe she has ever missed an
+opportunity of doing a kind action to any one near her. I marvel at my
+good fortune that she, so infinitely my superior in every single moral
+quality, consented to be my wife. She has been my wise adviser and
+cheerful comforter throughout life, which without her would have been
+during a very long period a miserable one from ill-health. She has
+earned the love of every soul near her."
+
+
+
+
+XLIII
+
+ANECDOTES OF HUXLEY
+
+
+Huxley was more than one of the greatest scientists of the last
+century; he was a man of literary ability. By his popular lectures and
+clear expositions he probably did more than any other man of the
+century to popularize the many and important discoveries of the
+scientific world. At first there was much opposition to him, owing to
+a lack of information on the part of the public as to the import of
+the doctrine of evolution. Ex-President Gilman of Johns Hopkins
+University tells what a storm of protest was raised in America when
+Huxley was invited to deliver the opening address at the founding of
+the new university. Huxley is not even now regarded as an orthodox
+man, but much of the former prejudice has given way.
+
+John Fiske, who in so many ways can be regarded as the American
+Huxley, has published a magazine article giving his impressions of
+Huxley. In this article he gives two versions of a famous Huxley
+anecdote. Here is one:
+
+"It was at the meeting of the British Association at Oxford in 1860,
+soon after the publication of Darwin's epoch-making book, and while
+people in general were wagging their heads at it, that the subject
+came up before a hostile and fashionable audience. Samuel Wilberforce,
+the plausible and self-complacent Bishop of Oxford, commonly known as
+'Soapy Sam,' launched out in a rash speech, conspicuous for its
+ignorant mis-statements, and highly seasoned with appeals to the
+prejudices of the audience, upon whose lack of intelligence the
+speaker relied. Near him sat Huxley, already known as a man of
+science, and known to look favorably upon Darwinism, but more or less
+youthful withal, only five-and-thirty, so that the bishop anticipated
+sport in badgering him. At the close of his speech he suddenly turned
+upon Huxley and begged to be informed if the learned gentleman was
+really willing to be regarded as the descendant of a monkey. Eager
+self-confidence had blinded the bishop to the tactical blunder in thus
+inviting a retort. Huxley was instantly upon his feet with a speech
+demolishing the bishop's card house of mistakes; and at the close he
+observed that since a question of personal preferences had been very
+improperly brought into a discussion of a scientific theory, he felt
+free to confess that if the alternatives were descent, on the one hand
+from a respectable monkey, or on the other from a bishop of the
+English church who would stoop to such misrepresentations and sophisms
+as the audience had lately listened to, he would declare in favor of
+the monkey!... It is curious to read that in the ensuing buzz of
+excitement a lady fainted, and had to be carried from the room; but
+the audience were in general quite alive to the bishop's blunder in
+manners and tactics, and, with the genuine English love of fair play,
+they loudly applauded Huxley. From that time forth it was recognized
+that he was not the sort of man to be browbeaten. As for Bishop
+Wilberforce, he carried with him from the affray no bitterness, but
+was always afterwards most courteous to his castigator."
+
+Huxley was a great reader of history, poetry, metaphysics, and
+fiction, but this is not what made him a great scientist. Original men
+make books, they do not need to read them. Yet Huxley loved to read.
+He even in his old age studied Greek to read Aristotle and the New
+Testament in the original. But Huxley loved things even more than
+books. He had little respect for mere bookish knowledge. "A rash
+clergyman once, without further equipment in natural science than
+desultory reading, attacked the Darwinian theory in some sundry
+magazine articles, in which he made himself uncommonly merry at
+Huxley's expense. This was intended to draw the great man's fire, and
+as the batteries remained silent the author proceeded to write to
+Huxley, calling his attention to the articles, and at the same time,
+with mock modesty, asking advice as to the further study of these deep
+questions. Huxley's answer was brief and to the point: 'Take a
+cockroach and dissect it.'"
+
+Huxley was fond of children and their ways. His son, Leonard, tells us
+that Julian, the grandchild of Huxley was a child made up of a
+combination of cherub and pickle. Huxley had been in his garden
+watering with a hose. The little four-year-old was with him. Huxley
+came in and said: "I like that chap! I like the way he looks you
+straight in the face and disobeys you. I told him not to go on the
+wet grass again. He just looked up boldly straight at me, as much as
+to say, 'What do _you_ mean by ordering me about?' and deliberately
+walked on to the grass." In the spring the approval was not so
+decided. "I like that chap; he looks you straight in the face. But
+there's a falling off in one respect since last August--he now does
+what he is told."
+
+When Julian, the grandchild, was learning to read and write, he became
+interested in _Water-Babies_, a story that has delighted so many
+children. In it he found a reference to his grandfather as one who
+knew much about water-babies. So he wrote to his grandfather:
+
+    Dear Grandpater, have you seen a water baby? Did you put it in
+    a bottle? Did it wonder if it could get out? Can I see it some
+    day?
+                                  Your loving
+                                               JULIAN.
+
+This is the answer to the letter:
+
+                                             March 24, 1892.
+    MY DEAR JULIAN:
+
+    I never could make out about that water-baby. I have seen
+    babies in water and babies in bottles; but the baby in the
+    water was not in the bottle and the baby in the bottle was not
+    in the water.
+                             Ever your loving
+                                           GRANDPATER.
+
+Huxley was also fond of cats and dogs and pets of all kind. His son
+tells us that once he found his father in an uncomfortable seat, while
+the cat had the best chair. He defended himself by saying that he
+could not turn the beast away. In 1893 a man, who was writing on the
+_Pets of Celebrities_, wrote to him for information concerning his
+personal likings. Huxley sent him this letter:
+
+    A long series of cats has reigned over my household for the
+    last forty years or thereabouts; but I am sorry to say that I
+    have no pictorial or other record of their physical and moral
+    excellencies.
+
+    The present occupant of the throne is a large young gray
+    tabby, Oliver by name. Not that in any sense he is a
+    protector, for I doubt whether he has the heart to kill a
+    mouse. However, I saw him catch and eat the first butterfly of
+    the season, and trust that the germ of courage thus manifest
+    may develop, with age, into efficient mousing.
+
+    As to sagacity, I should say that his judgment respecting the
+    warmest place and the softest cushion in the room is
+    infallible, his punctuality at meal-time is admirable, and his
+    pertinacity in jumping on people's shoulders till they give
+    him some of the best of what is going indicates great
+    firmness.
+
+
+
+
+XLIV
+
+STEVENSON AT VAILIMA
+
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson, the writer of _Treasure Island_ and many other
+exciting romances, was an exile from home during the last few years of
+his life. The state of his health demanded a sunny clime and so he was
+forced to live in Samoa, a group of islands in the South Pacific.
+About three miles behind Apia, on a slight plateau seven hundred feet
+above the level of the sea, he cleared the forest and made a house. "I
+have chosen the land to be my land, the people to be my people, to
+live and die with," said Stevenson in his speech to the Samoan chiefs.
+Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, his step-son, thus describes their abode:
+
+"Unbroken forest covered Vailima when first we saw it; not the forest
+of the temperate zone with its varied glades and open spaces, but the
+thick tangle of the tropics, dense, dark, and cold in even the hottest
+day, where one must walk cutlass in hand to slash the lianas and the
+red-edged stinging leaves of a certain tree that continually bar one's
+path. The murmur of streams and cascades fell sometimes upon our ears
+as we wandered in the deep shade, and mingled with the cooing of wild
+doves and the mysterious, haunting sound of a native woodpecker at
+work. Our Chinaman, who was with us on our first survey, busied
+himself with taking samples of the soil, and grew almost incoherent
+with the richness of what he called the 'dirty.' We, for our part,
+were no less enchanted with what we saw, and could realize, as we
+forced our way through the thickets and skirted the deep ravines, what
+a noble labor lay before our axes, what exquisite views and glorious
+gardens could be carved out of the broken mountain side and the sullen
+forest."
+
+As Stevenson was afraid that villas might be made to intervene between
+him and the sea, he bought much land that his view might be forever
+unobstructed. He entered into the work of clearing the forest with
+vigorous delight. For months he lived in pioneer confusion. Gangs of
+native workmen worked from morning to night.
+
+"The new house was built," says Mr. Osbourne; "I arrived from England
+with the furniture, the library, and other effects of our old home;
+the phase of hard work and short commons passed gradually away, and a
+form of hollow comfort dawned upon us. I say hollow comfort, for
+though we began to accumulate cows, horses, and the general apparatus
+of civilized life, the question of service became a vexing one. An
+expensive German cooked our meals and quarreled with the white
+house-maid; the white overseer said 'that manual labor was the one
+thing that never agreed with him,' and that it was an unwholesome
+thing for a man to be awakened in the early morning, 'for one ought to
+wake up natural-like,' he explained. The white carter 'couldn't bear
+with niggers,' and though he did his work well and faithfully, he
+helped to demoralize the place and loosen discipline. Everything was
+at sixes and sevens, when, on the occasion of Mrs. Stevenson's going
+to Fiji for a few months' rest, my sister and I took charge of
+affairs. The expensive German was bidden to depart; Mr. Stevenson
+discharged the carter; the white overseer (who was tied to us by
+contract) was bought off in cold coin, to sleep out his 'natural
+sleep' under a kindlier star and to engage himself (presumably) in
+intellectual labors elsewhere. There are two sides to 'white
+slavery'--that cherished expression of the labor agitator--and with
+the departure of our tyrants we began again to raise our diminished
+heads. My sister and I threw ourselves into the kitchen, and took up
+the labor of cooking with zeal and determination; the domestic
+boundaries proved too narrow for our new-found energies, and we
+overflowed into the province of entertainment, with decorated menus,
+silver plate and finger-bowls! The aristocracy of Apia was pressed to
+lunch with us, to commend our independence and to eat our biscuits. It
+was a French Revolution in miniature; we danced the carmagnole in the
+kitchen and were prepared to conquer the Samoan social world. One
+morning, before the ardor and zest of it all had time to be dulled by
+custom, I happened to discover a young and very handsome Samoan on our
+back veranda. He was quite a dandified youngster, with a red flower
+behind his ear and his hair limed in the latest fashion. I liked his
+open, attractive face and his unembarrassed manner, and inquired what
+propitious fate had brought him to sit upon our ice-chest and radiate
+good nature on our back porch. It seemed that Simele, the overseer,
+owed him two Chile dollars, and that he was here, bland, friendly, but
+insistent, to collect the debt in person. That Simele would not be
+back for hours in no way daunted him, and he seemed prepared to swing
+his brown legs and show his white teeth for a whole eternity.
+
+"'Chief,' I said, a sudden thought striking me, 'you are he that I
+have been looking for so long. You are going to stay in Vailima and be
+our cook!'
+
+"'But I don't know how to cook,' he replied.
+
+"'That is no matter,' I said. 'Two months ago I was as you; to-day I
+am a splendid cook. I will teach you my skill.'
+
+"'But I don't want to learn,' he said, and brought back the
+conversation to Chile dollars.
+
+"'There is no good making excuses,' I said. 'This is a psychological
+moment in the history of Vailima. You are the Man of Destiny.'
+
+"'But I haven't my box,' he expostulated.
+
+"'I will send for it,' I returned. 'I would not lose you for twenty
+boxes. If you need clothes, why there stands my own chest; flowers
+grow in profusion and the oil-bottle rests never empty beside my
+humble bed; and in the hot hours of the afternoon there is the
+beautifulest pool where one can bathe and wash one's lovely hair.
+Moreover, so generous are the regulations of Tusitala's (Stevenson's)
+government that his children receive weekly large sums of money, and
+they are allowed on Sundays to call their friends to this elegant
+house and entertain them with salt beef and biscuit.'
+
+"Thus was Taalolo introduced into the Vailima kitchen, never to leave
+it for four years save when the war-drum called him to the front with
+a six-shooter and a 'death-tooth'--the Samoan war-cutlass or
+head-knife. He became in time not only an admirable chef, but the
+nucleus of the whole native establishment and the loyalest of our
+whole Samoan family. His coming was the turning-point in the history
+of the house. We had achieved independence of our white masters, and
+their discontented white faces had disappeared one by one. Honest
+brown ones now took their places and we gained more than good servants
+by the change."
+
+The following incident illustrates the high regard in which Stevenson
+was held by the native Samoans. When Mataafa, a claimant for the
+throne of Upolo, was imprisoned by the European powers, Stevenson
+visited him in prison and gave him tobacco and other gifts to cheer
+the disconsolate chief. He also visited other prisoners who had sided
+in the affairs of Mataafa. When they were released they wished to show
+their gratitude in some tangible way. So they built a fine wide road
+to the home of the famous writer, a work which they disliked but which
+their love for Stevenson enabled them to accomplish. They called it
+"The Road of the Loving-Heart." Once when his favorite body-servant,
+Sosimo, had anticipated some of his master's wants and Stevenson had
+complimented him with, "Great is the wisdom!" "Nay," replied Sosimo
+with truer insight, "Great is the Love!"
+
+Stevenson's manner of life at Vailima was somewhat like this: At six
+o'clock or earlier he arose and began the day's work. By dawn the
+rest of the household were up, and at about eight his wife's daughter
+began to take his dictation, working from then until noon. The
+afternoons were usually spent in some form of recreation--riding was a
+favorite pastime. He was fond of strolling through the tropical
+forest, and of taking part in any of the numerous outdoor sports.
+However, when he was in the height of literary inspiration, he stayed
+at his desk all day long.
+
+On Sunday evening the household was always called together for
+prayers; a chapter was read from the Samoan Bible, Samoan hymns were
+sung and one of Stevenson's own beautiful prayers, one usually written
+for the occasion, was read, concluding with the Lord's Prayer in the
+tongue of the natives. In the dominant note of these prayers, the call
+for courage and cheerfulness, one can hear the cry of the dying
+Stevenson's need: "The day returns and brings us the petty round of
+irritating concerns and duties. Help us to play the man, help us to
+perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound
+with industry.... Give us health, food, bright weather, and light
+hearts.... As the sun lightens the world, so let our loving-kindness
+make bright the house of our habitation."
+
+Stevenson died as he wished--in the midst of his work. After a day
+spent in writing his _Weir of Hermiston_, a day full of life and
+gayety, he suddenly fainted and died a short time afterwards. In the
+prayer offered the evening before had been this sentence,--"When the
+day returns, return to us our sun and comforter, and call us up with
+morning faces and with morning hearts, eager to be happy, if
+happiness shall be our portion--and if the day be marked for sorrow,
+strong to endure it."
+
+On the following morning a group of powerful Samoans bore the coffin
+upon their shoulders to the summit of Mount Vaea, where it was the
+wish of Mr. Stevenson that he should rest. One of the inscriptions
+upon the tomb is his own noble _Requiem_:
+
+    Under the wide and starry sky
+    Dig the grave and let me lie;
+    Glad did I live and gladly die,
+      And I laid me down with a will.
+
+    This be the verse you grave for me:
+    Here he lies where he longed to be;
+    Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
+      And the hunter home from the hill.
+
+
+
+
+XLV
+
+KIPLING IN INDIA
+
+
+In four lines of oft-quoted poetry Pope has declared that with words
+the same rule holds that applies to fashion,--"Alike fantastic if too
+new or old." Fashion changes, not only the fashions of millinery but
+of literature also. When the world is tired of the brilliant wit of
+Byron, it turns in relief to the contemplative verse of Wordsworth;
+when Longfellow and Tennyson have had their artistic day and a
+thousand imitators have produced romantic poetry, because
+
+    Most can raise the flowers now
+    For all have got the seed,--
+
+then this same world turns with delight to the robust poetry of
+Kipling. He has brought a new dish to the banquet of life, or at least
+a new flavor has been given to the old.
+
+Kipling is a man's poet, robust and virile. As a preface to one of his
+stories he wrote:
+
+    Go stalk the red deer o'er the heather,
+    Ride, follow the fox, if you can!
+    But for pleasure and profit together
+    Allow me the hunting of man;--
+
+and this joy in the hunting of man is what has made Kipling so
+acceptable to men. Kipling has the defects of his virtues. There is a
+certain brutality in his point of view. His beautiful _Recessional_ is
+not the greater part of Kipling. His voice "is still for war." His
+critics charge him with "Jingoism." One of the most brilliant parodies
+of recent times is Watson's
+
+    Best by remembering God, say some,
+      We keep our high imperial lot--
+    Fortune, I think, has mainly come
+      When we forgot, when we forgot!
+
+The greater influence of Kipling, both in his prose and poetry, is
+contrary to the humanitarian spirit of the age. Le Gallienne has
+said,--"As a writer Mr. Kipling is a delight; as an influence a
+danger."
+
+Mr. Kipling sprang into public notice because he had genius and
+because he had a new world to reveal to a jaded public. Mr. E. Kay
+Robinson was a friend and associate of Kipling when both were in the
+land of mysteries, India. Mr. Robinson went to India in 1884 and soon
+began to write verses over the signature of "K.R." Kipling was writing
+ballads under the initials "R.K." The similarity of the signatures
+attracted Kipling and he wrote to Robinson. They were afterwards
+associated in newspaper work and became close friends. Robinson has
+written about Kipling in India:
+
+"My first sight of Kipling was at an uninteresting stage, when he was
+a short, square, dark youth, who unfortunately wore spectacles instead
+of eyeglasses and had an unlucky eye for color in the selection of his
+clothes. He had a weakness apparently for brown cloth with just that
+suggestion of ruddiness or purple in it which makes some browns so
+curiously conspicuous. The charm of his manner, however, made you
+forget what he looked like in half a minute....
+
+"Among Kipling's early journalistic experiences was his involuntary
+assumption 'for this occasion only' of the rôle of the fighting
+editor. He was essentially a man of peace, and would always prefer
+making an angry man laugh to fighting with him; but one day there
+called at the office a very furious photographer. What the paper may
+have said about him or his photographs has been forgotten, but never
+will those who witnessed it forget the rough-and-tumble all over the
+floor in which he and Kipling indulged. The libel, or whatever it was,
+which had infuriated the photographer was not Kipling's work, but the
+quarrel was forced upon him, and although he was handicapped by his
+spectacles and smaller stature he made a very fine draw of it, and
+then the photographer--who, it may be remarked, was very drunk--was
+ejected. And Kipling wiped his glasses and buttoned his collar.
+
+"That trick of wiping his spectacles is one which Kipling indulged
+more frequently than any man I have ever met, for the simple reason
+that he was always laughing; and when you laugh till you nearly cry
+your spectacles get misty. Kipling, shaking all over with laughter,
+and wiping his spectacles at the same time with his handkerchief, is
+the picture which always comes to mind as most characteristic of him
+in the old days."
+
+With regard to Kipling's minute and exact knowledge of details Mr.
+Robinson has this to say:
+
+"To learn to write as soldiers think, he spent long hours loafing with
+the genuine article. He watched them at work and at play and at prayer
+from the points of view of all his confidants--the combatant officer,
+the doctor, the chaplain, the drill sergeant, and the private himself.
+With the navy, with every branch of sport, and with natural history,
+he has never wearied in seeking to learn all that man may learn at
+first-hand, or the very best second-hand, at any rate.... But most
+wonderful was his insight into the strangely mixed manners of life and
+thought of the natives of India. He knew them all through their
+horizontal divisions of rank and their vertical sections of caste;
+their ramifications of race and blood; their antagonisms and blendings
+of creed; their hereditary strains of calling or handicraft. Show him
+a native, and he would tell you his rank, caste, race, origin,
+habitat, creed, and calling. He would speak to the man in his own
+fashion, using familiar, homely figures, which brightened the other's
+surprised eyes with recognition of brotherhood and opened a straight
+way into his confidence. In two minutes the man--perhaps a wild hawk
+from the Afghan hills--would be pouring out into the ear of this
+sahib, with heaven-sent knowledge and sympathy, the weird tale of the
+blood feud and litigation, the border fray, and the usurer's iniquity,
+which had driven him so far afield as Lahore from Bajaur. To Kipling
+even the most suspected and suspicious of classes, the religious
+mendicants, would open their mouths freely.
+
+"By the road thick with the dust of camels and thousands of cattle and
+goats, which winds from Lahore Fort to the River Ravi, there are
+walled caravanserais the distant smell of which more than suffices for
+most of the Europeans who pass, but sitting with the travelers in the
+reeking inside Kipling heard weird tales and gathered much knowledge.
+Under a spreading peepul tree overhanging a well by the same road
+squatted daily a ring of almost naked fakirs, smeared with ashes, who
+scowled at the European driving by; but for Kipling there was, when he
+wished it, an opening in the squatting circle and much to be learned
+from the unsavory talkers. That is how Kipling's finished
+word-pictures take the lifelike aspect of instantaneous photographs."
+
+
+
+
+XLVI
+
+BENJAMIN FRANKLIN RUNS AWAY
+
+
+Benjamin Franklin had so many strong qualities, was eminent in so many
+lines of endeavor, that we do not always include him among the
+literary men of America. However, his _Autobiography_ is a
+masterpiece. In sincerity and simplicity it is unsurpassed. This is
+all the more remarkable because it was written at a time when ornate
+writing was the fashion. A man's style is the outgrowth of his nature,
+and it is a striking comment upon the robust quality of Franklin's
+mind that his style has the simplicity of the Bible, or _Pilgrim's
+Progress_.
+
+The following account, taken from his _Autobiography_, begins just
+after he has landed in New York, a boy of seventeen who has run away
+from home because he felt that his brother was not treating him
+fairly:
+
+My inclinations for the sea were by this time worn out, or I might now
+have gratified them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a
+pretty good workman, I offered my service to the printer in the place,
+old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first printer in
+Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel of George
+Keith. He could give me no employment, having little to do and help
+enough already; but, says he, "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost
+his principal hand, Aquilla Rose, by death; if you go thither I
+believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was a hundred miles farther;
+I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things
+to follow me round by sea.
+
+   [Illustration: BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
+   From a portrait by Duplessis]
+
+In crossing the bay we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to
+pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long
+Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell
+overboard. When he was sinking, I reached through the water to his
+shock pate, and drew him up so that we got him in again. His ducking
+sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his
+pocket a book, which he desired I would dry for him. It proved to be
+my old favorite author, Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_, in Dutch,
+finely printed on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better than I
+had ever seen it wear in its own language. I have since found that it
+has been translated into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose
+it has been more generally than any other book, except, perhaps, the
+Bible. Honest John was the first that I know of who mixed narration
+and dialogue; a method of writing very engaging to the reader, who in
+the most interesting parts finds himself, as it were, brought into the
+company and present at the discourse. Defoe in his _Crusoe_, his _Moll
+Flanders_, _Religious Courtship_, _Family Instructor_, and other
+pieces, has imitated it with success, and Richardson has done the same
+in his _Pamela_, etc.
+
+When we drew near the island we found it was at a place where there
+could be no landing, there being a great surf on the stony beach. So
+we dropped anchor, and swung round toward the shore. Some people came
+down to the water edge and hallooed to us, as we did to them; but the
+wind was so high and the surf so loud that we could not hear so as to
+understand each other. There were canoes on the shore, and we made
+signs, and hallooed that they should fetch us, but they either did not
+understand us or thought it impracticable, so they went away, and
+night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait till the wind should
+abate. In the meantime, the boatman and I concluded to sleep if we
+could, and so crowded into the scuttle with the Dutchman, who was
+still wet, and the spray beating over the head of our boat leaked
+through to us, so that we were almost as wet as he. In this manner we
+lay all night, with very little rest; but the wind abating the next
+day, we made a shift to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty
+hours on the water, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of
+filthy rum, the water we sailed on being salt.
+
+In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went in to bed; but,
+having read somewhere that cold water, drunk plentifully, was good for
+a fever, I followed the prescription, sweat plentifully most of the
+night, my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, I
+proceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington,
+where I was told I should find boats that would carry me the rest of
+the way to Philadelphia.
+
+It rained very hard all the day. I was thoroughly soaked, and by noon
+a good deal tired, so I stopped at a poor inn, where I stayed all
+night, beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so
+miserable a figure, too, that I found, by the questions asked me, I
+was suspected to be some runaway servant and in danger of being taken
+up on that suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got in
+the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington, kept
+by one Dr. Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I took
+some refreshment, and finding I had read a little, became very
+sociable and friendly. Our acquaintance continued as long as he lived.
+He had been, I imagine, an itinerant doctor, for there was no town in
+England, or country in Europe, of which he could not give a very
+particular account. He had some letters, and was ingenious, but much
+of an unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after, to
+travesty the Bible in doggerel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil. By
+this means he set many of the facts in a very ridiculous light, and
+might have hurt weak minds if his work had been published; but it
+never was.
+
+At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reached
+Burlington, but had the mortification to find that the regular boats
+were gone a little before my coming, and no other expected to go
+before Tuesday, this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old
+woman in the town of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the
+water, and asked her advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till
+a passage by water should offer; and, being tired with my foot
+traveling, I accepted the invitation. She, understanding I was a
+printer, would have had me stay at that town and follow my business,
+being ignorant of the stock necessary to begin with. She was very
+hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox cheek with great good will,
+accepting only of a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself fixed
+till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the evening by the side
+of the river, a boat came by, which I found was going toward
+Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in, and, as
+there was no wind, we rowed all the way, and about midnight, not
+having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident we must
+have passed it, and would row no farther. The others knew not where we
+were, so we put toward the shore, got into a creek, and landed near an
+old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire, the night being
+cold, in October, and there we remained till daylight. Then one of the
+company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little above
+Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek, and
+arrived there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, and
+landed at the Market Street wharf.
+
+I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and
+shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your
+mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since
+made there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come
+round by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out
+with shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul, nor where to look for
+lodging. I was fatigued with traveling, rowing, and want of rest; I
+was very hungry, and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch
+dollar and about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people
+of the boat for my passage, who at first refused it, on account of my
+rowing; but I insisted on their taking it, a man being sometimes more
+generous when he has but a little money than when he has plenty,
+perhaps through fear of being thought to have but little.
+
+Then I walked up the street, gazing about, till near the market house
+I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and,
+inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he
+directed me to, in Second Street, and asked for biscuit, intending
+such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in
+Philadelphia. Then I asked for a threepenny loaf, and was told they
+had none such. So not considering or knowing the difference of money
+and the greater cheapness, nor the names of his bread, I bade him give
+me threepenny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great
+puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having
+no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and
+eating the other. Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth
+Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when
+she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly
+did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went
+down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut Street, eating my roll all the
+way, and, coming round, found myself again on Market Street wharf,
+near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river
+water; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a
+woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and
+were waiting to go farther.
+
+Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
+many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way. I
+joined them, and was thereby led into the great meetinghouse of the
+Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
+round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor
+and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and
+continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to
+rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in,
+in Philadelphia.
+
+Walking down again toward the river, and looking in the faces of
+people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I liked, and,
+accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get
+lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here,"
+says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a
+reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me I'll show thee a better."
+He brought me to the Crooked Billet, in Water Street. Here I got a
+dinner, and while I was eating it several sly questions were asked me,
+as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance that I might
+be some runaway.
+
+After dinner my sleepiness returned, and, being shown to a bed, I lay
+down without undressing and slept till six in the evening, was called
+to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next
+morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could, and went to Andrew
+Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man, his father,
+whom I had seen in New York, and who, traveling on horseback, had got
+to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received
+me civilly, and gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present
+want a hand, being lately supplied with one; but there was another
+printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ
+me; if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would
+give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business should
+offer.
+
+
+
+
+XLVII
+
+WASHINGTON IRVING
+
+
+Washington Irving may be called the father of American literature. It
+is true he is not the first writer who flourished on American soil,
+but in point of accomplishment he is the first literary man to impress
+himself upon the readers of the two continents. And what a sweet,
+beautiful soul he is! The only rival he has is Franklin, and Franklin
+is not a literary man, though he produced a literary masterpiece in
+his _Autobiography_. The test of a great piece of literature is, In a
+hundred years can it be bought in a new edition for ten cents? The New
+Testament can be bought for ten cents, so can the _Autobiography_, and
+the _Sketch Book_. These emerge from the sea of mediocrity of early
+American life. They abide while the works of the Michael Wigglesworths
+and Anne Bradstreets can be found only in the collections of the
+fortunate book-lover.
+
+The early settlers believed in the virtue of large families. It is
+well, for otherwise Franklin and Irving would have been lost to
+American life. Franklin was the youngest son in a family of seventeen
+children, there were two girls younger (Benjamin was the eighth child
+of the second wife), and Irving was the eighth son and last child in
+a family of eleven children. It is not hard to account for Irving's
+first name. Nowadays when you meet a boy named Dewey or Garfield it is
+not difficult to guess the boy's age. Irving was born in 1783; the air
+was laden with the praises of the great American leader. "Washington's
+work is ended," said the mother, "and the child shall be named after
+him." Several years after this when Washington, as President, was in
+New York, Lizzie, the Scotch servant of the Irving family, followed
+the great man into a shop and said, "Please, your honor, here's a
+bairn was named after you." Washington placed his hand on the lad's
+head and gave him a fatherly blessing.
+
+Like Lowell and Bryant, Irving was first devoted to the law, but his
+devotion was not of the quality that consumes. He soon strayed into
+pleasanter paths. In January, 1807, appeared the first number of
+_Salmagundi_, a humorous periodical which caused a great deal of
+curiosity as to the authors, whose witty articles appeared
+anonymously. Two years later came the droll _History of New York by
+Diedrich Knickerbocker_, a book in which according to Scott were to be
+seen traces of the wit of Swift. Scott said that he used to read it
+aloud to his wife and guests until "our sides were absolutely sore
+with laughing."
+
+Before this work had appeared, Irving lost in three consecutive years
+three persons who would have rejoiced the most in his success,--his
+father, "the tenderest and best of sisters, a woman of whom a brother
+might be proud," and his sweetheart, Matilda Hoffman. She was a rare
+and beautiful maiden who had kindled in the heart of Irving a passion
+which survived her death until he himself passed away an old man. When
+he died his friends found her miniature and a lock of fair hair,
+together with the part of a manuscript written for a lady who had
+asked Irving why he had never married. Describing Miss Hoffman he
+says:
+
+"The more I saw her, the more I had reason to admire her. Her mind
+seemed to unfold itself leaf by leaf, and every time to discover new
+sweetness. Nobody knew her so well as I, for she was generally
+silent.... Never did I meet with more intuitive rectitude of mind,
+more delicacy, more exquisite propriety in word, thought, and action
+than in this young creature. Her brilliant little sister used to say
+that 'people began by admiring her, but ended by loving Matilda.' For
+my part I idolized her." Irving then continues by giving a long
+account of his efforts to succeed in his literary and legal work with
+a view of earning a place in life so as to enable him to marry. "In
+the midst of this struggle and anxiety she fell into a consumption. I
+cannot tell you what I suffered.... I saw her fade rapidly away,
+beautiful, and more beautiful, and more angelic to the very last. I
+was often by her bedside, and when her mind wandered she would talk to
+me with a sweet, natural, and affecting eloquence that was
+overpowering. I saw more of the beauty of her mind in that delirious
+state than I ever had before.... I was by her when she died, and was
+the last she ever looked upon.... She was but seventeen."
+
+So poignant was the grief of Irving that for thirty years after her
+death he did not like any one to mention her name to him. One day he
+was visiting her father when one of her nieces, taking some music from
+a drawer, brought with it a piece of embroidery. "Washington," said
+Mr. Hoffman, "this was poor Matilda's work." The effect was
+instantaneous. The light-hearted conversationalist of a moment before
+became silent and soon left the house. When in _Bracebridge Hall_ he
+writes,--"I have loved as I never again shall love in this world--I
+have been loved as I shall never again be loved,"--is he not thinking
+of the fair Matilda? And in a note-book we find,--"She died in the
+beauty of her youth, and in my memory she will ever be young and
+beautiful."
+
+In May, 1815, Irving went abroad for the second time. His purpose was
+to stay a few months; he remained seventeen years. The first sight
+that greeted the newly arrived American in Liverpool was the
+mail-coach bringing the news of the battle of Waterloo. Irving's
+sympathies were with Napoleon. "In spite of all his misdeeds he is a
+noble fellow, and I am confident will eclipse in the eyes of posterity
+all the crowned wiseacres that have crushed him by their overwhelming
+confederacy." In the year 1818 the Irving brothers went into
+bankruptcy. Washington's interest in the business was that of a
+younger brother who had little responsibility. But of late years he
+had been much harassed by the accumulating troubles. With the end of
+the business anxieties he turns to literature with a whole-souled
+devotion. His home friends tried to secure for him the position of
+Secretary of the Legation in London; his brother William wrote that
+Commodore Decatur was keeping open for his acceptance the office of
+Chief Clerk in the Navy Department; but Irving turned the offers
+aside. Irving is usually imaged as a sunshiny, genial, easy-going
+gentleman into whose blood little of the iron of firmness had been
+infused. The fact that he not only refused these offers but also
+rejected offers from Scott and Murray shows that he had will enough to
+keep to the bent of his genius at a time when he needed money and
+influence. Murray offered him a salary of £1000 a year to be the
+editor of a periodical.
+
+The first number of the _Sketch Book_ appeared in May, 1819, and
+consisted mainly in point of merit of two papers, _The Wife_ and _Rip
+Van Winkle_. The series was finished in 1820. The work was highly
+successful in America, and Irving was deeply moved by the cordial
+expressions of praise that reached him. His manly nature is revealed
+in a letter to a friend in which he says,--"I hope you will not
+attribute all this sensibility to the kind reception I have met to an
+author's vanity. I am sure it proceeds from very different sources.
+Vanity could not bring the tears into my eyes as they have been
+brought by the kindness of my countrymen. I have felt cast down,
+blighted, and broken-spirited, and these sudden rays of sunshine
+agitate me more than they revive me. I hope--I hope I may yet do
+something more worthy of the appreciation lavished on me."
+
+Irving had not intended to publish the _Sketch Book_ in England, but
+owing to reprints by others he was obliged to take the matter in his
+own hands. Murray refused to undertake the work. Then Irving became
+his own publisher. But the work sold so well that Murray bought the
+copyright for two hundred pounds.
+
+In 1826 we find Irving in Spain. To the American reader the name of
+Spain is forever associated with that of Irving, for _The Alhambra_,
+_The Conquest of Granada_, and _The Life of Columbus_ are the rich
+evidences of his absorption of the spirit of Spain. The _Life of
+Columbus_ was written with great care. Irving wanted to produce
+something that would do credit to the scholarship of his loved
+America. Murray paid about fifteen thousand dollars for the English
+copyright. For the _Conquest of Granada_ he received ten thousand
+dollars, and for _The Alhambra_ a Mr. Bentley paid five thousand.
+
+While Irving was in Madrid one of his most welcome visitors was
+Longfellow, then a young man of twenty, fresh from college. Writing to
+his father Longfellow says,--"Mr. Rich's family is very agreeable, and
+Washington Irving always makes one there in the evening. This is
+altogether delightful, for he is one of those men who put you at ease
+with them in a moment. He makes no ceremony whatever with one, and of
+course is a very fine man in society, all mirth and good humor. He has
+a most beautiful countenance, and a very intellectual one, but he has
+some halting and hesitating in his conversation, and says very
+pleasant, agreeable things in a husky, weak, peculiar voice. He has a
+dark complexion, dark hair, whiskers already a little gray. This is a
+very offhand portrait of so illustrious a man."
+
+It is interesting to compare this sketch with one that Longfellow drew
+from memory many years later,--"I had the pleasure of meeting Mr.
+Irving in Spain, and found the author, whom I had loved, repeated in
+the man. The same playful humor, the same touches of sentiment, the
+same poetic atmosphere; and what I admired still more, the entire
+absence of all literary jealousy, of all that mean avarice of fame
+which counts what is given to another as so much taken from one's
+self.... Passing his house at the early hour of six one summer
+morning, I saw his study window already wide open. On my mentioning it
+to him afterwards he said, 'Yes, I am always at work by six.' Since
+then I have often remembered that sunny morning and that open window,
+so suggestive of his sunny temperament and his open heart, and equally
+so of his patient and persistent toil."
+
+Irving's career is usually looked upon as ideal. In many ways it was
+singularly blessed. Friends, influence, fame, and wealth were his.
+When an American publisher undertook the issuing of a new edition of
+Irving's works in 1848, there was much uncertainty as to the success
+of the venture, but the author received eighty-eight thousand dollars
+from 1848 to 1859. He also had the satisfaction of working to the
+last, although the last year was one of suffering. "I am rather
+fatigued, my dear, by my night's rest," he replied to the anxious
+inquiry of a niece. He had been hard at work upon his _Life of
+Washington_, and he sometimes feared he might have overtaxed his
+brain. "I do not fear death," he said, "but I would like to go down
+with all sails set."
+
+This modest prayer was granted. To the day of his death he was able to
+receive visitors, talk intelligently, read for his own pleasure, and
+take short drives. The day before he died he attended church, and on
+coming home he remarked that he must "get a dispensation to allow
+whist on Sunday evenings," because he dreaded the long, lonely nights.
+On Monday he went to bed, and as he turned to arrange the pillows he
+gave a slight exclamation and instantly expired.
+
+By his mother's side they laid him, in a cemetery overlooking the
+Hudson and the valley of Sleepy Hollow, a region made forever famous
+by the genial pen of Irving. "I could not but remember his last words
+to me," writes a friend who made a pilgrimage to the spot on the day
+of the funeral, "when his book was finished and his health was
+failing: 'I am getting ready to go. I am shutting up my doors and
+windows.' And I could not but feel that they were all open now, and
+bright with the light of eternal morning."
+
+
+
+
+XLVIII
+
+COOPER AND "THE SPY"
+
+
+James Fenimore Cooper is one of the most interesting characters in the
+history of American authorship. Irving, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell,
+Holmes, and Hawthorne early in life showed their literary bent, and
+lived academic and peaceful careers. They were also popular. Cooper
+was thirty years old before he thought of writing, and his life was
+embittered by the consciousness that he was the target of the most
+bitter criticism, both at home and abroad. Yet not one of the
+distinguished authors I have named is more widely known to-day than
+Cooper. Matthew Arnold has said somewhere that an author's place in
+the future is to be determined by his contemporaneous ranking in
+foreign lands. If that is true the names of Mark Twain, Cooper, Walt
+Whitman, and Poe will rank high in the annals of posterity, for their
+European fame is said to be the most general of any of the American
+writers.
+
+There is an appealing fascination about the boyhood days of Cooper.
+When James was a babe of fourteen months his father moved to the
+headwaters of the Susquehanna. The family consisted of fifteen
+persons; James, the future novelist, was the eleventh of twelve
+children. Their home was in the midst of the forest. Near by was the
+charming lake, Otsego. The father owned several thousand acres, and
+was, probably, the most prominent man in that sparsely-settled region.
+What boy would want a finer opportunity to indulge all the wild
+propensities that lurk in the untamed heart of every healthy
+youngster? To roam in the untracked forest, to sail the lake, to hunt,
+to fish, to dream of the great unknown world lying just beyond the
+sun-tipped trees,--what can the schools give in exchange for this? Is
+it surprising that the wholesomeness of the forest and the charm and
+freshness of God's out-of-doors found their way into the man's novels,
+when so many delightful boyhood experiences must have found their way
+into the boy's heart?
+
+As I said, Cooper was thirty years old before he began to write. He
+had studied under an Episcopal rector, and was intending to enter the
+junior class at Yale; the rector died and Cooper entered the second
+term of the freshman class; for some frolic in which he was engaged he
+was dismissed; he then entered the navy, where he gathered valuable
+experience which he worked afterwards into literature; he married;
+resigned, and lived the quiet life of a country gentleman. One day he
+threw down an English novel he had been reading and said to his wife,
+"I believe I could write a better story myself." Now this is a feeling
+that many of us have had, but few of us are put to the test. Cooper's
+wife fortunately told him to make the trial. He did so, and
+_Precaution_ was the result. This was published in 1820. As a novel
+it is a failure; as a literary document it is highly interesting.
+_Precaution_ is a story of English life. Why should Cooper write of
+American life when all Americans seemed to consider American life dull
+and prosaic? Politically we were free; intellectually we were slaves.
+The English lark sang in American poetry and English lords talked in
+American novels. It was not until 1837 that Emerson gave that famous
+address, _The American Scholar_, an event which Lowell calls "without
+any former parallel in our literary annals," and which Holmes declared
+to be "our intellectual Declaration of Independence."
+
+_Precaution_ has been called a failure, but it was not so much of a
+failure that Cooper's friends discouraged him from trying again. No,
+it was a first attempt and gave promise of something better. Why not
+write about American scenes and events? The very neighborhood in which
+he lived had been the scene of many stirring adventures during the
+Revolutionary conflict. "Years before, while at the residence of John
+Jay, his host had given him, one summer afternoon, the account of a
+spy that had been in his service during the war. The coolness,
+shrewdness, fearlessness, but above all the unselfish patriotism of
+the man had profoundly impressed the Revolutionary leader who had
+employed him. The story made an equally deep impression upon Cooper at
+the time. He now resolved to take it as the foundation of the tale he
+had been persuaded to write."
+
+Near the close of 1821 _The Spy_ appeared. In March of the following
+year a third edition was on the market. The work soon appeared in
+England, published by Miller, the same publisher that had first
+ventured to bring Irving's _Sketch Book_ before the English public. In
+England the book was at once successful. This meant much to the
+American estimate of the author's ability, for American critics were
+afraid to praise a work that had not yet been applauded by England. In
+this same year, 1822, a French translation appeared. In France the
+work was enthusiastically received. This was the first of many
+translations into many European languages. Its influence in teaching
+patriotism cannot be estimated, nor can its value as an effective
+retort to the sneer "Who reads an American book?" ever be overlooked.
+
+About the early life of Cooper there are unfortunately but few
+anecdotes. One reason for this lack of _personalia_ about a man who
+had a most vigorous personality is due to his dying request. He
+enjoined upon his family that they permit no authorized biography to
+appear. Because of this we have lost much that would be valuable in
+estimating the character of Cooper. There is a story that when he was
+a young man he engaged in a foot-race for a prize of a basket of
+fruit. "While Cooper and his competitor were preparing to start, a
+little girl stood by full of eagerness for the exciting event. Cooper
+quickly turned and picked her up in his arms. 'I'll carry her and beat
+you!' he exclaimed, and away they went, Cooper with his laughing
+burden, the other runner untrammeled. It is almost needless to add
+that Cooper won the race, else why should the story have been
+preserved?" One cannot help speculating about the size of the girl and
+the speed of the rival runner, if this story is true.
+
+A more satisfying story is that told of Cooper's meeting with Scott.
+In 1826 Cooper went to Europe. With a family of ten persons he moved
+about for seven years. Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, and
+England were visited. When in Paris the two romancers met.
+
+"Est ce Monsieur Cooper que j'ai l'honneur de voir?"
+
+"Monsieur je m'appelle Cooper."
+
+"Eh bien, donc, je suis Walter Scott."
+
+After a minute or two of French Sir Walter suddenly recollected
+himself and said: "Well, here have I been _parley vooing_ to you in a
+way to surprise you, no doubt, but these Frenchmen have got my tongue
+so set to their lingo that I have half forgotten my own language."
+
+I have said that Cooper was not popular. This is not putting it strong
+enough. He was more than unpopular; he was hated by his neighbors, and
+slandered by the press at home and abroad. This lamentable condition
+of affairs was not due to any despicable qualities in the man, for
+Cooper was a kind father, an affectionate husband, a good citizen, and
+an honest, truth-loving man. These seem admirable qualities. Of few of
+us can much higher praise be spoken. Why then did the citizens of
+Cooper's home village hold a mass meeting and pass resolutions to the
+effect that Cooper had rendered "himself odious to a greater portion
+of the citizens of this community," and why should _Fraser's
+Magazine_, three thousand miles away, call Cooper "a liar, a bilious
+braggart, a full jackass, an insect, a grub, and a reptile"?
+
+The cause is not far to seek. Cooper was the most disputatious man in
+the history of American literature. Cooper used to tell the story of
+the man who in an argument was met with: "Why it is as plain as that
+two and two make four." "But I deny that too," was the retort, "for
+two and two make twenty two." Cooper was himself that sort of a man.
+He always had a quarrel on his hands. The more pugnacious a man is,
+the more militant he will find society. He instituted libel suits
+against the most prominent editors in the country, among them Horace
+Greeley and Thurlow Weed. And what is more to the point,--he won his
+cases. But this did not make him any more popular with the press. When
+we remember that Billingsgate was an important part of the literary
+equipment of the critic of Cooper's time, we need not be surprised
+that Cooper's pugnacity evoked such sweet disinterestedness as Park
+Benjamin indulged in when he called Cooper "a superlative dolt, and a
+common mark of scorn and contempt of every well-informed American."
+
+In addition to this denunciation of Cooper as a man, there have in
+recent years arisen severe criticisms on Cooper as a writer. "There
+are nineteen rules," writes Mark Twain, "governing literary art in the
+domain of romantic fiction--some say twenty-two. In _Deerslayer_
+Cooper violated eighteen of them." And then Mark Twain gives us the
+detailed specifications. It is very cleverly put, this criticism of
+Mark Twain's. But the astounding fact remains that the one rule Cooper
+did not violate seems to secure him a place in the Pantheon of
+authors. Along with Poe, and Whitman, and Mark himself, Cooper is
+found in various editions on the shelves of the bookdealers and in the
+libraries of the book-lovers from the Thames to the Volga. If Cooper
+had observed only one or two more of the rules of literary art, where
+would he stand? One is reminded of the Dutchman who was told that this
+clock would run eight days without winding. "Ach, Himmel, what would
+she do if she was woundt?"
+
+The one literary sin that Cooper does not commit is dulness. He is
+interesting. Of course there are some of Cooper's works that no one
+cares to read now. But he is to be judged by his best, not by his
+worst. Balzac is something of a novelist himself, and has a right to
+be heard. "If Cooper," says Balzac in a passage quoted by every writer
+who touches upon Cooper, "had succeeded in the painting of character
+to the same extent that he did in the painting of the phenomena of
+nature, he would have uttered the last word of our art." This is no
+mean praise. Cooper is read because he is interesting. He shall
+continue to be read for another reason. He is wholesome and vigorous.
+The air we breathe is the air of the pine forest and the salt sea.
+Youth is forever attracted by the mystery and adventure of primitive
+life. As America becomes more and more densely settled the imagination
+will turn back to the early times when the bear and the deer, the
+settler and Indian were tracking the trail through the forest and
+along the shore. For this reason Cooper is likely to remain an abiding
+force in American literature.
+
+
+
+
+XLIX
+
+JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY AND BISMARCK
+
+
+John Lothrop Motley, the American historian, a writer who in his _The
+Rise of the Dutch Republic_ produced a history as fascinating as a
+romance and a work that was immediately in Europe translated into
+three different languages, was, after graduation from Harvard, a
+student at Goettingen. Here he studied German so well that in after
+years he was asked by the emperor of Austria whether he were not a
+German. Here too he became acquainted with Bismarck.
+
+That they were great friends is evident from letters by Bismarck
+himself. "I never pass by old Logier's House, in the
+Friedrichstrasse--wrote Bismarck in 1863--without looking up at the
+windows that used to be ornamented by a pair of red slippers sustained
+on the wall by the feet of a gentleman sitting in the Yankee way, his
+head below and out of sight. I then gratify my memory with remembrance
+of 'good old colony times when we were roguish chaps.'" And here is
+another part of a letter which illustrates that even dignitaries like
+to unbend and become like boys again. This letter was written by the
+minister of foreign affairs to the minister of the United States at the
+court of Vienna:
+
+                                      Berlin, May 23d, 1864.
+
+    Jack my Dear,-- ... what do you do that you never write a line
+    to me? I am working from morn to night like a nigger, and you
+    have nothing to do at all--you might as well tip me a line as
+    well as looking at your feet tilted against the wall of God
+    knows what a dreary color. I cannot entertain a regular
+    correspondence; it happens to me that during five days I do
+    not find a quarter of an hour for a walk; but you, lazy old
+    chap, what keeps you from thinking of your old friends? When
+    just going to bed in this moment my eye met with yours on your
+    portrait, and I curtailed the sweet restorer, sleep, in order
+    to remind you of Auld Lang Syne. Why do you never come to
+    Berlin? It is not a quarter of an American's holiday from
+    Vienna, and my wife and me should be so happy to see you once
+    more in this sullen life. When can you come, and when will
+    you? I swear that I will make out the time to look with you on
+    old Logier's quarters, ... and at Gerolt's, where they once
+    would not allow you to put your slender legs upon a chair. Let
+    politics be hanged and come to see me. I promise that the
+    Union Jack shall wave over our house, and conversation and the
+    best old hock shall pour damnation upon the rebels. Do not
+    forget old friends, neither their wives, as mine wishes nearly
+    as ardently as myself to see you, or at least to see as
+    quickly as possible a word of your handwriting.
+
+    Sei gut und komm oder schreibe.
+                                             Dein,
+                                                V. BISMARCK.
+
+In a letter to Oliver Wendell Holmes in 1878, Bismarck in answer to an
+inquiry tells how the two became friends.
+
+"I met Motley at Goettingen in 1832, I am not sure if at the beginning
+of the Easter term or Michaelmas term. He kept company with German
+students, though more addicted to study than we members of the
+fighting clubs. Although not having mastered yet the German language
+he exercised a marked attraction by a conversation sparkling with wit,
+humor, and originality. In autumn of 1833, having both of us emigrated
+from Goettingen to Berlin for the prosecution of our studies, we
+became fellow lodgers in the house No. 161 Friedrichstrasse. There we
+lived in the closest intimacy, sharing meals and outdoor exercise.
+Motley by that time had arrived at talking fluently: he occupied
+himself not only in translating Goethe's poem, _Faust_, but tried his
+hand even in composing German verses. Enthusiastic admirer of
+Shakspere, Byron, Goethe, he used to spice his conversation abundantly
+with quotations from these his favorite authors. A pertinacious
+arguer, so much so that sometimes he watched my awakening in order to
+continue a discussion on some topic of science, poetry, or practical
+life cut short by the chime of the small hours, he never lost his mild
+and amiable temper.... The most striking feature of his handsome and
+delicate appearance was uncommonly large and beautiful eyes. He never
+entered a drawing-room without exciting the curiosity and sympathy of
+the ladies."
+
+While the sheets of Motley's history were passing through the press in
+1856, he paid a visit to Bismarck at Frankfort:
+
+"When I called," says Motley, "Bismarck was at dinner, so I left my
+card, and said I would come back in half an hour. As soon as my card
+had been carried to him (as I learned afterwards) he sent a servant
+after me to the hotel, but I had gone another way. When I came back I
+was received with open arms. I can't express to you how cordially he
+received me. If I had been his brother, instead of an old friend, he
+could not have shown more warmth and affectionate delight in seeing
+me. I find I like him better even than I thought I did, and you know
+how high an opinion I always expressed of his talents and
+disposition. He is a man of very noble character, and of very great
+powers of mind. The prominent place which he now occupies as a
+statesman sought _him_. He did not seek it or any other office. The
+stand which he took in the Assembly from conviction, on the occasion
+of the outbreak of 1848, marked him at once to all parties as one of
+the leading characters of Prussia....
+
+"In the summer of 1851, he told me that the minister, Manteuffel,
+asked him one day abruptly, if he would accept the post of ambassador
+at Frankfort, to which (although the proposition was as unexpected a
+one to him as if I should hear by the next mail that I had been chosen
+governor of Massachusetts) he answered after a moment's deliberation,
+yes, without another word. The king, the same day, sent for him, and
+asked him if he would accept the place, to which he made the same
+brief answer, 'Ja.' His majesty expressed a little surprise that he
+made no inquiries or conditions, when Bismarck replied that anything
+which the king felt strong enough to propose to him, he felt strong
+enough to accept. I only write these details that you may have an idea
+of the man. Strict integrity and courage of character, a high sense of
+honor, a firm religious belief, united with remarkable talents, make
+up necessarily a combination which cannot be found any day in any
+court; and I have no doubt that he is destined to be prime minister,
+unless his obstinate truthfulness, which is apt to be a
+stumbling-block for politicians, stands in his way....
+
+"Well, he accepted the post and wrote to his wife next day, who was
+preparing for a summer's residence in a small house they had taken on
+the sea-coast, that he could not come because he was already
+established in Frankfort as minister. The result, he said, was three
+days of tears on her part. He had previously been leading the life of
+a plain country squire with a moderate income, had never held any
+position in the government or in diplomacy, and had hardly ever been
+to court."
+
+
+
+
+L
+
+THE YOUTH OF GEORGE TICKNOR
+
+
+George Ticknor was born in 1791. His father, he says, fitted him for
+college. He never went to a regular school. President Wheelock,
+Professor Woodward, and others connected with Dartmouth College, who
+were in the habit of making his father's house their home in the long
+winter vacations, took much notice of him; and the professor, after
+examining him in Cicero _Orations_ and the Greek Testament, gave him a
+certificate of admission before he was ten years old. "Of course," he
+adds, "I knew very little, and the whole thing was a form, perhaps a
+farce. There was no thought of my going to college then, and I did not
+go till I was fourteen, but I was twice examined at the college (where
+I went with my father and mother every summer) for advanced standing,
+and was finally admitted as a junior, and went to reside there from
+Commencement, August, 1805." He learned very little at college. "The
+instructors generally were not as good teachers as my father had been,
+and I knew it." He consequently took no great interest in study,
+although he liked reading Horace, and had mathematics enough to enjoy
+calculating the great eclipse of 1806, and making a projection of it
+which turned out nearly right. To supply the deficiency in classical
+acquirements with which he left college, he was placed under Dr. John
+Gardiner, of Trinity Church, who was reputed a good scholar, having
+been bred in the mother country under Dr. Parr.
+
+"I prepared at home what he prescribed, and the rest of my time
+occupied myself according to my tastes. I read with him parts of Livy,
+the _Annals_ of Tacitus, the whole of Juvenal and Persius, the
+_Satires_ of Horace, and portions of other Latin classics which I do
+not remember. I wrote Latin prose and verse. In Greek I read some
+books of the _Odyssey_, I don't remember how many; the _Alcestis_; and
+two or three other plays of Euripides; the _Prometheus Vinctus_ of
+Æschylus; portions of Herodotus, and parts of Thucydides,--of which
+last I only remember how I was tormented by the account of the plague
+at Athens. This was the work of between two and three years."
+
+After a year's experience in law, he decides to give up his profession
+and goes to Europe in order to study at Goettingen. On reaching
+Liverpool his first introduction is to Roscoe, and then on his way to
+London he stops at Hatton to visit Dr. Parr, who astonished him not a
+little by observing, "Sir, I would not think I had done my duty if I
+went to bed any night without praying for the success of Napoleon
+Bonaparte."
+
+In London Mr. Ticknor formed a friendship with Lord Byron; two men
+more unlike in every respect can hardly be conceived of, and it is
+amusing to think of Byron impressing his visitor as being "simple and
+unaffected," or of his speaking "of his early follies with
+sincerity," and of his own works "with modesty." It is amusing, too,
+to hear that as Lady Byron is going out for a drive, "Lord Byron's
+manner to her was affectionate; he followed her to the door, and shook
+hands with her, as if he were not to see her for a month." The
+following curious anecdote shows that Byron was no less unpatriotic in
+his views than Dr. Parr himself. Mr. Ticknor is calling upon him, and
+Byron is praising Scott as the first man of his time, and saying of
+Gifford that no one could have a better disposition, when,--
+
+"Sir James Bland Burgess, who had something to do in negotiating Jay's
+Treaty, came suddenly into the room, and said abruptly, 'My lord, my
+lord, a great battle has been fought in the Low Countries, and
+Bonaparte is entirely defeated.' 'But is it true?' said Lord Byron, 'is
+it true?' 'Yes, my lord, it is certainly true; and an aid-de-camp
+arrived in town last night, he has been in Downing Street this morning,
+and I have just seen him as he was going to Lady Wellington's. He says
+he thinks Bonaparte is in full retreat towards Paris.' After a moment's
+pause, Lord Byron replied, 'I am sorry for it;' and then, after another
+slight pause, he added, 'I didn't know but I might live to see Lord
+Castlereagh's head on a pole. But I suppose I sha'n't now.' And this
+was the first impression produced on his imperious nature by the news
+of the battle of Waterloo."
+
+But Byron is not Mr. Ticknor's only London friend, for we read of a
+breakfast with Sir Humphry Davy, a "genuine bookseller's dinner" with
+Murray, and a visit to the author of _Gertrude of Wyoming_.
+
+Goettingen, however, is the object of his journey, and at Goettingen
+he remains for the next year and a half. If he does not learn to scorn
+the delights of society, he has at least the resolution to live the
+laborious days of the earnest student. He studies five languages, and
+works twelve hours in the twenty-four. Greek, German, theology, and
+natural history seem chiefly to claim his attention, but he is also
+busy with French, Italian, and Latin, and manages at the same time to
+keep up his English reading. He is much amused with the German
+professors, and describes them with no little humor. There is
+Michaelis, who asks one of his scholars for some silver shoe-buckles,
+in lieu of a fee. There is Schultze, who "looks as if he had fasted
+six months on Greek prosody and the Pindaric meters." There is
+Blumenbach, who has a sharp discussion at a dinner-table, and next day
+sends down three huge quartos all marked to show his authorities and
+justify his statements.
+
+Here is another interesting anecdote given in Ticknor's _Memoirs_:
+
+"When I was in Goettingen, in 1816, I saw Wolf, the most distinguished
+Greek scholar of the time. He could also lecture extemporaneously in
+Latin. He was curious about this country, and questioned me about our
+scholars and the amount of our scholarship. I told him what I
+could,--amongst other things, of a fashionable, dashing preacher of
+New York having told me that he took great pleasure in reading the
+choruses of Æschylus, and that he read them without a dictionary! I
+was walking with Wolf at the time, and, on hearing this, he stopped,
+squared round, and said, 'He told you that, did he?' 'Yes,' I
+answered. 'Very well; the next time you hear him say it, do you tell
+him he lies, and that I say so.'"
+
+During a six weeks' vacation there is a pleasant tour through Germany,
+and at Weimar Mr. Ticknor makes the acquaintance of Goethe, who talked
+about Byron, and "his great knowledge of human nature."
+
+And now in the November of 1816, there comes an intimation that
+Harvard College wishes to recall Mr. Ticknor to his old home, and give
+him the professorship of French and Spanish literature. It was a
+matter of difficulty for him to make a final decision, and a year
+passes before he determined to accept the charge, and a year and a
+half more before he enters upon its duties.
+
+Meanwhile he leaves Goettingen, visits Paris, Geneva, and Rome, and
+then goes on to Spain.... When in Spain, Mr. Ticknor is busy learning
+Spanish and collecting Spanish books, and here he lays the groundwork
+for that special literary distinction for which he is now so widely
+known.--Adapted from the _Athenaeum_ and _Quarterly Review_.
+
+
+
+
+LI
+
+FITZ-GREENE HALLECK
+
+
+Fitz-Greene Halleck died at a ripe old age in 1867. On the evening of
+February 2d, 1869, Bryant delivered an address on the life and
+writings of Halleck. The address was given before the New York
+Historical Society and was printed the next day in the _New York
+Evening Post_. Here is an interesting extract from the address:
+
+"When 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 subsequent 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
+had 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 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. He had a
+tenacious verbal memory, and having composed his poems without
+committing them to paper, he revised them in the same manner,
+murmuring them to himself in his solitary moments, recovering the
+enthusiasm with which they were first received, and in this state
+heightening the beauty of the thought or of the expression. I remember
+that once in crossing Washington Park I saw Halleck before me and
+quickened my pace to overtake him. As I drew near I heard him crooning
+to himself what seemed to be lines of verse, and as he threw back his
+hands in walking I perceived that they quivered with the feeling of
+the passage he was reciting. I instantly checked my pace and fell
+back, out of reverence for the mood of inspiration which seemed to be
+upon him, and fearful lest I should intercept the birth of a poem
+destined to be the delight of thousands of readers.
+
+"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
+he wrought up his verses to that transparent clearness of expression
+which causes the thought to be seen through them without any
+interposing dimness, so that the thought and the phrase seem one, and
+the thought enters the mind like a beam of light. I suppose that
+Halleck's time being taken up by the tasks of his vocation, he
+naturally lost by degrees the habit of composing in this manner, and
+that he found it so necessary to the perfection of what he wrote that
+he adopted no other in its place.
+
+"Whatever was the reason that Halleck ceased so early to write, let us
+congratulate ourselves that he wrote at all. Great authors often
+overlay and almost smother their own fame by the voluminousness of
+their writings. So great is their multitude, and so rich is the
+literature of our language, that for frequent readings we are obliged
+to content ourselves with mere selections from the works of best and
+most beloved of our poets, even those who have not written much. It is
+only a few of their works that dwell and live in the general mind.
+Gray, for example, wrote little, and of that little one short poem,
+his _Elegy_, can be fairly said to survive in the public admiration,
+and that poem I have sometimes heard called the most popular in our
+language."
+
+
+
+
+LII
+
+THE AUTHOR OF THANATOPSIS
+
+
+Thanatopsis may be said to be the most remarkable poem written by an
+American youth. "The unfailing wonder of it is," writes an American
+critic in a magazine article, "that a boy of seventeen could have
+written it; not merely that he could have made verse of such
+structural beauty and dignity, but that the thoughts of which it is
+compacted could have been a boy's thoughts. The poem seems to have
+been written while he was at his father's house in Cummington, in the
+summer of 1811, before he had definitely begun the study of law. Fond
+as he had been of showing his earlier effusions to his father and
+others, the consciousness of having done something different and
+greater must have come upon him at this time, for it was only by
+accident, six years after the writing of _Thanatopsis_, that his
+father chanced to find it and the poem now called _An Inscription Upon
+the Entrance to a Wood_, among some papers in a desk the boy had used
+while at home. Dr. Bryant read them with amazement and delight,
+hurried at once to the house of a neighbor, a lady of whose sympathy
+he felt sure, thrust them into her hands, and, with the tears running
+down his cheeks, said, 'Read them; they are Cullen's.'
+
+   [Illustration: WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
+   From a photograph from life]
+
+"Now it had happened only a short time before, that Dr. Bryant had
+been asked in Boston to urge his son to contribute to the newly
+established _North American Review_, and had written him a letter on
+the editor's behalf. Here was the opportunity of a proud father.
+Without telling his son of his discovery or his purpose, he left the
+poems one day, together with some translations from _Horace_ by the
+same hand, at the office of _The North American_. The little package
+was addressed to his editorial friend, Mr. Willard Phillips, of whom
+tradition tells us that as soon as he read the poems he betook himself
+in hot haste to Cambridge to display his treasures to his associates,
+Richard H. Dana and Edward T. Channing. 'Ah, Phillips,' said Dana,
+when he had heard the poems read, 'you have been imposed upon. No one
+on this side of the Atlantic is capable of writing such verse.' But
+Phillips, believing Dr. Bryant to be responsible for it, declared that
+he knew the writer, and that Dana could see him at once if he would go
+to the State House in Boston. Accordingly the young men posted into
+town, and Dana, unconvinced after looking long and carefully at Dr.
+Bryant in his seat in the Senate, said, 'It is a good head, but I do
+not see _Thanatopsis_ in it.'"
+
+Bryant is never thought of as a humorist, and his poetry is devoid of
+playfulness. But in this letter to his mother, in which he announces
+his marriage with Frances Fairchild, we have evidence that Bryant had
+a strong sense of humor.
+
+    DEAR MOTHER: I hasten to send you the melancholy intelligence
+    of what has lately happened to me.
+
+    Early on the evening of the eleventh day of the present month
+    I was at a neighboring house in this village. Several people
+    of both sexes were assembled in one of the apartments, and
+    three or four others, with myself, were in another. At last
+    came in a little elderly gentleman, pale, thin, with a solemn
+    countenance, pleuritic voice, hooked nose, and hollow eyes. It
+    was not long before we were summoned to attend in the
+    apartment where he and the rest of the company were gathered.
+    We went in and took our seats; the little elderly gentleman
+    with the hooked nose prayed, and we all stood up. When he had
+    finished most of us sat down. The gentleman with the hooked
+    nose then muttered certain cabalistic expressions, which I was
+    too much frightened to remember, but I recollect that at the
+    conclusion I was given to understand that I was married to a
+    young lady by the name of Frances Fairchild, whom I perceived
+    standing by my side, and I hope in the course of few months to
+    have the pleasure of introducing to you as your daughter-in-law,
+    which is a matter of some interest to the poor girl, who has
+    neither father or mother in the world.
+
+Next to _Thanatopsis_ the most widely-known and admired of Bryant's
+work is _To a Waterfowl_. There are two very interesting stories
+pertaining to this much quoted poem, one relating to the origin of the
+poem, the other recording its effect on two fastidious young
+Englishmen, Hartley Coleridge and Matthew Arnold.
+
+Bryant was a young man with no assurance as to what the future might
+have in store for him. He was journeying over the hills to Plainfield
+to see whether there might possibly be an opening for a young lawyer.
+It was the 15th of December, 1816, and we can imagine that the gloom
+of the gathering twilight helped to deepen the youth's despondency.
+But before the glimmering light of evening had given place entirely to
+the dark of night, the sky was transfigured with the bright rays of
+the setting sun. The New England sky was flooded for a moment with
+seas of chrysolite and opal. While young Bryant stopped to enjoy the
+brilliant scene, a solitary bird made its way across the sky. He
+watched it until it was lost in the distant horizon, and then went on
+with new courage as he thought the thoughts so beautifully expressed
+in the poem which he wrote after he reached the house where he was to
+stay for the night.
+
+The incident in regard to Matthew Arnold is related by Godwin in a
+letter to Bigelow:
+
+"Once when the late Matthew Arnold, with his family, was visiting the
+ever-hospitable country home of Mr. Charles Butler, I happened to
+spend an evening there. In the course of it Mr. Arnold took up a
+volume of Mr. Bryant's poems from the table and turning to me said,
+'This is the American poet, _facile princeps_'; and after a pause, he
+continued: 'When I first heard of him, Hartley Coleridge (we were both
+lads then) came into my father's house one afternoon considerably
+excited and exclaimed, 'Matt, do you want to hear the best short poem
+in the English language?' 'Faith, Hartley, I do,' was my reply. He
+then read a poem _To a Waterfowl_ in his best manner. And he was a
+good reader. As soon as he had done he asked, 'What do you think of
+that?' 'I am not sure but you are right, Hartley, is it your
+father's?' was my reply. 'No,' he rejoined, 'father has written
+nothing like that.' Some days after he might be heard muttering to
+himself,
+
+    The desert and illimitable air,
+    Lone wandering but not lost."
+
+
+
+
+LIII
+
+CURTIS AND HAWTHORNE AT THE BROOK FARM
+
+
+The social experiment known as the Brook Farm enterprise is one of the
+most interesting episodes in American literature. Mrs. Ora G. Sedgwick
+is one of the many writers who have written about the place and its
+inhabitants. She went there in June, 1841, and lived for some time at
+the Hive, the principal community edifice. She was then but a girl of
+sixteen, but the impressions on her youthful mind were strong enough
+to enable her recently to describe her life there. As to Curtis she
+has this to say:
+
+"The arrival of George William Curtis, then a youth of eighteen, and
+his brother Burrill, two years his senior, was a noteworthy event in
+the annals of Brook Farm, at least in the estimation of the younger
+members. I shall never forget the flutter of excitement caused by Mr.
+Ripley's announcing their expected coming in these words: 'Now we're
+going to have two young Greek gods among us.' ... On a bright morning
+in May, 1842, soon after Mr. Ripley's announcement, as I was coming
+down from the Eyrie to the Hive, I saw Charles A. Dana with two
+strange young men approaching my 'magic gate' from the direction of
+the Hive. Arriving at the gate before me, Mr. Dana threw it open with
+the flourish peculiar to his manner, and stood holding it back. His
+companions stood beside him, and all three waited for me to pass
+through. I saw at a glance that these must be 'the two young Greek
+gods.' They stood disclosed, not like Virgil's Venus, by their step,
+but by their beauty and bearing. Burrill Curtis was at that time the
+more beautiful. He had a Greek face, of great purity of expression,
+and curling hair. George too was very handsome--not so remarkably as
+in later life, but already with a man's virile expression.
+
+"About George William Curtis there was a peculiar personal elegance
+and an air of great deference in listening to one whom he admired or
+looked up to. There was a certain remoteness (at times almost
+amounting to indifference) about him, but he was always courteous. His
+friends were all older than himself, and he appeared much older in
+manners and conversation than he was in years; more like a man of
+twenty-five than a youth of eighteen."
+
+Mrs. Sedgwick also gives us a charming glimpse at the great American
+novelist, Hawthorne:
+
+"I do not recollect Hawthorne's talking much at the table. Indeed, he
+was a very taciturn man. One day, tired of seeing him sitting
+immovable on the sofa in the hall, as I was learning some verses to
+recite at the evening class for recitation formed by Charles A. Dana,
+I daringly took my book, pushed it into his hands, and said, 'Will you
+hear my poetry, Mr. Hawthorne?' He gave me a sidelong glance from his
+very shy eyes, took the book, and most kindly heard me. After that he
+was on the sofa every week to hear me recite.
+
+"One evening he was alone in the hall, sitting on a chair at the
+farther end, when my room mate, Ellen Slade, and myself were going
+upstairs. She whispered to me, 'Let's throw the sofa pillows at Mr.
+Hawthorne.' Reaching over the bannisters, we each took a cushion and
+threw it. Quick as a flash he put out his hand, seized a broom that
+was hanging near him, warded off our cushions, and threw them back
+with sure aim. As fast as we could throw them at him he returned them
+with effect, hitting us every time, while we could hit only the broom.
+He must have been very quick in his movements. Through it all not a
+word was spoken. We laughed and laughed, and his eyes shone and
+twinkled like stars. Wonderful eyes they were, and when anything witty
+was said I always looked quickly at Mr. Hawthorne; for his dark eyes
+lighted up as if flames were suddenly kindled behind them, and then
+the smile came down to his lips and over his grave face.
+
+"My memories of Mr. Hawthorne are among the pleasantest of my Brook
+Farm recollections. His manners to children were charming and kind. I
+saw him one day walking, as was his custom, with his hands behind his
+back, head bent forward, the two little Bancrofts and other children
+following him with pleased faces, and stooping every now and then with
+broad smiles, after which they would rise and run on again behind him.
+Puzzled at these maneuvers, I watched closely, and found that
+although he hardly moved a muscle except to walk, yet from time to
+time he dropped a penny, for which the children scrambled."
+
+
+
+
+LIV
+
+HAWTHORNE AND THE SCARLET LETTER
+
+
+On June 8, 1849, Hawthorne walked out of the Salem Custom House--a man
+without a job. Taylor's Whig administration had come in, so our
+Democratic friend, Mr. Hawthorne, walked out. The job he left was not
+in our modern eyes a very lucrative one, it was worth $1,200 a year
+and Hawthorne had had it for three years. But he went out "mad," for
+he knew he had not meddled in politics and he thought that as an
+author--even if he was the "most obscure man of letters in
+America"--he was entitled to some consideration.
+
+And then there were the wife and children! As he walked home to tell
+them the doleful news, he was much depressed by thoughts of them. He
+had paid his old debts; but he had saved nothing. He seemed to lack
+money, friends, and influence. He had written to a friend in
+Boston,--"I shall not stand upon my dignity; that must take care of
+itself.... Do not think anything too humble to be mentioned to me. The
+intelligence has just reached me, and Sophia has not yet heard it. She
+will bear it like a woman,--that is to say better than a man." What a
+noble tribute to woman's fortitude! Hawthorne's belief in the
+sustaining love of his wife reminds us of a tradition which says that
+he never read a letter from his wife without first washing his hands.
+To him the act was sacred, and like a priest of old before handling
+the symbols of love he performed the rites of purification.
+
+His son tells us how the wife met the news with which he greeted her
+on his arrival at home, "that he had left his head behind." She
+exclaimed, "Oh, then you can write your book!" And when he with the
+prudence of a practical man wanted to know where the bread and rice
+were to come from while he was writing the book, she like all good
+wives--of olden times, at least--brought forth a "pile of gold" which
+she had saved from the household weekly expenses. When the pile of
+gold had been subjected to mathematical accuracy it dwindled to $150,
+but it was enough to tide over immediate wants.
+
+It was in the early winter that James T. Fields, the publisher who
+plays such a prominent part in the early history of American
+literature, descended upon the quiet Salem household like the
+"godmother in a fairy story." Fields has told the story of his visit:
+"I found him alone in a chamber over the sitting-room of the dwelling;
+and as the day was cold, he was hovering near a stove. We fell into
+talk about his future prospects, and he was, as I feared I should find
+him, in a very desponding mood. 'Now,' said I, 'is the time for you to
+publish, for I know during these years in Salem you must have got
+something ready for the press.' 'Nonsense,' said he, 'what heart had I
+to write anything, when my publishers have been so many years trying
+to sell a small edition of the _Twice-told Tales_.' I still pressed
+upon him the good chances he would have now with something new. 'Who
+would risk publishing a book for me, the most unpopular writer in
+America?' 'I would,' said I, 'and would start with an edition of 2,000
+copies of anything you would write.' 'What madness!' he exclaimed.
+'Your friendship for me gets the better of your judgment.' 'No, no!'
+he continued, 'I have no money to indemnify a publisher's losses on my
+account.' I looked at my watch, and found that the train would be soon
+starting for Boston, and I knew that there was not much time to lose
+in trying to discover what had been his literary work during these
+last few years in Salem. I remember that I pressed him to reveal to me
+what he had been writing. He shook his head and gave me to understand
+that he had produced nothing. At that moment I caught sight of a
+bureau or set of drawers near where we were sitting; and immediately
+it occurred to me that hidden in that article of furniture was a story
+or stories by the author of _Twice-told Tales_; and I became so
+positive of it that I charged him vehemently with the fact. He seemed
+surprised, I thought, but shook his head again; and I rose to take my
+leave, begging him not to come into the cold entry, saying I would
+come back and see him again in a few days. I was hurrying down the
+stairs when he called after me from the chamber, asking me to stop a
+moment. Then quickly stepping into the entry with a roll of MS. in his
+hands, he said: 'How in heaven's name did you know this thing was
+there? As you found me out, take what was written, and tell me, after
+you get home and have time to read it, if it is good for anything. It
+is either very good or very bad--I don't know which!' On my way to
+Boston I read the germ of _The Scarlet Letter_."
+
+Hawthorne's original plan was to write a number of stories, of which
+this particular one was to be the longest. He was going to call his
+book of tales, _Old-Time Legends: together with Sketches, Experimental
+and Ideal_,--a title which Woodberry calls "ghostly with the
+transcendental nonage of his genius." Fields urged that the tale be
+made longer and fuller and that it be published by itself. So the
+original plan was changed, as was also the title. This was wise, for
+the cumbersome original title would have killed any book, but the
+present title is nothing short of a stroke of genius.
+
+About this time Hawthorne's friends, under the leading of Hillard,
+sent a kind letter and a considerable sum of money. Hawthorne
+replied,--"I read your letter in the vestibule of the Post Office; and
+it drew--what my troubles never have--the water to my eyes; so that I
+was glad of the sharply-cold west wind that blew into them as I came
+homeward, and gave them an excuse for being red and bleared." After
+saying it was sweet to be remembered, but bitter to need their aid, he
+concludes,--"The money, dear Hillard, will smooth my path for a long
+time to come. The only way in which a man can retain his self-respect,
+while availing himself of the generosity of his friends, is by making
+it an incitement to his utmost exertion, so that he may not need their
+help again. I shall look upon it so--nor will shun any drudgery that
+my hand shall find to do, if thereby I may win bread."
+
+Four days after this letter was written, on February 3, 1850, he
+finished _The Scarlet Letter_. He writes to a friend saying he read
+the last scene to his wife, or rather tried to read it, "for my voice
+swelled and heaved, as if I were tossed up and down on an ocean as it
+subsides after a storm." Mrs. Hawthorne told a friend that her husband
+seemed depressed all during that winter. "There was a knot in his
+forehead all the time," said his wife. One day he told her he had a
+story that he wished to read to her. He read part of the work one
+evening. The next evening he continued. His wife followed the story
+with intense interest. Her excitement arose until when he was reading
+near the end of the book, where Arthur and Hester and the child meet
+in the forest, Mrs. Hawthorne sank from her low stool to the floor and
+said she could endure no more. Hawthorne stopped and said in
+wonder,--"Do you really feel it so much? Then there must be something
+in it."
+
+Mrs. Hawthorne relates that on the day after the MS. was delivered to
+Fields, this publisher returned and when admitted to the house caught
+up her boy in his arms and said,--"You splendid little fellow, do you
+know what a father you have?" Then he ran upstairs to talk to
+Hawthorne, calling to her as he went that he had sat up all night to
+read the story. Soon her husband came down and walked about the room
+with a new light in his eyes.
+
+Early in April the book was issued in an edition of 5,000 copies; this
+was soon exhausted, and Hawthorne was well started on that career of
+literary fame which led Mr. Hamilton W. Mabie, a hundred years after
+the birth of Hawthorne, to call him "the foremost literary artist of
+America."
+
+_The Scarlet Letter_, as Hawthorne himself tells us, is a story of
+"human frailty and sorrow." It is the story of one who has brooded
+long and faithfully upon the problem of evil. In it we read that man
+is the master of his fate. The great difference between ancient and
+modern literature is this: the old dramatists seem to believe that
+somewhere there is a power above and beyond the control of man, a
+blind, unreasoning force that seems to play with man as the football
+of chance. Whatever may be done by man will prove unavailing if Fate
+or Destiny has decreed otherwise. Out of such a philosophy of life
+comes the story of OEdipus. The modern conception is that expressed by
+Shakspere:
+
+    The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
+    But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
+
+Still later Henley in his one great poem has expressed the thought
+with vigor,--
+
+    Out of the night that covers me,
+    Black as the pit from pole to pole,
+    I thank whatever gods there be
+    For my unconquerable soul!
+
+With unfaltering aim Hawthorne shows that each character works out its
+own destiny. That man is helpless, the sport of gods, the football of
+Fate, is disproved by the patient transformation in the character of
+Hester.
+
+Some one has well characterized _The Scarlet Letter_ as "a drama of
+the spirit." It is a story such as only one who had brooded deeply on
+the problem of evil could write. Hawthorne was a "solitary brooder
+upon life." Every one who knew him testified to this impression. When
+William Dean Howells, a young man from Ohio, knocked at the door of
+the Wayside Cottage, a letter of introduction in his hand, and a
+feeling of hero-worship in his heart, he was ushered into the presence
+of the great romancer, who advanced "carrying his head with a heavy
+forward droop" and with pondering pace. His look was "somber and
+brooding--the look of a man who had dealt faithfully and therefore
+sorrowfully with that problem of evil which forever attracted and
+forever evaded Hawthorne."
+
+Hawthorne impressed all who met him with his reserve and shyness. Many
+stories are told to illustrate this quality. Hawthorne was once a
+visitor at a club where a number of literary men had gathered. The
+taciturnity of Hawthorne was more impressive than the loquacity of the
+witty Holmes. After Hawthorne had left Emerson said, "Hawthorne rides
+his dark horse well." George William Curtis relates this anecdote:
+
+"...I recall the silent and preternatural vigor with which, on one
+occasion, he wielded his paddle to counteract the bad rowing of a
+friend who conscientiously considered it his duty to do something and
+not let Hawthorne work alone, but who with every stroke neutralized
+all Hawthorne's efforts. I suppose he would have struggled until he
+fell senseless rather than to ask his friend to desist. His principle
+seemed to be, if a man cannot understand without talking to him, it
+is quite useless to talk, because it is immaterial whether such a man
+understands or not."
+
+Hawthorne's father was a man of the sea, a man of few words, and it is
+sometimes said that the romancer inherited his shy and reserved
+disposition from his father. But his mother was not behind the father
+in reserve. After her husband's death she shut herself up in
+Hindoo-like seclusion and lived the life of a hermit for more than
+forty years.
+
+Hawthorne gives us an interesting account of his boyhood in an
+autobiographical note to his friend Stoddard. "When I was eight or
+nine years old, my mother, with her three children, took up her
+residence on the banks of the Sebago Lake, in Maine, where the family
+owned a large tract of land; and here I ran quite wild ... fishing all
+day long, or shooting with an old fowling-piece; but reading a good
+deal too, on the rainy days, especially in _Shakspere_ and _The
+Pilgrim's Progress_."
+
+More pertinent as to his habits of loneliness is the following account
+of how he lived for nine or ten years after his graduation from
+Bowdoin. "I had always," he writes, "a natural tendency (it appears to
+have been on the paternal side) toward seclusion; and this I now
+indulged to the utmost, so that, for months together, I scarcely held
+human intercourse outside of my own family, seldom going out except at
+twilight, or only to take the nearest way to the most convenient
+solitude, which was oftenest the seashore.... Having spent so much of
+my boyhood and youth from my native place, I had very few
+acquaintances in Salem, and during the nine or ten years that I spent
+there, in this solitary way, I doubt whether so much as twenty people
+in the town were aware of my existence."
+
+Such was the solitariness of the youthful Hawthorne. Is it surprising
+that in the fiction of the mature man there should be a pervading
+sense of remoteness, of silences that fascinate, of mysteries that
+charm?
+
+
+
+
+LV
+
+MAX MÜLLER'S RECOLLECTIONS OF EMERSON, LOWELL, AND HOLMES
+
+
+Living at Oxford, writes Max Müller, I have had the good fortune of
+receiving visits from Emerson, Dr. Wendell Holmes, and Lowell, to
+speak of the brightest stars only. Each of them stayed at our house
+for several days, so that I could take them in at leisure, while
+others had to be taken at one gulp, often between one train and the
+next. Oxford has a great attraction for all Americans, and it is a
+pleasure to see how completely they feel at home in the memories of
+the place. The days when Emerson, Wendell Holmes, and Lowell were
+staying with us, the breakfasts and luncheons, the teas and dinners,
+and the delightful walks through college halls, chapels and gardens
+are possessions forever....
+
+I do not wonder that philosophers by profession had nothing to say to
+his (Emerson's) essays because they did not seem to advance their
+favorite inquiries beyond the point they had reached before. But there
+were many people, particularly in America, to whom these rhapsodies
+did more good than any learned disquisitions or carefully arranged
+sermons. There is in them what attracts us so much in the ancients,
+freshness, directness, self-confidence, unswerving loyalty to truth,
+as far as they could see it. He had no one to fear, no one to please.
+Socrates or Plato, if suddenly brought to life in America, might have
+spoken like Emerson, and the effect produced by Emerson was certainly
+like that produced by Socrates in olden times.
+
+What Emerson's personal charm must have been in earlier life we can
+only conjecture from the rapturous praises bestowed on him by his
+friends, even during his lifetime.... And his influence was not
+confined to the American mind. I have watched it growing in England. I
+can still remember the time when even experienced judges spoke of his
+essays as mere declamations, as poetical rhapsodies, as poor
+imitations of Carlyle. Then gradually one man after another found
+something in Emerson which was not to be found in Carlyle,
+particularly his loving heart, his tolerant spirit, his comprehensive
+sympathy with all that was or was meant to be good and true, even
+though to his own mind it was neither the one nor the other....
+
+Another eminent American who often honored my quiet home at Oxford was
+James Russell Lowell, for a long time United States minister in
+England. He was a professor and at the same time a politician and a
+man of the world. Few essays are so brimful of interesting facts and
+original reflections as his essays entitled _Among my Books_.
+
+Lowell's conversation was inexhaustible, his information astonishing.
+Pleasant as he was, even as an antagonist, he would occasionally lose
+his temper and use very emphatic language. I was once sitting next to
+him when I heard him stagger his neighbor, a young lady, by bursting
+out with, "But, madam, I do not accept your major premise!" Poor
+thing, she evidently was not accustomed to such language, and not
+acquainted with that terrible term. She collapsed, evidently quite at
+a loss as to what gift on her part Mr. Lowell declined to accept.
+
+Sometimes even the most harmless remark about America would call forth
+very sharp replies from him. Everybody knows that the salaries paid by
+America to her diplomatic staff are insufficient, and no one knew it
+better than he himself. But when the remark was made in his presence
+that the United States treated their diplomatic representatives
+stingily, he fired up, and discoursed most eloquently on the
+advantages of high thoughts and humble living....
+
+I lost the pleasure of shaking hands with Longfellow during his stay
+in England. Though I have been more of a fixture at Oxford than most
+professors, I was away during the vacation when he paid his visit to
+our university, and thus lost seeing a poet to whom I felt strongly
+attracted, not only by the general spirit of his poetry, which was
+steeped in German thought, but as the translator of several of my
+father's poems.
+
+I was more fortunate with Dr. Wendell Holmes. His arrival in England
+had been proclaimed beforehand, and one naturally remained at home in
+order to be allowed to receive him. His hundred days in England were
+one uninterrupted triumphal progress. When he arrived at Liverpool he
+found about three hundred invitations waiting for him. Though he was
+accompanied by a most active and efficient daughter, he had at once to
+engage a secretary to answer this deluge of letters. And though he
+was past eighty, he never spared himself, and was always ready to see
+and to be seen. He was not only an old, but a ripe and mellow man.
+There was no subject on which one could touch which was not familiar
+to the autocrat of the breakfast table. His thoughts and his words
+were ready, and one felt that it was not for the first time that the
+subject had been carefully thought out and talked out by him. That he
+should have been able to stand all the fatigue of the journey and the
+constant claims on his ready wit seemed to me marvelous. I had the
+pleasure of showing him the old buildings of Oxford. He seemed to know
+them all, and had something to ask and say about every one. When we
+came to Magdalen College, he wanted to see and to measure the elms. He
+was very proud of some elms in America, and he had actually brought
+some string with which he had measured the largest tree he knew in his
+own country. He proceeded to measure one of our finest elms in
+Magdalen College, and when he found that it was larger than his
+American giant, he stood before it admiring it, without a single word
+of envy or disappointment.
+
+I had, however, a great fright while he was staying at our house. He
+had evidently done too much, and after our first dinner party he had
+feverish shivering fits, and the doctor whom I sent for declared at
+once that he must keep perfectly quiet in bed, and attend no more
+parties of any kind. This was a great disappointment to myself and to
+a great many of my friends. But at his time of life the doctor's
+warning could not be disregarded, and I had, at all events, the
+satisfaction of sending him off to Cambridge safe and sound. I had
+him several days quite to myself, and there were few subjects which we
+did not discuss. We mostly agreed, but even where we did not, it was a
+real pleasure to differ from him. We discussed the greatest and the
+smallest questions, and on every one he had some wise and telling
+remarks to pour out. I remember one conversation while we were sitting
+at an old wainscoted room at All Souls', ornamented with the arms of
+former fellows. It had been at first the library of the college, then
+one of the fellows' rooms, and lastly a lecture room. We were deep in
+the old question of the true relation between the divine and human in
+man, and here again, as on all other questions, everything seemed to
+be clear and evident to his mind. Perhaps I ought not to repeat what
+he said to me when we parted: "I have had much talk with people in
+England; with you I have had a real conversation." We understood each
+other and wondered how it was that men so often misunderstood one
+another. I told him that it was the badness of our language, he
+thought it was the badness of our tempers. Perhaps we were both right.
+With him again good-by was good-by for life, and at such moments one
+wonders indeed how kindred souls became separated, and one feels
+startled and repelled at the thought that, such as they were on earth,
+they can never meet again. And yet there is continuity in the world,
+there is no flaw, no break anywhere, and what has been will surely be
+again, though how it will be we cannot know, and if only we trust in
+the wisdom that pervades the whole universe, we need not know.
+
+
+
+
+LVI
+
+HOWELLS CALLS ON EMERSON, AND DESCRIBES LONGFELLOW
+
+
+In 1860 William Dean Howells, now one of the foremost literary
+influences in the English-speaking world, was a young man writing for
+the _Ohio State Journal_ of Columbus. Several of his poems had been
+kindly received and published by the _Atlantic Monthly_, so that the
+young lady from New England who screamed with surprise at seeing the
+_Atlantic_ on a western table and cried, "Why, have you got the
+_Atlantic Monthly out here_?" could be met with, "There are several
+contributors to the _Atlantic_ in Columbus." The several were Howells
+and J.J. Piatt. But to be an accepted contributor to the _Atlantic_
+was not enough. Howells must see the literary celebrities of New
+England. Emerson and Bayard Taylor he had seen and heard in Columbus,
+but Longfellow, Hawthorne, Lowell, Holmes, and Whittier were the
+literary saints at whose shrine he wished to burn the sacred incense
+of his adoring soul.
+
+From Hawthorne he received a card introducing him to Emerson. Emerson
+was then about sixty, although nothing about him suggested an old man.
+After some conversation on general topics, Emerson began to talk of
+Hawthorne, praising Hawthorne's fine personal qualities. "But his
+last book," he added, reflectively, "is mere mush." This criticism
+related to the _Marble Faun_. Of course, such a comment shocked
+Howells, whose sense of literary values was much keener than
+Emerson's. "Emerson had, in fact," writes Howells, "a defective sense
+as to specific pieces of literature; he praised extravagantly, and in
+the wrong place, especially among the new things, and he failed to see
+the worth of much that was fine and precious beside the line of his
+fancy."
+
+Then Emerson made some inquiry about a Michigan young man who had been
+sending some of his poetry to Emerson. Howells was embarrassed to be
+obliged to say that he knew nothing of the Michigan poet. Later
+Emerson asked whether he had become acquainted with the poems of Mr.
+William Henry Channing. Howells replied that he knew them only through
+the criticism of Poe.
+
+"Whose criticisms?" asked Emerson.
+
+"Poe's," replied Howells.
+
+"Oh," Emerson cried after a thoughtful moment, "you mean _the jingle
+man_!"
+
+This was a moment of confusion and embarrassment for Howells. Had the
+vituperative pen of Poe ever thrown off more stinging criticism than
+that? "_The jingle man!_"
+
+Emerson turned the conversation to Howells himself and asked him what
+he had written for the _Atlantic_. Howells replied, and Emerson took
+down the bound volumes and carefully affixed Howells' initials to the
+poems. "He followed me to the door, still speaking of poetry, and as
+he took a kindly enough leave of me, he said one might very well give
+a pleasant hour to it now and then." This was a shock to Howells. "A
+pleasant hour!" Howells was intending to consecrate all time and
+eternity to it, and here is the Sage of Concord coolly speaking of
+poetry as though it were some trifling diversion, like billiards or
+whist.
+
+Later in life when Howells resided in Cambridge he had abundant
+opportunity to become acquainted with Longfellow, whom in _Literary
+Friends and Acquaintance_ he calls the "White Mr. Longfellow."
+
+"He was the most perfectly modest man I ever saw, ever imagined, but
+he had a gentle dignity which I do not believe any one, the coarsest,
+the obtusest, could trespass upon. In the years when I began to know
+him, his long hair and the beautiful beard which mixed with it were of
+iron-gray, which I saw blanch to a perfect silver, while that pearly
+tone of his complexion, which Appleton so admired, lost itself in the
+wanness of age and pain. When he walked, he had a kind of spring in
+his gait, as if now and again a buoyant thought lifted him from the
+ground. It was fine to meet him coming down a Cambridge street; you
+felt that the encounter made you a part of literary history, and set
+you apart with him for the moment from the poor and mean. When he
+appeared in Harvard Square, he beatified if not beautified the ugliest
+and vulgarest looking spot on the planet outside of New York. You
+could meet him sometimes at the market, if you were of the same
+provision-man as he, for Longfellow remained as constant to his
+tradespeople as to any other friends. He rather liked to bring his
+proofs back to the printer himself, and we often found ourselves
+together at the University Press, where _The Atlantic Monthly_ used to
+be printed. But outside of his own house Longfellow seemed to want a
+fit atmosphere, and I love best to think of him in his study, where he
+wrought at his lovely art with a serenity expressed in his smooth,
+regular, and scrupulously perfect handwriting. It was quite vertical,
+and rounded, with a slope neither to the right nor left, and at the
+time I knew him first, he was fond of using a soft pencil on printing
+paper, though commonly he wrote with a quill. Each letter was distinct
+in shape, and between the verses was always the exact space of half an
+inch. I have a good many of his poems written in this fashion, but
+whether they were the first drafts or not I cannot say; very likely
+not. Towards the last he no longer sent the poems to the magazines in
+his own hand, but they were always signed in autograph.
+
+"I once asked him if he were not a great deal interrupted, and he
+said, with a faint sigh, Not more than was good for him, he fancied;
+if it were not for the interruptions, he might overwork. He was not a
+friend to stated exercise, I believe, nor fond of walking, as Lowell
+was; he had not, indeed, the childish associations of the younger poet
+with the Cambridge neighborhoods; and I never saw him walking for
+pleasure except on the east veranda of his house, though I was told he
+loved walking in his youth. In this and in some other things
+Longfellow was more European than American, more Latin than Saxon. He
+once said quaintly that one got a great deal of exercise in putting on
+and off one's overcoat and overshoes....
+
+"He was patient, as I said of all things, and gentle beyond all mere
+gentlemanliness. But it would have been a great mistake to mistake his
+mildness for softness. It was most manly and firm, and of course, it
+was braced with the New England conscience he was born to. If he did
+not find it well to assert himself, he was prompt in behalf of his
+friends, and one of the fine things told of him was his resenting some
+things said of Sumner at a dinner in Boston during the old pro-slavery
+times; he said to the gentlemen present that Sumner was his friend,
+and he must leave their company if they continued to assail him.
+
+"But he spoke almost as rarely of his friends as of himself. He liked
+the large, impersonal topics which could be dealt with, on their human
+side, and involved characters rather than individuals. This was rather
+strange in Cambridge, where we were apt to take our instances from our
+environments. It was not the only thing he was strange in there; he
+was not to that manner born; he lacked the final intimacies which can
+come only of birth and lifelong association, and which make the men of
+the Boston breed seem exclusive when they least feel so; he was
+Longfellow to the friends who were James, and Charles, and Wendell to
+one another. He and Hawthorne were classmates at college, but I never
+heard him mention Hawthorne; I never heard him mention Whittier or
+Emerson. I think his reticence about his contemporaries was largely
+due to his reluctance from criticism: he was the finest artist of
+them all, and if he praised he must have praised with the reservations
+of an honest man. Of younger writers he was willing enough to speak.
+No new contributor made his mark in the magazine unnoted by him, and
+sometimes I showed him verse in manuscript which gave me peculiar
+pleasure. I remember his liking for the first piece that Mr. Maurice
+Thompson sent me, and how he tasted the fresh flavor of it and inhaled
+its wild new fragrance."
+
+
+
+
+LVII
+
+LONGFELLOW, THE UNIVERSAL POET
+
+
+We have passed the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Longfellow,
+and he still remains the favorite American poet. Not that Longfellow
+is one of the great world poets; Longfellow himself would have been
+offended with that eulogistic extravagance which would place him among
+the few immortals. He is not a Homer, nor a Dante, nor a Shakspere.
+No, he is not even a Wordsworth in philosophic insight into nature,
+nor a Shelley in power to snatch the soul into the starry empyrean,
+nor a Tennyson in variety and passion, nor a Milton in grandeur of
+poetic expression. He is--only Longfellow. But that means he has his
+own peculiar charm. It is idle to detract from the fame of one man
+because he is not some one else. Roast beef may be more nutritious
+than strawberries, but that is no criticism upon the flavor of the
+strawberry. Longfellow is not Milton, but then neither is Milton
+Longfellow:
+
+    If I cannot carry forests on my back
+    Neither can you crack a nut.
+
+Of late years the critics have been finding fault with Longfellow.
+They have said that really Longfellow is no poet. Frederic Harrison
+calls Evangeline "goody, goody dribble!" and Quiller-Couch in his
+anthology gives three pages to Longfellow and seven to Wilfred Scawen
+Blunt--but who is Blunt? When I was in Berlin I found in a German
+history of English and American Literature one-half a page devoted to
+Longfellow and ten pages to Poe. Perhaps some of this criticism is but
+the natural reaction following the extreme praise that ensued after
+the death of Longfellow in 1882.
+
+   [Illustration: HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
+   From a wood engraving of a life photograph]
+
+But Longfellow is surviving all derogatory criticism. He is still the
+poet with the universal appeal. It is altogether probable that he is
+more widely read to-day than any other American poet. Even foreigners
+still express their affection for this poet of the domestic
+affections. In 1907 Sir Henry Mortimer Durand, the English Ambassador
+to the United States, made an address in which he made graceful
+acknowledgement of his debt to this American poet:
+
+"I owe much of the pleasure of my life to American writers of every
+shade of thought.... But I owe to one American writer much more than
+pleasure. Tastes differ and fashions change, and I am told that the
+poetry of Longfellow is not read as it used to be. Men in my own
+country have asked me whether the rivers of Damascus were not better
+than all the waters of Israel, whether Shakspere, and Milton, and
+Shelley, and Keats were not enough for me, that I need go to
+Longfellow. And Americans have seemed surprised that I did not speak
+rather of Lowell and Bryant and others. Far be it from me to say a
+word against any of them. I have loved them all from my youth up,
+every one of them in his own way, and Shakspere as the master and
+compendium of them all. No one, I suppose, would place Longfellow as a
+poet quite on the same level with some of them. But the fact remains
+that, for one reason or another, perhaps in part from early
+associations, Longfellow has always spoken to my heart. Many a time,
+in lands far away from the land he loved so well, I have sought for
+sympathy in happiness and in sorrow--
+
+    Not from the grand old masters,
+      Not from the bards sublime,
+    Whose distant footsteps echo
+      Through the corridors of time--
+
+but from that pure and gentle and untroubled spirit."
+
+Professor E.A. Grosvenor, of Amherst, years ago published an article
+on Longfellow that was widely copied. It is an interesting account of
+a conversation in 1879 on board the Messageries steamer _Donai_, bound
+from Constantinople to Marseilles. On board many nationalities were
+represented. The story is a fine illustration of the wide-spread
+popularity of the American poet.
+
+"One evening, as we were quitting the Straits of Bonifacio, some one
+remarked at dinner that, though Victor Hugo was born in Paris, the
+earliest impressions of his life were received in Corsica, close to
+which we were passing. Ten or twelve of us lingered after the meal was
+finished to talk of the great French poet. One of the party spoke of
+him as embodying, more than any other writer, the humanistic
+tendencies of the nineteenth century and as the exponent of what is
+best in humanity.
+
+"We had been talking in French, when the Russian lady exclaimed in
+English to the gentleman who had last spoken, 'How can you, an
+American, give to him the place that is occupied by your own
+Longfellow? Longfellow is the universal poet. He is better known, too,
+among foreigners than any one except their own poets! Then she
+commenced repeating in rich, mellow tones:
+
+    I stood on the bridge at midnight,
+      As the clocks were striking the hour,
+    And the moon rose over the city
+      Behind the dark church tower.
+
+I recall how her voice trembled over the words:
+
+    And the burden laid upon me
+      Seemed greater than I could bear.
+
+and how it swelled out in the concluding lines:
+
+    As the symbol of love in Heaven,
+      And its wavering image here.
+
+It was dramatic and never to be forgotten. Then she added, 'I long to
+visit Boston that I may stand on the Bridge.'
+
+"In the company was an English captain returning from the Zulu war. He
+was the son of that member of Parliament' who had been the chief
+supporter of the claimant in the famous Tichborne case, and who had
+poured out his money like water in behalf of the man whom he
+considered cruelly wronged. The captain was a typical British soldier,
+with every characteristic of his class. Joining our steamer at Genoa,
+he had so far talked only of the Zulus and, with bitter indignation,
+of the manner in which the Prince Imperial had been deserted by
+British soldiers to be slain by savages. As soon as the Russian lady
+had concluded he said: 'I can give you something better than that,'
+and began in a voice like a trumpet:
+
+    Tell me not in mournful numbers
+      Life is but an empty dream.
+
+His recitation of the entire poem was marked by the common English
+upheaval and down-letting of the voice in each line; but it was
+evident that he loved what he was repeating.
+
+"Then a tall, lank, gray-haired Scotchman, who knew no French, who had
+hardly mingled with the other passengers, and who seemed always
+communing with himself, suddenly commenced:
+
+    There is no flock, however watched and tended,
+      But one dead lamb is there.
+
+He repeated only a few stanzas, but could apparently have given the
+whole poem, had he wished.
+
+"For myself, I know that my contribution was _My Lost Youth_,
+beginning
+
+    Often I think of the beautiful town,
+      That is seated by the sea;
+    Often in thought go up and down
+    The pleasant streets of that dear old town
+      And my youth comes back to me.
+
+Never did the distance from an early home seem so great to one, New
+England born, as in that strange company, gathered from many lands,
+each with words upon the lip which the American had first heard in
+childhood.
+
+"A handsome, olive-cheeked young man, a Greek from Manchester,
+educated and living in England, said, 'How do you like this?' Then he
+began to sing:
+
+      Stars of the summer night,
+        Far in yon azure deeps,
+    Hide, hide your golden light!
+            She sleeps!
+          My lady sleeps!
+              Sleeps!
+
+So he rendered the whole of that exquisite serenade--dear to American
+college students--with a freedom and a fire which hinted that he had
+sung it at least once before on some more appropriate occasion.
+Perhaps to some dark-eyed maiden of that elegant Greek colony of
+Manchester it had come as a revelation, and perhaps she had first
+heard it sung in front of her father's mansion and had looked down,
+appreciative but unseen, from above.
+
+"The captain of the _Donai_ was not her regular commander, but an
+officer of the national French navy, who was in charge only for a few
+voyages. A thorough Frenchman, no one would have accused him of
+knowing a word of any tongue, save his own. Versatile, overflowing
+with wit and _bons mots_, it must have wearied him to be silent so
+long. To our astonishment, in accents so Gallic that one discerned
+with difficulty that he was attempting English, he intoned:
+
+    Zee seds of neet fair valeeng fast,
+    Ven t'rough an Alpeen veelage past
+    A yout, who bore meed snow and eece
+    A bannair veed dees strange deveece
+                Excelsiorr!
+
+"'_Eh, voila_,' he exclaimed with satisfaction, '_J'ai appris cela a
+l'école. C'est tout l'anglais que je sais._'
+
+"'_Mais, commandant_,' said the Russian lady, '_ce n'est pas l'anglais
+du tout ce que vous venez de dire là._'
+
+"'_Ah, oui, madame, ça vient de votre Longfellow._'
+
+"None of the other passengers contributed, but already six
+nationalities had spoken--Scotch, Russian, Greek, French, English, and
+American. As we arose from the table and went up on deck to watch the
+lights glimmering in Napoleon's birthplace, Ajaccio, the Russian lady
+said: 'Do you suppose there is any other poet of any country, living
+or dead, from whom so many of us could have quoted? Not one. Not even
+Shakspere or Victor Hugo or Homer.'"
+
+
+
+
+LVIII
+
+HENRY DAVID THOREAU
+
+
+During his lifetime Thoreau published but two books,--_Walden_, and
+the _Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers_,--and these had but
+limited sale while the author was living. Over seven hundred copies of
+the _Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers_ were returned, to
+Thoreau by his publisher. Thoreau must have had a helpful sense of
+humor, for after lugging the burden upstairs he complacently
+remarks,--"I have now a library of nearly nine hundred volumes, over
+seven hundred of which I wrote myself." In recent times a costly
+edition of all Thoreau's writings has been published. He is one of the
+rare spirits whose fame increases with the years. But of all his
+voluminous writings _Walden_, so it seems to me, is the most readable,
+the freshest, the most stimulating. Higginson says that it is,
+perhaps, the only book yet written in America that can bear an annual
+reading.
+
+_Walden_ is a record of Thoreau's sojourn for about two years in the
+woods by Walden Pond. He went about two miles from his mother's door,
+built a little house or hut, and there lived, reading his favorite
+books, philosophizing, studying nature, and to a great extent
+avoiding society. Some people have condemned him as selfish, others
+have defended him. His best defense is his work. If anything so fresh
+and readable as _Walden_ be the result, we might be willing to deny
+ourselves the society of some of our urban friends, without charging
+them with selfishness. Thoreau is sometimes called a "wild man"; in a
+sense, he is untamed. He himself confessed,--"There is in my nature,
+methinks, a singular yearning toward all wildness." Yet he was a true
+lover of men. He hated slavery and went to jail rather than pay his
+taxes, because he disbelieved in supporting a government that upheld
+slavery. When his friend, the philosophic Emerson, peered into the
+prison cell and said,--"Henry, why are you here?" the quick retort
+was,--"Why are you not here?"
+
+It must be remembered that Thoreau lived in a time of social
+experiment. Hawthorne had thrown in his lot for a brief time with the
+Brook Farm idealists. Why should not Thoreau make an experiment of his
+own? Why not live the simple life before Wagner wrote about it? He was
+tired of the conventionalities of society, of the incessant
+interruptions to steady thought. Society is naught but a conspiracy to
+compel imitation. "The head monkey of Paris puts on a traveler's cap,
+and all the monkeys in America do the same." So Thoreau moves out into
+the woods by the side of Walden Pond. Before he can live there he must
+build his house:
+
+"Near the end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe and went down to the
+woods by Walden Pond, nearest to where I intended to build my house,
+and began to cut down some tall arrowy pines, still in their youth,
+for timber. It is difficult to begin without borrowing, but perhaps it
+is the most generous course thus to permit your fellow-men to have an
+interest in your enterprise. The owner of the axe as he released his
+hold on it, said that it was the apple of his eye; but I returned it
+sharper than I received it."
+
+His house, when finished, was ten feet wide and fifteen long. The
+exact cost was twenty-eight dollars, twelve and one-half cents. In
+_Walden_ he gives an itemized account of the cost. And then he adds,
+with a twinkle of his eye, I think,--"I intend to build me a house
+which will surpass any on the main street in Concord in grandeur and
+luxury, as soon as it pleases me as much and will cost me no more than
+my present one."
+
+Thoreau also finds some satisfaction that his house cost him less than
+the year's rent of a college room at Harvard; for there the mere rent
+of a student's room, "which is only a little larger than my own, is
+thirty dollars each year, though the corporation had the advantage of
+building thirty-two side by side and under one roof."
+
+In this book he gives a very interesting account of what his food cost
+him during the eight months from July 4 to March 1. Here is his list:
+
+  Rice                                $1.73-½
+  Molasses                             1.73
+  Rye meal                             1.04-¾
+  Indian meal                           .99-¾
+  Pork                                  .22
+  Flour                                 .88
+  Sugar                                 .80
+  Lard                                  .65
+  Apples                                .25
+  Dried apple                           .22
+  Sweet potatoes                        .10
+  One pumpkin                           .06
+  One watermelon                        .02
+  Salt                                  .03
+
+"Yes," says he, "I did eat $8.74, all told; but I should not thus
+unblushingly publish my guilt, if I did not know that most of my
+readers were equally guilty with myself, and that their deeds would
+look no better in print." In this connection one may call to mind a
+reported saying of Mrs. Emerson's to the effect that Henry never got
+very far away from the sound of the dinner horn. It is not hard to
+imagine that the hospitable Emerson often invited the kindred-spirited
+Thoreau into his house for a warm and abundant dinner. Another writer
+recently has advanced also this thought: Thoreau was not so much of a
+selfish hermit as it might appear. He went into the woods to make his
+house or hut a station on the underground railroad. If this be true, a
+new and different light is thrown upon Thoreau's conduct.
+
+Thoreau was a great lover of nature and the things of nature loved
+him. Dr. Channing gives us this glimpse of the man:
+
+"Thoreau named all the birds without a gun, a weapon he never used in
+mature years. He neither killed nor imprisoned any animal, unless
+driven by acute needs. He brought home a flying squirrel, to study its
+mode of flight, but quickly carried it back to the wood. He possessed
+true instincts of topography, and could conceal choice things in the
+bush and find them again.... If Thoreau needed a box in his walk, he
+would strip a piece of birch bark off the tree, fold it, when cut
+straightly, together, and put his tender lichen or brittle creature
+therein."
+
+Emerson supplements this picture with the following account of a visit
+he once made to Walden:
+
+"The naturalist waded into the pool for the water plants, and his
+strong legs were no insignificant part of his armor. On this day he
+looked for the menyanthes and detected it across the wide pool; and,
+on examination of the floret, declared that it had been in flower five
+days. He drew out of his breast-pocket a diary, and read the names of
+all the plants that should bloom that day, whereof he kept account as
+a banker does when his notes are due.... He could pace rods more
+accurately than another man could measure them with rod and chain. He
+could find his way in the woods at night better by his feet than by
+his eyes. He knew every track in the snow and on the ground, and what
+creature had taken the path in the snow before him."
+
+Thoreau could write the most beautiful descriptions when he was so
+inclined. Here is an exquisite description of a snowstorm.
+
+"Did you ever admire the steady, silent, windless fall of the snow, in
+some lead-colored sky, silent save the little ticking of the flakes as
+they touched the twigs? It is chased silver, molded over the pines and
+oak leaves. Soft shades hang like curtains along the closely-draped
+wood-paths. Frozen apples become little cider-vats. The old crooked
+apple-trees, frozen stiff in the pale, shivering sunlight, that
+appears to be dying of consumption, gleam forth like the heroes of one
+of Dante's cold hells; we would mind any change in the mercury of the
+dream. The snow crunches under the feet; the chopper's axe rings
+funereally through the tragic air. At early morn the frost on
+button-bushes and willows was silvery and every stem and minutest twig
+and filamentary weed came up a silver thing, while the cottage smoke
+rose salmon-colored into that oblique day. At the base of ditches were
+shooting crystals, like the blades of an ivory-handled penknife, the
+rosettes and favors fretted of silver on the flat ice. The little
+cascades in the brook were ornamented with transparent shields, and
+long candelabrums and spermaceti-colored fools'-caps and plated
+jellies and white globes, with the black water whirling along
+transparently underneath. The sun comes out, and all at a glance,
+rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds start into intense life on
+the angles of the snow crystals."
+
+
+
+
+LIX
+
+THE LAST DAYS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
+
+
+There has been great difference of opinion concerning the genius of
+Poe. His life also has been the subject of much controversy. By some
+Poe is painted as a fiend incarnate, by others as a man more sinned
+against than sinning. When Howells visited Emerson he was surprised to
+hear the Concord Sage refer to Poe as the "jingle man," but then
+Emerson himself had been treated rather contemptuously by Poe, and
+that, together with Emerson's lack of appreciation of melody, may
+account for the "jingle man" expression.
+
+It is not strange that Poe has been the subject of bitter criticism.
+He himself was bitter and unjust in his criticisms of others. He once
+wrote: "Bryant is not _all_ a fool. Mr. Willis is not _quite_ an ass.
+Mr. Longfellow _will_ steal, but, perhaps, he cannot help it." The man
+who will write like that must expect similar vituperation in return.
+To have friends, a man must be friendly. Poe was lacking in those warm
+human sympathies that attract our fellow-men. The human touch lacking
+in his art is also lacking in his life. "Except the wife who idolized
+him," writes Mr. Woodberry in his excellent Life of Poe, "and the
+mother who cared for him, no one touched his heart in the years of his
+manhood, and at no time was love so strong in him as to rule his life;
+as he was self-indulgent, he was self-absorbed, and outside of his
+family no kind act, no noble affection, no generous sacrifice is
+recorded of him."
+
+In _Scribner's Magazine_, 1878, Mrs. Susan T. Weiss in writing of the
+_Last Days of Edgar Allan Poe_, one of the most accurate accounts of
+this period of the poet's life, gives us a more pleasing impression.
+We quote the following extracts:
+
+It was a day or two after his arrival that Poe, accompanied by his
+sister, called on us.... The remembrance of that first meeting with
+the poet is still as vividly impressed upon my mind as though it had
+been but yesterday. A shy and dreamy girl, scarcely more than a child,
+I had all my life taken an interest in those strange stories and poems
+of Edgar Poe; and now, with my old childish impression of their author
+scarcely worn off, I regarded the meeting with an eager, yet shrinking
+anticipation. As I entered the parlor, Poe was seated near the window,
+quietly conversing. His attitude was easy and graceful, with one arm
+lightly resting on the back of his chair. His dark curling hair was
+thrown back from his broad forehead--a style in which he habitually
+wore it. At sight of him, the impression produced upon me was of a
+refined, highbred, and chivalrous gentleman. I use this word
+"chivalrous" as exactly descriptive of something in his whole
+_personnel_, distinct from either polish or high-breeding, and which,
+though instantly apparent, was yet an effect too subtle to be
+described. He rose on my entrance, and, other visitors being present,
+stood with one hand on the back of his chair, awaiting my greeting. So
+dignified was his manner, so reserved his expression, that I
+experienced an involuntary recoil, until I turned to him and saw his
+eyes suddenly brighten as I offered my hand; a barrier seemed to melt
+between us, and I felt that we were no longer strangers....
+
+While upon this subject, I venture, though with great hesitation, to
+say a word in relation to Poe's own marriage with his cousin, Virginia
+Clemm. I am aware that there exists with the public but one view of
+this union, and that so lovely and touching in itself, that to mar the
+picture with even a shadow inspires almost a feeling of remorse. Yet
+since in the biography of a distinguished man of genius truth is above
+all things desirable, and since in this instance the facts do not
+redound to the discredit of any party concerned, I may be allowed to
+state what I have been assured is truth.
+
+Poets are proverbial for uncongenial marriages, and to this Poe can
+scarcely be classed as an exception. From the time when as a youth of
+nineteen he became a tutor to his sweet and gentle little cousin of
+six years old, he loved her with the protective tenderness of an elder
+brother. As years passed he became the subject of successive fancies
+or passions for various charming women; but she gradually budding into
+early womanhood experienced but one attachment--an absorbing devotion
+to her handsome, talented, and fascinating cousin. So intense was this
+passion that her health and spirits became seriously affected, and
+her mother, aroused to painful solicitude, spoke to Edgar about it.
+This was just as he was preparing to leave her house, which had been
+for some years his home, and enter the world of business. The idea of
+this separation was insupportable to Virginia. The result was that
+Poe, at that time a young man of twenty-eight, married his little,
+penniless, and delicate child-cousin of fourteen or fifteen, and thus
+unselfishly secured her own and her mother's happiness. In his wife he
+had ever the most tender and devoted of companions; but it was his own
+declaration that he ever missed in her a certain intellectual and
+spiritual sympathy necessary to perfect happiness in such an union....
+He was never a deliberately unkind husband, and toward the close of
+Mrs. Poe's life he was assiduous in his tender care and attention. Yet
+his own declaration to an intimate friend of his youth was that his
+marriage "had not been a congenial one;" and I repeatedly heard the
+match ascribed to Mrs. Clemm, by those who were well acquainted with
+the family and the circumstances. In thus alluding to a subject so
+delicate, I have not lightly done so, or unadvisedly made a statement
+which seems refuted by the testimony of so many who have written of
+the "passionate idolatry" with which the poet regarded his wife. I
+have heard the subject often and freely discussed by Poe's most
+intimate friends, including his sisters, and upon this authority I
+speak. Lovely in person, sweet and gentle in disposition, his young
+wife deserved, doubtless, all the love that it was in his nature to
+bestow. Of his unvarying filial affection for Mrs. Clemm, and of her
+almost angelic devotion to himself and his interests, there can be no
+question.
+
+Once in discussing _The Raven_, Poe observed that he had never heard
+it correctly delivered by even the best readers--that is, not as he
+desired that it should be read. That evening, a number of visitors
+being present, he was requested to recite the poem, and complied. His
+impressive delivery held the company spell-bound, but in the midst of
+it, I, happening to glance toward the open window above the level roof
+of the greenhouse, beheld a group of sable faces the whites of whose
+eyes shone in strong relief against the surrounding darkness. These
+were a number of our family servants, who having heard much talk about
+"Mr. Poe, the poet," and having but an imperfect idea of what a poet
+was, had requested permission of my brother to witness the recital. As
+the speaker became more impassioned and excited, more conspicuous grew
+the circle of white eyes, until when at length he turned suddenly
+toward the window, and, extending his arm, cried, with awful
+vehemence, "Get thee back into the tempest, and the night's Plutonian
+shore!" there was a sudden disappearance of the sable visages, a
+scuttling of feet, and the gallery audience was gone. Ludicrous as was
+the incident, the final touch was given when at that moment Miss Poe,
+who was an extraordinary character in her way, sleepily entered the
+room, and with a dull and drowsy deliberation seated herself on her
+brother's knee. He had subsided from his excitement into a gloomy
+despair, and now, fixing his eyes upon his sister, he concluded:
+
+    And the raven never flitting, still is sitting, _still_ is sitting,
+    On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door;
+    And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming--
+
+The effect was irresistible; and as the final "nevermore" was solemnly
+uttered the half-suppressed titter of two very young persons in a
+corner was responded to by a general laugh. Poe remarked quietly that
+on his next delivery of a public lecture "he would take Rose along, to
+act the part of the raven, in which she seemed born to excel." ...
+
+It is with feelings of deep sadness, even after the lapse of so many
+years, that I approach the close of these reminiscences.
+
+Poe one day told me that it was necessary that he should go to New
+York. He must make certain preparations for establishing his magazine,
+the _Stylus_, but he should in less than two weeks return to Richmond,
+where he proposed henceforth to reside. He looked forward to this
+arrangement with great pleasure. "I mean to turn over a new leaf; I
+shall begin to lead a new life," he said, confidently. He had often
+spoken to me of his books,--"few, but _recherché_,"--and he now
+proposed to send certain of these by express, for my perusal. "You
+must annotate them extensively," he said. "A book wherein the minds of
+the author and the reader are thus brought in contact is to me a
+hundredfold increased in interest. It is like flint and steel." One of
+the books which he desired me to read was Mrs. Browning's poems, and
+another one of Hawthorne's works. I remember his saying of the latter
+that he was "indisputably the best prose writer in America;" that
+"Irving and the rest were mere commonplace beside him;" and that
+"there was more inspiration of true genius in Hawthorne's prose than
+in all Longfellow's poetry." This may serve to give an idea of his own
+opinion of what constitutes genius, though some of Longfellow's poems
+he pronounced "perfect of their kind."
+
+The evening of the day previous to that appointed for his departure
+from Richmond, Poe spent at my mother's. He declined to enter the
+parlors, where a number of visitors were assembled, saying he
+preferred the more quiet sitting-room; and here I had a long and
+almost uninterrupted conversation with him. He spoke of his future,
+seeming to anticipate it with an eager delight, like that of youth. He
+declared that the last few weeks in the society of his old and new
+friends had been the happiest that he had known for many years, and
+that when he again left New York he should there leave behind all the
+trouble and vexation of his past life....
+
+In speaking of his own writings Poe expressed his conviction that he
+had written his best poems, but that in prose he might yet surpass
+what he had already accomplished....
+
+He was the last of the party to leave the house. We were standing on
+the portico, and after going a few steps he paused, turned, and again
+lifted his hat, in a last adieu. At the moment, a brilliant meteor
+appeared in the sky directly over his head, and vanished in the east.
+We commented laughingly upon the incident; but I remembered it sadly
+afterward.
+
+That night he spent at Duncan's lodge; and as his friend said, sat
+late at his window, meditatively smoking, and seemingly disinclined
+for conversation. On the following morning he went into the city,
+accompanied by his friends Dr. Gibbon Carter and Dr. Mackenzie. The
+day was passed with them and others of his intimate friends. Late in
+the evening he entered the office of Dr. John Carter, and spent an
+hour in looking over the day's papers; then taking Dr. Carter's cane
+he went out, remarking that he would step across to Saddler's (a
+fashionable restaurant) and get supper. From the circumstance of his
+taking the cane, leaving his own in its place, it is probable that he
+had intended to return; but at the restaurant he met with some
+acquaintances who detained him until late, and then accompanied him to
+the Baltimore boat. According to their account he was quite sober and
+cheerful to the last, remarking, as he took leave of them, that he
+would soon be in Richmond again.
+
+... Three days after, a friend came to me with the day's issue of the
+_Richmond Dispatch_. Without a word she pointed to a particular
+paragraph, where I read,--"Death of Edgar A. Poe, in Baltimore."
+
+Poe had made himself popular in Richmond, people had become interested
+in him, and his death cast a universal gloom over the city. His old
+friends, and even those more recently formed, and whom he had
+strangely attached to himself, deeply regretted him. Mr. Sully came to
+consult with me about a picture of _The Raven_ which he intended to
+make; and in the course of the conversation expressed himself in
+regard to his lost friend with a warmth of feeling and appreciation
+not usual to him. The two had been schoolmates; and the artist said:
+"Poe was one of the most warm-hearted and generous of men. In his
+youth and prosperity, when admired and looked up to by all his
+companions, he invariably stood by me and took my part. I was a dull
+boy at learning, and Edgar never grudged time or pains in assisting
+me." In further speaking, he said, with a decision and earnestness
+which impressed me, "It was Mr. Allan's cruelty in casting him upon
+the world, a beggar, which ruined Poe. Some who had envied him took
+advantage of his change of fortune to slight and insult him. He was
+sensitive and proud, and felt the change keenly. It was this which
+embittered him. By nature no person was less inclined to reserve or
+bitterness, and as a boy he was frank and generous to a fault." In
+speaking of his poems, Mr. Sully remarked: "He has an eye for
+dramatic, but not for scenic or artistic effect. Except in _The
+Raven_, I can nowhere in his poems find a subject for a picture."
+
+In closing these reminiscences, I may be allowed to make a few remarks
+founded upon my actual personal knowledge of Poe, in at least the
+phase of character in which he appeared to me. What he may have been
+to his ordinary associates, or to the world at large, I do not know;
+and in the picture presented to us by Dr. Griswold,--half maniac, half
+demon,--I confess, I cannot recognize a trait of the gentle, grateful,
+warm-hearted man whom I saw amid his friends,--his careworn face all
+aglow with generous feeling in the kindness and appreciation to which
+he was so little accustomed. His faults were sufficiently apparent;
+but for these a more than ordinary allowance should be made, in
+consideration of the unfavorable influences surrounding him from his
+very birth. He was ever the sport of an adverse fortune. Born in
+penury, reared in affluence, treated at one time with pernicious
+indulgence and then literally turned into the streets, a beggar and an
+outcast, deserted by those who had formerly courted him, maliciously
+calumniated, smarting always under a sense of wrong and
+injustice,--what wonder that his bright, warm, and naturally generous
+and genial nature should have become embittered? What wonder that his
+keenly sensitive and susceptible poetic temperament should have become
+jarred, out of tune, and into harsh discord with himself and mankind?
+Let the just and the generous pause before they judge; and upon their
+lips the breath of condemnation will soften into a sigh of sympathy
+and regret.
+
+
+
+
+LX
+
+ARTEMUS WARD
+
+
+Poor Artemus! says Haweis in his lecture on the American humorist, I
+shall not see his like again, as he appeared for a few short weeks
+before an English audience at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly.
+
+Sometimes, as to looks, profoundly dejected, at others shy or
+reproachful; nervously anxious to please (apparently), yet with a
+certain twinkle at the back of his eye which convinced you of his
+perfect _sang froid_, and one thing always--full, unescapably full, of
+fun....
+
+When Artemus arrived here in 1866 he was a dying man.
+
+I can see him now, as he came on the narrow platform in front of his
+inferior panorama, and stole a glance at the densely packed room and
+then at his panorama.
+
+His tall, gaunt, though slender figure, his curly light hair and large
+aquiline nose, which always reminded me of a macaw; his thin face
+flushed with consumption, his little cough, which seemed to shake him
+to pieces, and which he said "was wearing him out," at which we all
+laughed irresistibly, and then felt ashamed of ourselves, as well we
+might; but he himself seemed to enjoy his cough. It was all part of
+that odd, topsy-turvy mind in which everything appeared most natural
+upside down!
+
+On first entering he would seem profoundly unconscious that anything
+was expected of him, but after looking at the audience, then at his
+own clothes, and then apologetically at his panorama, he began to
+explain its merits.
+
+The fact is Artemus intended having the finest scenes that could be
+painted, but he gave that up on account of the expense, and then
+determined to get the worst as the next best thing for his purpose.
+
+When anything very bad came up he would pause and gaze admiringly at
+the canvas, and then look round a little reproachfully at the company.
+
+"This picture," he would say, "is a great work of art; it is an oil
+painting done in petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was the last
+thing they did before dying. They did this, and then they expired. I
+wish you were nearer to it so you could see it better. I wish I could
+take it to your residences and let you see it by daylight. Some of the
+greatest artists in London come here every morning before daylight
+with lanterns to look at it. They say they never saw anything like it
+before, and they hope they never shall again!"
+
+Certain curious brown splotches appearing in the foreground, Artemus
+pointed gravely to them, and said:
+
+"These are intended for horses; I know they are, because the artist
+told me so. After two years, he came to me one morning and said, 'Mr.
+Ward, I cannot conceal it from you any longer; they are horses.'"
+
+Apropos of nothing he observed:
+
+"I really don't care for money; I only travel around to show my
+clothes."
+
+This was a favorite joke of his. He would look with a piteous
+expression of discomfort and almost misery at his black trousers and
+swallowtail coat, a costume in which he said he was always most
+wretched.
+
+"These clothes I have on," he continued, "were a great success in
+America." And then quite irrelevantly and rather hastily, "How often
+do large fortunes ruin young men! I should like to be ruined, but I
+can get on very well as I am!"
+
+So the lecture dribbled on with little fragments of impertinent
+biography, mere pegs for slender witticisms like this:
+
+"When quite a child I used to draw on wood. I drew a small cartload of
+raw material over a wooden bridge, the people of the village noticed
+me, I drew their attention, they said I had a future before me; up to
+that time I had an idea it was behind me."
+
+Or this:
+
+"I became a man. I have always been mixed up with art. I have an uncle
+who takes photographs, and I have a servant who takes anything he can
+set his hands on."
+
+With one more example from his life among the Mormons, which, perhaps,
+though brief, includes a greater variety of wit and humor than any
+single passage I could select, I must conclude my memorial glimpses of
+this incomparable and lamented humorist.
+
+"I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon of me while I
+was in Utah.
+
+"It was leap year when I was there, and seventeen young widows--the
+wives of a deceased Mormon (he died by request)--offered me their
+hearts and hands. I called upon them one day, and taking their soft,
+white hands in mine--which made eighteen hands altogether--I found
+them in tears. And I said 'Why is this thus?--what is the reason of
+this thusness?'
+
+"They hove a sigh--seventeen sighs of different size. They said--
+
+"'Oh, soon thou wilt be gonested away!'
+
+"I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I usually
+wentested. They said--'Doth not like us?'
+
+"I said, 'I doth, I doth!' I also said, 'I hope your intentions are
+honorable, as I am a lone child and my parents are far, far away!'
+
+"They then said, 'Wilt not marry us?'
+
+"I said, 'Oh no, it cannot was.'
+
+"Again they asked me to marry them, and again I declined. When they
+cried--
+
+"'Oh, cruel man: this is too much--oh, too much!'
+
+"I told them it was on account of the muchness that I declined."
+
+
+
+
+LXI
+
+EDMUND GOSSE VISITS WHITTIER
+
+
+In December of 1884, Mr. Edmund Gosse, one of the most distinguished
+of English critics, visited Whittier at a house called Oak Knoll, in
+Massachusetts, where he was then staying with friends. We quote brief
+extracts from a report of that visit as published in _Good Words_, an
+English magazine:
+
+"Doubtless in leafy season Oak Knoll may have its charms, but it was
+distinctly sinister that December morning. We rang, and after a long
+pause the front door opened slightly, and a very unprepossessing dog
+emerged, and shut the door (if I may say so) behind him. We were face
+to face with this animal, which presented none of the features
+identified in one's mind with the idea of Mr. Whittier. It sniffed
+unpleasantly, but we spoke to it most blandly and it became assured
+that we were not tramps. The dog sat down, and looked at us; we had
+nowhere to sit down, but we looked at the dog. Then, after many
+blandishments, but feeling very uncomfortable, I ventured to hold the
+dog in conversation while I rang again. After another pause the door
+was slightly opened, and a voice of no agreeable timbre asked what we
+wanted. We explained, across the dog, that we had come by appointment
+to see Mr. Whittier. The door was closed a second time, and, if our
+carriage had still been waiting, we should certainly have driven back
+to Danvers. But at length a hard-featured woman grudgingly admitted
+us, and showed us, growling as she did it, into a parlor.
+
+"Our troubles were then over, for Mr. Whittier, himself appeared, with
+all that report had ever told of a gentle sweetness and dignified
+cordial courtesy. He was then seventy-seven years old, and, although
+he spoke of age and feebleness, he showed few signs of either; he was,
+in fact, to live eight years more. Perhaps because the room was low,
+he seemed surprisingly tall; he must, in fact, have been a little less
+than six feet high. The peculiarity of his face rested in the
+extraordinary large and luminous black eyes, set in black eyebrows,
+and fringed with thick black eye-lashes curiously curved inward....
+
+"His generosity to those much younger and less gifted than himself is
+well known, and I shall not dwell on the good-natured things which he
+proceeded to say to his English visitor. He made no profession, at any
+time, of being a critic, and his formula was that such and such verse
+or prose had given him pleasure--'I am grateful to thee for all that
+enjoyment' was his charming way of being kind.... He spoke with great
+emotion of Emerson--'the noblest human being I have known,' and of
+Longfellow, 'perhaps the sweetest. But you will see Holmes,' he added.
+I said that it was my great privilege to be seeing Dr. Holmes every
+day, and that the night before he had sent all sorts of affectionate
+messages by me to Mr. Whittier. The latter expressed great curiosity
+to see Holmes's short _Life of Emerson_ which, in fact, was published
+five or six days later.... Mr. Whittier greatly surprised me by
+confessing that he was quite color-blind. He exemplified his condition
+by saying that if I came to Amesbury I should be scandalized by one of
+his carpets. It appeared that he was never permitted, by the guardian
+goddess of his hearth, to go 'shopping' for himself, but that once,
+being in Boston, and needing a carpet, he had ventured to go to a
+store and buy what he thought to be a very nice, quiet article,
+precisely suited to adorn a Quaker home. When it arrived at Amesbury
+there was a universal shout of horror, for what had struck Mr.
+Whittier as a particularly soft combination of browns and grays
+proved, to normal eyes, to be a loud pattern of bright red roses on a
+field of the crudest cabbage-green."
+
+
+
+
+LXII
+
+PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF WHITTIER
+
+
+In the _New England Magazine_ Charlotte Forten Grimke writes
+entertainingly of Whittier. From this article we are permitted to
+quote the following extracts:
+
+"And so it happened that, one lovely summer day, my friend and I found
+ourselves on the train, rapidly whirling eastward, through the
+pleasant old town of Newburyport, across the 'shining Merrimac,' on
+our way to the poet's home in Amesbury. Arriving at the station, we
+found Mr. Whittier awaiting us, and a walk of a few minutes brought us
+to his house on Friend Street. Amesbury, a busy manufacturing town,
+pleasantly situated on the Merrimac, impressed me at first as hardly
+retired enough for a poet's home; for fresh in my recollection were
+Longfellow's historic house, guarded by stately poplars, standing back
+from the quiet Cambridge street, and Lowell's old mansion, completely
+buried in its noble elms; and each of these had quite realized my
+ideal of the home of a poet. But the little house looked very quiet
+and homelike; and when we entered it and received the warm welcome of
+the poet's sister, we felt, as all felt who entered that hospitable
+door, the very spirit of peace descending upon us. The house was
+then white (it was afterwards painted a pale yellow), with green
+blinds, and a little vine-wreathed piazza on one side, upon which
+opened the glass door of 'the garden room,' the poet's favorite
+sitting-room and study. The windows of this room looked out upon a
+pleasant, old-fashioned garden. The walls on both sides of the
+fireplace were covered with books. The other walls were hung with
+pictures, among which we noticed 'The Barefoot Boy,' a painting of Mr.
+Whittier's birthplace in Haverhill, a copy of that lovely picture,
+'The Motherless,' under which were written some exquisite lines by
+Mrs. Stowe, and a beautiful little sea-view, painted by a friend of
+the poet. Vases of fresh, bright flowers stood upon the mantelpiece.
+After we had rested we went into the little parlor, where hung the
+portrait of the loved and cherished mother, who some years before had
+passed away to the 'Better Land.' Hers was one of those sweet, aged
+faces which one often sees among the Friends,--full of repose,
+breathing a benediction upon all around. There were other pictures and
+books, and upon a table in the corner stood Rogers' 'Wounded Scout.'
+
+   [Illustration: JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
+   From a photograph]
+
+"At the head of the staircase hung a great cluster of pansies, purple
+and white and gold. Mr. Whittier called our attention to their
+wonderful resemblance to human faces,--a resemblance which we so often
+see in pansies, and which was brought out with really startling
+distinctness in this picture.
+
+"In the cool, pleasant chamber assigned to us, pervaded by an air of
+Quaker serenity and purity, was a large painting of the poet in his
+youth. This was the realization of my girlish dreams. There were the
+clustering curls, the brilliant dark eyes, the firm, resolute mouth.
+He looked like a youthful Bayard, 'without fear and without reproach,'
+ready to throw himself unflinchingly into the most stirring scenes of
+the battle of life.
+
+"We were at once greatly interested in Miss Whittier, and impressed by
+the simplicity and kindness of her manner. We saw the soul's beauty
+shining in her soft, dark eyes, and in the smile which, like her
+brother's, was very winning, and we felt it in the music, of her
+gentle voice and the warm pressure of her hand. There was a refreshing
+atmosphere of unworldliness about her. She had rarely been away from
+her home, and although her brother's fame obliged her to receive many
+strangers, she had never, as she told us, been able to overcome a
+shyness of disposition, except in the case of a very few friends. She
+was naturally witty and original, and when she did shake off her
+shyness, had a childlike way of saying bright things which was very
+charming. She and her brother had lived together, alone since their
+mother's death, and in their mutual devotion have been well compared
+to Charles Lamb and his sister.
+
+"We spent a delightful evening in the garden-room in quiet, cheerful
+talk. In society Mr. Whittier had the reputation of being very shy,
+and he was so among strangers; but at times, in the companionship of
+his friends, no one could be more genial. He had even a boyish
+frankness of manner, a natural love of fun, a keen appreciation of the
+humorous, which the sorrows and poor health of many years failed to
+subdue. That night he talked to us freely of his childhood, of the
+life on the old farm in Haverhill, which he has so vividly described
+in _Snow-Bound_, and showed us a venerable book, _Davideis_, being a
+history of David written in rhyme, the quaintest and most amusing
+rhyme, by Thomas Ellwood, a friend of Milton. It was the first book of
+'poetry,' he told us, that he read when a boy. He entertained us with
+stories of people who came to see him. He had many very interesting
+and charming visitors, of course, but there were also many exceedingly
+queer ones, and these, he said with a queer smile, generally 'brought
+their carpet bags!' He said he was thankful to live in such a place as
+Amesbury, where people did not speak to him about his poems, nor think
+of him as a poet. Sometimes he had amused himself by tracking the most
+persistent of the lion-hunters, and found that the same individuals
+went to Emerson and Longfellow and other authors, and made precisely
+the same speeches. Emerson was not much annoyed by them; he enjoyed
+studying character in all its phases.
+
+"Begging letters and begging visits were also very frequent, and his
+sister told us that her brother had frequently been victimized in his
+desire to help those whose pitiful stories he believed. One day he
+received a letter from a man in a neighboring town, asking him for a
+loan of ten dollars, and assuring him that he should blow his brains
+out if Mr. Whittier did not send him the money. The tone of the letter
+made him doubt the sincerity of the writer, and he did not send the
+money, comforting himself, he said, with the thought that the man
+really had no brains to blow out. 'I must confess, however,' he
+added, 'I looked rather anxiously at the newspapers for the next few
+days, but seeing no news of a suicide in the neighboring town, I was
+relieved.'
+
+"His sister once told us of an incident which occurred during the war,
+which pleased them very much. One night, at a late hour, the door-bell
+rang, and her brother, on answering it, found a young man in an
+officer's uniform standing at the door. 'Is this Mr. Whittier?' he
+asked. 'Yes.' 'Well, sir,' was the quick reply, 'I only wanted to have
+the pleasure of shaking hands with you.' And with that he seized the
+poet's hand, shook it warmly, and rushed away, before Mr. Whittier had
+recovered from his surprise.
+
+"In subsequent visits to Mr. Whittier, he was sometimes induced to
+talk about his poems, although that was a subject on which he rarely
+spoke. On my friend's once warmly praising _Maud Muller_, he said
+decidedly that he did not like the poem, because it was too sad; it
+ministered to the spirit of unrest and dissatisfaction which was only
+too prevalent. With _My Psalm_ he felt much better satisfied, because
+it was more hopeful. His favorite poets were Wordsworth and Burns. He
+once showed us an autograph letter of Burns, which he prized very
+highly, and a number of beautiful photographs of Scotch scenery, the
+gift of a sturdy old Scotchman, a neighbor of his and also an ardent,
+admirer of Burns.
+
+"Our conversation occasionally touched on the subject of marriage, and
+I remember his asking us if we could imagine why there should be so
+much unhappiness among married people, even among those who seemed to
+have everything calculated to make them happy, and who really loved
+each other. He said he had pondered over the subject a good deal, and
+had finally concluded that it was because they saw too much of each
+other. He did not believe it was well for any two human beings to have
+too much of each other's society. We told him that, being a
+much-to-be-commiserated bachelor, he was not competent authority on
+that subject.
+
+"Among the most intimate of his friends were Mr. and Mrs. James T.
+Fields, Colonel Higginson, Charles Sumner, and Bayard Taylor. To the
+two latter, and also to Emerson, he has alluded very beautifully in
+one of his most characteristic poems, _The Last Walk in Autumn_.
+
+"On visiting the poet after my return from the South, for a vacation,
+I found a new inmate of the house, a gray and scarlet parrot, named
+Charlie, a great pet of the poet and his sister, and far-famed for his
+wit and wisdom. He could say many things with great distinctness, and
+although at first refusing rather spitefully to make my acquaintance,
+when I invited him to come into the kitchen and get his supper he at
+once hopped upon my hand and behaved in the most amicable manner. It
+was very comical to see him dance to a tune of Mr. Whittier's
+whistling. His master told us that he would climb toilsomely up the
+spout, pausing at every step or two to say, in a tone of the deepest
+self-pity, 'Poor Charlie!' and when he reached the roof screaming
+impertinently at the passers-by. The Irish children said that he
+called them 'Paddies,' and threatened him with dire vengeance. Mr.
+Whittier said he did not know; he 'could believe anything of that
+bird.' Charlie's favorite amusement was shaking the unripe pears from
+the trees in the garden; and when he saw Miss Whittier approaching, he
+would steal away with drooping head, like a child caught in a naughty
+action. This gifted bird afterwards died, and was much missed by the
+poet, who alluded to him in the poem entitled _The Common Question_.
+
+"Mr. Whittier showed me a couple of stuffed birds which had been sent
+to him by the Emperor of Brazil, after reading his _Cry of a Lost
+Soul_, in allusion to the bird in South American forests which has so
+intensely mournful a note that the Indians give it a name which
+signifies a lost soul. The first birds which were sent did not reach
+him, and the Emperor on hearing it sent two more. The bird is larger
+than a mocking bird, and has sober gray plumage, very unlike the
+bright-hued creatures usually seen in tropical forests.
+
+"The Emperor was a warm admirer of Mr. Whittier, and one of the first
+persons for whom he inquired on reaching Boston was the poet. There
+was some delay about their meeting and Dom Pedro became very
+impatient. At last they met in a house in Boston. Dom Pedro expressed
+great delight at meeting the poet, and talked with him a long time,
+paying very little attention to any one else. On leaving, he asked Mr.
+Whittier to accompany him downstairs, and before entering his carriage
+threw his arms around the astonished poet and embraced him warmly.
+
+"Rare and beautiful were the qualities which met in Mr. Whittier: a
+singularly unworldly and sweet disposition, and unwavering love of
+truth and justice, a keen sense of humor, the highest type of
+courage, and a firm faith in God's goodness, which no amount of
+suffering ever shook. For years he was an invalid, a martyr to severe
+headaches. He once told me that he had not for a long time written
+anything without suffering. The nearest and dearest of his earthly
+ties had been severed by death. But he never rebelled. His life
+exemplified the spirit of resignation which is breathed throughout so
+many of his poems.
+
+    All as God wills, who wisely heeds
+      To give or to withhold,
+    And knoweth more of all my needs
+      Than all my prayers have told.
+
+"My husband and I made our last visit to him two years ago, at Oak
+Knoll. He gave us his customary warm greeting and, although in
+extremely feeble health, was as sweet and genial in spirit and as
+entertaining in conversation as ever. He took us into his cosey little
+library, and talked about his books and pictures and old friends, and
+promised to send us his latest photograph,--which he afterwards did.
+Fearing to weary him, we stayed but a short time. So frail he looked,
+that in parting from him our hearts were saddened by the thought that
+we might not look upon that dear face again. And so it proved. I shall
+ever remember him as I saw him then, in his beautiful country home,
+surrounded by devoted friends, awaiting calmly the summons to enter
+into rest--in that serene and lovely old age which comes only to those
+gifted ones whose lives are the embodiment of all that is noblest and
+best and sweetest in their poetry.
+
+"Farewell, beloved, revered friend! Thou art gone to join the loved
+ones who beckoned to thee from those blessed shores of Peace. To thee,
+how great the gain! To us, how infinite the loss! But thy influence
+shall remain with us. Still shalt thou
+
+                          ... be to other souls
+    The cup of strength in some great agony,
+    Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
+    Beget the smiles that have no cruelty--
+    Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
+    And in diffusion ever more intense.
+
+
+
+
+LXIII
+
+HENRY WARD BEECHER
+
+
+It would be no compliment to call Henry Ward Beecher the American
+Spurgeon. He may be that, but he is more. If we can imagine Mr.
+Spurgeon and Mr. John Bright with a cautious touch of Professor
+Maurice and a strong tincture of the late F.W. Robertson--if, I say,
+it is possible to imagine such a compound being brought up in New
+England and at last securely fixed in a New York pulpit, we shall get
+a product not unlike Henry Ward Beecher....
+
+Mr. Beecher was brought up in the country. His novel, _Norwood_--not
+very readable, by the way, although full of charming passages--abounds
+in woods and streams, hills and dales, and flowers. "The willows," he
+tells us somewhere, "had thrown off their silky catkins, and were in
+leaf; the elm was covered with chocolate-colored blossoms, the soft
+maple drew bees to its crimson tassels." Would that all preachers and
+writers used no more offensive and superfluous flowers of speech than
+such as these....
+
+When he wants to illustrate the comfort of a powerful, unseen, though
+protective love, he tells us how, as a boy, he woke up one midsummer
+night and listened, with a sense of half-uneasy awe, to the wild cry
+of the marsh birds, whilst the moonlight streamed full into his room;
+and then, as he grew more and more disturbed, he suddenly heard his
+father clear his throat "a-hem," in the next room, and instantly that
+familiar sound restored his equanimity. The illustration is simple,
+but it hits the mark and goes home. His affectionate tributes to his
+father and mother are constantly breaking forth in spite of himself.
+"I thank God," he says, "for two things. First, that I was born and
+bred in the country, of parents that gave me a sound constitution and
+a noble example. I never can pay back what I got from my parents. Next
+I am thankful that I was brought up in circumstances where I never
+became acquainted with wickedness." How delightful it is to think of a
+man who, without a taint of conscious insincerity, but simply out of
+the fulness of his heart, can get up before four thousand people, and
+say:
+
+"I never was sullied in act, nor in thought when I was young. I grew
+up as pure as a woman. And I cannot express to God the thanks which I
+owe to my mother, and to my father, and to the great household of
+sisters and brothers among whom I lived. And the secondary knowledge
+of those wicked things which I have gained in later life in a
+professional way, I gained under such guards that it was not harmful
+to me." ...
+
+He has a wonderful way of importing his leisure hours into the pulpit,
+and making the great cooped-up multitude feel something of the joy and
+freshness of his own exhilaration. One golden day above others seems
+to have dwelt in his mind. He refers to it again and again.
+
+"When I walked one day on the top of Mt. Washington--glorious day of
+memory! Such another day I think I shall not experience till I stand
+on the battlements of the New Jerusalem--how I was discharged of all
+imperfections; the wide far-spreading country which lay beneath me in
+beauteous light, how heavenly it looked, and I communed with God. I
+had sweet tokens that he loved me. My very being rose right up into
+his nature. I walked with him, and the cities far and near of New
+York, and all the cities and villages which lay between it and me,
+with their thunder, the wrangling of human passions below me, were to
+me as if they were not."
+
+Some of his sermons are full of vacation-rambles. He passes through
+woods and gardens and plucks flowers and fragrant leaves, which will
+all have to do service in Brooklyn Church; he watches the crowded
+flight of pigeons from the treetops, and thinks of men's riches that
+so make themselves wings and fly away. As he scales the mountains and
+sees the summer storms sweep through the valleys beneath him, he
+thinks of the storms in the human heart--"many, many storms there are
+that lie low and hug the ground, and the way to escape them is to go
+up the mountain sides and get higher than they are."
+
+Mr. Beecher's travels in Europe were not thrown away upon his ardent
+and artistic temperament. He has stood before the great pictures to
+some purpose, and has not failed to read their open secret.
+
+"Have you ever stood in Dresden to watch that matchless picture of
+Raphael's, the 'Madonna di San Siste'? Engravings of it are all
+through the world; but no engraving has ever reproduced the mother's
+face. The Infant Christ that she holds is far more nearly represented
+than the mother. In her face there is a mist. It is wonder, it is
+love, it is adoration, it is awe--it is all these mingled, as if she
+held in her hands her babe, and yet it was God! That picture means
+nothing to me as it does to the Roman Church; but it means everything
+to me, because I believe that every mother should love the God that is
+in her child, and that every mother's heart should be watching to
+discern and see in the child, which is more than flesh and blood,
+something that takes hold of immortality and glory."
+
+             --Selected from the _Contemporary Review_.
+
+
+
+
+LXIV
+
+THE LONDON "TIMES" ON LOWELL
+
+
+The London _Times_, sometimes nicknamed the _Thunderer_, was for many
+years the most influential paper in the world. Emerson in his _English
+Traits_ says, "No power in England is more felt, more feared, or more
+obeyed." In view of the high position of this paper it is a matter of
+interest to our American students of literature to read what this
+paper had to say on the death of Lowell.
+
+Here follows the larger part of the editorial from the _Times_:
+
+The death of Mr. Lowell will probably be more keenly and widely felt
+in England than would be that of any other American, or, indeed, of
+any other man who was not a fellow-countryman of our own. To very many
+in England it will be counted as a grave personal loss; and thousands
+more will miss in him one whom through his writings they had admired,
+felt with, laughed with, as with a friend. For a long time past, in
+fact ever since he quitted the Legation, his long annual visits to
+London have been regarded by a wide circle as one of the events of the
+year, and he himself as one of the most valued guests. We had hoped
+that this last June would again see him in his old London haunts,
+bright, genial, interesting as ever; but a cruel fate decided that
+this was not to be, and neither the Old World nor the New should know
+him more. Never a strong man, he has succumbed, at a ripe age, it is
+true, but prematurely, as all will think who knew how fresh his
+intelligence and his sympathies were to the last. With him there
+passes away one of the very few Americans who were the equals of any
+son of the Old World--of any Frenchman or any Englishman--in that
+indefinable mixture of qualities, which we sum up for want of a better
+word, under the name of culture. How did he arrive at it? The answer
+is, by natural gifts, by constant play of mind with mind in talk, and
+by reading. On those who casually met Mr. Lowell in society, he
+certainly did not make the impression of a book-worm, or of a man to
+whom books were indispensable; but none the less is it true that
+whenever official business was not too heavy, he invariably read for a
+_minimum_ of four hours a day. This did not include the time that he
+gave to ephemeral literature; it was the time that he spent in the
+serious reading of books, generally old books. How many of us, not
+professed students, can show a record as good, or half as good? He
+read quickly, too, in various languages, his favorites being the
+English of the Elizabethans, Spanish, old French, and modern French.
+His excellent memory and wonderful assimilative power built up this
+reading into the mental endowments that all the world admired.
+
+When Mr. Lowell came to England as the representative of the United
+States under the last Republican administration, London felt a
+sympathetic curiosity as to the author of the famous _Biglow Papers_
+and of so much excellent prose criticism. In a very short time the
+feeling warmed into admiration and friendship. The official world
+spoke well of the way in which the new minister performed his
+duties--generally not very heavy, but always demanding tact and
+prudence--of his position as minister. Menacing sounds, indeed, began
+to be heard from across the ocean, when the Irish Fenians, who control
+so much of the press of the United States, began to raise the cry that
+Mr. Lowell sacrificed the interests of their dynamitard friends to a
+brutal British government; but, as the Washington officials took no
+notice, nobody here paid much attention to the matter. In social life,
+the new minister began to be a power. He went everywhere--to the
+houses of the great, to the houses of the men of letters, and to
+places where such people most do congregate. His talk was excellent
+give-and-take. He was neither a professional anecdotist, like another
+famous American talker, Mr. Chauncey Depew, nor a man on the watch for
+something to disagree with, like Mr. Blaine, nor even, as was his
+admirable successor, Mr. Phelps, a man of long silences broken by
+flashes of humor. Mr. Lowell seemed to know everything and have his
+knowledge always to hand; he was quick in repartee; he mixed anecdote
+with reflection in the happiest manner; he laughed at others' jests,
+and they laughed at his. Still, one had to be a little careful with
+him, for there were points on which he was extremely sensitive.
+Nobody, for example, must talk in his presence of _Americanisms_, or
+hint that the standard of language and literature observed in America
+showed any deflection from the best standard of the race....
+
+On one occasion Mr. Lowell was sorely tempted to make his permanent
+home here. Just about the time of his ceasing to be minister, he was
+seriously sounded as to his willingness to be nominated to the new
+post of professor of English language and literature at Oxford. Had he
+consented to stand, not even a board determined to sink literature in
+philology could have passed over his claims. But he declined, for two
+reasons. There were claims of family, over in Massachusetts, and,
+greatly as he loved the mental atmosphere of England, he thought it
+his duty not to accept a definitely English post. And the sense of
+duty is strong in that old Puritan stock from which he sprang.
+
+... But the distinguishing feature of Mr. Lowell was his adding to
+these high literary gifts the strong practical side which made of him
+a social power and a diplomatist. Naturally, such a man made a mark by
+his speeches, and happy was the audience, at the unveiling of a
+monument or at a literary dinner, that had the privilege of listening
+to Mr. Lowell. Seldom in England, where this kind of speaking is not
+cultivated as an art, have we witnessed such a perfect union of
+self-possession, sense, and salt. The speech on Henry Fielding, the
+speech in which he compared the sound of London to "the roaring loom
+of time," the address on Democracy--to mention but a few--will not be
+easily forgotten. Nor will those who had the privilege of experiencing
+it, in however slight a degree, forget the sweet affectionateness
+which, in spite of an occasional irritability and over-sensitiveness,
+was at the root of Mr. Lowell's character. Corrupt politicians
+disliked him and feared the barbed arrows of his indignant wit; but he
+goes to the grave mourned by all that is best in America, and he takes
+with him the heart-felt regard as well as the admiration, of this
+elder branch of our common English race.
+
+
+
+
+LXV
+
+THE WRITING OF "AMERICA"
+
+
+The Rev. Dr. Samuel F. Smith, author of _America_, died in Boston in
+1895. On April 3, of the same year, he had received a grand public
+testimonial in Music Hall in recognition of his authorship of
+_America_. In the souvenir of that occasion Dr. Smith tells how he
+came to write the poem that made him famous.
+
+"In the year 1831 William C. Woodbridge, of New York, a noted
+educator, was deputed to visit Germany and inspect the system of the
+public schools, that if he should find in them any features of
+interest unknown to our public schools here they might be adopted in
+the schools of the United States. He found that in the German schools
+much attention was given to music; he also found many books containing
+music and songs for children. Returning home, he brought several of
+these music-books, and placed them in the hands of Mr. Lowell Mason,
+then a noted composer, organist, and choir leader. Having himself no
+knowledge of the German language he brought them to me at Andover,
+where I was then studying theology, requesting me, as I should find
+time, to furnish him translations of the German words, or to write
+new hymns and songs adapted to the German music.
+
+"On a dismal day in February, 1832, looking over one of these books,
+my attention was drawn to a tune which attracted me by its simple and
+natural movement and its fitness for children's choirs. Glancing at
+the German words at the foot of the page, I saw that they were
+patriotic, and I was instantly inspired to write a patriotic hymn of
+my own.
+
+"Seizing a scrap of waste paper, I began to write, and in half an hour
+I think the words stood upon it substantially as they are sung to-day.
+I did not know at the time that the tune was the British _God Save the
+King_. I do not share the regrets of those who deem it an evil that
+the national tune of Britain and America is the same. On the contrary,
+I deem it a new and beautiful tie of union between the mother and the
+daughter, one furnishing the music (if, indeed, it is really English),
+and the other the words.
+
+"I did not propose to write a national hymn. I did not think that I
+had done so. I laid the song aside, and nearly forgot that I had made
+it. Some weeks later I sent it to Mr. Mason, and on the following
+Fourth of July, much to my surprise, he brought it out at a children's
+celebration in the Park Street Church, in Boston, where it was first
+sung in public."
+
+
+
+
+LXVI
+
+ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS AND HER FIRST STORY
+
+
+Some years ago the author of _Gates Ajar_ told in an American magazine
+how she began her literary career. From this account we quote:
+
+"The town of Lawrence was three miles and a half from Andover. Up to
+the year 1860 we had considered Lawrence chiefly in the light of a
+place to drive to.... Upon the map of our young fancy the great mills
+were sketched in lightly; we looked up from the restaurant ice-cream
+to see the hands pour out for dinner, a dark and restless, but a
+patient, throng, used in those days, to standing eleven hours and
+quarter--women and girls--at their looms, six days of the week, and
+making no audible complaints; for socialism had not reached Lawrence,
+and anarchy was content to bray in distant parts of the geography at
+which the factory people had not arrived when they left school....
+
+"...One January evening, we were forced to think about the mills with
+curdling horror that no one living in that locality when the tragedy
+happened will forget.
+
+"At five o'clock the Pemberton Mills, all hands being at the time on
+duty, without a tremor of warning, sank to the ground.
+
+"At the erection of the factory a pillar with a defective core had
+passed careless inspectors. In technical language the core had
+'floated' an eighth of an inch from its position. The weak spot in the
+too thin wall of the pillar had bided its time, and yielded. The roof,
+the walls, the machinery fell upon seven hundred and fifty living men
+and women, and buried them. Most of these were rescued, but
+eighty-eight were killed. As the night came on, those watchers on
+Andover Hill who could not join the rescuing parties, saw a strange
+and fearful light at the north.
+
+"Where we were used to watching the beautiful belt of the lighted
+mills blaze--a zone of laughing fire from east to west, upon the
+horizon bar--a red and awful glare went up. The mill had taken fire. A
+lantern, overturned in the hands of a man who was groping to save an
+imprisoned life, had flashed to the cotton, or the wool, or the oil
+with which the ruins were saturated. One of the historic
+conflagrations of New England resulted.
+
+"With blanching cheeks we listened to the whispers that told us how the
+mill-girls, caught in the ruins beyond hope of escape, began to sing.
+They were used to singing, poor things, at their looms--mill-girls
+always are--and their young souls took courage from the familiar sound
+of one another's voices. They sang the hymns and songs which they had
+learned in the schools and churches. No classical strains, no 'music
+for music's sake,' ascended from that furnace; no ditty of love or
+frolic, but the plain, religious outcries of the people: _Heaven is my
+Home_, _Jesus, Lover of my Soul_, and _Shall we Gather at the River?_
+Voice after voice dropped. The fire raced on. A few brave girls still
+sang:
+
+    Shall we gather at the river,
+    There to walk and worship ever?
+
+"But the startled Merrimac rolled by, red as blood beneath the glare
+of the burning mills, and it was left to the fire and the river to
+finish the chorus.
+
+"At the time this tragedy occurred, I felt my share of its horror,
+like other people; but no more than that. My brother, being of the
+privileged sex, was sent over to see the scene, but I was not allowed
+to go.
+
+"Years after, I cannot say just how many, the half-effaced negative
+came back to form under the chemical of some new perception of the
+significance of human tragedy.
+
+"It occurred to me to use the event as the basis of a story. To this
+end I set forth to study the subject. I had heard nothing in those
+days about 'material,' and conscience in the use of it, and little
+enough about art. We did not talk about realism then. Of critical
+phraseology I knew nothing, and of critical standards only what I had
+observed by reading the best fiction. Poor novels and stories I did
+not read. I do not remember being forbidden them; but, by that
+parental art finer than denial, they were absent from my convenience.
+
+"It needed no instruction in the canons of art, however, to teach me
+that to do a good thing, one must work hard for it. So I gave the best
+part of a month to the study of the Pemberton Mill tragedy, driving to
+Lawrence, and investigating every possible avenue of information left
+at that too long remove of time which might give the data. I visited
+the rebuilt mills, and studied the machinery. I consulted engineers
+and officials and physicians, newspaper men, and persons who had been
+in the mill at the time of its fall. I scoured the files of old local
+papers, and from these I took certain portions of names, actually
+involved in the catastrophe, though, of course, fictitiously used.
+When there was nothing left for me to learn on the subject, I came
+home and wrote a little story called "The Tenth of January,' and sent
+it to the _Atlantic Monthly_, where it appeared in due time.
+
+"This story is of more interest to its author than it can possibly be
+now to any reader, because it distinctly marked for me the first
+recognition which I received from literary people."
+
+
+
+
+LXVII
+
+SIDNEY LANIER
+
+
+Next to Poe, Sidney Lanier ranks as the foremost of the poets of the
+South. In character Lanier is one of the rarest and purest of souls.
+His life was so chaste, his ideals so high, his devotion to his art so
+unselfish that he has been called "the Sir Galahad among American
+poets." Dr. Gilman, who in his capacity as president of Johns Hopkins
+University had frequent opportunities to observe Lanier, who was an
+instructor in this institution, has made the following comment,--"The
+appearance of Lanier was striking. There was nothing eccentric or odd
+about him, but his words, manners, ways of speech, were distinguished.
+I have heard a lady say that if he took his place in a crowded
+horse-car, an exhilarating atmosphere seemed to be introduced by his
+breezy ways."
+
+He was born in Georgia in 1842. After graduation from a small college
+in his native state and then serving as tutor for a short time, he
+entered the Confederate army. During his war experiences, whether in
+the field or in prison, he studied poetry and played the flute. These
+two arts were his passions for life. While yet in his college days he
+had acquired a fine reputation as a flute-player. At eighteen he was
+said to be the best flute-player in Georgia. One of his college
+friends at the time made record of his admiration in writing,--"Tutor
+Lanier is the finest flute-player you or I ever saw. It is perfectly
+splendid--his playing. He is far-famed for it. His flute cost fifty
+dollars, and he runs the notes as easily as any one on the piano."
+
+The passionate love of his sensitive soul is revealed in this poetic
+description of a visit to the opera:
+
+"I have just come in from the _Tempest_ at the Grand Opera House ...
+and my heart is so full.... In one interlude between the scenes we had
+a violin solo, adagio, with soft accompaniment by orchestra. As the
+fair tender notes came, they opened like flower-buds expanding into
+flowers under the sweet rain of the accompaniment. Kind heavens! My
+head fell on the seat in front, I was weighed down with great loves
+and great ideas and divine inflowings and devout outflowings, and as
+each note grew and budded, and became a bud again and died into a
+fresh birth in the next bud tone, I also lived these flower-tone
+lives, and grew and expanded, and folded back and died and was born
+again, and partook of the unfathomable mysteries of flowers and
+tones." And at another time he writes in the same vein,--"'Twas
+opening night of Theodore Thomas' orchestra at Central Park Garden,
+and I could not resist the temptation to go and bathe in the sweet
+amber seas of this fine orchestra, and so I went, and tugged me
+through a vast crowd, and, after standing some while, found a seat,
+and the baton waved, and I plunged into the sea, and lay and floated.
+Ah! the dear flutes and oboes and horns drifted me hither and thither,
+and the great violins and small violins swayed me upon waves, and
+overflowed me with strong lavations, and sprinkled glistening foam in
+my face, and in among the clarinetti, as among waving water-lilies
+with plexile stems, pushed my easy way, and so, even lying in the
+music waters, I floated and flowed, my soul utterly bent and
+prostrate." Who has ever written more expressively of that ecstasy
+that lays hold of the sensuous soul of the lover of fine music?
+
+Lanier is one of the heroic souls of song. Like Stevenson he was
+cheery enough to jest about his poverty. His contest with the demon of
+Want seems to have been fiercer even than was the warfare waged by the
+gay romancer. Lanier wishes to meet Charlotte Cushman, but he is not
+sure that he can; he must sell a poem or two to get the price of a
+suitable new dress coat. "Alas," he writes to the lady herself, in
+that gay spirit of humor which is the strong defense of some sensitive
+souls, "with what unspeakable care I would have brushed this present
+garment of mine in days gone by, if I had dreamed that the time would
+come when so great a thing as a visit to _you_ might hang upon the
+little length of its nap! Behold, it is not only in man's breast that
+pathos lies, and the very coat lapel that covers it may be a tragedy."
+
+The poetic temperament is commonly supposed to be at variance with
+domestic tranquillity. The domestic life of Lanier is a contradiction
+to that popular belief. He ends one of his letters to his wife with
+this petition,--"Let us lead them (the children) to love everything
+in the world, above the world, and under the world adequately; that is
+the sum and substance of a perfect life. And so God's divine rest be
+upon every head under the roof that covers thine this night, prayeth
+thy husband."
+
+In his letter to Gibson Peacock, January 6, 1878, we have a charming
+picture of the delight of a man who has at last found a place to nest
+his family, after some years of forlorn wanderings and uncertainties:
+
+"...I have also moved my family into our new home, have had a
+Christmas tree for the youngsters, have looked up a cheap school for
+Harry and Sidney, have discharged my daily duties as first flute of
+the Peabody Orchestra, have written a couple of poems and part of an
+essay on Beethoven and Bismarck, have accomplished at least a hundred
+thousand miscellaneous nothings.... We are in a state of supreme
+content with our new home; it really seems to me as incredible that
+myriads of people have been living in their own homes heretofore; as
+to the young couple with a first baby it seems impossible that a great
+many other couples have had similar prodigies. Good heavens! how I
+wish that the whole world had a home.
+
+"I confess that I am a little nervous about the gas bills, which must
+come in, in the course of time; and there are the water rates, and
+several sorts of imposts and taxes; but then the dignity of being
+liable to such things is a very supporting consideration. No man is a
+Bohemian who has to pay a water tax and a street tax. Every day when I
+sit down in my dining-room--_my_ dining-room! I find the wish growing
+stronger that each poor soul in Baltimore, whether saint or sinner,
+could come and dine with me. How I would carve out the merry-thoughts
+for the old hags! How I would stuff the big wan-eyed rascals till
+their rags ripped again! There was a knight of old times who built the
+dining-hall of his castle across the highway, so that every wayfarer
+must perforce pass through; there the traveler, rich or poor, found
+always a trencher and wherewithal to fill it. Three times a day in my
+own chair at my own table, do I envy that knight and wish that I might
+do as he did."
+
+
+
+
+LXVIII
+
+THE STORY OF MARK TWAIN'S DEBTS
+
+
+The story of "Mark Twain's Debts" is told in _The Bookman_ by
+Frederick A. King. We are permitted to tell the story in Mr. King's
+own words:
+
+An anecdote is recorded of Mark Twain and General Grant, who, in
+company with William D. Howells, once sat together at luncheon, spread
+in the General's private office in the purlieus of Wall Street, in the
+days when war and statesmanship had been laid aside, and the hero of
+battles and civic life was endeavoring to retrieve his scattered
+fortunes by a trial of business.
+
+"Why don't you write your memoirs?" asked Mark Twain, mindful of how
+much there was to record, and how eager would be the readers of such a
+work.
+
+But the General with characteristic modesty demurred, and the point
+was not pressed. This was several years before the failure of the firm
+of Ward and Grant, which swept away the General's private fortune,
+leaving him an old man, broken in health, and filled with anxiety
+about the provision for his family after he should be gone.
+
+When the evil days at last came, some memory of the suggestion
+dropped by his friend, the humorist--who could be immensely serious,
+too, when need be--may have led to the task that, in added contention
+with pain and suffering, constituted the last battle that the General
+should fight.
+
+Whatever the influence moving General Grant to the final decision to
+compose his memoirs, it happened, to his great fortune, that Mark
+Twain again called, and found that the work he had long ago suggested
+was at last in progress; but also that the inexperienced writer,
+modestly underestimating the commercial value of his forthcoming work,
+was about to sign away the putative profits. Fifty thousand dollars
+offered for his copyright seemed a generous sum to the unliterary
+General Grant, and it took the vehement persuasion of one who was
+himself a publisher to convince him that his prospective publishers
+would not hesitate at quadrupling that sum rather than lose the chance
+of publishing the book.
+
+When the conjecture was proven true, the General with characteristic
+generosity, withdrew the contract from his prospective publishers and
+placed it in the hands of the firm that Mark Twain headed. All the
+provisions were amply fulfilled; for when Mark Twain paid his last
+visit to the stricken author at the place of sojourn on Mount
+McGregor, he brought to the now speechless sufferer the smile of
+happiness and satisfaction by saying: "General, there is in the bank
+now royalties on advanced sales aggregating nearly $300,000. It is at
+Mrs. Grant's order."
+
+The anecdote is given at this length because, taken in connection
+with subsequent events dealing with General Grant's benefactor, it
+points a forceful illustration of the irony of fortune. There came a
+day when the very instrument by which Mark Twain was enabled to
+provide a peaceful close to the life of a brave warrior, and to
+guarantee affluence for his family, delivered himself a stroke that
+dissipated his own fortune at a time when age is supposed to have
+absorbed the vigor for a new grapple with destinies.
+
+In 1884 the publishing firm of C.L. Webster and Company was organized
+to publish the works of Mark Twain. Of this firm Mark Twain was
+president; but he took little active part in the management of its
+affairs. Able to conceive in broad outlines successful policies, he
+was singularly deficient in the power to handle the details of their
+execution. On April 18, 1894, the firm whose business enterprises had
+always figured in large sums through the immense popularity of the
+author-publisher's own works, the _Memoirs of General Grant_, and the
+_Life of Pope Leo_, made an assignment for the benefit of its
+creditors. The bankrupt firm acknowledged liabilities approximating
+$80,000. What in the ordinary view of commercial affairs would have
+furnished but one item in the list of failures which record the
+misfortunes of ninety per cent who engage in business, became in this
+instance a notable case through the eminence of the chief actor.
+
+What might he have done?
+
+The law could lay claim upon his personal assets. To surrender these
+possessions proved no act of self-sacrifice, considering his wife's
+fortune, upon which the law had no claim. His wife, however, joined
+him in the act of renunciation, and they stood together penniless.
+Beyond this point there could be no legal, and, to many minds, no
+moral responsibility for the debts of his firm. One can speculate upon
+the force of the temptation to take advantage of the position. Mark
+Twain was sixty years old, and ill at that. Having sacrificed all he
+possessed to meet the demands of his creditors, he might justly claim
+the benefit of what remained of capacity for wealth-producing labor.
+His own words in reply to a slander which insinuated that he had set
+to work again for his own benefit are splendid for inspiration and
+honesty:
+
+"The law recognizes no mortgage on a man's brain, and a merchant who
+has given up all he has may take advantage of the laws of insolvency,
+and start free again for himself; but I am not a business man, and
+honor is a harder master than the law. It cannot compromise for less
+than a hundred cents on the dollar."
+
+... The great parallel case to the one here under examination is that
+of Sir Walter Scott, who lost his all through the failure of his
+printers, the Ballantynes, and between January, 1826, and January,
+1828, earned for his creditors nearly £40,000. In the early stages of
+this trial he suffered acutely from the attitude of his friends, and
+he records in his diary how some would smile as if to say: "Think
+nothing about it, my lad; it is quite out of our thoughts;" how others
+adopted an affected gravity "such as one sees and despises at a
+funeral," while the best bred "just shook hands and went on."
+
+How the world treated Mark Twain we learn from the speech at the
+banquet given by the Lotus Club on his return from his arduous journey
+around the world: "There were ninety-six creditors in all, and not by
+a finger's weight did ninety-five out of the ninety-six add to the
+burden of that time."
+
+"'Don't you worry, and don't you hurry,' was what they said." With the
+courage of a man buffeted, but not beaten, he gathered himself up for
+"one more last try for fortune and fair fame." In the latter part of
+1895 he started out on a tour of the English-speaking countries of the
+world to give lectures and readings from his own works.
+
+There were misgivings, of course, as to the success of the venture.
+Here was a field not absolutely untried, but not hitherto cultivated
+to the point of assured success. In 1873 he had made a lecture tour in
+England and in 1885 had given platform readings in company with George
+W. Cable. But age had sapped the zest for public appearance, and he
+was skeptical of his power to move people with interest in his books.
+Moreover, there was a further thing to be considered, a possible
+impediment to success among the English colonies which he proposed to
+visit. His popularity with Englishmen had never been great, owing to
+the liberties he had taken with that nation's people in _Innocents
+Abroad_.
+
+The latter apprehension was the more remote, however, for, starting
+from New York, he had a continent to traverse before embarking for the
+shores that held for him an uncertain welcome. To test his ability to
+interest an audience, to "try it on the dog," as they say in
+theatrical parlance, he subjected himself to the severest test
+possible, crossed to Randall's Island and read before a company of
+boys. Unsophisticated by the lecturer's reputation as a humorist, the
+boys proved to be the organs of sincerest testimony to the permanence
+of the old power to amuse, and the first public appearance in
+Cleveland, Ohio, was undertaken with fewer misgivings.
+
+From Vancouver, Mark Twain sailed for Sidney and gave readings before
+the English-speaking communities of Australia; then continued on to
+Tasmania, New Zealand, Ceylon, India and South Africa.
+
+His fears as to his welcome among Englishmen were proved to be
+groundless. In Australia, great as was his success as a lecturer, his
+personal success outweighed even that, and the market on his books was
+exhausted. We cannot follow him on this trip of mingled arduous labor
+and personal satisfaction. The humorous reactions of his homely vision
+upon the quaint, the bizarre, the pretentious, aspects of life in
+remote parts of the world may be read in his own record of this
+journey, _Following the Equator_. There are few things to record of
+this great effort to pay his debts.
+
+In India he was taken ill, but the disease was not severe. In June,
+1897, when he had circled the globe and had settled for a time in
+London, cablegrams came from that city announcing his mental and
+physical collapse. The English-speaking world was stricken with
+sympathy, and the New York _Herald_ at once began a subscription fund
+for his relief. The report was contradicted at once, but admiration
+for the author's strenuous effort seemed to grow, and the _Herald_
+fund was assuming generous proportions when the following
+characteristic message declining to accept the relief came from the
+proposed beneficiary:
+
+    I was glad when you instituted that movement, for I was tired
+    of the fact and worry of debt, but I recognized that it is not
+    permissible for a man whose case is not hopeless to shift his
+    burden to other men's shoulders.
+
+In November of the same year a report was circulated that he was out
+of debt, but from Vienna, whither he had gone to live, came a laconic
+cablegram nailing the optimistic impeachment:
+
+    Lie. Wrote no such letters. Still deeply in debt.
+
+Nearly half of the original indebtedness needed to be paid, and here,
+with scarcely an opposing voice in judgment, he might have waived the
+claim upon himself for his firm's responsibilities, but he avowed that
+he would pay dollar for dollar.
+
+The time of accomplishment was not long in coming. When the
+undertaking was begun, it was with the resolution to clear up the debt
+in three years. Allowing for the unexpected, it was feared it would
+take four, then at the age of sixty-four a new start in life would be
+open to the author, who might point to a considerable occupancy of
+space on library shelves and regard a life work accomplished. It took
+but two years and a half to pay the debt. He began the effort the
+latter part of 1895 and finished it in the early part of 1898.
+
+His return to America and his home in 1900 was, in the unromantic
+procedure of our self-conscious days, of the nature of a triumph. He
+was formally welcomed by the Lotus Club, and, of course, as delicately
+as might be, he was praised for his honesty. His reply to compliment
+was a generous recognition of social virtue, which renders easier such
+an effort as he made.
+
+Said he:
+
+    Your president has referred to certain burdens which I was
+    weighted with. I am glad he did, as it gives me an opportunity
+    which I wanted. To speak of those debts--you all knew what he
+    meant when he referred to it, and to the poor bankrupt firm of
+    C.L. Webster and Company. No one has said a word about those
+    creditors. There were ninety-six creditors in all, and not by
+    a finger's weight did ninety-five out of the ninety-six add to
+    the burden of that time. They treated me well; they treated me
+    handsomely. I never knew I owed them anything; not a sign came
+    from them.
+
+The story is one of simple elements, and suits the prosaic character
+of our age. It does not match Sir Walter's for romance. There was no
+such brain-racking work; no forcing of the phantasmal multitude of the
+poet's brain to dance to pay the expenses of the funeral; no mediæval
+castle to sacrifice; no tragic failure of the ultimate goal. What
+there is of real romance seems obscured by the facts of more or less
+safe speculation upon assured futures. It was a safe business venture.
+
+The hero was not unworthy of the praises which his peers at the Lotus
+dinner were glad to lavish. Said St. Clair McKelway:
+
+"He has enough excess and versatility to be a genius. He has enough
+quality and quantity of virtues to be a saint. But he has honorably
+transmuted his genius into work, whereby it has been brought into
+relations with literature and with life. And he has preferred warm
+fellowship to cool perfection, so that sinners love him and saints are
+content to wait for him."
+
+
+
+
+LXIX
+
+HAMLIN GARLAND'S LITERARY BEGINNING
+
+
+Hamlin Garland is one of the writers whose name suggests the great
+Northwest. He was born in Wisconsin in 1860, went to Iowa and later to
+Dakota, striving at an early age to wrest a living from the soil. At
+ten years of age he plowed seventy acres of land. His vivid
+descriptions of Western farm-life are not the results of reading and
+casual observation, supplemented by a vivid imagination; they are the
+products of actual experiences.
+
+In a personal interview with Mr. Garland, Frank G. Carpenter gives us
+the following interesting particulars:
+
+"The conversation here turned to Mr. Garland's literary work, and he
+told me how he was first led to write by reading Hawthorne's _Mosses
+from an Old Manse_. This book so delighted him that he wanted to write
+essays like it for a living, and he practised at this during the
+intervals of his school-teaching and studying for years. It was not
+until he was older that he attempted fiction or poetry. The story of
+his first published article is a curious one. Said he:
+
+"'My first literary success was a poem which I wrote for _Harper's
+Weekly_, entitled 'Lost in the Norther.' It was a poem describing a
+blizzard and the feelings of a man lost in it. I received twenty-five
+dollars for it.'
+
+"'That must have been a good deal of money to you then, Mr. Garland?'
+
+"'It was,' was the reply. 'It was my first money in literature, and I
+spent it upon my father and mother. I paid five dollars for a copy of
+Grant's _Memoirs_, which I sent father, and with the remaining twenty
+dollars I bought a silk dress for my mother. It was the first silk
+dress she had ever had.'
+
+"'When did you write your first fiction?'
+
+"'My mother got half of the money I received for that,' replied Mr.
+Garland, 'as it was due to her that I wrote it. I had been studying in
+Boston for several years, when I went out to Dakota to visit my
+parents. The night after I arrived I was talking with mother about old
+times and old friends. She told me how one family had gone back to New
+York for a visit, and had returned very happy, in getting back to
+their Western home. As she told the story, the pathos of it struck me.
+I went into another room and began to write. The story was one of the
+best chapters of my book _Main-Traveled Roads_. I read it to mother,
+and she liked it, and upon telling her that I thought it was worth at
+least seventy-five dollars, she replied: "Well, if that is so, I think
+you ought to _divvy_ with me, for I gave you the story." "I will,"
+said I, and so, when I got my seventy-five dollars, I sent her a check
+for thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents. I got many other good
+suggestions during that trip to Dakota. I wrote poems and stories.
+Some of the stories were published in _The Century_, and I remember
+that I received six hundred dollars within two weeks from its editors.
+It was perhaps a year later before I published my first book. It had a
+good sale, and I have been writing from that day to this.'
+
+"Hamlin Garland spends a part of every year in the West. He has bought
+the old home place where he was born in Wisconsin, and he has there a
+little farm of four acres, upon which he raises asparagus,
+strawberries, onions, and bushels of other things. His mother lives
+with him. During my talk with him the other night he said: 'I like the
+West and the Western people. I have been brought up with them, and I
+expect to devote my life to writing about them. I spend a portion of
+each summer on the Rocky Mountains, camping out. I like to go where I
+can sleep in the open air and have elbow-room away from the crowded
+city.'"
+
+
+
+
+LXX
+
+STEPHEN CRANE: A "WONDERFUL BOY"
+
+
+In 1900, Stephen Crane, while yet barely thirty, died. His early
+passing away was widely regarded as a loss to American literature. In
+England he was especially admired as a vigorous writer. His _The Red
+Badge of Courage_ won him wide recognition as a keen analyst. Old
+soldiers who read the story could not believe that it was written by a
+boy who was born after the war had ended. By many critics his stories
+of boyhood are considered the writings that shall be longest
+remembered. Shortly before his death Mr. Crane wrote the following
+letter to the editor of a Rochester daily:
+
+"My father was a Methodist minister, author of numerous works of
+theology, and an editor of various periodicals of the church. He was a
+graduate of Princeton, and he was a great, fine, simple mind. As for
+myself, I went to Lafayette College, but did not graduate. I found
+mining-engineering not at all to my taste. I preferred base-ball.
+Later I attended Syracuse University, where I attempted to study
+literature, but found base-ball again much more to my taste. My first
+work in fiction was for the New York _Tribune_, when I was eighteen
+years old. During this time, one story of the series went into the
+_Cosmopolitan_. At the age of twenty I wrote my first novel--_Maggie_.
+It never really got on the market, but it made for me the friendship
+of William Dean Howells and Hamlin Garland, and since that time I have
+never been conscious for an instant that those friendships have at all
+diminished. After completing _Maggie_, I wrote mainly for the New York
+_Press_ and for _The Arena_. In the latter part of my twenty-first
+year I began _The Red Badge of Courage_, and completed it early in my
+twenty-second year. The year following I wrote the poems contained in
+the volume known as _The Black Riders_. On the first day of last
+November I was precisely twenty-nine years old and had finished my
+fifth novel, _Active Service_. I have only one pride, and that is that
+the English edition of _The Red Badge of Courage_ has been received
+with great praise by the English reviewers. I am proud of this simply
+because the remoter people would seem more just and harder to win."
+
+In another letter to the same editor he writes about his literary
+sincerity:
+
+"The one thing that deeply pleases me is the fact that men of sense
+invariably believe me to be sincere. I know that my work does not
+amount to a string of dried beans--I always calmly admit it--but I
+also know that I do the best that is in me without regard to praise or
+blame. When I was the mark for every humorist in the country, I went
+ahead; and now when I am the mark for only fifty per cent of the
+humorists of the country, I go ahead; for I understand that a man is
+born into the world with his own pair of eyes, and he is not at all
+responsible for his vision--he is merely responsible for his quality
+of personal honesty. To keep close to this personal honesty is my
+supreme ambition."
+
+
+
+
+LXXI
+
+EUGENE FIELD
+
+
+The general public will always remember Eugene Field as the author of
+_Little Boy Blue_, the many friends of Field, in addition to their
+memory of him as the charming poet of childhood, will always think of
+him as the irrepressible prince of merry-makers. To perpetrate a joke
+Field spared neither labor nor his friends. Many of his pranks were
+mere whimsicalities, innocent pleasantries that hurt no one. He would
+spend three hours in illustrating a letter to a friend, filling the
+letter with gossipy trivialities and using six different kinds of ink
+to make it look grotesque.
+
+During the last years of Field's too brief life he was importuned so
+frequently for the facts concerning his career that he printed a brief
+biography or _Auto-Analysis_, as he called it. This contains a
+generous portion of fiction mingled with some fact. He begins his
+autobiography with:
+
+"I was born in St. Louis, Mo., September 3, 1850.... Upon the death of
+my mother (1856), I was put in the care of my (paternal) cousin, Miss
+Mary Field French, at Amherst, Mass.
+
+"In 1865 I entered the private school of Rev. James Tufts, Monson,
+Mass., and there fitted for Williams College, which institution I
+entered as a freshman in 1868. Upon my father's death, in 1869, I
+entered the sophomore class of Knox College, Galesburg, Ill., my
+guardian, John W. Burgess, now of Columbia College, being then a
+professor in that institution. But in 1870 I went to Columbia, Mo.,
+and entered the State University there, and completed my junior year
+with my brother. In 1872 I visited Europe, spending six months and my
+patrimony in France, Italy, Ireland, and Italy. In May, 1873, I became
+a reporter on the St. Louis _Evening Journal_. In October of that year
+I married Miss Julia Sutherland Comstock (born in Chenango Co., N.Y.),
+of St. Joseph, Mo., at that time a girl of sixteen. We have had eight
+children--three daughters and five sons."
+
+This is not all of the autobiography. There are about a thousand words
+more. The reason Field attended three collegiate institutions is that
+his mischievous pranks made him _persona non grata_ to the college
+authorities. In after years the old historian of Knox College wrote:
+"He was prolific of harmless pranks and his school life was a big
+joke."
+
+The gay irresponsibility of Field is early illustrated in the reckless
+manner in which he spent "six months and his patrimony" in Europe. In
+1872 Field received $8,000, the first portion of his patrimony. He
+proposed to a young friend, Comstock, the brother of Julia, whom he
+later married, that they go to Europe. Field offered to bear all the
+expenses of the trip. They went and for six months they had a glorious
+time. Soon the money was gone; he telegraphed for more; was obliged
+to sell the odd curios he had gathered to pay his way home. This
+expenditure of his money in a trip abroad is not so unprofitable a
+venture as it appears. The elder Field had left a fortune valued at
+$60,000; Eugene's share was to be about $25,000. In two years he spent
+about $20,000. His brother Roswell, more prudent, lived for several
+years on his share but finally, owing to the depreciation of real
+estate values, saw his fortune dwindle away. He is said to have envied
+the shrewdness of Eugene in spending his money when he had it.
+
+Field had the highest respect for womankind. In his _Auto-Analysis_ he
+writes: "I am fond of companionship of women, and I have no
+unconquerable prejudice against feminine beauty. I recall with pride
+that in twenty-two years of active journalism I have always written in
+reverential praise of womankind." This respect for womankind, however,
+did not prevent him from playing pranks upon his wife. On their
+wedding journey he delighted to tease his young Julia by ordering at
+Delmonico's "boiled pig's feet à la St. Jo." A few years later a
+quartet was accustomed to meet at Eugene's home. Field did not sing
+with the quartet but as a fifth member acted as reader or reciter in
+their little entertainments. Eugene delighted to tease his wife by
+walking into the parlor when the quartet was practicing at his home
+and saying: "Well, boys, let us take off our coats and take it easy;
+it's too hot." When this was done, Eugene would blaze forth in the
+brilliancy of a red flannel undershirt, with white cuffs and collar
+pinned to his shirt.
+
+When Carl Schurz was making his senatorial campaign in Missouri, Field
+was sent with the party to report the meetings. Field, although
+greatly admiring Schurz, took great delight in misreporting Schurz,
+whose only comment would be: "Field, why will you lie so
+outrageously?" One evening when a group of German serenaders had
+assembled in front of the hotel to do honor to Schurz, Field rushed
+out and pretending to be Schurz, addressed them in broken English. At
+another time, at a political meeting, Field suddenly stepped out to
+the front and began:
+
+"Ladies and Shentlemen: I haf such a pad colt dot et vas not bossible
+for me to make you a speedg to-night, but I haf die bleasure to
+introduce to you my brilliant chournalistic friendt Euchene Fielt, who
+will spoke you in my blace."
+
+While in Denver Field worked upon the _Tribune_. Over his desk
+hung,--"This is my busy day," and on the wall,--"God bless our
+proofreader, He can't call for him too soon." In his office he kept an
+old bottomless black-walnut chair. Across its yawning chasm he would
+carelessly thrown old newspapers. As it was the only unoccupied chair
+in the room, the casual visitor would drop unsuspectingly into the
+trap. The angry subscriber who had come to wreak vengeance upon the
+writer of irritating personalities could not withstand the apparently
+sincere apologies which Field lavished upon his victim. It was so
+humiliating to a man of Field's sensibilities to be obliged to receive
+such important visitors in an office whose very furniture indicated
+the poverty of the newspaper.
+
+In 1883 Field moved to Chicago, where the rest of his life was
+passed. Mr. Stone, one of the proprietors of _The News_, had gone to
+Denver to have a personal interview with Field, whose work had
+attracted attention in the newspaper world. Field stipulated that he
+was to have a column a day for his own use. The Chicago public soon
+was attracted by the brilliant versatility of the writer of "Sharps
+and Flats," the title of the column written by Field.
+
+Some months after Field had moved to Chicago he concluded that the
+general public ought to know that he had arrived. It was a cold
+morning in December. "So he arrayed himself in a long linen duster,
+buttoned up from knees to collar, put an old straw hat on his head,
+and taking a shabby book under one arm and a palm-leaf fan in his
+hand, he marched all the way down Clark Street, past the City Hall, to
+the office. Everywhere along the route he was greeted with jeers or
+pitying words, as his appearance excited the mirth or commiseration of
+the passers-by. When he reached the entrance to the _Daily News_
+office he was followed by a motley crowd of noisy urchins whom he
+dismissed with a grimace and the cabalistic gesture with which
+Nicholas Koorn perplexed and repulsed Antony Van Corlear from the
+battlement of the fortress of Rensellaerstein. Then closing the door
+in their astonished faces, he mounted the two flights of stairs to the
+editorial rooms, where he recounted, with the glee of the boy he was
+in such things, the success of his joke."
+
+Field had execrable taste in dress and he knew it. Consequently he
+enjoyed presenting neckties to his friends. His biographer, Slason
+Thompson, who worked in the same newspaper office, separated only by a
+low thin partition, relates that in the afternoon about two o'clock
+Field would stick his head above the partition and say,--"Come along,
+Nompy, and I'll buy you a new necktie," and when Thompson would
+decline the offer, Field would mildly respond, "Very well, if you
+won't let me buy you a necktie, you must buy me a lunch," and off to
+the coffee-house they would march, where the bill would be paid by
+Thompson, for Field was indeed through life the gay knight he styled
+himself, _sans peur and sans monnaie_.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                   |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Page   x: Thackery replaced with Thackeray                |
+    | Page  10: 'he became actor' replaced with                 |
+    |           'he became an actor'                            |
+    | Page 350: conconstituted replaced with constituted        |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories of Authors, British and
+American, by Edwin Watts Chubb
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories of Authors, British and American, by 
+Edwin Watts Chubb
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Stories of Authors, British and American
+
+Author: Edwin Watts Chubb
+
+Release Date: October 13, 2008 [EBook #26910]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTHORS, BRITISH AND AMERICAN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Jeannie Howse and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+<div class="tr">
+<p class="cen" style="font-weight: bold;">Transcriber's Note:</p>
+<br />
+<p class="noin">Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been preserved.</p>
+<p class="noin" style="text-align: left;">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
+For a complete list, please see the <span style="white-space: nowrap;"><a href="#TN">end of this document</a>.</span></p>
+<p class="noin">Click on the images to see a larger version.</p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a>
+<a href="images/frontis.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/frontis.jpg" width="60%" alt="Geoffrey Chaucer" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">GEOFFREY CHAUCER<br />
+From a portrait in Occleve's Poems in the British Museum<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+<h1>Stories of Authors</h1>
+
+<h2><i>British and American</i></h2>
+
+<br />
+
+<h4>BY</h4>
+<h3>EDWIN WATTS CHUBB</h3>
+<h5>Professor of English Literature<br />
+in the Ohio University.</h5>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h4><i>ILLUSTRATED</i></h4>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h5>New York<br />
+STURGIS &amp; WALTON<br />
+COMPANY<br />
+1910</h5>
+
+<h5><i>All rights reserved</i></h5>
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h5>Copyright, 1910<br />
+<span class="sc">By</span> STURGIS &amp; WALTON COMPANY<br />
+<br />
+Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910<br />
+<br />
+Reprinted May, 1910</h5>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>PREFACE</h3>
+<br />
+
+<p>The purpose of this book is to help in making literature and the
+makers of literature alive and interesting. Few schools have libraries
+including the bound volumes of the magazines of the past quarter of a
+century. But what an aid such a collection is to the appreciation of
+literature! The dignified and abbreviated history of literature cannot
+indulge in such delightful gossip as is found in the freer essay and
+fuller biography. To show the excellences of the art and the
+lovableness of the artist rather than to hunt for defects is the duty
+and the delight of the teacher of literature. This does not mean,
+however, that one dare never see the weaker side, the foibles and
+eccentricities of the man of genius.</p>
+
+<p>I like Macaulay none the less because his cock-sureness and loquacity
+came dangerously near to making him a bore; Dr. Johnson grows in
+interest when I learn that he found it a continual and almost hopeless
+struggle to become an early riser, that he feared death, and could
+drink tea as long as the housekeeper could brew it; that Tennyson was
+a slave to tobacco and acted like a yokel when the newly-wedded
+M&uuml;llers entertained him at breakfast does not detract from my
+enjoyment of the exquisite pathos of <i>Tears, Idle Tears</i>; that the
+marriage of the Brownings was a runaway romance is a whole commentary
+of explanation when I read their poems of romantic love; that
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>Longfellow is said to have declined an invitation to the Adirondacks
+because he was told that Emerson was to carry a gun is really far more
+delightful, and I may add valuable, information than to know the exact
+date of the birth of either. Of knowledge such as this is the kingdom
+of literary interest. It is not well to place our literary lights upon
+a pedestal so lofty that the radiating warmth and light never reach
+our hearts.</p>
+
+<p>While many of the articles may be somewhat gossipy in tone, the
+serious phase has not been overlooked. The sketches have been gathered
+from many sources. Some have been written by myself, others have been
+gathered from magazines and books. I wish to acknowledge the kindness
+of <i>Scribners' Magazine</i>, of the <i>Bookman</i>, and of the <i>New England
+Magazine</i> in permitting me to use articles originally appearing in
+these respective magazines. To all who have wittingly or unwittingly
+made it possible for me to gather my material I wish to acknowledge my
+indebtedness. Every article has been written, selected, or adapted
+because of some special value. In these pages the reader may find what
+Lamb earned during the years of his famous clerkship, or the exciting
+details of Shelley's death. How many times have we heard of Sir Philip
+Sidney's immortal act of chivalry as he <i>lay</i> on the field at Zutphen!
+But definite information has it otherwise. To learn of the prodigious
+industry of the youthful Mill, the perseverance of Darwin, the heroic
+struggle of Scott, the gentleness of Stevenson, the modesty of
+Browning, the lifelong consecration of Motley,&mdash;is not the leaven of
+inspiration made of knowledge such as this?</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span>I have an unshaken conviction that the highest art of the teacher is
+manifested in the awakening of such an interest that the pupil shall
+forever after be an eager learner. Am I wrong in hoping that no one,
+though with but a meager knowledge of literature, can read these
+sketches without a desire to know more of the men and women who are
+the glory of England and America? Here is but a taste of a more
+sumptuous feast.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dreams, books are each a world; and books, we know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are a substantial world, both pure and good:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our pastime and our happiness will grow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="right sc">Edwin Watts Chubb.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<a name="toc" id="toc"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>CONTENTS</h3>
+<br />
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="Table of Contents">
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><h3>ENGLISH WRITERS</h3></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr" width="10%" style="font-size: 80%;">CHAPTER</td>
+  <td class="tdl" width="70%">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdr" width="20%" style="font-size: 80%;">PAGE</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">I.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#I">The Ancient Tabard Inn</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">II.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#II">Sir Philip Sidney at Zutphen</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">4</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">III.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#III">About Shakspere</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">9</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">IV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#IV">John Milton</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">17</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">V.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#V">Charles Lamb, the Clerk of the India House</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">24</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">VI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#VI">Dr. Johnson and Charles Lamb</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">28</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">VII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#VII">The Death of Dr. Johnson</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">33</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">VIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#VIII">Gray Writes the Elegy</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">37</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">IX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#IX">Cowper as a Letter Writer</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">42</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">X.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#X">Gibbon and His Visit to Rome</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">46</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XI">Burns Falls in Love</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">50</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XII">Burns' First Book of Poems</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">54</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XIII">Samuel Taylor Coleridge in School and College</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">59</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XIV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XIV">Byron as Swimmer and Feaster</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">64</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XV">Shelley as a Freshman</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">71</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XVI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XVI">The Death of Shelley</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">76</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XVII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XVII">The School-days of John Keats</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">82</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XVIII">The Heroism of Sir Walter Scott</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">88</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XIX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XIX">Walter Savage Landor</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">93</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XX">Leigh Hunt's Business Ability</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">100</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXI">De Quincey Runs Away</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">102</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXII">Macaulay's Childhood</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">108</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXIII">Macaulay Becomes Famous</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">114</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXIV">Dickens Writes the Pickwick Papers</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">119</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXV">Charles Dickens as Reader</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">123</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXVI">On the Death of Dickens</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">126</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXVII">Ruskin's Childhood</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">130</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXVIII">The Marriage of the Brownings</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">135</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXIX">Robert Browning</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">140<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXX">Knight's Reminiscences of Tennyson</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">145</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXI">Emerson on Carlyle and Tennyson</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">150</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXII">Literary Recollections of Max M&uuml;ller</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">156</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXIII">The Early Education of John Stuart Mill</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">162</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXIV">Carlyle Goes to the University</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">167</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXV">Carlyle and His Wife</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">170</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXVI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXVI">Carlyle as Lecturer</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">175</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXVII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXVII">Carlyle on Wordsworth and Browning</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">180</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXVIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXVIII">The Author of "Jane Eyre"</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">184</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XXXIX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXIX">Thackery in America</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">189</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XL.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XL">George Eliot Becomes a Writer of Fiction</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">194</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLI">The Author of "Alice in WonderLand"</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">200</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLII">About Darwin</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">203</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLIII">Anecdotes of Huxley</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">209</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLIV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLIV">Stevenson at Vailima</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">214</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLV">Kipling in India</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">221</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><h3>AMERICAN WRITERS</h3></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLVI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLVI">Benjamin Franklin Runs Away</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">226</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLVII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLVII">Washington Irving</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">234</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLVIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLVIII">Cooper and "The Spy"</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">242</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">XLIX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLIX">John Lothrop Motley and Bismarck</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">249</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">L.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#L">The Youth of George Ticknor</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">254</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LI">Fitz-Greene Halleck</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">259</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LII">The Author of Thanatopsis</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">262</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LIII">Curtis and Hawthorne at the Brook Farm</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">266</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LIV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LIV">Hawthorne and the Scarlet Letter</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">270</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LV">Max M&uuml;ller's Recollections of Emerson, Lowell and Holmes</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">279</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LVI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LVI">Howells Calls on Emerson, and Describes Longfellow</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">284</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LVII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LVII">Longfellow, the Universal Poet</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">290</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LVIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LVIII">Henry David Thoreau</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">297<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LIX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LIX">The Last Days of Edgar Allan Poe</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">303</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LX">Artemus Ward</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">313</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXI">Edmund Gosse Visits Whittier</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">317</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXII">Personal Recollections of Whittier</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">320</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXIII">Henry Ward Beecher</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">329</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXIV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXIV">The London "Times" on Lowell</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">333</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXV">The Writing of "America"</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">338</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXVI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXVI">Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and her First Story</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">340</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXVII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXVII">Sidney Lanier</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">344</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXVIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXVIII">The Story of Mark Twain's Debts</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">349</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXIX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXIX">Hamlin Garland's Literary Beginning</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">358</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXX">Stephen Crane: A "Wonderful Boy"</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">361</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdr">LXXI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#LXXI">Eugene Field</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">364</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span><br />
+<br />
+<a name="toi" id="toi"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3>
+<br />
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="60%" summary="List of Illustrations">
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#frontis">Geoffrey Chaucer</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td width="80%">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdrsc" width="20%" style="font-size: 80%;">FACING PAGE</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep002">The Old Tabard Inn</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">2</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep008">William Shakspere</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">8</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep016">John Milton</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">16</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep050">Robert Burns</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">50</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep064">Lord Byron</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">64</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep070">Percy Bysshe Shelley</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">70</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep122">Charles Dickens</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">122</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep134">Robert Browning</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">134</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep144">Alfred Tennyson</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">144</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep150">Ralph Waldo Emerson</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">150</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep175">Thomas Carlyle</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">175</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep226">Benjamin Franklin</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">226</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep262">William Cullen Bryant</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">262</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep290">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">290</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep320">John Greenleaf Whittier</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">320</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="I" id="I"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span><br />
+
+<h1>STORIES OF AUTHORS</h1>
+
+<br />
+
+<h3>I<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE ANCIENT TABARD INN</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The picture we see here is that of an inn whose fame is as widespread
+as the love of English poetry, for it is at the Tabard Inn that
+Chaucer more than five hundred years ago assembled his nine and twenty
+pilgrims who were preparing to visit the tomb of Thomas &agrave; Becket at
+Canterbury. The witchery of the springtime had stirred the blood of
+these Londoners who, perhaps, were enticed from home more by the soft
+April showers and the melody of the birds than by their need of
+spiritual consolation. This, at least, is the impression we receive as
+in imagination we join these immortal pilgrims at the Tabard. Our
+guide is</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Preluded those melodious bursts that fill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spacious times of great Elizabeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With sounds that echo still,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">and as he moves among his motley group, let us take a glance at the
+Tabard.</p>
+
+<p>The picture we have is that of the typical old English inn. "As late
+as 1870 the ruins of the famous Tabard could be found. It was near St.
+Saviour in the Borough High Street. Turning from the street into one
+of those courtyards <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>which abound in the east of London, the visitor
+comes upon the ruins of the once famous inn the very name of which has
+been transformed by time. It is now known as the '<i>Talbot</i>,' but the
+inscription above the doorway contradicts the modern signboard and
+proclaims the house to be '<i>The Ancient Tabard Inn</i>.' The whole yard
+is redolent of dilapidation. Facing the visitor on entering is an
+interesting block of old buildings, forming part of the left side, and
+the bottom of what once was an ample courtyard. This part of the
+building contains not improbably the shell of the corresponding
+portion of the original inn. The doors of the first floor all open
+into one of the wide balustraded galleries or verandas so common in
+the genuine old English hostelry. Until recently the landlord of the
+<i>Talbot</i>, then a small public-house, and still forming part of the
+modern mass of brick building that blocks up the right side and part
+of the center of the courtyard, rented the rooms by which this
+balustraded gallery was, and still is, surrounded. They were then let
+as bedrooms, and kept in good repair; and are supposed to occupy the
+site of the very rooms once tenanted by the Canterbury pilgrims; the
+gallery probably differing but little in appearance from what it was
+when Chaucer frequented it in search of good wine. The landlord
+eventually became insolvent; the paltry tavern was shut up, and the
+bedrooms were dismantled. In that plight they might be seen some years
+ago, may still possibly be seen&mdash;empty, dusty, dreary&mdash;ranged above
+ground-floor premises which do duty as a parcels' conveyance office,
+and abutting on a mean, ill-kept yard. Until within the last <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>few
+years the coigne of the old balustraded gallery was connected on the
+right with the modern brick mass by an ancient wood-work bridge,
+coeval at least with the oldest portion of the building as it stands.
+But the bridge is gone, and the lust of gold and the pride of life
+have so destroyed that spirit of reverence and refined superstitious
+love for the venerable which should characterize an advanced
+civilization, that it is greatly to be feared the rest of the
+structure will soon follow. Yet it was in this courtyard, and before
+this very inn, that Chaucer and his nine-and-twenty pilgrims stood in
+picturesque confusion in the early dawn of that spring morning, long,
+long ago; and agreed for their common amusement on the road each one
+of them should tell at least one tale in going to, and another in
+returning from Canterbury; the best story teller to be treated to a
+supper by his fellow travelers on their return to the Tabard Inn. The
+company comprises representatives from all classes of society except
+the two extremes; there is neither a prince nor a beggar. The
+characters are taken from middle-class life, of which they may be
+accepted as fair and truthful types; being described with a vigorous
+fidelity which has never been surpassed in the whole range of art.
+Every figure stands out from the canvas sharp and clear like pictures
+seen through a stereoscope. Not a touch, not a line is wanting; each
+trick of speech and peculiarity of feature or of dress, is
+photographed with Preraphaelite fidelity."</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep002" id="imagep002"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep002.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep002.jpg" width="90%" alt="The Old Tabard Inn" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">THE OLD TABARD INN<br />From a drawing by Herbert Railton<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3><a name="II" id="II"></a>II<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>SIR PHILIP SIDNEY AT ZUTPHEN</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Whenever the name of Sir Philip Sidney is mentioned one involuntarily
+thinks of noble generosity and knightly gentleness and self-sacrifice.
+And here is the story of the act that forever united his name with the
+highest ideals of chivalry:</p>
+
+<p>In August, 1586, Leicester assembled his troops at Arnheim, which he
+made his headquarters. After reducing Doesburg, he prepared to besiege
+Zutphen, an important town on the Yssel. The garrison was in sore need
+of provisions, which Parma, before marching to its relief, determined
+to supply. A convoy of corn, meat, and other necessaries, sufficient
+to victual the place for three months, was accordingly collected, and
+on the twenty-second of September left the Spanish camp. So high was
+Parma's estimate of the importance of preserving Zutphen, that the
+escort despatched with the convoy numbered twenty-nine hundred foot
+and six hundred horse. Leicester was informed of the enemy's movement,
+but not of the force which protected it. An ambuscade of five hundred
+men, under Sir John Norris, was held sufficient to intercept the
+convoy. About fifty young officers volunteered to add their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>services.
+This gallant band was composed of the flower of the English army....
+It was indeed "an incredible extravagance to send a handful of such
+heroes against such an army," but Leicester can scarcely be blamed for
+failing to restrain the impulsive ardor which animated his entire
+staff. Sidney's characteristic magnanimity betrayed him that day into
+a fatal excess. He had risen at the first sound of the trumpet and
+left his tent completely armed, but observing that Sir William Pelham,
+an older soldier, had not protected his legs with cuishes, returned
+and threw off his own. The morning was cold and densely foggy, as the
+little company galloped forth to join their comrades in ambush. Just
+as they came up, Sir John Norris had caught the first sounds of the
+approaching convoy. Almost at the same moment the fog cleared off and
+revealed at what terrible odds the battle was to be fought that day.
+Mounted arquebusiers, pikemen and musketeers on foot, Spaniards,
+Italians, and even, it is said, Albanians, to the number of
+thirty-five hundred, guarded the wagons before and behind. The English
+were but five hundred and fifty men. Yet among them all, the historian
+has the right of blood to say with confidence, "There was no thought
+of retreat." The indomitable national spirit embodied itself in the
+war-cry of young Essex: "Follow me, good fellows, for the honor of
+England and England's queen!" At the word a hundred horsemen, Sidney
+in the midst, with lance in hand and curtel-axe at saddle-bow, spurred
+to the charge. The enemy's cavalry broke, but the musketeers in the
+rear fired a deadly volley, under cover of which it formed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>anew. A
+second charge re-broke it. In the onset Sidney's horse was killed, but
+he remounted and rode forward. Lord Willoughby, after unhorsing and
+capturing the Albanian leader, lost his own horse. Attacked on all
+sides, he must have fallen and yielded, when Sidney came to the rescue
+and struck down his assailants. Individual valor, however, proved
+unavailing against the might of numbers. After nearly two hours'
+desperate opposition, the convoy still made way. Charge succeeded
+charge in the vain effort to prevent its effecting a junction with the
+garrison, two thousand of whom were waiting for the right moment to
+sally forth. In the last of these onsets, Sir Philip's impetuosity
+carried him within musket-shot of the camp. A bullet struck his
+unprotected leg, just above the knee, and shattered the bone. He
+endeavored to remain on the field, but his horse became unmanageable,
+and in agonies of pain and thirst he rode back to the English
+quarters, a mile and a half distant. An incident of that ride, as told
+in the quaint language of Lord Brooke, retains the immortal charm of
+pathos which commands our tears, how often soever repeated:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>In which sad progress, passing along by the rest of the army,
+where his uncle the general was, and being thirsty with excess
+of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought
+him, but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a
+poor soldier carried along who had eaten his last at that same
+feast, ghastly, casting up his eyes at the bottle, which Sir
+Philip perceiving, took it from his head before he drank, and
+delivered it to the poor man with these words, "Thy necessity
+is greater than mine." And when he had pledged this poor
+soldier, he was presently carried to Arnheim.</p></div>
+
+<p>The golden chain of heroic actions, Christian and pagan, may contain
+examples of self-denial <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>sublimer and more absolute than this; but in
+the blended grace and tenderness of its knightly courtesy, we know not
+where to find its parallel.</p>
+
+<p>Leicester met his nephew as he was borne back to the camp, and burst
+into a genuine passion of sorrow. Many a rough soldier among those
+who, in returning from the failure of their impossible enterprise, now
+came up with their comrade, was unmanned for the first time that day.
+Sir William Russell, as tender-hearted as he was daring, embraced him
+weeping, and kissed his hand amid broken words of admiration and
+sympathy. But Sidney needed no consolation. "I would," said Leicester,
+in a letter to Sir Thomas Heneage, "you had stood by to hear his most
+loyal speeches to her Majesty, his constant mind to the cause, his
+loving care over me, and his most resolute determination for death;
+not one jot appalled for his blow, which is the most grievous that
+ever I saw with such a bullet."</p>
+
+<p>The English surgeons at first gave hopes of his speedy restoration to
+health, and the favorable news was sent to England. Lady Sidney, who
+had followed him to Flushing some months before, at once hastened to
+him, but with no idea of his danger. The nation at large thought him
+convalescent. He himself, however, never expected to recover, although
+submitting with fortitude to whatever systems of treatment were
+proposed. Nothing was left untried that affection could suggest or the
+imperfect science of the age effect. His wife tenderly nursed him, and
+his two younger brothers were constantly at his side. His quondam foe,
+Count Hohenlo, though himself dangerously wounded, sent off his own
+physician, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>Adrian Van den Spiegel, to his aid. After examining the
+injuries Adrian pronounced them mortal, and then hastened back to the
+Count, whose case was not so desperate. "Away, villain!" cried the
+generous soldier in a transport of wrath; "never see my face again
+till thou bring better news of that man's recovery, for whose
+redemption many such as I were happily lost!"</p>
+
+<p>From the first to the last moment of his suffering Sir Philip's temper
+was calm and cheerful. During the three weeks that he lingered at
+Arnheim he occupied himself with the thoughts befitting a
+death-bed.... On the 17th of October he felt himself dying, and
+summoned his friends to say farewell. His latest words were addressed
+to his brother Robert: "Love my memory; cherish my friends; their
+faith to me may assure you they are honest. But, above all things,
+govern your will and affections by the will and word of your Creator;
+in me beholding the end of this world with all her vanities." When
+powerless to speak, he replied to the entreaty of friends, who desired
+some token of his trust in God, by clasping his hands in the attitude
+of prayer, and a few moments afterwards had ceased to breathe.</p>
+
+<p class="right">&mdash;Adapted from the <i>Edinburgh Review</i>.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep008" id="imagep008"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep008.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep008.jpg" width="55%" alt="William Shakspere" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">WILLIAM SHAKSPERE<br />From the portrait by Martin Droeshout<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="III" id="III"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>III<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>ABOUT SHAKSPERE</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>What would we not give to be able to relate a half-dozen good
+anecdotes about Shakspere? It is true there are traditions, the best
+known of which is the story that he poached deer in the park of Sir
+Thomas Lucy. Men have discussed the pros and cons of this
+deer-stealing tradition with a gravity and fulness worthy of a
+weightier cause. Suppose he did engage in the exciting sport of
+worrying a nobleman who had a game preserve. Does that fact blacken
+the youth's character? It is said the students at Oxford were the most
+notorious poachers in the kingdom, although expulsion was the penalty.
+Dr. Forman relates how a student who afterwards became a bishop was
+more given to poaching than to study.</p>
+
+<p>What do we know about the life of Shakspere? We know that he was born
+at Stratford-on-Avon in 1564, that he died there in 1616, April 23.
+Some years ago I stood in the house which is reputed to be the place
+of his birth; over 20,000 pilgrims from all lands each year pay their
+shilling for the privilege of going through that house; the town
+corporation has purchased the property and controls it; the place has
+been photographed until <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>the reading world is familiar with the
+picture,&mdash;and yet we do not positively know that Shakspere was born in
+that house. For Shakspere's father owned two houses at the time of the
+son's birth; in which of the two he lived at this time we can but
+guess. We suppose he lived in the Henley Street house, for it was the
+better of the two houses and the Shakspere family was prospering when
+William was born. The house itself has been remodeled. I think it is
+Sidney Lee who says that the only thing that remains as it was in
+Shakspere's time is the cellar. We do not know the day of Shakspere's
+birth. In Holy Trinity Church one may look into the book containing
+the baptismal record of the babe, William. He was baptized on April 26
+and as children were usually baptized three days after their birth we
+infer he was born April 23. We know that he married Anne Hathaway, a
+woman eight years his senior; that in early manhood he went to London;
+that he became an actor, dramatist, manager of a theater; that in
+1597 he bought New Place, the stateliest residence in Stratford; that
+he lived in Stratford during the last years of his life as a highly
+esteemed and worthy man, and that he died in 1616 and was buried in
+Trinity Church. These are the facts in the records of Shakspere's
+life. They, however, are not the important facts. The main fact in his
+life is his work, the matchless collection of literary masterpieces
+that bear the imprint of his genius. It is also well to keep in mind
+that our paucity of definite documentary records is not characteristic
+of Shakspere alone. We may know little of Shakspere, but we know less
+of Marlowe, his most brilliant competitor.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>It is because we know so little of fact in the life of Shakspere that
+we delight to let fancy paint its charming pictures. We are led into
+the old Grammar School which Shakspere in all probability attended.
+Tradition points out the desk at which he used to sit. We can infer
+what he studied. The name of the Latin grammar then used we can deduce
+from his quoting a Latin sentence just as it was misquoted in Lilly's
+grammar. Artists have painted from imagination the picture of the boy
+Shakspere. Poets have wandered over the Warwickshire region and in
+their mind's eye have seen the youthful bard as he walked over the
+same picturesque region. In <i>Midsummer-Night's Dream</i> we read</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">and we see the young Shakspere, keen-eyed, observant, reveling in the
+beauty of nature. In <i>Macbeth</i> we read</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto our gentle senses.&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">and we recall that Kenilworth and Warwick Castles are near Stratford
+and we see the boyish Shakspere as he walks about these magnificent
+testimonies to the might and power of feudal England, or perhaps
+mingling with the crowd when Royalty has come to Kenilworth to be
+entertained by the lavish Leicester. So, too, when we find in <i>Much
+Ado About Nothing</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And greedily devour the treacherous bait,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>we have a picture before us of the boy standing on the banks of the
+placid Avon, enjoying the sports of boyhood and unconsciously
+receiving impressions that shall later be reproduced to adorn with
+freshest imagery the poetry of the world's greatest genius.</p>
+
+<p>After years of labor the scholars of the world have scraped together
+enough definite information to make the Life of Shakspere, as Mr.
+Raleigh puts it, "assume the appearance of a scrap-heap of respectable
+size." But to us the great fact in the life of Shakspere is that he
+has given us his masterpieces. Perhaps it is just as well that we know
+so little about the facts in his life. We have all the more time to
+study his works. About their quality there is little of disagreement.
+Three hundred years ago Ben Jonson wrote</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">... I confess thy writings to be such<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As neither man nor muse can praise too much,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">and the critic of to-day is saying the same thing, only he uses two
+volumes instead of two lines to say it. It is true an occasional
+voice, like that of Tolstoy's, will be heard in protest, but the
+protest and the critic are both likely to be forgotten before the
+consensus of three centuries shall be set aside.</p>
+
+<p>Shakspere lives and shall live as long as the human race shall delight
+in the study of the human heart, not because of the chastity and
+clearness of his diction, not because of the supremacy of his
+imagination, nor because of the variety of his melodious verse,&mdash;not
+even because of the matchless combination of all these charms; but the
+Bard of Stratford lives and shall live because his sanity enabled him
+to see the "God of things <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>as they are," and his passion penetrated
+into the deepest sorrows and rose to the highest aspirations of the
+human heart,&mdash;and throughout all this sympathizing with goodness and
+while despising the depraved yet pitying with a heart of love.</p>
+
+<p>No system-maker or formula-builder can account for Shakspere. Genius
+is ever a miracle. However, we can study the environment in which
+genius moves and has its being. When we ask ourselves how does it
+happen that the plays of Shakspere breathe such a wholesome and
+vigorous morality, we are led to two conclusions,&mdash;first, that the
+England of Shakspere's time was a wholesome and vigorous England;
+second, that the man Shakspere was sound to the core.</p>
+
+<p>The close of the sixteenth century is one of the most remarkable
+periods in the history of the world. Indeed, so striking is the
+intellectual activity of this age that lately an eminent scientist
+advanced the hypothesis that some electric influence, some magnetic
+current must have let itself loose to work upon the destinies of the
+world in the production of great men. For in that period in Italy we
+find Tasso, the greatest of modern epic poets; then too lived Galileo
+and Kepler, the astronomers; in France we find the philosophic
+essayist, Montaigne; in Spain the world-renowned Cervantes, the author
+of the immortal Don Quixote; in England both Bacon and Shakspere,
+beside a host of other writers, generals, admirals and artists. This
+same age is the most flourishing period in Mahometan India; so, too,
+in China, in Japan, and even in far away Persia we find an unusual
+degree of intellectual activity.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>The England of Shakspere! The phrase suggests a train of associations
+that kindle the imagination. The age of literature, war, conquest,
+adventure, and achievement. The era of Edmund Spenser, "called from
+faeryland to struggle 'gainst dark ways;" of Sir Philip Sidney, the
+scholar, the courtier, the gentleman; of Sir Walter Raleigh, author,
+knight, and explorer; of Bacon, "the wisest, meanest, brightest of
+mankind." It is the time when in the <i>Golden Hind</i> Drake is
+circumnavigating the globe; when Hawkins is exploring the Indies, and
+Frobisher is becoming the hero of the Northwest passage; the age of
+marvelous tales told by intrepid explorers and adventurers returning
+from America, a land whose fountains renewed youth and whose rivers
+flowed over sands of gold. It is the era of English sea-dogs pillaging
+Spanish provinces in spite of imperial manifestos,&mdash;above all, it is
+the age of the Spanish Armada.</p>
+
+<p>To recall what this means it is necessary to remember that Spain was
+the great dominating empire of the sixteenth century. Philip II, the
+Duke of Alva, the horrors of the Spanish inquisition, condemn Spain's
+power in this period. But one midsummer morn all England awoke to the
+glorious news that the Invincible Armada lay at the bottom of the sea.
+England had triumphed, and now for the first time national life
+dreamed of the possibility of leadership in the great game of
+world-politics. The atmosphere was electric with new life. In rural
+England along lanes flanked with green hedges Englishmen walked with
+bosoms swelling with new pride, in bustling London vigorous burghers
+strode the city's streets <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>with hearts pulsating with new warmth, and
+everywhere the eyes of all Englishmen flashed with new fire.</p>
+
+<p>Could a soul so sensitive as Shakspere's live in such an atmosphere
+and not be influenced by it? Listen to him as he pays his beautiful,
+patriotic tribute to England's national glory:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This other Eden, demi-paradise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This fortress built by Nature for herself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This precious stone set in the silver sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear for her reputation through the world.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>And the second cause, we say, is the personality of the man himself.
+Shakspere wrote pure and lofty poetry because his was a pure and lofty
+nature. I know the disparagers of Shakspere and the advocates of the
+Baconian theory make much of the traditional wildness of Shakspere's
+youth. The common argument is that a man who is charged with the
+poaching of deer in his youth is too bad to write good poetry,
+therefore Bacon wrote Shakspere. Was Bacon an angel? By the same
+process of reasoning Burns could not have written the Cotter's
+Saturday Night. But I deny that Shakspere was profligate, and in
+making this denial I need not prove the impeccability of Shakspere.
+But his life was essentially pure, his heart good, because the
+influence of the life is sane and wholesome.</p>
+
+<p>Not alone the greatest intellect of his time, of all times, but also
+the greatest heart, was that possessed by this Warwickshire poet. As a
+man thinketh in his heart so he is. As Shakspere was, so he wrote.
+This crystalline wholesome water <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>dashing over this rocky cliff did
+not have its origin in yonder pool. Pure water does not flow from a
+mud-puddle. Here is a man who in twenty years writes in round numbers
+forty productions&mdash;the task of Hercules. The product of the man
+attests the nobility of his soul. No man can labor for twenty years
+without putting his stamp upon his work. Shakspere was no bar-room
+brawler, no prodigal spender of time and substance in riotous living.
+He lived to the mature age of fifty-two and died a well-to-do man. The
+prodigals of the world do not retire with a competency. I repeat that
+Shakspere was not impeccable; he was no Puritan; but we cannot think
+of the creator of Hamlet, Ophelia, Othello, Desdemona, Cordelia,
+Portia, Rosalind, Miranda, and Prospero as other than a man of a
+contrite spirit and a pure heart. As he surpassed his contemporaries
+in breadth and loftiness of intellect, so too he surpassed them in the
+reach and vigor of his moral feeling.</p>
+
+<p>We cannot believe that this man who penetrated deeper than others into
+the mystery of life missed the meaning of his own life. Let us hear
+the conclusion of the whole matter&mdash;the power that moves the world is
+not brilliancy of intellect; it is purity of heart. Nobility of
+character is the essence of powerful personality. Lincoln is greater
+than Webster, Washington than Jefferson, not through greater mental
+grasp, but because of a purer spiritual essence. The world without
+takes its meaning and color from the world within. Shakspere saw a
+world of pure passion and wholesome sanity because his world within
+was pure and sane.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep016" id="imagep016"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep016.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep016.jpg" width="58%" alt="John Milton" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">JOHN MILTON<br />From a miniature by Faithorne, painted in 1667<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="IV" id="IV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>IV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>JOHN MILTON</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In 1623, when Milton was a boy of fifteen, John Heminge and Henry
+Condell, "only to keep the memory of so worthy a friend and fellow
+alive as was our Shakspere," had given to the world the folio edition
+of Shakspere's works, very anxious that the said folio might commend
+itself to "the most noble and incomparable pair of brethern," William,
+Earl of this, and Philip, Earl of that, and exceedingly unconscious
+that, next to the production of the works themselves, they were doing
+the most important thing done, or likely to be done, in the literary
+history of the world. Milton read Shakspere, and in the lines which he
+wrote upon him in 1630, there seems to be the due throb of
+transcendent admiration....</p>
+
+<p>As Shakspere is the supreme name in this order of poets, the men of
+sympathy and of humor, Milton stands first in that other great order
+which is too didactic for humor, and of which Schiller is the best
+recent representative. He was called the lady of his college not only
+for his beautiful face, but because of the vestal purity and austerity
+of his virtue. The men of the former class are intuitive, passionate,
+impulsive; not steadily conscious of their powers; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>fitful,
+unsystematic. Their love is ecstasy; their errors are the intoxication
+of joy; their sorrows are the pangs of death....</p>
+
+<p>Milton, the poet of Puritanism, stands out in bold contrast to these
+imperfect characters. From his infancy there was nothing unregulated
+in his life. His father, clearly a superior man, of keen
+Protestantism, successful in business, well skilled in music, soon
+perceived that one of the race of immortals had been born in his
+house. He began, apparently with the conscious and delighted assent of
+his son, to give the young Apollo such an education as Plato might
+have prescribed. An eminently good education it proved to be; only not
+so good, with a view to the production of a world-poet, as that which
+nature, jealous of the Platos and pedagogues, and apt to tumble them
+and their grammatical appurtenances out of the window when she has one
+of her miraculous children in hand, had provided for that Stratford
+lad who came to London broken in character and probably almost broken
+in heart, some forty years earlier, to be a hanger-on of the theaters
+and to mount the intellectual throne of the world. No deer-stealing
+expeditions late o' nights when the moon silvered the elms of
+Charlecote chase; no passionate love affairs and wild boy-marriage.</p>
+
+<p>Milton, carefully grounded in the tongues, went in due course to
+Cambridge University, and during those years when the youthful mind is
+in its stage of richest recipiency, lived among the kind of men who
+haunt seats of learning,&mdash;on the whole, the most uninteresting men in
+existence, whose very knowledge is a learned ignorance; not bees of
+industry, who have hoarded information <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>by experience, but
+book-<i>worms</i>.... It is important, also, that Milton was never to any
+distracting extent in love. If Shakspere had been a distinguished
+university man, would he have told us of a catch that could "draw
+three souls out of one weaver?" And if the boy of eighteen had not
+been in a fine frenzy about Anne Hathaway, could he have known how
+Juliet and Romeo, Othello and Desdemona, loved?</p>
+
+<p>... It is a proof of the fiery and inextinguishable nature of Milton's
+genius that it triumphed over the artificiality of his training; that
+there is the pulse of a true poetical life in his most highly wrought
+poems, and that the whole mountain of his learning glows with the
+strong internal flame. His inspiration was from within, the
+inspiration of a profound enthusiasm for beauty and an impassioned
+devotion to virtue. The district in which he lived during much of his
+most elaborate self-education is not marked enough to have disturbed,
+by strong impressions from without, the development of his genius from
+within. Horton lies where the dead flat of southeastern Buckingham
+meets the dead flat of southwestern Middlesex. Egham Hill, not quite
+so high as Hampstead, and the chalk knoll on which Windsor Castle
+fails to be sublime, are the loftiest ground in the immediate
+neighborhood. Staines, the Pontes of the Romans, and Runnymede with
+its associations, are near the parish church of Horton, in which
+Milton worshiped for five or six years, and in which his mother is
+buried, has one of the Norman porches common in the district, but is
+drearily heavy in its general structure, and forms a notable contrast
+to that fine example of the old <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>English church in which, by the
+willows of Avon, lie Shakspere's bones. The river Colne breaks itself,
+a few miles to the north, into a leash of streams, the most
+considerable of which flows by Horton. The abounding watercourses are
+veiled with willows, but the tree does not seem to have attracted
+Milton's attention. It was reserved for the poet-painter of the <i>Liber
+Studiorum</i> to show what depths of homely pathos, and what exquisite
+picturesqueness of gnarled and knotted line, could be found in a
+pollard willow, and for Tennyson to reveal the poetic expressiveness
+of the tree as denoting a solemn and pensive landscape, such as that
+amid whose "willowy hills and fields" rose the carol</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">... mournful, holy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chaunted loudly, chaunted lowly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till her blood was frozen slowly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her eyes were darkened wholly,<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">of the Lady of Shalott....</p>
+
+<p>Milton's bodily appearance at this time was in brilliant
+correspondence with the ideal which imagination might form of a
+youthful poet. Perfect in all bodily proportions, an accomplished
+fencer, with delicate flowing hair, and beautiful features through
+which genius, still half in slumber, shed its mystic glow, he was all
+that the imagination of Greece saw in the young Hyperion or Apollo.</p>
+
+<p>... His three daughters, Anne, Deborah, and Mary, were the children of
+his first wife. He was twice married after her death in 1653, but had
+no more children. So early as 1644 his sight began to fail, and when
+his little girls were left motherless, they could be known to him, as
+Professor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>Masson touchingly says, "only as tiny voices of complaint
+going about in the darkness." The tiny voices did not move him to love
+or pity. His impatient and imperious nature had doubtless undergone
+exquisite misery from the moaning discontent of his wife; the
+daughters took the mother's part so soon as they were able to
+understand her sorrows; and the grave Puritan displeasure with which
+Milton regards the mother seems to have been transferred to the
+children. His austerity as a Puritan and a pedagogue, and the worse
+than old Hebrew meanness of his estimate of women, appear to the
+greatest disadvantage in connection with his daughters. Had they been
+sons, he would have thrown all his ardor into the enterprise of their
+education. The training of boys was one of his enthusiasms; but his
+daughters were taught nothing except to read, and were ordered to read
+aloud to him in languages of which they did not understand a word.
+Naturally they never loved him; his fame, which they were not able to
+appreciate, cast on them no ray of comforting light; and they thought
+probably in sad and scared bewilderment of the relations between their
+unhappy wraith-like mother, and their Titan father. How different the
+warm and tender relations between Shakspere and his children! In that
+instance it was the daughter, the pet Judith, that was the demure
+sweet Puritan, yet with a touch of her father's wit in her, and able
+to enjoy all the depth of his smile when he would ask her whether
+cakes and ale were to be <i>quite</i> abolished when the reign of the
+saints came in.</p>
+
+<p>... To the man himself we turn, for one brief glance before laying
+down the pen. In the evil <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>times of the Restoration, in the land of
+the Philistines, Agonistes but unconquerable, the Puritan Samson ended
+his days. Serene and strong; conscious that the ambition of his youth
+had been achieved, he begins the day with the Hebrew Bible, listens
+reverently to words in which Moses or David or Isaiah spake of God.
+But he attends no church, belongs to no communion, and has no form of
+worship in his family; notable circumstances which we may refer, in
+part at least, to his blindness, but significant of more than that.
+His religion was of the spirit, and did not take kindly to any form.
+Though the most Puritan of the Puritan, he had never stopped long in
+the ranks of any Puritan party, or given satisfaction to Puritan
+ecclesiastics and theologians. In his youth he loved the night; in his
+old age he loves the sunlight of early morning as it glimmers on his
+sightless eyes. The music which had been his delight since childhood
+has still its charm, and he either sings or plays on the organ or
+bass-violin every day. In his gray coat, at the door of his house in
+Bunhill Fields, he sits on clear afternoons; a proud, ruggedly genial
+old man, with sharp satiric touches in his talk, the untunable fiber
+in him to the last. Eminent foreigners come to see him; friends
+approach reverently, drawn by the splendor of his discourse. It would
+range, one can well imagine, in glittering freedom, like "arabesques
+of lightning," over all ages and all literatures. He was the prince of
+scholars; a memory of superlative power waiting, as submissive
+handmaid, on the queenliest imagination. The whole spectacle of
+ancient civilization, its cities, its camps, its landscapes, was
+before him. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>There he sat in his gray coat, like a statue cut in
+granite. England had made a sordid failure, but he had not failed. His
+soul's fellowship was with the great Republicans of Greece and Rome,
+and with the Psalmist and Isaiah and Oliver Cromwell.</p>
+
+<p class="right">&mdash;From Peter Bayne in the <i>Contemporary Review</i>.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="V" id="V"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>V<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>CHARLES LAMB, THE CLERK OF THE INDIA HOUSE</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The author of the <i>Essays of Elia</i> and <i>Tales Founded on the Plays of
+Shakspere</i> worked for the greater part of his life in the employ of
+the Honorable East India Company. He received his appointment in 1792,
+the year of the birth of Shelley. He had been trained at Christ's
+Hospital for a university career; this gave him a good classical
+education but not especially good preparation for his new work. Had he
+been obliged to pass a civil service examination he would hardly have
+received the appointment. Of geography and arithmetic he knew little.
+The schoolboy of to-day will be surprised to learn that a boy a
+hundred and more years ago might reach the age of fifteen in a good
+grammar school of that period and yet not be able to use the
+multiplication table. As late as 1823 Lamb writes: "I think I lose a
+hundred pounds a year owing solely to my want of neatness in making up
+accounts: how I puzzle 'em out at last is the wonder!" There is no
+evidence, however, to show that Lamb did not overcome his lack of
+preparation. The contrary impression sometimes prevails, due, perhaps,
+to his supposed apology for his late arrival by his representation
+that he made <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>up for it by a correspondingly early departure. His
+industry must have been appreciated, for his salary rose from nothing
+to a fair figure.</p>
+
+<p>The modern young man, desirous of earning a good salary at once, will
+be surprised at the statement that Lamb worked for nothing at first.
+He will be still more surprised to learn that in those days a clerk in
+the employ of the great India Company worked three years for nothing.
+This period evidently was considered as the apprenticeship. It is true
+a gratuity of 30 pounds was given, and by extra work one might earn
+small sums. In April, 1795, three years having ended, he received a
+salary of 40 pounds a year. The next year it rose to 70. By 1799 it
+had advanced to 90, and from then on to 1814 he received an increment
+of ten pounds every two years. He also received a gratuity each year.
+The gratuity by 1814 had amounted to 80 pounds. After a reorganization
+of the company in 1815 Lamb seems to have progressed in salary, for he
+then received 480 pounds, and in 1821 it was 700; and at the time of
+his retirement it was 730.</p>
+
+<p>On the whole, one can say that Lamb's lot was not a hard one. No
+doubt, many of his fellow-authors had reason to envy him his assured
+income. His work was hard and not always pleasant, but he knew, with
+all his half-pretended grumbling, that it would not be wise to rely on
+his pen for a livelihood. He once remonstrated with the poetical
+Quaker, Bernard Barton, who proposed to give up a bank-clerkship, in
+this wise: "Trust not the public; I bless every star that Providence,
+not seeing good to make me independent, has seen it next good to
+settle me down <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>on the stable foundation of Leadenhall.... Henceforth
+I retract all my fond complaints of mercantile employments; look upon
+them as lovers' quarrels. I was but half in earnest. Welcome, dead
+timber of a desk that makes me live! a little grumbling is a wholesome
+medicine for the spleen; but in my inner heart do I improve and
+embrace this our close but unharassing way of life."</p>
+
+<p>That his work was no sinecure can be gathered from this letter of
+about 1815: "On Friday I was at office from ten in the morning (two
+hours dinner excepted) to eleven at night; last night till nine. My
+business and office business in general have increased so; I don't
+mean I am there every night, but I must expect a great deal of it. I
+never leave till four, and do not keep a holiday now once in ten
+times, where I used to keep all red-letter days and some five days
+besides, which I used to dub nature's holidays.... I had formerly
+little to do.... Hard work and thinking about it taints even the
+leisure hours&mdash;stains Sunday with workday contemplations."</p>
+
+<p>After thirty-three years of service he was granted by his company a
+pension of 450 pounds. On the minutes of the Court of Directors can be
+found the following resolution: "that the resignation of Mr. Charles
+Lamb, of the accountant-general's office, on account of certified
+ill-health be accepted, and it appearing that he has served the
+company faithfully for thirty-three years ... he be allowed a pension
+of 450 pounds annually."</p>
+
+<p>When the resolution was communicated to him he went home to enjoy one
+long holiday of leisure and literary study and authorship. "I am
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>Retired Leisure.... I have worked task work, and have the rest of the
+day to myself." But his day did not last many years. "Lamb was but
+fifty when he quitted the service of the company; yet less than ten
+years of life were left to him. Not only so, but the happiness he had
+expected to find proved more and more elusive. The increasing
+frequency of his sister's aberration was a heavy burden for a back
+which grew daily less able to bear the strain. The leisure to which he
+had looked forward so eagerly was spent in listening to incoherent
+babblings, that rambling chat which was to him 'better than the sense
+and sanity of this world.' In her lucid intervals they played picquet
+together, or talked gravely but firmly of the inevitable separation
+looming nearer and nearer. In 1830 Hazlitt died. Four years later that
+'great and dear spirit,' Coleridge, passed away after long suffering.
+The blow to Lamb was stunning in its severity; and the loss of this
+earliest and best-loved friend possibly accelerated his own decease.
+Towards the close of the year a fall while walking caused a trifling
+wound. No harm was expected to result; but the general feebleness of
+his health brought on erysipelas, and upon Saturday, January 3, 1835,
+he was borne to his rest in a quiet corner of Edmonton Church-yard,
+there to await the coming, twelve years later, of the sister who had
+been throughout his life at once his greatest joy and his chiefest
+care."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="VI" id="VI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>VI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>DR. JOHNSON AND CHARLES LAMB</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Between Johnson and Lamb there would seem to be little in common. The
+ponderous old philosopher, "tearing his meat like a tiger, and
+swallowing his tea in oceans," presents a picture very dissimilar to
+that of the stammering Lamb whom Coleridge has well called the
+"gentle-hearted Lamb." And yet there are many points of similarity.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps the most striking resemblance is in respect to their
+generosity. The unfailing testimony of all their friends is that
+neither could restrain the impulse to give. The celebrated De Quincey
+is led to characterize Lamb's munificence as <i>princely</i>, while
+Procter, one of his younger friends, simply says, "he gave away
+greatly." On the other hand, the testimony in regard to the generosity
+of Johnson is equally strong. He was so open-hearted that he could not
+trust himself to go upon the street with much money in his purse.
+Neither Lamb nor Johnson believed in the modern methods of attending
+to charitable giving through the mediation of boards and committees.
+Each violated the commonest precepts of a coldblooded political
+economy. If want and suffering were depicted upon the face of the
+mendicant, that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>was enough to call for the open purse. What if the
+beggar did look like a thief or drunkard? He might spend the money for
+gin or tobacco, but what of that? "Why should they be denied such
+sweeteners of their existence?" was Johnson's indulgent plea. This
+stern moralist so much enjoyed giving that he doubtless would have
+regretted the passing of laws prohibiting the beggar from plying his
+vocation in public. So too would the genial Elia, who obeyed his own
+precept of "give and ask no questions."</p>
+
+<p>While returning to his lodgings after midnight Johnson would often
+drop pennies into the hands of poor children sleeping on the
+thresholds and stalls, to furnish them with the means for a breakfast.
+This was done at a time when he was living on pennies himself.
+"Reader," pleads Elia in his <i>Praise of Chimney Sweepers</i>, "if thou
+meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to
+give him a penny&mdash;it is better to give him a twopence." And then Lamb
+describes the choice and fragrant drink, <i>Saloop</i>, the delight of the
+sweep, a basin of which together with a slice of delicate bread and
+butter will cost but a twopence. As we read the description we have no
+hesitancy in believing that the "unpennied sweep" frequently became a
+pennied sweep after the gentle Elia had passed by.</p>
+
+<p>Goldsmith once remarked that to be miserable was enough to insure the
+protection of Johnson. This generous quality of mind filled the house
+of Johnson with a queer assortment of pensioners. Had Lamb's home life
+permitted, equally full of the needy and homeless would it have been.
+In 1796 occurred the terrible tragedy that we may <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>permit Lamb himself
+to describe in his letter to Coleridge,&mdash;"White, or some of my
+friends, or the public papers by this time may have informed you of
+the terrible calamities that have fallen on our family. I will only
+give you the outlines: My poor, dear, dearest sister, in a fit of
+insanity, has been the death of her own mother. I was at hand only
+time enough to snatch the knife out of her grasp. She is at present in
+a madhouse, from which I fear she must be moved to an hospital.... My
+poor father was slightly wounded, and I am left to take care of him
+and my aunt.... God Almighty have us well in his keeping!" Lamb
+assumed the tender care of his sister, and his watchfulness and loving
+care are more beautiful than the most charming essay he ever wrote.
+But this condition at home prevented that generous open-hearted
+hospitality so characteristic of Johnson. As it was he contributed to
+the support of several. For a long period he gave thirty pounds a year
+to his old schoolmistress. Telfourd relates that when Lamb saw the
+nurse who had waited on Coleridge during his last illness, he forced
+five guineas on her. Equally impulsive was his manner toward Procter,
+whom he one time noticed to be in low spirits and imagined the cause
+to be lack of money. "My dear boy," said he suddenly turning toward
+his friend, "I have a quantity of useless things, I have now in my
+desk a&mdash;a hundred pounds&mdash;that I don't <i>know</i> what to do with. Take
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Some years ago when comparing these two men a Mr. Roose wrote in
+concluding his paper: "We are all familiar with Johnson's huge,
+ungainly form, arrayed in brown suit more or less <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>dilapidated,
+singed, bushy wig, black stockings, and mean old shoes. A quaint
+little figure, Lamb comes before our vision, in costume uncontemporary
+and as queer as himself, consisting of a suit of black cloth (they
+both affected dark colors), rusty silk stockings shown from the knees,
+thick shoes a mile too large, shirt with a wide, ill-plaited frill,
+and tiny white neckcloth tied in a minute bow."</p>
+
+<p>It is pleasant to fancy these two originals being brought into
+personal contact. Nor is it hard, for all the tokens to the contrary,
+to imagine Elia taking the grand, humane old doctor into his embrace
+(a huger armful than his beloved folios), sitting up with him o'
+nights, as he did with them, delighting in the humor of his
+conversation, which was said by a contemporary to be unequaled except
+by the old comedians, in whom Lamb's spirit found diversion; piercing
+to heights and depths in his nature which Boswell never revealed to
+him; while Johnson, it may safely be inferred, would have loved this
+"poor Charles," in whom Carlyle could perceive but so slender a strain
+of worth. But had they met at all, it would have been on equal terms.
+Goldsmith maintained with difficulty, though he did maintain, his
+attitude of independence towards the colossus of his age. Charles
+Lamb, without any difficulty and without the show of assertiveness,
+would have maintained it better. Lamb, who from earliest manhood
+refused to knock under to the threatening intellectual arrogance of
+Coleridge; who shook Wordsworth by the nose instead of by the hand
+with the greeting, "How d'ye do, old Lake Poet!"&mdash;his stammering voice
+might have broken with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>impunity on the doctor's weightiest utterances
+with the absurdest quips and twists of speech of which even he was
+capable. Yet both were of wayward nature, and had they met might not
+have coalesced.</p>
+
+<p>Lamb would have understood Johnson better than Johnson would have
+understood the whimsicalities of the witty clerk. At one time while
+discussing authors with friends Lamb said,&mdash;"There is Dr. Johnson: I
+have no curiosity; no strange uncertainty about him."</p>
+
+<p>Johnson's restraint in the use of alcoholic drinks is in contrast with
+Lamb's indulgence. But Johnson's intemperate tea-drinking makes him
+one with Lamb in his struggle with tobacco. In writing to Coleridge
+for advice on smoking, Lamb asks: "What do you think of smoking? I
+want your sober <i>average noon opinion</i> of it.... May be the truth is,
+that <i>one</i> pipe is wholesome, <i>two</i> pipes toothsome, <i>three</i> pipes
+noisome, <i>four</i> pipes fulsome, <i>five</i> pipes quarrelsome; and that's
+the <i>sum</i> on't. But that is deciding rather upon rhyme than reason."
+And Telfourd tells us that when Parr saw Lamb puffing like some
+furious enchanter, he asked how he had acquired the power of smoking
+at such a rate. Lamb replied, "I toiled after it, sir, as some men
+toil after virtue."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="VII" id="VII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>VII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE DEATH OF DR. JOHNSON</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>By common consent Boswell's <i>Life of Johnson</i> takes first place as a
+biography. Some critics go so far as to say that the excellence of the
+biography is to be accounted for by the deficiency in the character of
+Boswell; that Boswell was such a blind and whole-souled worshiper of
+Johnson that he exposed the faults of his subject with the same zeal
+with which he published the virtues. This may be true. Whether true or
+not, it is not an altogether bad quality. Many of us think that the
+biographies of our modern men of letters would have more vivacity and
+lifelikeness were they to contain an occasional glimpse of the hero
+when he is not on the parade ground. The biography of Tennyson by his
+son, Lord Hallam, would be far more convincing had the son given us
+occasional pictures of the poet when he was not at his best. But,
+perhaps, it is too much to hope that a reverent and admiring son can
+give the world a vital, impartial, and comprehensive life of his
+father.</p>
+
+<p>Boswell has given us a full account of Johnson's last days. The gruff
+old lexicographer had lived a robust life; he had faced many
+temptations, and had not always retired from the conflict victorious.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>On the whole, however, he had lived an exemplary life, but like many
+another good man he had a dread of dying; he feared he might not meet
+the last foe as worthily as a man of his character and reputation
+should. But this was a groundless fear. For when the last illness was
+upon him, he asked his physician to tell him plainly whether there was
+any hope of his recovery. The doctor first asked his patient whether
+he could hear the whole truth, whatever it might be. Upon hearing an
+affirmative reply, the physician declared that in his opinion nothing
+short of a miracle would restore health.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Johnson, "I will take no more physic, not even my
+opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul unclouded."</p>
+
+<p>A brother of Boswell's wrote the following letter concerning the last
+hours of Johnson:</p>
+
+<p>"The Doctor, from the time that he was certain his death was near,
+appeared to be perfectly resigned, was seldom or never fretful or out
+of temper, and often said to his faithful servant, who gave me this
+account, 'Attend, Francis, to the salvation of your soul, which is the
+object of greatest importance:' he also explained to him passages in
+the Scripture, and seemed to have pleasure in talking upon religious
+subjects.</p>
+
+<p>"On Monday, the 13th of December, the day on which he died, a Miss
+Morris, daughter to a particular friend of his, called, and said to
+Francis, that she begged to be permitted to see the doctor, that she
+might earnestly request him to give her his blessing. Francis went
+into the room, followed by the young lady, and delivered the message.
+The doctor turned himself in the bed, and said, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>'God bless you, my
+dear!' These were the last words he spoke. His difficulty of breathing
+increased till about seven o'clock in the evening, when Mr. Barber and
+Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in the room, observed that the noise
+he made in breathing had ceased, went to the bed, and found he was
+dead."</p>
+
+<p>This account, together with several others given by various friends,
+assures us that the death of Johnson was trustful and tranquil. It is
+another illustration of that beautiful dispensation of nature which,
+as a rule, makes death a mere slipping away, a falling asleep. The
+Francis who is mentioned in the letter is the faithful negro servant
+whom Johnson so generously provided for in his will. In making his
+will the doctor had asked a friend how much of an annuity gentlemen
+usually gave to a favorite servant, and was told that in the case of a
+nobleman fifty pounds a year was considered an adequate reward for
+many years of faithful service:</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Johnson, "shall I be <i>nobilissimus</i>, for I mean to leave
+Frank seventy pounds a year, and I desire you to tell him so."</p>
+
+<p>This generosity was too much for the equanimity of Sir John Hawkins,
+one of the executors of the will, who, when he found that this negro
+servant would receive about fifteen hundred pounds, including an
+annuity of seventy pounds a year, grumbled and muttered "a caveat
+against ostentatious bounty and favor to negroes." But however much
+the Sir Johns may grumble, we cannot think the less of Johnson for his
+kindness in remembering a faithful and deserving servant.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson's refusal to take either wine or opiates <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>recalls that in an
+age in which the use of alcoholic drinks was very common he was an
+uncompromising foe to wine, and that he was, in his latter years, loud
+in his praise of water. "As we drove back to Ashbourne," says Boswell,
+"Dr. Johnson recommended to me, as he had often done, to drink water
+only. 'For,' said he, 'you are then sure not to get drunk; whereas if
+you drink wine, you are never sure.'" And this was not the only matter
+in which he was in advance of his contemporaries, and of most of ours
+too. Johnson liked satisfying food, such as a leg of pork, or veal pie
+well stuffed, with plum pie and sugar, and he devoured enormous
+quantities of fruit, especially peaches. His inordinate love of tea
+has almost passed into a proverb,&mdash;he has actually been credited with
+twenty-five cups at a sitting, and he would keep Mrs. Thrale brewing
+it for him till four o'clock in the morning. The following impromptu,
+spoken to Miss Reynolds, points its own moral:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For hear, alas, the dreadful truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor hear it with a frown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou can'st not make the tea so fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I can gulp it down.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>VIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>GRAY WRITES THE ELEGY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Recently I was conversing with a practical man of affairs who had just
+returned from his first visit to Europe. Art galleries had proved
+tiresome and Westminster Abbey had bored him. But there was one place
+that he had determined to see and see it he did.</p>
+
+<p>"What place was that?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Stoke Pogis," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>Is not this answer indicative of the attitude of thousands who can
+never forget the exquisite charm cast over their youth by the
+melancholy beauty of the <i>Elegy in a Country Church-yard</i>? If fame was
+the end of General Wolfe's ambition, he was wise in saying that he
+would rather have written the <i>Elegy</i> than be able to take Quebec on
+the morrow; for of all English poems the <i>Elegy</i> is the most popular
+and widely known; it is the flower of the "literature of melancholy."
+The <i>Elegy</i> is the glorification of the obscure; therein lies its
+popularity. The most of us are obscure. The <i>Elegy</i> flatters us by
+suggesting that we might have swayed the rod of empire or "waked to
+ecstasy the living lyre," if we had had the chance,&mdash;or, what we think
+is more likely the explanation, if we had not had a saner insight into
+the values of life than the Miltons and Cromwells.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>Stoke Pogis is always associated with the name of Gray. It is a
+village, if such it may be called, between London and Windsor Castle.
+The church is "on a little level space about four miles north of the
+Thames at Eton. From the neighborhood of the church no vestige of
+hamlet or village is visible, and the aspect of the place is slightly
+artificial, like a rustic church in a park on a stage. The traveler
+almost expects to see the grateful peasantry of an opera, cheerfully
+habited, make their appearance, dancing on the greensward."</p>
+
+<p>Gray and his mother, the father having died in 1741, went to Stoke
+Pogis in 1742. At West End House, a simple farmhouse of two stories,
+Gray lived for many years. In the autumn of 1742 was begun the <i>Elegy
+in a Country Church-yard</i>. The common impression is that the whole
+poem was written at Stoke Pogis, but this is not the truth. It is
+better to say that it was begun in October or November at Stoke Pogis,
+continued seven years later at the same place and at Cambridge, and
+finished at Stoke Pogis on June 12th, 1750. It is interesting to note
+that in each case an impetus was given to the composition of the poem
+by the death of a friend. Several months before the poem was begun in
+1742, West, a friend whose death made a very deep impression upon the
+sensitive nature of Gray, had passed away; and on October 31 Jonathan
+Rogers, an uncle of Gray's, died at Stoke Pogis; and when the poem was
+next taken up Gray was mourning the death of his aunt. In commenting
+on this subject Mr. Gosse writes,&mdash;"He was a man who had a very
+slender hold on life himself, who walked habitually in the Valley of
+the Shadow of Death, and whose periods <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>of greatest vitality were
+those in which bereavement proved to him that, melancholy as he was,
+even he had something to lose and to regret."</p>
+
+<p>On the 12th of June, 1750, Gray wrote to his friend, Horace
+Walpole,&mdash;"Having put an end to a thing whose beginning you have seen
+long ago, I immediately send it to you. You will, I hope, look upon it
+in the light of a thing with an end to it: a merit that most of my
+writings have wanted, and are like to want." Walpole was naturally
+delighted with the poem&mdash;so delighted, in fact, that he handed it
+about from friend to friend and even made manuscript copies of it.
+This caused some embarrassment to the poet. In February, 1751, he was
+annoyed to find that the publisher of the <i>Magazine of Magazines</i> was
+actually printing his <i>Elegy</i> in his periodical. So Gray immediately
+wrote to Walpole: "As I am not at all disposed to be either so
+indulgent or so correspondent as they desire, I have but one bad way
+to escape the honor they would inflict upon me: and therefore am
+obliged to desire you would make Dodsley print it immediately (which
+may be done in less than a week's time) from your copy, but without my
+name, in what form is most convenient for him, but on his best paper
+and character; he must correct the press himself, and print it without
+any interval between the stanzas, because the sense is in some places
+continued without them." On the 16th of February, only five days after
+this letter was received, <i>An Elegy wrote in a Country Church-yard</i>
+appeared as a large quarto pamphlet, anonymous, price sixpence.</p>
+
+<p>From the very first it achieved great popularity. Magazine after
+magazine published it without <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>giving the author any compensation.
+Gray was soon hit upon as the author. Unfortunately, the success of
+the poem gave no increased income to the poet. Dodsley, the publisher,
+is said to have made about a thousand pounds from the various poems of
+Gray, but Gray had the impractical idea that it was not dignified for
+a poet to make money from poetry.</p>
+
+<p>In view of this lack of compensation for his poetic writings, it is
+very gratifying to know that during the latter days of his life Gray
+enjoyed the emolument arising from his holding the chair of Modern
+Literature and Modern Languages at Cambridge. This paid him 400 pounds
+a year, and did not require much work, as the office was a sinecure.</p>
+
+<p>One of the biographers points out that this promotion was brought
+about inadvertently through the riotous living of Gray's great enemy,
+Lord Sandwich. Professor Lawrence Brockett, the incumbent of the chair
+of Literature at Cambridge, dined with Lord Sandwich at Hinchinbroke.
+He became so drunk that in riding home to Cambridge he fell from his
+horse and broke his neck. At once five obscure dons made brisk
+application for the vacant place, and Gray, sensitive and lacking the
+arts of the politician, did not expect the place. But the author of
+the <i>Elegy</i> was no longer to be neglected. He soon received a letter
+highly complimenting his work and offering him the professorship. Gray
+accepted and was summoned to court to kiss the hand of the monarch,
+George III. The king made several complimentary remarks to Gray.
+Afterwards when the poet's friends asked Gray <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>to tell them what the
+king had said he replied that the room was so hot and he so
+embarrassed that he really did not know what the king had said.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Heaven did a recompense as largely send:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gave to misery&mdash;all he had&mdash;a tear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He gained from Heaven&mdash;'twas all he wished&mdash;a friend.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No farther seek his merits to disclose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There they alike in trembling hope repose,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bosom of his father and his God.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="IX" id="IX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>IX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>COWPER AS A LETTER WRITER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>William Cowper is well known as a poet, having written one of the most
+popular hymns in the English language, and he is also one of the best
+of letter writers. It is commonly said that we have lost the gentle
+art of writing a good letter. When a man can send a postal card from
+Boston to San Francisco for one cent and one from New York to Paris
+for two cents, he is not likely to be so choice in his use of language
+as when he paid a shilling for the privilege of getting a letter. In
+the first letter which is here quoted we find Cowper writing an urgent
+invitation to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, to visit him at Olney.</p>
+
+<p>"And now, my dear, let me tell you once more that your kindness in
+promising us a visit has charmed us both. I shall see you again. I
+shall hear your voice. We shall take walks together. I will show you
+my prospects, the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse and its banks,
+everything that I have described. Talk not of an inn! Mention it not
+for your life! We have never had so many visitors but we could
+accommodate them all, though we have received Unwin and his wife, and
+his sister, and his son, all at once. My dear, I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>will not let you
+come till the end of May, or beginning of June, because before that
+time my greenhouse will not be ready to receive us, and it is the only
+pleasant room belonging to us. When the plants go out, we go in. I
+line it with mats, and spread the floor with mats; and there you shall
+sit with a bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge of
+honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine; and I will make you a bouquet of
+myrtle every day. Sooner than the time I mention the country will not
+be in complete beauty; and I will tell you what you shall find at your
+first entrance. Imprimis, as soon as you have entered the vestibule,
+if you cast a look on either side of you, you shall see on the right
+hand a box of my making. It is the box in which have been lodged all
+my hares, and in which lodges Puss (Cowper's pet hare) at present. But
+he, poor fellow, is worn out with age and promises to die before you
+can see him. On the right hand stands a cupboard, the work of the same
+author; it was once a dove-cage, but I transformed it. Opposite to you
+stands a table, which I also made. But a merciless servant having
+scrubbed it till it became paralytic, it serves no purpose now but of
+ornament, and all my clean shoes stand under it. On the left hand, at
+the farther end of this superb vestibule, you will find the door of
+the parlor, into which I will conduct you, and where I will introduce
+you to Mrs. Unwin, unless we should meet her before, and where we will
+be as happy as the day is long. Order yourself, my cousin, to the
+<i>Swan</i> at Newport and there you shall find me ready to conduct you to
+Olney. My dear, I have told Homer what you say about casks and urns,
+and have asked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>him whether he is sure that it is a cask in which
+Jupiter keeps his wine. He swears that it is a cask, and that it will
+never be anything better than a cask to eternity. So if the god is
+content with it, we must even wonder at his taste, and be so
+too.&mdash;Adieu! my dearest, dearest cousin,&mdash;W.C."</p>
+
+<p>Cowper's letters are not interesting because they treat of the great
+men and important affairs of his day. They are interesting because he
+lived a quiet life and was able in his own way to paint a picture
+treating of the common doings of an apparently unimportant life. Here
+is a picture of an election in the country, or rather of the
+candidates' methods in the old days:</p>
+
+<p>"We were sitting yesterday after dinner, the two ladies and myself,
+very composedly, and without the least apprehension of any such
+intrusion, in our snug parlor, one lady knitting, the other netting,
+and the gentleman winding worsted, when, to our unspeakable surprise,
+a mob appeared before the window, a smart rap was heard at the door,
+the boys halloed, and the maid announced Mr. Grenville. Puss was
+unfortunately let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his
+good friends at his heels, was refused entrance at the grand entry,
+and referred to the back door, as the only possible way of approach.
+Candidates are creatures not very susceptible to affronts, and would
+rather, I suppose, climb in at a window than be absolutely excluded.
+In a minute the yard, the kitchen, and the parlor were filled. Mr.
+Grenville, advancing toward me, shook me by the hand with a degree of
+cordiality that was extremely seducing. As soon as he and as many more
+as could find chairs were seated, he began <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>to open the intent of his
+visit. I told him I had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit.
+I assured him I had no influence, which he was not equally inclined to
+believe, and the less, no doubt, because Mr. Ashburner, the drapier,
+addressing himself to me at that moment, informed me that I had a
+great deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such a treasure
+without knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first assertion by saying
+that if I had any I was utterly at a loss to imagine where it could
+be, or wherein it consisted. Thus ended the conference. Mr. Grenville
+squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He
+kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a
+most loving, kissing, kind-hearted gentleman."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="X" id="X"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>X<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>GIBBON AND HIS VISIT TO ROME</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In that celebrated literary club founded by Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua
+Reynolds were Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick, Fox, Gibbon, and Sheridan. Of
+these Gibbon is not the least distinguished. He is an illustrious
+example of what an ordinary personality can accomplish by reason of an
+extraordinary devotion to one purpose. Some few men achieve fame by
+their brilliant versatility; some, as in the case of Samuel Johnson,
+by their commanding personal force; Gibbon has won a permanent place
+in literary history by spending his life in doing one thing. That one
+thing he did so well that E.A. Freeman, one of the prominent
+historians of the nineteenth century, has truthfully said,&mdash;"He
+remains the one historian of the eighteenth century whom modern
+research has neither set aside nor threatened to set aside."</p>
+
+<p>In his memoirs Gibbon reveals himself as a man with little dignity or
+heroism. There is a droll story that is apt to suggest itself when one
+thinks of Gibbon. At one time, when asking a dignified lady for her
+hand in marriage, he fell upon his knees in proper lover-like manner.
+Unfortunately Gibbon was so stout that upon her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>refusal he found
+himself in the embarrassing need of calling in a servant to help him
+to his feet again. Memories such as these, however, cannot blind us to
+the essential worth in the character of the great historian. In the
+light of his consecration to a worthy purpose his life is not without
+its heroism. To write <i>The History of the Decline and Fall of the
+Roman Empire</i> is a monumental achievement. To bend every energy to the
+fulfilling of a high resolve is heroic. From 1764 to 1787 his one aim
+in life was to write a scholarly history that should cover the vast
+field that he had chosen. He may lack that spiritual insight which
+enables one to estimate world movements in the upper regions of
+religion, but he did not lack unfaltering devotion to his purpose. So
+well did he do his work that his six volumes can be found in the
+library of every student of the past. The story is told of a great
+German who learned English in order to read Gibbon in the original.</p>
+
+<p>In the following extract from his Autobiography is found his own
+explanation of the circumstances under which he conceived his vast
+project "amid the ruins of the Capitol," in 1764:</p>
+
+<p>"My temper is not very susceptible of enthusiasm; and the enthusiasm
+which I do not feel, I have ever scorned to affect. But, at the
+distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express the
+strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and
+entered the eternal city. After a sleepless night, I trod, with a
+lofty step, the ruins of the Forum; each memorable spot where Romulus
+stood, or Tully spoke, or C&aelig;sar fell, was at once present to my eye;
+and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>before I could
+descend to a cool and minute investigation. My guide was Mr. Byers, a
+Scotch antiquary of experience and taste; but in the daily labor of
+eighteen weeks, the powers of attention were sometimes fatigued, till
+I was myself qualified, in a last review, to select and study the
+capital works of ancient and modern art. Six weeks were borrowed for
+my tour of Naples, the most populous of cities, relative to its size,
+whose luxurious inhabitants seem to dwell on the confines of paradise
+and hell-fire. I was presented to the boy-king by our new envoy, Sir
+William Hamilton, who, wisely diverting his correspondence from the
+Secretary of State to the Royal Society and British Museum, has
+elucidated a country of such inestimable value to the naturalist and
+antiquarian. On my return, I fondly embraced, for the last time, the
+miracles of Rome.... In my pilgrimage from Rome to Loretto I again
+crossed the Apennine; from the coast of the Adriatic I traversed a
+fruitful and populous country, which could alone disprove the paradox
+of Montesquieu, that modern Italy is a desert....</p>
+
+<p>"The use of foreign travel has been often debated as a general
+question; but the conclusion must be finally applied to the character
+and circumstances of each individual. With the education of boys,
+where or how they may pass over some juvenile years with the least
+mischief to themselves or others, I have no concern. But after
+supposing the previous and indispensable requisites of age, judgment,
+a competent knowledge of men and books, and a freedom from domestic
+prejudices, I will briefly describe the qualifications which I deem
+most essential to a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>traveler. He should be endowed with an active,
+indefatigable vigor of mind and body, which can seize every mode of
+conveyance, and support, with a careless smile, every hardship of the
+road, the weather, or the inn. The benefits of foreign travel will
+correspond with the degrees of these qualifications; but, in this
+sketch, those to whom I am known will not accuse me of framing my own
+panegyric. It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat
+musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare-footed friars
+were singing vespers in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of
+writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XI" id="XI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>BURNS FALLS IN LOVE</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>When Robert Burns and his brother were working hard on the Mount
+Oliphant farm, Robert fell in love. This experience, alas, in after
+years became too frequent an occurrence to occasion much comment, for
+the ease with which the poet fell in and out of love was the chief
+fault in a faulty life. But when this episode occurred the boy was
+still an innocent country lad in his fifteenth year, a lad perhaps
+somewhat rude and clownish, at least such is an unfounded tradition.
+Out of the monotony of this life of prosaic toil and drudgery, Burns
+is lifted by the romance which fortunately he has himself described.</p>
+
+<p>"You know," he says, "our country custom of coupling a man and woman
+together as partners in the labors of the harvest. In my fifteenth
+summer my partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than
+myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her
+justice in that language, but you know the Scottish idiom. She was a
+bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to
+herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, which in spite of
+acid disappointment, gin-house prudence, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>book-worm philosophy,
+I hold to be the first of human joys here below! How she caught the
+contagion I cannot tell.... Indeed, I did not know myself why I liked
+so much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the evening from
+our labors; why the tones of her voice made my heartstrings thrill
+like an &AElig;olian harp; and especially why my pulse beat such a furious
+ratan when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to pick out the
+cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among her love-inspiring qualities,
+she sung sweetly; and it was her favorite reel to which I attempted
+giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to
+imagine that I could make verses like printed ones, composed by men
+who read Greek and Latin; but my girl sung a song which was said to be
+composed by a country laird's son, on one of his father's maids, with
+whom he was in love; and I saw no reason why I might not rhyme as well
+as he; for, excepting that he could shear sheep and cast peats, his
+father living in the moorlands, he had no more scholar-craft than
+myself. Thus with me began love and poetry."</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep050" id="imagep050"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep050.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep050.jpg" width="58%" alt="Robert Burns" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">ROBERT BURNS<br />From the portrait by Nasmyth<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>The song that was due to this boyish passion is called "Handsome
+Nell," and is said to be the first he wrote. It can be found in any
+complete edition of the poet's work. In after years he himself calls
+it puerile and silly, but, while lacking the exquisite perfection of
+Burns' later lyrics, it is far superior to the usual first attempts of
+poets. The last two stanzas run thus:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A gaudy dress and gentle air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May slightly touch the heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it's Innocence and Modesty<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That polishes the dart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,<br /></span><span class='pn'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis this enchants my soul!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For absolutely in my breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She reigns without control.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"I composed it," says Burns, "in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and to
+this hour I never recollect it but my heart melts, my blood sallies at
+the remembrance."</p>
+
+<p>Poor Burns! How much happier he would have been had all his loves been
+as innocent as this first experience! In one of Tennyson's most
+vigorous passages in the <i>Idylls</i> we read,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">... for indeed I knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of no more subtle master under heaven<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than is the maiden passion for a maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not only to keep down the base in man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But teach high thoughts, and amiable words<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And courtliness, and the desire of fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And love of truth, and all that makes a man.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">Perhaps, if Burns in a later love affair had been successful in his
+suit, his life and reputation would not have suffered as they have,
+for the most culpable trait in the character of the famous Scotch poet
+is the ease with which he abandoned one lover for another. He was
+forever falling in love, and there is some evidence to the effect that
+he loved two or three at the same time. There is only too much truth
+in Burns' own lines,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mistress still I had aye.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">But perhaps all this would have been different had Ellison Begbie, the
+daughter of a small farmer, smiled favorably upon the advances of the
+young farmer from Lochlea. She is said to have been a young woman of
+great charm and liveliness of mind, though not a beauty. In after
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>years Burns always spoke of her with the greatest of respect and as
+the one woman, of the many upon whom he had lavished his fickle
+affection, who most likely would have made a pleasant partner for
+life.</p>
+
+<p>His love affair with this young lady took place near the close of his
+twenty-second year. Her refusal seems to have had a malign influence
+upon the career of our poet. Up to this time his love affairs,
+although numerous, were innocent. As his brother Gilbert says, they
+were "governed by the strictest rules of virtue and modesty." But
+henceforth there is a change in the character of Burns. Shortly after
+the fair Ellison had turned a deaf ear to the letters and love-songs
+of the importunate wooer, Robert and his brother Gilbert went to
+Irvine, hoping that in this flax-dressing center they could increase
+their income by dressing the flax raised on their own farm. Here
+Burns, always very susceptible to new influences,&mdash;he would not be the
+poet he is had he not been keenly alive and susceptible,&mdash;fell under
+the malignant charm of a wild sailor-lad whose habits were loose and
+irregular. "He was," says Burns, "the only man I ever knew who was a
+greater fool than myself, where woman was the presiding star; but he
+spoke of lawless love with levity, which hitherto I had regarded with
+horror. <i>Here his friendship did me a mischief.</i>"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XII" id="XII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>BURNS' FIRST BOOK OF POEMS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Burns was in trouble; he had failed as a farmer, and as a young man he
+had wounded the sensibilities of his family. It seemed best to try a
+new life in a new land, so he promised a Mr. Douglas to go to Jamaica
+and become a bookkeeper on his estate there. But where should he get
+the money to pay his passage? There were the poems lying in his
+table-drawer&mdash;might they not be published and money be raised by the
+sale? His friends encouraged him to publish them, and what is more to
+the point, they subscribed in advance for a number of the copies. John
+Wilson of Kilmarnock was to do the printing. During May, June, and
+July of 1786 the printer was doing his work. At the end of July the
+volume appeared, and soon the fame of the Ayrshire Plowman was
+established. Let us hear Burns himself give his account of the
+venture:</p>
+
+<p>"I gave up my part of the farm to my brother, and made what little
+preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But, before leaving my native
+country forever, I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my
+productions as impartially as was in my power; I thought they had
+merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be called <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>a clever
+fellow, even though it should never reach my ears&mdash;a poor
+negro-driver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and gone
+to the world of spirits! I can truly say that <i>pauvre inconnu</i> as I
+then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of my works as I have at
+this moment, when the public has decided in their favor....</p>
+
+<p>"I threw off about six hundred copies, of which I got subscriptions
+for about three hundred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by
+the reception I met with from the public; and besides, I pocketed, all
+expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very
+seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money,
+to procure a passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the
+price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in
+the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Hungry ruin had me in the wind.'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all
+the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the
+merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell
+of my friends; my chest was on the way to Greenock; I had composed the
+last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, '<i>The gloomy night is
+gathering fast</i>,' when a letter from Dr. Blackwood to a friend of mine
+overthrew all my schemes, by opening up new prospects to my poetic
+ambition."</p>
+
+<p>The success of the first edition of his poems was so pronounced that
+Burns soon gave up the idea of going away to Jamaica. Ayrshire was
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>flattered to discover that within its borders lived a genuine poet.
+Robert Heron, a young literary man living in that neighborhood, gives
+us an account of the reception of the little book of poems: "Old and
+young, high and low, grave and gay, learned or ignorant, were alike
+delighted, agitated, transported. I was at that time resident in
+Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire, and I can well remember how even
+plowboys and maidservants would have gladly bestowed the wages they
+earned most hardly, and which they wanted to purchase necessary
+clothing, if they might procure the works of Burns."</p>
+
+<p>When Burns wished a second edition of his poems, he had a very poor
+offer from his printer. So he went to Edinburgh to see whether he
+could not make a more advantageous bargain in the Scottish capital. He
+reached that famous city on the 28th of November, 1786. Here he was
+feted and banqueted, admired and criticised. In April, 1787, the
+second edition appeared. The volume was a handsome octavo. The
+Scottish public had subscribed very liberally, and eventually Burns
+received 500 pounds, but Creech, his publisher, was so slow in making
+payments that Burns had to wait a long time before he received his
+due.</p>
+
+<p>Walter Scott was among the many who met Burns during his stay in
+Edinburgh. Scott was but a boy of fifteen, but he never forgot the
+glance of approval bestowed upon him by the poet. We are especially
+fortunate in having Scott's own account of the incident: "As for
+Burns, I may truly say, '<i>Virgilium vidi tantum</i>.' I was a lad of
+fifteen when he came to Edinburgh. I saw him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>one day at the late
+venerable Professor Adam Fergusson's. Of course we youngsters sat
+silent, looked, and listened. The only thing I remember which was
+remarkable in Burns' manner, was the effect produced upon him by a
+print of Bunbury's, representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, his
+dog sitting in misery on one side&mdash;on the other his widow, with her
+child in her arms. These lines were written beneath:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bent o'er the babe, her eye dissolved in dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gave the sad presage of his future years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The child of misery baptized in tears.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Burns seemed much affected by the print: he actually shed tears. He
+asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself
+remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's,
+called by the unpromising title of <i>The Justice of Peace</i>. I whispered
+my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, who
+rewarded me with a look and a word, which though of mere civility, I
+then received with very great pleasure. His person was strong and
+robust; his manner rustic, not clownish; a sort of dignified plainness
+and simplicity. His countenance was more massive than it looks in any
+of the portraits. I would have taken the poet, had I not known who he
+was, for a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch school&mdash;the
+<i>douce gudeman</i> who held his own plow. There was a strong expression
+of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments; the eye alone, I think,
+indicated the poetical character and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>temperament. It was large, and
+of a dark cast, which glowed (I say literally, glowed) when he spoke
+with feeling or interest. I never saw such another eye in a human
+head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE IN SCHOOL AND COLLEGE</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The following affecting narrative, written in Coleridge's person by
+the tender-hearted Elia, gives the best view possible of Coleridge's
+scanty and suffering commencement of life. At that time, it may be
+premised, the dietary of Christ's Hospital was of the lowest:
+breakfast consisting of a "quarter of penny loaf, moistened with
+attenuated small beer in wooden piggins, smacking of the pitched
+leathern jack it was poured from," and the weekly rule giving "three
+banyan-days to four meat days."</p>
+
+<p>"I was a poor, friendless boy; my parents, and those who should have
+cared for me, were far away. Those few acquaintances of theirs, whom
+they could reckon upon being kind to me in the great city, after a
+little forced notice, which they had the grace to take of me on my
+first arrival in town, soon grew tired of my holiday visits. They
+seemed to them to recur too often, though I thought them few enough.
+One after another they all failed me, and I felt myself alone among
+six hundred playmates. Oh the cruelty of separating a poor lad from
+his early homestead! The yearnings which I used to have towards it in
+those unfledged years!... The warm, long days of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>summer never return
+but they bring with them a gloom from the haunting memory of those
+<i>whole days' leave</i>, when, by some strange arrangement, we were turned
+out for the livelong day, upon our own hands, whether we had friends
+to go to or none. I remember those bathing excursions to the New River
+which Lamb recalls with so much relish, better, I think, than he
+can&mdash;for he was a home-seeking lad, and did not care much for such
+water-parties. How we would sally forth into the fields, and strip
+under the first warmth of the sun, and wanton like young dace in the
+streams, getting appetites for the noon; which those of us that were
+penniless (our scanty morning crust long since exhausted) had not the
+means of allaying&mdash;while the cattle and the birds and the fishes were
+at feed about us, and we had nothing to satisfy our cravings; the very
+beauty of the day and the exercise of the pastime, and the sense of
+liberty setting a keener edge upon them! How faint and languid,
+finally, we would return toward nightfall to our desired morsel, half
+rejoicing, half reluctant, that the hours of uneasy liberty had
+expired!</p>
+
+<p>"It was worse in the days of winter, to go prowling about the streets
+objectless, shivering at cold windows of printshops, to extract a
+little amusement; or haply, as a last resort, in the hope of a little
+novelty, to pay a fifty-times-repeated visit (where our individual
+faces would be as well known to the warden as those of his own
+charges) to the lions in the Tower, to whose <i>lev&eacute;e</i>, by courtesy
+immemorial, we had a prescriptive right of admission."</p>
+
+<p>This melancholy and harsh life was, however, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>ameliorated by some
+curious personal incidents. Once, for example, the solitary boy,
+moving along the crowded streets, fancied, in the strange vividness of
+his waking dream, that he was Leander swimming across the Hellespont.
+His hand "came in contact with a gentleman's pocket" as he pursued
+this visionary amusement, and for two or three minutes Coleridge was
+in danger of being taken into custody as a pickpocket. On finding out
+how matters really stood, however, this stranger&mdash;genial, nameless
+soul&mdash;immediately gave to the strange boy the advantage of a
+subscription to a library close by, thus setting him up, as it were,
+in life. On another occasion, one of the higher boys, a
+"deputy-Grecian," found him seated in a corner reading Virgil. "Are
+you studying your lesson?" he asked. "No, I am reading for pleasure,"
+said the boy, who was not sufficiently advanced to read Virgil in
+school. This introduced him to the favorable notice of the head-master
+Bowyer, and made of the elder scholar, Middleton by name, a steady
+friend and counselor for years. Yet at this time Coleridge was
+considered by the lower-master, under whom he was, "a dull and inept
+scholar who could not be made to repeat a single rule of syntax,
+although he would give a rule in his own way." The life, however, of
+this great school, with all its injudicious liberties and
+confinements, must have been anything but a healthy one. Starved and
+solitary, careless of play as play, and already full of that consuming
+spiritual curiosity which never left him, Coleridge's devotion to the
+indiscriminate stores of the circulating library gave the last
+aggravation to all the unwholesome <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>particulars of his life. "Conceive
+what I must have been at fourteen," he exclaims. "I was in a continual
+low fever. My whole being was, with eyes closed to every object of
+present sense, to crumple myself up in a sunny corner and read, read,
+read; fancy myself on Robinson Crusoe's island finding a mountain of
+plum-cake, and eating a room for myself, and then eating it into the
+shapes of tables and chairs&mdash;hunger, and fancy!" ...</p>
+
+<p>A droll incident occurred about this period of his life, which shows
+... his absolute want of ambition. The friendless boy had made
+acquaintance with a shoemaker and his wife, who had a shop near the
+school, and who were kind to him; and thereupon he conceived the
+extraordinary idea of getting himself apprenticed to his friend, whom
+he persuaded to go to the head-master to make this wonderful proposal.
+"Od's, my life, man, what d'ye mean?" cried the master, with not
+unnatural indignation mingling with his amazement; and notwithstanding
+Coleridge's support of the application, the shoemaker was turned out
+of the place, and the would-be apprentice chosen, "against my will,"
+he says, "as one of those destined for the university." The same
+irascible yet excellent master flogged the boy severely on hearing
+that he boasted of being an infidel....</p>
+
+<p>His next stage in life was not a shoemaker's shop in Newgate Street,
+but Jesus College, Cambridge, which he entered in 1791 at the age of
+nineteen&mdash;the object of many high prophecies and hopes on the part of
+his school and schoolfellows, who had unanimously determined that he
+was to be great and do them honor. The first thing he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>did, however,
+was alas! too common an incident: he got into debt, though not, it
+would appear, for an overwhelming sum, or in any discreditable way. So
+long as his friend of Christ's Hospital, Middleton, remained in
+Cambridge, Coleridge pursued his studies with a great deal of
+regularity and in his first year won the prize for a Greek ode. But
+after awhile his industry slackened, and a kind of dreamy
+idleness&mdash;implying no languor of the soul or common reluctance to
+mental work, but rather, it would seem, a disinclination to work in
+the usual grooves, and do what was expected of him&mdash;took possession of
+the young scholar. "He was very studious, but his reading was
+desultory and capricious," writes a fellow-student. "He was ready at
+any time to shed his mind in conversation, and for the sake of this
+his rooms were a constant rendezvous of conversation-loving friends.
+What evenings I have spent in these rooms! What little suppers, or
+<i>sizings</i>, as they were called, have I enjoyed; when Aeschylus and
+Plato and Thucydides were pushed aside with a pile of lexicons and the
+like, to discuss the pamphlets of the day! Ever and anon a pamphlet
+issued from the pen of Burke. There was no need of having the book
+before us; Coleridge had read it in the morning and in the evening he
+would repeat whole pages <i>verbatim</i>."</p>
+
+<p class="right">&mdash;Adapted from <i>Blackwood's Magazine</i>.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>BYRON AS SWIMMER AND FEASTER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In 1858 Trelawney published his <i>Recollections of the Last Days of
+Shelley and Byron</i>. In many ways this is a remarkable book. It is the
+one source of information as to the last days of Shelley; concerning
+Byron's, others have furnished material. Trelawney is suspected of
+mingling some fiction with his truth, but the general tendency
+nowadays is to place confidence in these <i>Recollections</i>. He may not
+always give us a literal report, but he has likely reproduced the
+spirit. He is much more sympathetic in his treatment of Shelley than
+he is in his account of Byron. Trelawney himself was a remarkable
+character. He lived far into the time of a new generation, dying in
+his eighty-ninth year in 1881. Mary Shelley, in a letter to Maria
+Gisborne, February, 1822, describes him as "A kind of half-Arab
+Englishman.... He is clever: for his moral qualities I am yet in the
+dark. He is a strange web which I am endeavoring to unravel."</p>
+
+<p>In the <i>Recollections</i> occurs this interesting account of Byron:</p>
+
+<p>Byron has been accused of drinking deeply. Our universities,
+certainly, did turn out more famous drinkers than scholars. In the
+good old <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>times, to drink lustily was the characteristic of all
+Englishmen, just as tuft-hunting is now. Eternal swilling, and the
+rank habits and braggadocio manners which it engendered, came to a
+climax in George IV's reign. Since then, excessive drinking has gone
+out of fashion, but an elaborate style of gastronomy has come in to
+fill the void; so there is not much gained. Byron used to boast of the
+quantity of wine he had drunk. He said, "We young Whigs imbibed
+claret, and so saved our constitutions: the Tories stuck to port, and
+destroyed theirs and their country's."</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep064" id="imagep064"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep064.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep064.jpg" width="54%" alt="Lord Byron" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">LORD BYRON<br />From the portrait by T. Phillips<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He bragged, too, of his prowess in riding, boxing, fencing, and even
+walking; but to excel in these things feet are as necessary as hands.
+It was difficult to avoid smiling at his boasting and
+self-glorification. In the water a fin is better than a foot, and in
+that element he did well; he was built for floating,&mdash;with a flexible
+body, open chest, broad beam, and round limbs. If the sea was smooth
+and warm, he would stay in it for hours; but as he seldom indulged in
+this sport, and when he did, over-exerted himself, he suffered
+severely; which observing, and knowing how deeply he would be
+mortified at being beaten, I had the magnanimity when contending with
+him to give in.</p>
+
+<p>He had a misgiving in his mind that I was trifling with him; and one
+day as we were on the shore, and the <i>Bolivar</i> at anchor, about three
+miles off, he insisted on our trying conclusions; we were to swim to
+the yacht, dine in the sea alongside of her, treading water the while,
+and then to return to the shore. It was calm and hot, and seeing he
+would not be fobbed off, we started. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>I reached the boat a long time
+before he did; ordered the edibles to be ready, and floated until he
+arrived. We ate our fare leisurely, from off a grating that floated
+alongside, drank a bottle of ale, and I smoked a cigar, which he tried
+to extinguish,&mdash;as he never smoked. We then put about, and struck off
+towards the shore. We had not got a hundred yards on our passage, when
+he retched violently, and, as that is often followed by cramp, I urged
+him to put his hand on my shoulder that I might tow him back to the
+schooner.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep off, you villain, don't touch me. I'll drown ere I give in."</p>
+
+<p>I answered as Iago did to Roderigo:</p>
+
+<p>"'A fig for drowning! drown cats and blind puppies.' I shall go on
+board and try the effects of a glass of grog to stay my stomach."</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," he shouted, "I am always better after vomiting."</p>
+
+<p>With difficulty I deluded him back; I went on board, and he sat on the
+steps of the accommodation-ladder, with his feet in the water. I
+handed him a wineglass of brandy, and screened him from the burning
+sun. He was in a sullen mood, but after a time resumed his usual tone.
+Nothing could induce him to be landed in the schooner's boat, though I
+protested I had had enough of the water.</p>
+
+<p>"You may do as you like," he called out, and plumped in, and we swam
+on shore.</p>
+
+<p>He never afterwards alluded to this event, nor to his prowess in
+swimming, to me, except in the past tense. He was ill, and kept to his
+bed for two days afterwards.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>To return to his drinking propensities, after this digression about
+his gymnastic prowess: I must say, that of all his vauntings, it was,
+luckily for him, the emptiest&mdash;that is, after he left England and his
+boon companions, as I know nothing of what he did there. From all that
+I heard or witnessed of his habits abroad, he was and had been
+exceedingly abstemious in eating and drinking. When alone, he drank a
+glass or two of small claret or hock, and when utterly exhausted at
+night, a single glass of grog; which when I mixed it for him I lowered
+to what sailors call "water bewitched," and he never made any remark.
+I once, to try him, omitted the alcohol; he then said, "Tre, have you
+not forgotten the creature comfort?" I then put in two spoonfuls, and
+he was satisfied. This does not look like an habitual toper. His
+English acquaintances in Italy were, he said in derision, all
+milksops. On the rare occasion of any of his former friends visiting
+him, he would urge them to have a carouse with him, but they had grown
+wiser. He used to say that little Tommy Moore was the only man he knew
+who stuck to the bottle and put him on his mettle, adding, "But he is
+a native of the damp isle, where men subsist by suction."</p>
+
+<p>Byron had not damaged his body by strong drinks, but his terror of
+getting fat was so great that he reduced his diet to the point of
+absolute starvation. He was of that soft, lymphatic temperament which
+it is almost impossible to keep within moderate compass, particularly
+as in his case his lameness prevented his taking exercise. When he
+added to his weight, even standing was painful, so he resolved to keep
+down to eleven <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>stone, or shoot himself. He said everything he
+swallowed was instantly converted into tallow and deposited on his
+ribs.</p>
+
+<p>He was the only human being I ever met with who had sufficient
+self-restraint and resolution to resist this proneness to fatten: he
+did so, and at Genoa, where he was last weighed, he was ten stone and
+nine pounds, and looked much less. This was not from vanity about his
+personal appearance, but from a better motive; and as, like Justice
+Greedy, he was always hungry, his merit was the greater. Occasionally
+he relaxed his vigilance, when he swelled apace.</p>
+
+<p>I remember one of his old friends saying, "Byron, how well you are
+looking!" If he had stopped there it had been well, but when he added,
+"You are getting fat," Byron's brow reddened, and his eyes
+flashed&mdash;"Do you call getting fat looking well, as if I were a hog?"
+and, turning to me, he muttered, "The beast, I can hardly keep my
+hands off him." The man who thus offended him was the husband of the
+lady addressed as "Genevra," and the original of his "Zuleika," in the
+<i>Bride of Abydos</i>. I don't think he had much appetite for his dinner
+that day, or for many days, and never forgave the man who, so far from
+wishing to offend, intended to pay him a compliment.</p>
+
+<p>Byron said he had tried all sorts of experiments to stay his hunger,
+without adding to his bulk. "I swelled," he said, "at one time to
+fourteen stone, so I clapped the muzzle to my jaws, and, like the
+hibernating animals, consumed my own fat."</p>
+
+<p>He would exist on biscuits and soda-water for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>days together, then, to
+allay the eternal hunger gnawing at his vitals, he would make up a
+horrid mess of cold potatoes, rice, fish, or greens, deluged in
+vinegar, and gobble it up like a famished dog. On either of these
+unsavory dishes, with a biscuit and a glass or two of Rhine wine, he
+cared not how sour, he called feasting sumptuously. Upon my observing
+he might as well have fresh fish and vegetables, instead of stale, he
+laughed and answered:</p>
+
+<p>"I have an advantage over you, I have no palate; one thing is as good
+as another to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," I said, "disagrees with the natural man; he fasts and
+gorges, his nerves and brain don't bother him; but if you wish to
+live?&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Who wants to live?" he replied, "not I. The Byrons are a short-lived
+race on both sides, father and mother; longevity is hereditary: I am
+nearly at the end of my tether. I don't care for death a &mdash;&mdash;; it is
+her sting! I can't bear pain."</p>
+
+<p>His habits and want of exercise damaged him, not drink. It must be
+borne in mind, moreover, that his brain was always working at high
+pressure. The consequences resulting from his way of life were low or
+intermittent fevers; these last had fastened on him in his early
+travels in the Levant; and there is this peculiarity in malarial
+fevers, that if you have once had them, you are ever afterwards
+susceptible to a renewal of their attacks if within their reach, and
+Byron was hardly ever out of it. Venice and Ravenna are belted in with
+swamps, and fevers are rife in the autumn. By starving his body Byron
+kept his brains clear; no man had brighter eyes or a clearer voice;
+and his resolute bearing and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>prompt replies, when excited, gave to
+his body an appearance of muscular power that imposed on strangers. I
+never doubted, for he was indifferent to life, and prouder than
+Lucifer, that if he had drawn his sword in Greece, or elsewhere, he
+would have thrown away the scabbard.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep070" id="imagep070"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep070.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep070.jpg" width="55%" alt="Percy Bysshe Shelley" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY<br />From a chalk drawing after the original painting by Miss Curran<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XV" id="XV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>SHELLEY AS A FRESHMAN</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>If one were to name ten of the greatest English poets beginning with
+Chaucer and ending with Tennyson, the name of Shelley would be
+included, although he died before he was thirty years old. Hogg, a
+friend of Shelley's, has given us an interesting account of their
+meeting when both were freshmen at Oxford.</p>
+
+<p>"At the commencement of Michaelmas Term," writes Hogg, "that is, at
+the end of October in the year 1801, I happened one day to sit next a
+freshman at dinner; it was his first appearance in hall. His figure
+was slight, and his aspect remarkably youthful, even at our table,
+where all were very young. He seemed thoughtful and absent. He ate
+little and had no acquaintance with any one. I know not how we fell
+into conversation, for such familiarity was unusual, and, strange to
+say, much reserve prevailed in a society where there could not
+possibly be occasion for any." This conversation led into a heated
+discussion of the merits of German and Italian literature. When the
+time for leaving the dining hall had come, Hogg invited his new
+acquaintance over to his rooms. During the transit the thread of the
+argument was lost, and while Hogg <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>was lighting the candles Shelley
+frankly said that he was not competent to argue the point, as he had
+little knowledge of either German or Italian literature. Then Hogg
+with equal ingenuousness confessed that he knew but little of Italian
+and nothing of German literature.</p>
+
+<p>So the talk went merrily on. Shelley said it made little difference
+whether Italian or German literature were the more worthy, for all
+literature, what was it but vain trifling? What is the study of
+language but the study of words, of phrases, of the names of things?
+How much better and wiser to study things themselves!</p>
+
+<p>"I inquired," says Hogg, "a little bewildered, how this was to be
+effected. He answered, 'Through the physical sciences, and especially
+through chemistry,' and raising his voice, his face flushing as he
+spoke, he discoursed, with a degree of animation that far outshone his
+zeal in defense of the Germans, of chemistry and chemical analysis."
+While this is going on Hogg studies the youthful speaker. What manner
+of man is this brilliant guest? "It was a sum of many contradictions.
+His figure was slight and fragile, and yet his bones were large and
+strong. He was tall, but he stooped so much that he seemed of low
+stature. His clothes were expensive and made after the most approved
+mode of the day; but they were tumbled, rumpled, unbrushed. His
+gestures were abrupt, and sometimes violent, occasionally even
+awkward, yet more frequently gentle and graceful. His complexion was
+delicate and almost feminine, of the purest red and white; yet he was
+tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn,
+as he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>said, in shooting. His features, his whole face and
+particularly his head, were, in fact, unusually small, yet the last
+appeared of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in
+fits of absence, and in the agonies (if I may use the word) of anxious
+thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with his hands, or passed his
+fingers quickly through his locks unconsciously, so that it was
+singularly wild and rough. In times when it was the mode to imitate
+stage-coachmen as closely as possible in costume, and when the hair
+was invariably cropped, like that of our soldiers, this eccentricity
+was very striking. His features were not symmetrical (the mouth,
+perhaps, excepted), yet was the effect of the whole extremely
+powerful. They breathed an animation, a fire, an enthusiasm, a vivid
+and preternatural intelligence, that I never met with in any other
+countenance. Nor was the moral expression less beautiful than the
+intellectual, for there was a softness, a delicacy, a gentleness, and
+especially (though this will surprise many) that air of profound
+religious veneration that characterizes the best works, and chiefly
+the frescoes of the great masters of Florence and Rome."</p>
+
+<p>The next day Hogg pays a visit to Shelley's rooms. The furniture was
+new and the walls were freshly papered, but everything in the room was
+in confusion. "Books, boots, papers, shoes, philosophical instruments,
+clothes, pistols, linen, crockery, ammunition, and phials innumerable,
+with money, stockings, prints, crucibles, bags, and boxes, were
+scattered on the floor in every place, as if the young chemist, in
+order to analyze the mystery of creation, had endeavored first to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>reconstruct the primeval chaos. The tables, and especially the carpet,
+were already stained with large spots of various hues, which
+frequently proclaimed the agency of fire. An electrical machine, an
+air pump, the galvanic trough, a solar microscope, and large glass
+jars were conspicuous amidst the mass of matter. Upon the table by his
+side were some books lying open, several letters, a bundle of new
+pens, and a bottle of japan ink, that served as an ink-stand, a piece
+of deal, lately part of the lid of a box, with many chips, and a
+handsome razor that had been used as a knife. There were bottles of
+soda-water, sugar, pieces of lemon, and the traces of an effervescent
+beverage. Two piles of books supported the tongs, and these upheld a
+small glass retort above an argand lamp. I had not been seated many
+minutes before the liquor in the vessel boiled over, adding fresh
+stains to the table, and rising in fumes with a disagreeable odor.
+Shelley snatched the glass quickly, and dashing it in pieces among
+ashes under the grate, increased the unpleasant and penetrating
+effluvium."</p>
+
+<p>Hogg and Shelley soon became fast friends and met every evening. "I
+was enabled," writes Hogg, "to continue my studies in the evening in
+consequence of a very remarkable peculiarity. My young and energetic
+friend was then overcome by extreme drowsiness, which speedily and
+completely vanquished him; he would sleep from two to four hours,
+often so soundly that his slumbers resembled a deep lethargy; he lay
+occasionally upon the sofa, but more commonly stretched upon the rug
+before a large fire, like a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>cat, and his little round head was
+exposed to such fierce heat, that I used to wonder how he was able to
+bear it. Sometimes I have interposed some shelter, but rarely with any
+permanent effect, for the sleeper usually contrived to turn himself,
+and to roll again into the spot where the fire glowed the brightest.
+His torpor was generally profound, but he would sometimes discourse
+incoherently for a long while in his sleep. At six he would suddenly
+compose himself, even in the midst of an animated narrative or of
+earnest discussion, and he would lie buried in entire forgetfulness,
+in a sweet and mighty oblivion, until ten, when he would suddenly
+start up, and rubbing his eyes with great violence, and passing his
+fingers swiftly through his long hair, would enter at once into a
+vehement argument, or begin to recite verses, either of his own
+composition or from the works of others, with a rapidity and an energy
+that were often quite painful. During the period of his occultation I
+took tea, and read or wrote without interruption. He would sometimes
+sleep for a shorter time, for about two hours, postponing for the like
+period the commencement of his retreat to the rug, and rising with
+tolerable punctuality at ten, and sometimes, though rarely, he was
+able entirely to forego the accustomed refreshment."</p>
+
+<p>After supper, which Shelley would take upon awaking at ten, the two
+friends would talk and read together until two o'clock.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE DEATH OF SHELLEY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In the Protestant cemetery at Rome one can find in an obscure place a
+plain stone bearing record of Percy Bysshe Shelley, and these lines
+from Shakspere's Tempest:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nothing of him that doth fade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But doth suffer a sea-change<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into something rich and strange.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">And this is the story of how Shelley happens to have a memorial in the
+Roman cemetery:</p>
+
+<p>Shelley was a revolutionist in religion and politics, and
+revolutionists are seldom popular at home. Shelley's lyric poetry is
+unsurpassed, but his theories in some respects will never meet with
+the approval of common-sense humanity. England proved uncomfortable
+and so he left his country to live in other lands. In 1822 we find him
+with his family and a Mr. and Mrs. Williams in Casa Magni, a Roman
+villa in a cove on the bay of Spezzia. Here the poet and his friends
+became very fond of sailing in a boat which had been made for them.
+The boat, which they called the Ariel, was twenty-eight feet long and
+eight feet broad, and this with the assistance of a lad they learned
+to manage fairly well. To Shelley, whose health had been failing, the
+out-of-door life gave renewed vigor.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>On the eighth of July, Shelley and Williams, accompanied by a
+sailor-lad, left the harbor of Leghorn to go home to their wives, from
+whom they had been absent for several days. They had gone to Pisa to
+welcome Leigh Hunt to Italy, to meet other friends (among the number
+was Byron), and to do some business. Neither Shelley, Williams, nor
+the lad, was ever seen alive after that day. As we are indebted to
+Hogg for the best pen-pictures of the boy Shelley, so we are indebted
+to Trelawney for the best description of the closing scene. So we
+shall follow Trelawney's account in the main.</p>
+
+<p>Trelawney was in Leghorn and intended to accompany his friends out of
+the harbor in a separate boat, but owing to the refusal of the health
+officer of the harbor he was not allowed to go. As from his own vessel
+he watched the Ariel, containing the small party happy in the thought
+that in seven short hours they should be at home with their loved
+ones, his Genoese mate turned to him and said: "They are standing too
+much in-shore; the current will set them there." "They will soon have
+the land-breeze," replied Trelawney. "Maybe," said the mate, "she will
+soon have too much breeze; that gaff topsail is foolish in a boat with
+no deck and no sailor on board." Then he added as he pointed to the
+southwest, "Look at those black lines and dirty rags hanging on them
+out of the sky; look at the smoke on the water; the devil is brewing
+mischief."</p>
+
+<p>"Although the sun was obscured by mists," Trelawney writes, "it was
+oppressively sultry. There was not a breath of air in the harbor. The
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>heaviness of the atmosphere and an unwonted stillness benumbed my
+senses. I went down into the cabin and sank into a slumber. I was
+roused up by a noise overhead, and went on deck. The men were getting
+up another chain-cable to let go another anchor. There was a general
+stir amongst the shipping; shifting berths, getting down yards and
+masts, veering out cables, hauling in of hawsers, letting go anchors,
+hailing from the ships and quays, boats sculling rapidly to and fro.
+It was almost dusk, although only half-past six o'clock. The sea was
+of the color and looked as solid and smooth as a sheet of lead, and
+covered with an oily scum. Gusts of wind swept over without ruffling
+it, and big drops of rain fell on its surface, rebounding, as if they
+could not penetrate it. There was a commotion in the air, made up of
+many threatening sounds, coming upon us from the sea. Fishing craft
+and coasting vessels, under bare poles, rushed by us in shoals,
+running foul of the ships in the harbor. As yet the din and hubbub was
+that made by men, but their shrill pipings were suddenly silenced by
+the crashing voice of a thunder-squall that burst right over our
+heads. For some time no other sounds were to be heard than the
+thunder, wind, and rain. When the fury of the storm, which did not
+last for more than twenty minutes, had abated and the horizon was in
+some degree cleared, I looked to sea anxiously, in the hope of
+descrying Shelley's boat amongst the many small craft scattered about.
+I watched every speck that loomed on the horizon, thinking that they
+would have borne up on their return to the port, as all the other
+boats that had gone out in the same direction had done."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>Then followed a period of painful suspense. Were they safe or had they
+gone down? On the third day Trelawney went to Pisa to ascertain
+whether any one had heard anything of Shelley. "I told my fears to
+Hunt," he writes, "and then went upstairs to Byron. When I told him
+his lip quivered, and his voice faltered as he questioned me."</p>
+
+<p>And what of the wives at Casa Magni awaiting the return of their
+husbands? Let one of the two tell the story. Mary is the wife of
+Shelley, and Jane is Mrs. Williams.</p>
+
+<p>"Yet I thought when he, when my Shelley returns, I shall be happy&mdash;he
+will comfort me; if my boy be ill, he will restore him and encourage
+me.... Thus a week passed. On Monday, 8th, Jane had a letter from
+Edward dated Saturday; he said that he waited at Leghorn for Shelley,
+who was at Pisa; that Shelley's return was certain; 'but,' he
+continued, 'if I should not come by Monday, I will come in a felucca,
+and you may expect me on Thursday evening at furthest.'</p>
+
+<p>"This was Monday, the fatal Monday, but with us it was stormy all day,
+and we did not at all suppose that they could put to sea. At twelve at
+night we had a thunder-storm. Tuesday it rained all day and was
+calm&mdash;the sky wept on their graves. On Wednesday, the wind was fair
+from Leghorn, and in the evening several feluccas arrived thence. One
+brought word they had sailed Monday, but we did not believe them.
+Thursday was another day of fair wind, and when twelve at night came,
+and we did not see the tall sails of the little boat double the
+promontory before us, we began to fear, not the truth, but some
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>illness, some disagreeable news for their detention."</p>
+
+<p>"Jane got so uneasy that she determined to proceed the next day to
+Leghorn in a boat to see what was the matter. Friday came and with it
+a heavy sea and bad wind. Jane, however, resolved to be rowed to
+Leghorn, since no boat could sail, and busied herself in preparation.
+I wished her to wait for letters, since Friday was letter-day. She
+would not, but the sea detained her; the swell rose so that no boat
+would endure out. At twelve at noon our letters came; there was one
+from Hunt to Shelley; it said, 'Pray write to tell us how you got
+home, for they say that you had bad weather after you sailed on Monday
+and we are anxious.' The paper fell from me. I trembled all over. Jane
+read it. 'Then it is all over,' she said. 'No, my dear Jane,' I cried,
+'it is not all over, but this suspense is dreadful. Come with me&mdash;we
+will go to Leghorn, we will post, to be swift and learn our fate.'</p>
+
+<p>"We crossed to Lerici ... we posted to Pisa. It must have been fearful
+to see us&mdash;two poor, wild, aghast creatures, driving (like Matilda)
+towards the sea to learn if we were to be forever doomed to misery. I
+knew that Hunt was at Pisa, at Lord Byron's house, but I thought that
+Lord Byron was at Leghorn. I settled that we should drive to Casa
+Lanfranchi, that I should get out and ask the fearful question of
+Hunt, 'Do you know anything of Shelley?' On entering Pisa, the idea of
+seeing Hunt for the first time for four years under such circumstances
+and asking him such a question was so terrific to me that it was with
+difficulty that I prevented myself from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>going into convulsions. My
+struggles were dreadful. They knocked at the door and some one called
+out, 'Chi e?' It was the Guiccioli's maid. Lord Byron was in Pisa.
+Hunt was in bed, so I was to see Lord Byron instead of him. This was a
+great relief to me. I staggered upstairs; the Guicciola came to meet
+me smiling, while I could hardly say, 'Where is he&mdash;Sapete alcuna cosa
+di Shelley?' They knew nothing; he had left Pisa on Sunday; on Monday
+he had sailed; there had been bad weather Monday afternoon; more they
+knew not."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE SCHOOL-DAYS OF JOHN KEATS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In the village of Enfield, in Middlesex, ten miles on the North Road
+from London, my father, John Clarke, says Charles Cowden Clarke in
+<i>The Gentleman's Magazine</i>, kept a school. The house had been built by
+a West India merchant in the latter end of the seventeenth or
+beginning of the eighteenth century. It was of the better character of
+the domestic architecture of that period, the whole front being of the
+purest red brick, wrought by means of molds into rich designs of
+flowers and pomegranates, with heads of cherubim over niches in the
+center of the building. The elegance of the design and the perfect
+finish of the structure were such as to procure its protection when a
+branch railway was brought from the Ware and Cambridge line to
+Enfield....</p>
+
+<p>Here it was that John Keats all but commenced, and did complete, his
+school education. He was born on the twenty-ninth of October, 1795,
+and he was one of the little fellows who had not wholly emerged from
+the child's costume upon being placed under my father's care. It will
+be readily conceived that it is difficult to recall from the "dark
+backward and abysm" of seventy-odd years the general acts of perhaps
+the youngest <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>individual in a corporation of between seventy and
+eighty youngsters; and very little more of Keats's child-life can I
+remember than that he had a brisk, winning face, and was a favorite
+with all, particularly my mother....</p>
+
+<p>Keats's father was the principal servant at the Swan and Hoop
+stables&mdash;a man of so remarkably fine a common-sense, and native
+respectability, that I perfectly remember the warm terms in which his
+demeanor used to be canvassed by my parents after he had been to visit
+his boys. John was the only one resembling him in person and feature,
+with brown hair and dark hazel eyes. The father was killed by a fall
+from his horse in returning from a visit to the school. This detail
+may be deemed requisite when we see in the last memoir of the poet the
+statement that "John Keats was born on the twenty-ninth of October,
+1795, in the upper rank of the middle class." His two
+brothers&mdash;George, older, and Thomas, younger than himself&mdash;were like
+the mother, who was tall, of good figure, with large oval face and
+sensible deportment. The last of the family was a sister&mdash;Fanny, I
+think, much younger than all,&mdash;and I hope still living (in 1874)&mdash;of
+whom I remember, when once walking in the garden with her brothers, my
+mother speaking of her with much fondness for her pretty and simple
+manners....</p>
+
+<p>In the early part of his school-life John gave no extraordinary
+indications of intellectual character; but it was remembered of him
+afterwards, that there was ever present a determined and steady spirit
+in all his undertakings: I never knew it misdirected in his required
+pursuit of study. He was a most orderly scholar. The future
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>ramifications of that noble genius were then closely shut in the seed,
+which was greedily drinking in the moisture which made it afterwards
+burst forth so kindly into luxuriance and beauty.</p>
+
+<p>My father was in the habit, at each half-year's vacation, of bestowing
+prizes upon those pupils who had performed the greatest quantity of
+voluntary work; and such was Keats's indefatigable energy for the last
+two or three successive half-years of his remaining at school, that,
+upon each occasion he took the first prize by a considerable distance.
+He was at work before the first school hour began, and that was at
+seven o'clock, almost all the intervening times of recreation were so
+devoted, and during the afternoon holidays, when all were at play, he
+would be in the school&mdash;almost the only one&mdash;at his Latin or French
+translation, and so unconscious and regardless was he of the
+consequences of so close and persevering an application that he never
+would have taken the necessary exercise had he not been sometimes
+driven out for the purpose by one of his masters.</p>
+
+<p>It has just been said that he was a favorite with all. Not the less
+beloved was he for having a highly pugnacious spirit, which, when
+roused, was one of the most picturesque exhibitions&mdash;off the stage&mdash;I
+ever saw. One of the transports of that marvelous actor, Edmund
+Kean&mdash;whom, by the way, he idolized&mdash;was its nearest resemblance; and
+the two were not very dissimilar in face and figure. Upon one
+occasion, when an usher, on account of some impertinent behavior, had
+boxed his brother Tom's ears, John rushed up, put himself in the
+received posture of offense, and, it was said, struck the usher&mdash;who
+could, so to say, have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>put him into his pocket. His passion at times
+was almost ungovernable, and his brother George, being considerably
+the taller and stronger, used frequently to hold him down by main
+force, laughing when John was in "one of his moods," and was
+endeavoring to beat him. It was all, however, a wisp-of-straw
+conflagration, for he had an intensely tender affection for his
+brothers and proved it upon the most trying occasions. He was not
+merely the "favorite of all," like a pet prize-fighter, for his
+terrier courage; but his high-mindedness, his utter unconsciousness of
+a mean motive, his placability, his generosity, wrought so general a
+feeling in his behalf, that I never heard a word of disapproval from
+any one, superior or equal, who had known him.</p>
+
+<p>In the latter part of the time&mdash;perhaps eighteen months&mdash;that he
+remained at school, he occupied the hours during meals in reading.
+Thus, his whole time was engrossed. He had a tolerably retentive
+memory, and the quantity that he read was surprising. He must in those
+last months have exhausted the school library, which consisted
+principally of abridgments of all the voyages and travels of any note;
+Mavor's collection, also his <i>Universal History</i>; Robertson's
+histories of Scotland, America, and Charles the Fifth; all Miss
+Edgeworth's productions, together with many other works equally well
+calculated for youth. The books, however, that were his constantly
+recurring sources of attraction were Tooke's <i>Pantheon</i>, Lempri&egrave;re's
+<i>Classical Dictionary</i>, which he appeared to <i>learn</i>, and Spence's
+<i>Polymetis</i>. This was the store whence he acquired his intimacy with
+the Greek mythology; here was he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>"suckled in that creed outworn;" for
+his amount of classical attainment extended no farther than the
+<i>&AElig;neid</i>, with which epic, indeed, he was so fascinated that before
+leaving school he had <i>voluntarily</i> translated in writing a
+considerable portion. And yet I remember that at that early
+age&mdash;mayhap under fourteen&mdash;notwithstanding, and through all its
+incidental attractiveness, he hazarded the opinion to me (and the
+expression riveted my surprise), that there was feebleness in the
+structure of the work. He must have gone through all the better
+publications in the school library, for he asked me to lend him some
+of my books, and, in my "mind's eye" I now see him at supper (we had
+our meals in the school-room), sitting back on the form, from the
+table, holding the folio volume of Burnet's <i>History of His Own Time</i>
+between himself and the table, eating his meal from beyond it. This
+work, and Leigh Hunt's <i>Examiner</i>&mdash;which my father took in, and I used
+to lend to Keats&mdash;no doubt laid the foundation of his love of civil
+and religious liberty. He once told me, smiling, that one of his
+guardians, being informed what books I had lent him to read, declared
+that if he had fifty children he would not send one of them to that
+school. Bless his patriot head!</p>
+
+<p>When he left Enfield at fourteen years of age, he was apprenticed to
+Mr. Thomas Hammond, a medical man, residing in Church Street,
+Edmonton, and exactly two miles from Enfield. This arrangement
+evidently gave him satisfaction, and I fear it was the most placid
+period of his painful life; for now, with the exception of the duty he
+had to perform in the surgery&mdash;by no means an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>onerous one&mdash;his whole
+leisure hours were employed in indulging his passion for reading and
+translating. During his apprenticeship he finished the <i>&AElig;neid</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The distance between our residences being so short, I gladly
+encouraged his inclination to come over when he could claim a leisure
+hour; and in consequence I saw him about five or six times a month on
+my own leisure afternoons. He rarely came empty-handed; either he had
+a book to read, or brought one to be exchanged. When the weather
+permitted, we always sat in an arbor at the end of a spacious garden,
+and&mdash;in Boswellian dialect&mdash;"we had a good talk." ...</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE HEROISM OF SIR WALTER SCOTT</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>When Carlyle wrote and lectured on <i>Heroes and Hero Worship</i>, he would
+have made no mistake in selecting one of his contemporary countrymen
+as a fine example of the man of letters as hero. But it is one of the
+characteristics of human nature to see the heroic in the remote in
+time and place rather than in the near. Carlyle, had he closely
+examined the life of his Scotch neighbor, would have been forced to
+acknowledge that no knight battling with chivalric valor in the
+fiction of Sir Walter ever displayed more nobility of soul than that
+displayed by Walter Scott in his adversity. Critics may find flaws in
+Scott's style, but as time reveals more fully the character of the man
+they are unable to find fault with the man himself. Some years ago was
+published Scott's journal. Parts of this had been published before,
+but, owing to the nature of some of the information, much of this had
+been suppressed until sixty years after the death of the writer. To
+quote from this journal is, perhaps, the best method of giving a
+first-hand impression of the real man. He is his own revealer. Scott
+called the big book in which he from time to time records for several
+years his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>thoughts his "Gurnal," because his daughter Sophia had once
+spelled the word in that way. This book could be closed with a lock
+and key. On the title-page was written:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As I walked by myself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I talked to myself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus myself said to me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">(Old Song.)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Scott's poems and novels brought him much revenue. This he spent in
+purchasing land. He became a Scotch "laird" owning many acres, and a
+most beautiful home, Abbotsford. But unfortunately he formed a bad
+business partnership. When the firm through mismanagement and
+speculation, in which Scott had no part, went down in ruin, Scott
+found to his surprise that he owed a vast sum. In his "Gurnal" of
+September 5, 1827, he wrote: "The debts for which I am legally
+responsible, though no party to this contraction, amount to &pound;30,000."
+But although his legal responsibility was for so great a sum, he felt
+that morally he was responsible for a far greater amount. When the
+printing house of James Ballantyne &amp; Co., the publishing house of
+Constable, and Hunt and Robinson, failed, they failed for upwards of
+half a million pounds. Of this enormous total, Scott could be held
+morally responsible for one hundred and thirty thousand pounds.</p>
+
+<p>For several weeks after intimations of failure had reached Scott, he
+lived in a state of uncertainty. On the 18th of December, 1825, he
+wrote a long account in his journal. It was published lately for the
+first time, appearing in the <i>Quarterly Review</i>. What a revelation of
+the man it is!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>"Ballantyne called on me this morning. <i>Venit illa suprema dies.</i> My
+extremity is come. Cadell has received letters from London which all
+but positively announce the failure of Hurst and Robinson, so that
+Constable and Co. must follow, and I must go with poor James
+Ballantyne for company. I suppose it will involve my all.... I have
+been rash in anticipating funds to buy lands, but then I made from
+&pound;5,000 to &pound;10,000 a year, and land was my temptation. I think nobody
+can lose a penny&mdash;that is my one comfort. Men will think pride has had
+a fall. Let them indulge their own pride in thinking that my fall
+makes them higher, or seems so at least. I have the satisfaction to
+recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage to many, and that
+some at least will forgive my transient wealth on account of the
+innocence of my intentions, and my real wish to do good to the poor.
+This news will make sad hearts at Darnick, and in the cottages of
+Abbotsford, which I do not cherish the least hope of preserving. It
+has been my Delilah, and so I have often termed it; and now the
+recollection of the extensive woods I planted, and the walks I have
+formed, from which strangers must derive both the pleasure and profit,
+will excite feelings likely to sober my gayest moments. I have half
+resolved never to see the place again. How could I tread my hall with
+such a diminished crest? How live a poor indebted man where I was once
+the wealthy, and honored? My children are provided [for]; thank God
+for that! I was to have gone there in joy and prosperity to receive my
+friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish, but the
+thoughts of parting from these dumb <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>creatures have moved me more than
+any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things, I must
+get them kind masters; there may be yet those who loving me may love
+my dog because it has been mine. I must end this, or I shall lose the
+tone of mind with which men should meet distress. I find my dogs' feet
+on my knees. I hear them whining and seeking me everywhere&mdash;this is
+nonsense, but it is what they would do could they know how things are.
+Poor Will Laidlaw! Poor Tom Purdie! this will be news to wring your
+heart, and many a poor fellow's besides to whom my prosperity was
+daily bread."</p>
+
+<p>After touching on some other matters he comes back to
+Abbotsford,&mdash;"Yet to save Abbotsford I would attempt all that was
+possible. My heart clings to the place I have created. There is scarce
+a tree on it that does not owe its being to me, and the pain of
+leaving it is greater than I can bear."</p>
+
+<p>A Mr. Skene, in whose gardens Scott while in Edinburgh about a month
+later took a walk, has left a record of a conversation with Scott. He
+wrote immediately after the walk so as to record the conversation.
+This is what Scott said: "Do you know I experience a sort of
+determined pleasure in confronting the very worst aspect of this
+sudden reverse&mdash;in standing, as it were, in the breach that has
+overthrown my fortunes, and saying, Here I stand, at least, an honest
+man. And God knows if I have enemies, this I may at least with truth
+say, that I have never wittingly given cause of enmity in the whole
+course of my life, for even the burnings of political hate seemed to
+find nothing in my nature to feed the flame. I am not conscious of
+having borne a grudge towards any <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>man, and at this moment of my
+overthrow, so help me God, I wish well and feel kindly to every one.
+And if I thought that any of my works contained a sentence hurtful to
+any one's feelings, I would burn it."</p>
+
+<p>Scott worked so assiduously that by January, 1828, he had reduced his
+debt $200,000. On the 17th of December, 1830, more than the half of
+his debt had been paid. On that day his creditors had a meeting during
+which the following resolutions were passed:</p>
+
+<p>"That Sir Walter Scott be requested to accept of his furniture, plate,
+linen, paintings, library, and curiosities of every description as the
+best means the creditors have of expressing their very high sense of
+his most honorable conduct, and in grateful acknowledgment for the
+unparalleled and most successful exertions he has made, and continues
+to make, for them."</p>
+
+<p>That the creditors of Scott would be glad to show their gratitude is
+easy to believe when one learns that while Scott was paying pound for
+pound the other members of the firm paid their creditors less than
+three shillings to the pound. That Scott did his herculean task at
+great sacrifice is known. How much of pain and worry he endured is not
+so well known. At one time he writes: "After all, I have fagged
+through six pages, and made poor Wurmser lay down his sword on the
+glacis of Mantua&mdash;and my head aches&mdash;my eyes ache&mdash;my back aches&mdash;so
+does my breast&mdash;and I am sure my heart aches&mdash;what can duty want
+more?"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Walter Savage Landor, whose course of life ran from 1775 to 1864, in
+his old age confessed, "I never did a single wise thing in the whole
+course of my existence, although I have written many which have been
+thought so." This is the exaggeration of an old man who has been
+impressed by the frailty of human endeavor. Nevertheless, Landor is a
+striking illustration of the artistic temperament. He was impractical.
+Landor could not make a good fist. Even when angry, a frame of mind in
+which he found himself very frequently, he did not clench his fists
+without leaving his thumbs in relaxation&mdash;a sure sign, it is said, of
+the lack of tenacity of purpose and tact in practical dealings. He
+would adjust his spectacles on his forehead, and then, forgetting what
+he had done, would overturn everything in his wild search for them.
+When he started out on a trip he would take the greatest pains to
+remember the key of his portmanteau, and then forget to take the
+portmanteau; and then on discovering the absence of the portmanteau he
+would launch out into the most vehement denunciation of the
+carelessness and depravity of the railroad officials, heaping
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>objurgations upon them, their fathers, and their grandfathers. Then
+after he had exhausted his vocabulary of invective and eased his soul,
+the humor of the situation would appeal to him and he would begin to
+laugh, quietly at first, and then in louder and louder strains until
+his merriment seemed more formidable than his wrath.</p>
+
+<p>When Landor says that he never did a wise thing but has written many,
+one is led to think of his marriage. No one wrote about marriage more
+seriously than Landor, no one entered upon marriage more recklessly.
+"Death itself," he once wrote, "to the reflecting mind is less serious
+than marriage. The elder plant is cut down that the younger may have
+room to nourish; a few tears drop into the loosened soil, and buds and
+blossoms spring over it. Death is not even a blow, it is not even a
+pulsation; it is a pause. But marriage unrolls the awful lot of
+numberless generations." The man who could write thus impressively
+about marriage one spring evening at Bath attended a ball. There he
+met a beautiful young lady whom he admired. As soon as he set eyes on
+her he exclaimed, "By heaven! that's the nicest girl in the room, and
+I'll marry her." He married her and was ever after unhappy. "God
+forbid," once growled Landor, "that I should do otherwise than declare
+that she always <i>was</i> agreeable&mdash;to every one but <i>me</i>." Landor was
+not in the habit of talking about his domestic troubles, but at one
+time when he was contrasting other and more agreeable marriages he was
+heard to say that he "unfortunately was taken by a pretty face."</p>
+
+<p>Kenyon related to a friend an incident of the Landor honeymoon that is
+significant. On one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>occasion, it seems, the newly married couple were
+sitting side by side; Landor was reading some of his own verses to his
+bride&mdash;and who could read more exquisitely?&mdash;when all at once the
+lady, releasing herself from his arm, jumped up, saying, "Oh, do stop,
+Walter, there's that dear delightful Punch performing in the street. I
+must look out of the window." Exit poetry forever.</p>
+
+<p>It would have been difficult for any woman to live amicably with
+Landor. In his youth he was suspended from college, and when he was a
+very old man he was fined $5,000 for writing a libelous article.
+Between these two periods his life was made up of many fits of
+passion. His rustication, or suspension from Trinity College,
+Cambridge, came about in the following manner: One evening Landor
+invited his friends to wine. His gun, powder, and shot were in the
+next room, as he had been out hunting in the morning of that day. In a
+room opposite to Landor's lived a young man whom Landor disliked. The
+two parties exchanged taunts. Finally in a spirit of bravado Landor
+took his gun and fired a shot through the closed shutters of the
+enemy. Quite naturally this bit of pleasantry was not appreciated by
+the owner of the shutters and complaint was lodged. When the
+investigation was made the president tried to be as lenient as he
+possibly could, but his conciliatory manner was stubbornly met by the
+youthful culprit. When rustication was pronounced it was hoped that
+Landor would return to the college to honor it and himself by an
+earnest devotion to his studies. But he never returned.</p>
+
+<p>When Landor was living in Florence the Italians thought him the
+ideally mad Englishman. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>He lived for a time in the Medici palace, but
+his friendly relations with the landlord, a nobleman bearing the
+distinguished name of the palace, had an abrupt termination. Landor
+imagined that the marquis had unfairly coaxed away his coachman, and
+he wrote a letter of complaint. The next day in comes the strutting
+marquis with his hat on in the presence of Mrs. Landor and some
+visitors. One of the visitors describes the scene: "He had scarcely
+advanced three steps from the door, when Landor walked up to him
+quickly and knocked his hat off, then took him by the arm and turned
+him out. You should have heard Landor's shout of laughter at his own
+anger when it was all over; inextinguishable laughter, which none of
+us could resist." This reminds one of the story Milnes told to
+Emerson, that Landor once became so enraged at his Italian cook that
+he picked him up and threw him out of the window, and then exclaimed,
+"Good God, I never thought of those violets!"</p>
+
+<p>Quite in strong contrast to the irascible side of his nature was his
+tender love for his children, of which he had four, the last born in
+1825. In them he took constant delight. In their games <i>Babbo</i>, as he
+was affectionately termed, was the most gleeful and frolicsome of them
+all. When he was separated from them he was in continual anxiety. On
+one of his trips he received the first childish letter from his son
+Arnold. In his reply the concluding lines reveal the intense affection
+of the father:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>I shall never be quite happy until I see you again and put my
+cheek upon your head. Tell my sweet Julia that if I see twenty
+little girls I will not romp with any of them before I romp
+with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>her, and kiss your two dear brothers for me. You must
+always love them as much as I love you, and you must teach
+them how to be good boys, which I cannot do so well as you
+can. God preserve and bless you, my own Arnold. My heart beats
+as if it would fly to you, my own fierce creature. We shall
+very soon meet.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="padding-right: 10em;">Love your,</span><br />
+<span class="sc" style="padding-right: 5em;">Babbo.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>In literature Landor will be remembered as the author of <i>Imaginary
+Conversations</i>, composed during his years of retirement at Florence.
+In these <i>Conversations</i> we hear the great men and women of the past
+who converse as Landor imagined they might have talked. Landor's prose
+style is admired, because of its simplicity and classic purity. After
+the publication of the first two volumes of this work Landor was
+visited as a man of genius by Englishmen and Americans. One day Hogg,
+the friend of Shelley, was announced while Hare, a well-known
+Englishman, was sitting in the room. Landor said, as he considered the
+names of his two visitors, that he felt like La Fontaine with all the
+better company of the beasts about him. Hazlitt was one of his
+frequent visitors. One of their reported conversations is about
+Wordsworth. Upon Landor's saying that he had never seen the famous
+Lake poet, Hazlitt asked, "But you have seen a horse, I suppose?" and
+on receiving an affirmative answer, continued, "Well, sir, if you have
+seen a horse, I mean his head, sir, you may say you have seen
+Wordsworth, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Emerson was desirous of seeing Landor. One of the motives that led him
+to take his first trip abroad was the desire to see five distinguished
+men. These men were Coleridge, Wordsworth, Landor, DeQuincey, and
+Carlyle. "On the 15th May," writes Emerson in his <i>English Traits</i>,
+"I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>dined with Mr. Landor. I found him noble and courteous, living in
+a cloud of pictures at his Villa Gherardesca, a fine house commanding
+a beautiful landscape. I had inferred from his books, or magnified
+from some anecdotes, an impression of Achillean wrath,&mdash;an untamable
+petulance. I do not know whether the imputation were just or not, but
+certainly on this May day his courtesy veiled that haughty mind and he
+was the most patient and gentle of hosts."</p>
+
+<p>Landor used to say somewhat loftily, "I do not remember that
+resentment has ever made me commit an injustice." And in this
+connection he related to a friend an incident of his early married
+life, when he was living at Como, where he had for his next-door
+neighbor the Princess of Wales. Landor and his royal neighbor had a
+quarrel arising from trespassing by the domestics of the Princess.
+"The insolence of her domestics," said Landor, "was only equaled by
+the intolerable discourtesy of her Royal Highness when she was
+appealed to in the matter."</p>
+
+<p>Some years later when the Milan Commission was carrying on its
+"delicate investigation" concerning the character of the Queen, about
+whom there had been rumors detrimental to her character, Landor was
+asked to give confidential testimony against Queen Caroline. This made
+Landor indignant and he replied,&mdash;"Her Royal Highness is my enemy; she
+has deeply injured me, therefore I can say nothing against her, and I
+never will."</p>
+
+<p>It is significant that shortly before this application for testimony
+was made, George IV took an opportunity to ask Landor to dinner. "I
+declined <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>the honor," said the old lion, "on the plea that I had an
+attack of quinsy. I always have quinsy when royal people ask me to
+dinner," he added, laughing immoderately.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, what avails the sceptered race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, what the form divine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What every virtue, every grace!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rose Aylmer, all were thine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May weep but never see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A night of memories and of sighs<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I consecrate to thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XX" id="XX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>LEIGH HUNT'S BUSINESS ABILITY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Sir George Murray Smith, leading member of the famous publishing house
+of Smith, Elder and Company, was well acquainted with the leading
+literary men of England during an active career of sixty years. The
+following account of Leigh Hunt is especially entertaining:</p>
+
+<p>"Business was by no means Leigh Hunt's strong point. In this respect,
+but not otherwise, he may have suggested Skimpole to Charles Dickens.
+On one of my visits I found him trying to puzzle out the abstruse
+question of how he should deduct some such sum as thirteen shillings
+and ninepence from a sovereign. On another occasion I had to pay him a
+sum of money, &pound;100 or &pound;200, and I wrote him a check for the amount.
+'Well,' he said, 'what am I to do with this little bit of paper?' I
+told him that if he presented it at the bank they would pay him cash
+for it, but I added, 'I will save you that trouble.' I sent to the
+bank and cashed the check for him. He took the notes away carefully
+inclosed in an envelope. Two days afterward Leigh Hunt came in a state
+of great agitation to tell me that his wife had burned them. He had
+thrown the envelope, with the bank notes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>inside, carelessly down, and
+his wife had flung it into the fire. Leigh Hunt's agitation while on
+his way to bring this news had not prevented him from purchasing on
+the road a little statuette of Psyche which he carried, without any
+paper round it, in his hand. I told him I thought something might be
+done in the matter; I sent to the bankers and got the numbers of the
+notes, and then in company with Leigh Hunt went off to the Bank of
+England. I explained our business, and we were shown into a room where
+three old gentlemen were sitting at tables. They kept us waiting some
+time, and Leigh Hunt, who had meantime been staring all round the
+room, at last got up, walked up to one of the staid officials, and
+addressing him said in wondering tones: 'And this is the Bank of
+England! And do you sit here all day, and never see the green woods
+and the trees and flowers and the charming country?' Then in tones of
+remonstrance he demanded, 'Are you contented with such a life?' All
+this time he was holding the little naked Psyche in one hand, and with
+his long hair and flashing eyes made a surprising figure. I fancy I
+can still see the astonished faces of the three officials; they would
+have made a most delightful picture. I said, 'Come away, Mr. Hunt,
+these gentlemen are very busy.' I succeeded in carrying Leigh Hunt
+off, and, after entering into certain formalities, we were told that
+the value of the notes would be paid in twelve months. I gave Leigh
+Hunt the money at once, and he went away rejoicing."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>DE QUINCEY RUNS AWAY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>My father died when I was about seven years old, says the author of
+the <i>Confessions of an Opium-Eater</i>, and left me to the care of four
+guardians. I was sent to various schools, great and small, and was
+very early distinguished for my classical attainments, especially for
+my knowledge of Greek. At thirteen I wrote Greek with ease, and at
+fifteen my command of that language was so great, that I not only
+composed Greek verses in lyric meters, but would converse in Greek
+fluently, and without embarrassment&mdash;an accomplishment which I have
+not since met with in any scholar of my times, and which, in my case,
+was owing to the practice of daily reading off the newspapers into the
+best Greek I could furnish <i>extempore</i>; for the necessity of
+ransacking my memory and invention for all sorts and combinations of
+periphrastic expressions, as equivalents for modern ideas, images,
+relations of things, etc., gave me a compass of diction which would
+never have been called out by a dull translation of moral essays, etc.
+"That boy," said one of my masters, pointing the attention of a
+stranger to me, "that boy could harangue an Athenian mob better than
+you or I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>could address an English one." He who honored me with this
+eulogy was a scholar, "and a ripe and good one," and of all my tutors,
+was the only one whom I loved or reverenced. Unfortunately for me
+(and, as I afterwards learned, to this worthy man's great
+indignation), I was transferred to the care, first of a blockhead, who
+was in a perpetual panic lest I should expose his ignorance; and,
+finally, to that of a respectable scholar, at the head of a great
+school on an ancient foundation. This man had been appointed to his
+situation by &mdash;&mdash; College, Oxford, and was a sound, well-built
+scholar, but (like most men whom I have known from that college)
+coarse, clumsy, and inelegant. A miserable contrast he presented, in
+my eyes, to the Etonian brilliancy of my favorite master; and,
+besides, he could not disguise from my hourly notice the poverty and
+meagerness of his understanding. It is a bad thing for a boy to be,
+and know himself, far beyond his tutors, whether in knowledge or power
+of mind. This was the case, so far as regarded knowledge at least, not
+with myself only, for the two boys who jointly with myself composed
+the first form were better Grecians than the head-master, though not
+more elegant scholars.... I who had a small patrimonial property, the
+income of which was sufficient to support me at college, wished to be
+sent thither immediately. I made earnest representations on the
+subject to my guardians, but all to no purpose. One, who was more
+reasonable, and had more knowledge of the world than the rest, lived
+at a distance; two of the other three resigned all their authority
+into the hands <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>of the fourth, and this fourth, with whom I had to
+negotiate, was a worthy man, in his way, but haughty, obstinate, and
+intolerant of all opposition to his will. After a certain number of
+letters and personal interviews, I found that I had nothing to hope
+for, not even a compromise of the matter, from my guardian:
+unconditional submission was what he demanded, and I prepared myself,
+therefore, for other measures. Summer was now coming on with hasty
+steps, and my seventeenth birthday was fast approaching, after which
+day I had sworn within myself that I would no longer be numbered among
+schoolboys. Money being what I chiefly wanted, I wrote to a woman of
+high rank, who, though young herself, had known me from a child, and
+had latterly treated me with great distinction, requesting that she
+would "lend" me five guineas. For upward of a week no answer came, and
+I was beginning to despond, when at length a servant put into my hands
+a double letter, with a coronet on the seal. The letter was kind and
+obliging; the fair writer was on the sea-coast, and in that way the
+delay had arisen; she inclosed double of what I had asked, and
+good-naturedly hinted that if I should <i>never</i> repay her, it would not
+absolutely ruin her. Now, then, I was prepared for my scheme: ten
+guineas, added to about two that I had remaining from my pocket-money,
+seemed to me sufficient for an indefinite length of time, and at that
+happy age, if no <i>definite</i> boundary can be assigned to one's power,
+the spirit of hope and pleasure makes it virtually infinite.</p>
+
+<p>It is a just remark of Dr. Johnson's (and, what cannot often be said
+of his remarks, it is a very <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>feeling one) that we never do anything
+consciously for the last time (of things, that is, which we have long
+been in the habit of doing) without sadness of heart. This truth I
+felt deeply when I came to leave &mdash;&mdash;, a place which I did not love,
+and where I had not been happy. On the evening before I left &mdash;&mdash;
+ forever, I grieved when the ancient and lofty schoolroom resounded
+with the evening service, performed for the last time in my hearing;
+and at night, when the muster-roll of names was called over, and mine
+(as usual) was called first, I stepped forward, and passing the
+head-master, who was standing by, I bowed to him, and looked earnestly
+in his face, thinking to myself, "He is old and infirm, and in this
+world I shall not see him again." I was right; I never <i>did</i> see him
+again, nor never shall. He looked at me complacently, smiled
+good-naturedly, returned my salutation (or rather my valediction), and
+we parted (though he knew it not) forever. I could not reverence him
+intellectually, but he had been uniformly kind to me, and had allowed
+me many indulgences, and I grieved at the thought of the mortification
+I should inflict upon him.</p>
+
+<p>The morning came which was to launch me into the world, and from which
+my whole succeeding life has, in many important points, taken its
+coloring. I lodged in the head-master's house, and had been allowed,
+from my first entrance, the indulgence of a private room, which I used
+both as a sleeping-room and as a study. At half after three I rose,
+and gazed with deep emotion at the ancient towers of &mdash;&mdash;, "drest in
+earliest light," and beginning to crimson with the radiant luster of a
+cloudless July morning. I was firm and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>immovable in my purpose, but
+yet agitated by anticipation of uncertain danger and troubles; and if
+I could have foreseen the hurricane, and perfect hail-storm of
+affliction, which soon fell upon me, well might I have been agitated.
+To this agitation the deep peace of the morning presented an affecting
+contrast, and in some degree a medicine. The silence was more profound
+than that of midnight, and to me the silence of a summer morning is
+more touching than all other silence, because, the light being broad
+and strong as that of noonday at other seasons of the year, it seems
+to differ from perfect day chiefly because man is not yet abroad, and
+thus, the peace of nature, and of the innocent creatures of God, seem
+to be secure and deep, only so long as the presence of man, and his
+restless and unquiet spirit, are not there to trouble its sanctity.</p>
+
+<p>I dressed myself, took my hat and gloves, and lingered a little in the
+room. For the last year and a half this room had been my "pensive
+citadel:" here I had read and studied through all the hours of the
+night, and, though true it was that, for the latter part of this time,
+I, who was framed for love and gentle affections, had lost my gayety
+and happiness, during the strife and fever of contention with my
+guardian, yet, on the other hand, as a boy so passionately fond of
+books, and dedicated to intellectual pursuits, I could not fail to
+have enjoyed many happy hours in the midst of general dejection. I
+wept as I looked round on the chair, hearth, writing-table, and other
+familiar objects, knowing too certainly that I looked upon them for
+the last time. While I write this, it is eighteen years <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>ago, and yet,
+at this moment, I see distinctly, as if it were yesterday, the
+lineaments and expressions of the object on which I fixed my parting
+gaze: it was a picture of the lovely &mdash;&mdash;, which hung over the
+mantelpiece, the eyes and mouth of which were so beautiful, and the
+whole countenance so radiant with benignity and divine tranquillity,
+that I had a thousand times laid down my pen, or my book, to gather
+consolation from it, as a devotee from his patron saint. While I was
+yet gazing upon it, the deep tones of &mdash;&mdash; clock proclaimed that it
+was four o'clock. I went up to the picture, kissed it, and then gently
+walked out and closed the door forever!</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>MACAULAY'S CHILDHOOD</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Macaulay is one of the brilliant lights of the first half of the last
+century. Trevelyan's <i>Life and Letters</i> of Macaulay gives us an
+interesting glimpse of his childhood. When his parents moved from the
+heart of London into a less crowded district, Macaulay, baby though he
+was, kept the early impressions of the place.</p>
+
+<p>"He remembered," says his biographer, "standing up at the nursery
+window by his father's side, looking at a cloud of black smoke pouring
+out of a tall chimney. He asked if that was hell: an inquiry that was
+received with great displeasure which at the time he could not
+understand. The kindly father must have been pained almost against his
+own will at finding what feature of his stern creed it was that had
+embodied itself in so very material a shape before his little son's
+imagination. When in after days, Mrs. Macaulay was questioned as to
+how soon she began to detect in the child a promise of the future, she
+used to say that his sensibilities and affections were remarkably
+developed at an age which to her hearers appeared next to incredible.
+He would cry for joy on seeing her after a few <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>hours' absence, and
+(till her husband put a stop to it) her power of exciting his feelings
+was often made an exhibition to her friends. She did not regard this
+precocity as a proof of cleverness, but, like a foolish young mother,
+only thought that so tender a nature was marked for early death.</p>
+
+<p>"The new residence was in the High Street of Clapham, a more
+commodious part of London than that which they had just left. "It was
+a roomy, comfortable dwelling, with a very small garden behind, and in
+front a very small one indeed, which has entirely disappeared beneath
+a large shop thrown out toward the roadway by the present occupier,
+who bears the name of Heywood. Here the boy passed a quiet and most
+happy childhood. From the time that he was three years old he read
+incessantly, for the most part lying on the rug before the fire, with
+his book on the floor, and a piece of bread and butter in his hand. A
+very clever woman who then lived in the house as parlor-maid told how
+he used to sit in his nankeen frock, perched on the table by her as
+she was cleaning the plate, and expounding to her out of a volume as
+big as himself. He did not care for toys, but was very fond of taking
+his walk, when he would hold forth to his companion, whether nurse or
+mother, telling interminable stories, out of his own head, or
+repeating what he had been reading in language far above his years.
+His memory retained without effort the phraseology of the book which
+he had been last engaged on, and he talked, as the maid said, 'quite
+printed words,' which produced an effect that appeared formal, and
+often, no doubt, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>exceedingly droll. Mrs. Hannah More was fond of
+relating how she called at Mr. Macaulay's, and was met by a fair,
+pretty, slight child, with abundance of light hair, about four years
+of age, who came to the front door to receive her, and tell her that
+his parents were out, but that if she would be good enough to come in
+he would bring her a glass of old spirits, a proposition which greatly
+startled the old lady, who had never aspired beyond cowslip-wine. When
+questioned as to what he knew about old spirits he could only say that
+Robinson Crusoe often had some. About this period his father took him
+on a visit to Lady Waldegrave at Strawberry Hill, and was much pleased
+to exhibit to his old friend the fair, bright boy, dressed in a green
+coat with red collar and cuffs, a frill at the throat, and white
+trousers. After some time had been spent among the wonders of the
+Orford Collection, of which he ever after carried a catalogue in his
+head, a servant who was waiting on the company in the great gallery
+spilled some hot coffee over his legs. The hostess was all kindness
+and compassion, and when, after a while, she asked him how he was
+feeling, the little fellow looked up in her face, and replied, 'Thank
+you, madam, the agony is abated.'</p>
+
+<p>"But it must not be supposed his quaint manners proceeded from
+affectation or conceit, for all testimony declares that a more simple
+and natural child never lived, or a more lively and merry one. He had
+at his command the resources of the Common; to this day the most
+unchanged spot within ten miles of St. Paul's, and which to all
+appearance will ere long hold that pleasant pre-eminence <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>within ten
+leagues. That delightful wilderness of gorse bushes, and poplar groves
+and gravel pits, and ponds great and small, was to little Tom Macaulay
+a region of inexhaustible romance and mystery. He explored its
+recesses; he composed, and almost believed, its legends; he invented
+for its different features a nomenclature which has been faithfully
+preserved by two generations of children. A slight ridge intersected
+by deep ditches toward the west of the Common, the very existence of
+which no one above eight years old would notice, was dignified with
+the title of the Alps; while the elevated island, covered with shrubs,
+that gives a name to the Mount pond, was regarded with infinite awe,
+as being the nearest approach within the circuit of his observation to
+a conception of the majesty of Sinai. Indeed, at this period his
+infant fancy was much exercised with the threats and terrors of the
+Law. He had a little plot of ground at the back of the house, marked
+out as his own by a row of oyster shells, which a maid one day threw
+away as rubbish. He went straight to the drawing-room, where his
+mother was entertaining some visitors, walked into the circle and
+said, very solemnly, 'Cursed be Sally; for it is written, cursed be he
+that removeth his neighbor's landmark.'</p>
+
+<p>"When still the merest child, he was sent as a day-scholar to Mr.
+Greaves, a shrewd Yorkshireman with a turn for science, who had been
+brought originally to the neighborhood in order to educate a number of
+African youths sent over to imbibe Western civilization at the
+fountain-head. The poor fellows had found as much difficulty in
+keeping alive at Clapham as Englishmen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>experience at Sierra Leone;
+and, in the end, their tutor set up a school for boys of his own
+color, and one time had charge of almost the entire rising generation
+of the Common. Mrs. Macaulay explained to Tom that he must learn to
+study without the solace of bread-and-butter, to which he replied,
+'Yes, Mama, industry shall be my bread and attention my butter.' But,
+as a matter of fact, no one ever crept more unwillingly to school.
+Each several afternoon he made piteous entreaties to be excused
+returning after dinner, and was met by the unvarying formula, 'No,
+Tom, if it rains cats and dogs, you shall go.'</p>
+
+<p>"His reluctance to leave home had more than one side to it. Not only
+did his heart stay behind, but the regular lessons of the class took
+him away from occupations which in his eyes were infinitely more
+delightful and important; for these were probably the years of his
+greatest literary activity. As an author he never again had more
+facility, or anything like so wide a range. In September, 1808, his
+mother writes: 'My dear Tom continues to show marks of uncommon
+genius. He gets on wonderfully in all branches of his education, and
+the extent of his reading, and of the knowledge he derived from it,
+are truly astonishing in a boy not yet eight years old. He is at the
+same time as playful as a kitten. To give you some idea of the
+activity of his mind I will mention a few circumstances that may
+interest you and Colin. You will believe that to him we never appear
+to regard anything he does as anything more than a schoolboy's
+amusement. He took it into his head to write a compendium of universal
+history about a year ago, and he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>really contrived to give a tolerably
+connected view of the leading events from the creation to the present
+time, filling about a quire of paper. He told me one day that he had
+been writing a paper which Henry Daly was to translate into Malabar,
+to persuade the people of Travancore to embrace the Christian
+religion. On reading it, I found it to contain a very clear idea of
+the leading facts and doctrines of that religion, with some strong
+arguments for its adoption. He was so fired with reading Scott's <i>Lay</i>
+and <i>Marmion</i>, the former of which he got entirely, and the latter
+almost entirely, by heart, merely from his delight in reading them,
+that he determined on writing himself a poem in six cantos which he
+called <i>The Battle of Cheviot</i>.'"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>MACAULAY BECOMES FAMOUS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In 1848 Macaulay was a famous man. He had served in India and had
+written the first part of his <i>History of England</i>. In this year after
+a lapse of nine years he again keeps a diary. From this diary we quote
+extracts showing how he became famous.</p>
+
+<p>"Dec. 4th, 1848.&mdash;I have felt to-day somewhat anxious about the fate
+of my book. The sale has surpassed expectation: but that proves only
+that people have formed a high idea of what they are to have. The
+disappointment, if there is disappointment, will be great. All that I
+hear is laudatory. But who can trust to praise that is poured into his
+own ear? At all events, I have aimed high; I have tried to do
+something that may be remembered; I have had the year 2000, or even
+3000, often in my mind; I have sacrificed nothing to temporary
+fashions of thought and style; and if I fail, my failure will be more
+honorable than nine-tenths of the successes that I have witnessed."</p>
+
+<p>"Dec. 12th, 1848.&mdash;Longman called. A new edition of three thousand
+copies is preparing as fast as they can work. I have reason to be
+pleased. Of the <i>Lay of the Last Minstrel</i> two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>thousand two hundred
+and fifty copies were sold in the first year; of <i>Marmion</i> two
+thousand copies in the first month; of my book three thousand copies
+in ten days. Black says that there has been no such sale since the
+days of <i>Waverley</i>. The success is in every way complete beyond all
+hope and is the more agreeable to me because expectation had been
+wound up so high that disappointment was almost inevitable. I think,
+though with some misgivings, that the book will live."</p>
+
+<p>"January 11th, 1849.&mdash;I am glad to find how well my book continues to
+sell. The second edition of three thousand was out of print almost as
+soon as it appeared, and one thousand two hundred and fifty of the
+third edition are already bespoken. I hope all this will not make me a
+coxcomb. I feel no intoxicating effect; but a man may be drunk without
+knowing it. If my abilities do not fail me, I shall be a rich man, as
+rich, that is to say, as I wish to be. But that I am already, if it
+were not for my dear ones. I am content, and should have been so with
+less. On the whole, I remember no success so complete, and I remember
+all Byron's poems and all Scott's novels."</p>
+
+<p>"Saturday, January 27th.&mdash;Longman has written to say that only sixteen
+hundred copies are left of the third edition of five thousand, and
+that two thousand more copies must be immediately printed, still to be
+called the third edition.... Of such a run I had never dreamed. But I
+had thought that the book would have a permanent place in our
+literature, and I see no reason to alter that opinion."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>"February 2d.&mdash;Mahon sent me a letter from Arbuthnot, saying that the
+Duke of Wellington was enthusiastic in admiration of my book. Though I
+am almost callous to praise now, this praise made me happy for two
+minutes. A fine old fellow!"</p>
+
+<p>The above selections are from Macaulay's diary, as was said. Now come
+several from letters to a Mr. Ellis, to whom Macaulay sent many.</p>
+
+<div class="block">
+<p class="right">"March 8th, 1849.</p>
+
+<p>"At last I have attained true glory. As I walked through Fleet
+Street the day before yesterday, I saw a copy of Hume at a
+book-seller's window with the following label: 'Only &pound;2 2s.
+Hume's <i>History of England</i>, in eight volumes, highly valuable
+as an introduction to Macaulay.' I laughed so convulsively
+that the other people who were staring at the books took me
+for a poor demented gentleman. Alas for poor David! As for me,
+only one height of renown remains to be attained. I am not yet
+in Madam Tussaud's wax-works. I live, however, in hope of
+seeing one day an advertisement of a new group of figures&mdash;Mr.
+Macaulay, in one of his own coats, conversing with Mr. Silk
+Buckingham in Oriental costume, and Mr. Robert Montgomery in
+full canonicals."</p>
+
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">"March 9th, 1850.</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen the hippopotamus, both asleep and awake, and I
+can assure you that, awake or asleep, he is the ugliest of the
+works of God. But you must hear of my triumphs. Thackeray
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>swears that he was eye-witness and ear-witness of the proudest
+event of my life. Two damsels were about to pass that doorway
+which we, on Monday, in vain attempted to enter, when I was
+pointed out to them. 'Mr. Macaulay,' cried the lovely pair.
+'Is that Mr. Macaulay? Never mind the hippopotamus.' And
+having paid a shilling to see Behemoth, they left him in the
+very moment at which he was about to display himself to them
+in order to see&mdash;but spare my modesty. I can wish for nothing
+more on earth, now that Madam Tussaud, in whose Parthenon I
+once hoped for a place, is dead."</p></div>
+
+<p>In his diary of June 30th, 1849, we find: "Today my yearly account
+with Longman is wound up. I may now say that my book has run the
+gauntlet of criticism pretty thoroughly. The most savage and dishonest
+assailant has not been able to deny me merit as a writer. All critics
+who have the least pretense to impartiality have given me praise which
+I may be glad to think that I at all deserve.... I received a note
+from Prince Albert. He wants to see me at Buckingham Palace at three
+to-morrow. I answered like a courtier; yet what am I to say to him?
+For, of course, he wants to consult me about the Cambridge
+professorship. How can I be just at once to Stephen and to Kemble?"</p>
+
+<p>"Saturday, July 1st&mdash;To the Palace. The Prince, to my extreme
+astonishment, offered me the professorship, and very earnestly and
+with many flattering expressions, pressed me to accept it. I was
+resolute, and gratefully and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>respectfully declined. I should have
+declined, indeed, if only in order to give no ground to anybody to
+accuse me of foul play, for I have had difficulty enough in steering
+my course so as to deal properly both by Stephen and Kemble, and if I
+had marched off with the prize, I could not have been astonished if
+both had entertained a very unjust suspicion of me. But, in truth, my
+temper is that of the wolf in the fable, I cannot bear the collar, and
+I have got rid of much finer and richer collars than this. It would be
+strange if, having sacrificed for liberty, a seat in the Cabinet and
+twenty-five hundred pounds a year, I should now sacrifice liberty for
+a chair at Cambridge and four hundred pounds a year. Besides, I never
+could do two things at once. If I lectured well, my <i>History</i> must be
+given up, and to give up my <i>History</i> would be to give up much more
+than the emoluments of the professorship&mdash;if emolument were my chief
+object, which it is not now, nor ever was. The prince, when he found
+me determined, asked me about the other candidates."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>DICKENS WRITES THE PICKWICK PAPERS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>We are always interested in the beginnings of a successful career, for
+humanity with all its selfishness takes a generous pleasure in the
+advancement of those who have made an honest fight for fame or wealth.
+The first success of Dickens came with the publication of the
+<i>Pickwick Papers</i>, by the publication of which the publishers, it is
+said, made $100,000,&mdash;much to their astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>We all know the early career of the famous novelist: How he passed a
+boyhood of poverty; how he became a stenographer, a good one, for said
+a Mr. Beard, "There never was such a shorthand writer," at the time
+Dickens entered the gallery as a Parliament reporter; how he later
+became a reporter for the <i>Morning Chronicle</i>. In the December number
+of the <i>Old Monthly Magazine</i> his first published story saw the light.
+This was in 1833, when Dickens was twenty-one. The story first went
+under the name of <i>A Dinner at Poplar Walk</i>, but it afterwards was
+changed to <i>Mr. Mims and his Cousin</i>. Then came <i>Sketches by Boz</i> in
+1835, and in 1836 <i>Pickwick</i> appeared in serial form, the book coming
+out a year later.</p>
+
+<p>An amusing and striking illustration of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>widespread interest in
+the story of <i>Pickwick</i>, if we may call so rambling an account as
+<i>Pickwick</i> a story, is related by Carlyle: "An archdeacon with his own
+venerable lips repeated to me the other night a strange profane story:
+of a solemn clergyman who had been administering ghostly consolation
+to a sick person; having finished, satisfactorily as he thought, and
+got out of the room, he heard the sick person ejaculate, 'Well, thank
+God, <i>Pickwick</i> will be out in ten days any way!'&mdash;this is dreadful."</p>
+
+<p>We are always interested in knowing whether the author received
+adequate remuneration for his work. Literature is not a commercial
+venture. The man who says, "Go to, now I shall make money by my pen!"
+is not the one who achieves a masterpiece. Nevertheless we are glad to
+know that genius is rewarded. It is more comforting to learn that Pope
+received $45,000 for his translations of Homer than that Milton got
+$25 for his <i>Paradise Lost</i>; that Scott received over $40,000 for
+<i>Woodstock</i>, a novel written in three months, than that the author of
+the <i>Canterbury Tales</i> two years before his death was obliged to
+petition the king, "for God's sake and as a work of charity," for the
+grant of a hogshead of wine yearly at the port of London.</p>
+
+<p>Did Dickens receive anything for his <i>Pickwick</i>? Mr. Chapman, one of
+the publishers, told Mr. Forster, the friend and biographer of
+Dickens, that there was but a verbal agreement. The publishers were to
+pay 15 guineas for each number and as there were twenty numbers it is
+not hard to estimate his receipts on such a basis. The publishers,
+however, were to add to this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>compensation according to the sale. Mr.
+Chapman thinks that his firm paid about 3,000 pounds for <i>Pickwick</i>,
+but Mr. Forster thinks the sum was about 2,500 pounds. While this sum
+bears but a small proportion to what Dickens would have received had
+he made a good bargain with his publishers, it is yet a large sum to
+one beginning his literary career, and must have been deeply
+appreciated by Dickens, who had been so poor that he was paid 30
+pounds in advance for the first two numbers, so that he might "go and
+get married."</p>
+
+<p><i>Pickwick</i> was soon followed by <i>Oliver Twist</i>, and then came
+<i>Nicholas Nickleby</i>, and the long series of successful novels that
+brought the author both fame and money. For when Dickens died he had a
+fortune of &pound;93,000. Some of this was made in America, where his
+"readings" were attended by great crowds. On his second tour to
+America, after he had given thirty-seven readings, about one-half the
+entire number, he sent home a check for &pound;10,000. Some evenings he took
+in $2,000.</p>
+
+<p>One reason why Dickens is a popular novelist is that he understands
+the common emotions of humanity. He may be "stagey," be lacking in
+plot, given to exaggeration, indulge in cheap pathos, but in spite of
+all these defects his abounding vitality, his sympathy with the common
+lot, his imagination, are of such transcendent power that his world of
+readers adores the name of Dickens. Dickens was a good man. While not
+closely following the forms of religion, his life was better than that
+of many who follow the letter but break the spirit. As an illustration
+of his Christian belief I quote an extract from his letter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>to his
+youngest son, who was about to go to Australia:</p>
+
+<div class="block">
+<p class="right">September, 1868.</p>
+
+<p>Never take a mean advantage of any one in any transaction, and
+never be hard upon people who are in your power. Try to do to
+others as you would have them do to you, and do not be
+discouraged if they fail sometimes. It is much better for you
+that they should fail in obeying the greatest rule laid down
+by our Saviour than that you should. I put a New Testament
+among your books for the very same reasons, and with the very
+same hopes, that made me write an easy account of it for you,
+when you were a little child. Because it is the best book that
+ever was, or will be, known in the world; and because it
+teaches you the best lessons by which any human creature, who
+tries to be truthful and faithful to duty, can possibly be
+guided.... You will remember that you have never at home been
+harassed about religious observances, or mere formalities&mdash;I
+have always been anxious not to weary my children with such
+things, before they are old enough to have opinions respecting
+them. You will therefore understand the better that I now most
+solemnly impress upon you the truth and beauty of the
+Christian Religion, as it came from Christ Himself, and the
+impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but
+heartily respect it.... Never abandon the wholesome practice
+of saying your own private prayers, night and morning. I have
+never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it.</p></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep122" id="imagep122"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep122.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep122.jpg" width="50%" alt="Charles Dickens" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">CHARLES DICKENS<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>CHARLES DICKENS AS READER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>My first sight of Dickens, writes Herman Merivale in a gossipy article
+in an English magazine, was characteristic enough. I was in the second
+or third row of seats with some friends, at one of his readings of
+<i>Oliver Twist</i>. As Thackeray was a gossip on the platform, so Dickens
+was an actor. Like all speakers and actors, he longed for sympathy
+somewhere; an unanswering audience kills us, on whichever side the
+fault may lie. In the days of my political measles I have harangued a
+London audience for an hour and twenty minutes when I have meant to
+speak for a quarter of an hour; and in an out-of-the-way Hampshire
+district, where I had gone on purpose to address the rurals for a set
+hour, I have sate down, covered with confusion, in ten minutes, not
+being able to hit on anything that interested them at all. I saw too
+plainly, in all their good-natured faces, that they regarded me as the
+greatest ass they had ever seen, or as an odd kind of cow gone wrong,
+and of no use to the three acres. Dickens's audience that night was
+dull, and he became so, too. I was disappointed. His characters were
+not lifelike, and his acting was not good, and got <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>worse as he went
+on. It was the inevitable law of reaction. His audience bored him, and
+he began to bore me, amongst the rest. He was not "in touch" with us,
+that is all; and his eyes wandered as hopelessly in search of some
+sympathetic eye to catch them, as the gladiators of old, for mercy in
+the circus. Then suddenly, at one point of his reading, he had to
+introduce the passing character of a nameless individual in a London
+crowd, a choleric old gentleman who has only one short sentence to
+fire off. This he gave so spontaneously, so inimitably, that the
+puppet became an absolute reality in a second. I saw him, crowd,
+street, man, temper, and all. For I am, I may say, what is called a
+very good audience. I like what I like, and I hate what I hate; and on
+one occasion growled at the theater so audibly at what I thought some
+very bad acting that I began to hear ominous cries of "Turn him out!"
+It was the first night of one of my own plays, Dickens's electric
+flash bowled me over so completely and instantly that I broke into a
+peal of laughter, and as we sometimes do when hard hit, kept on
+laughing internally, which is half tears, and half hiccough, for some
+time afterwards. Upon my word, I am laughing now, as I recall it. It
+was so funny. The audience of course glared at me with the well-known
+look of rebuke. "How <i>dare</i> you express your feelings out loud, and
+disturb us!"</p>
+
+<p>But Dickens's eye&mdash;I wasn't much more than a boy, and he didn't know
+me from Adam&mdash;went at once straight for mine. "Here's somebody who
+likes me, anyhow," it said. For the next few minutes he read at me, if
+ever man did. The sympathetic unit is everything to us. And on my
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>word the result was that he so warmed to his work that he got the
+whole audience in his hand, and dispensed with me. Only once
+again&mdash;oh, how like him it was!&mdash;he fixed me with his eye just towards
+the end of the reading, and made a short but perceptible pause. I
+wondered what was coming&mdash;and soon knew. The choleric old party in the
+street had to appear for one passing instant more, and fire off one
+more passing sentence. Which he did&mdash;with the same results. Good
+heavens! what an actor Dickens was.</p>
+
+<p>When that reading ended&mdash;with the success which it deserved&mdash;never did
+that most expressive of all human features, the eye, thank a boy more
+expressively. Over all things cultivate sympathy. If antipathy goes
+with it, so much the better. If the magnet must attract, it likewise
+must repel. Dickens was a magnet of the magnets; but in his case I
+must confess, that when a modern specimen tells me he can't laugh at
+him, he makes me feel rather as Heine felt when somebody told him that
+he&mdash;the somebody&mdash;was an atheist; frightened.</p>
+
+<p>... Dickens is perhaps best described as to my immense amusement, and
+by the most delicious misprint I ever saw, I found myself once
+described in the "Visitors' List" in an English paper abroad&mdash;"Human
+Marvel, and family." It looked like some new kind of acrobat. Of
+Charles Dickens's great kindnesses to me in after days, and of some
+personal experiences of his stage passion, at the end of his life, I
+ventured to gossip with readers of the <i>Bar</i>, some months ago, in a
+paper called "With the Majority." In one sense, yes; but in
+another&mdash;in what a minority, Thackeray and he!</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>ON THE DEATH OF DICKENS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>When Charles Dickens died the English papers and magazines were filled
+with criticisms and appreciations of the great writer. It may be
+interesting to glance at a few extracts from these:</p>
+
+<p>From <i>Fraser's Magazine</i>.&mdash;On the eighth of June, 1870, the busiest
+brain and the busiest hand that ever guided pen over paper finished
+their appointed work, and that pen was laid aside forever. Words of
+its inditing were sure of immediately reaching and being welcomed by a
+larger number of men and women than those of any other living
+writer&mdash;perhaps of any writer who has ever lived.</p>
+
+<p>About six o'clock on that summer evening, having done his day's work
+with habitual assiduity, Charles Dickens sat down to dinner with some
+members of his family. He had complained of headache, but neither he
+nor any one felt the least apprehension. The pain increased, the head
+drooped forward, and he never spoke again. Breathing went on for
+four-and-twenty hours, and then there was nothing left but ... dismay
+and sorrow. When the sad news was made public it fell with the shock
+of a personal loss on the hearts <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>of countless millions, to whom the
+name of the famous author was like that of an intimate and dear
+friend....</p>
+
+<p>Anthony Trollope in <i>St. Paul's</i>.&mdash;It seems to have been but the other
+day that, sitting where I now sit, in the same chair, at the same
+table, with the same familiar things around me, I wrote for the
+<i>Cornhill Magazine</i> a few lines in remembrance of Thackeray, who had
+then been taken from us, and when those lines appeared they were
+preceded by others, very full of feeling, from his much older friend,
+Charles Dickens. Now I take up my pen again because Charles Dickens
+has also gone, and because it is not fit that this publication should
+go forth without a word spoken to his honor.</p>
+
+<p>It is singular that two men in age so nearly equal, in career so
+nearly allied, friends so old, and rivals so close, should each have
+left us so suddenly, without any of that notice, first doubting and
+then assured, which illness gives; so that in the case of the one as
+of the other, the tidings of death's dealings have struck us a hard
+and startling blow, inflicting not only sorrow, but for a while that
+positive, physical pain which comes from evil tidings which are
+totally unexpected. It was but a week or two since that I was
+discussing at the club that vexed question of American copyright with
+Mr. Dickens, and while differing from him somewhat, was wondering at
+the youthful vitality of the man who seemed to have done his forty
+years of work without having a trace of it left upon him to lessen his
+energy, or rob his feelings of their freshness. It was but the other
+day that he spoke at the Academy dinner, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>and those who heard him then
+heard him at his best; and those who did not hear him, but only read
+his words, felt how fortunate it was that there should be such a man
+to speak for literature on such an occasion. When he took farewell of
+the public as a public reader, a few months since, the public wondered
+that a man in the very prime of his capacity should retire from such a
+career. But though there was to be an end to his readings, there was
+not, therefore, to be an end of his labors. He was to resume, and did
+resume, his old work, and when the first number of <i>Edwin Drood's
+Mystery</i> was bought up with unprecedented avidity by the lovers of
+Dickens's stories, it was feared, probably, by none but one that he
+might not live to finish his chronicle. He was a man, as we all
+thought, to live to be a hundred. He looked to be full of health, he
+walked vigorously, he stood, and spoke, and, above all, he laughed
+like a man in the full vigor of his life....</p>
+
+<p>He would attempt nothing&mdash;show no interest in anything&mdash;which he could
+not do, and which he did not understand. But he was not on that
+account forced to confine himself to literature. Every one knows how
+he read. Most readers of these lines, though they may never have seen
+him act,&mdash;as I never did,&mdash;still know that his acting was excellent.
+As an actor he would have been at the top of his profession. And he
+had another gift,&mdash;had it so wonderfully, that it may almost be said
+that he has left no equal behind him. He spoke so well, that a public
+dinner became a blessing instead of a curse, if he was in the
+chair,&mdash;had its compensating twenty minutes of pleasure, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>even if he
+were called upon to propose a toast, or to thank the company for
+drinking his health. For myself, I never could tell how far his
+speeches were ordinarily prepared:&mdash;but I can declare that I have
+heard him speak admirably when he has had to do so with no moment of
+preparation.</p>
+
+<p>A great man has gone from us&mdash;such a one that we may surely say of him
+that we shall not look upon his like again. As years roll on, we shall
+learn to appreciate his loss. He now rests in the spot consecrated to
+the memory of our greatest and noblest; and Englishmen would certainly
+not have been contented had he been laid elsewhere.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>RUSKIN'S CHILDHOOD</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>We are fortunate in having Ruskin's own account of how he passed his
+childhood days. In <i>Pr&aelig;terita</i> we have his autobiography. His
+description of his early days runs as follows:</p>
+
+<p>"I am and my father was before me a violent Tory of the old school
+(Walter Scott's school, that is to say, and Homer's); I name these two
+out of the numberless great Tory writers, because they were my own two
+masters. I had Walter Scott's novels and the <i>Iliad</i> (Pope's
+translation), for my only reading when I was a child, on weekdays; on
+Sunday their effect was tempered by <i>Robinson Crusoe</i> and the
+<i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>, my mother having it deeply in her heart to make
+an evangelical clergyman of me. Fortunately, I had an aunt more
+evangelical than her mother, and my aunt gave me cold mutton for
+Sunday's dinner, which, as I much preferred it hot, greatly diminished
+the influence of the <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>, and the end of the matter
+was, that I got all of the imaginative teachings of De Foe and Bunyan,
+and yet&mdash;am not an evangelical clergyman.</p>
+
+<p>"I had, however, still better teaching than theirs, and that
+compulsorily, and every day of the week.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>"Walter Scott and Pope's Homer were reading of my own election, but my
+mother forced me, by steady daily toil, to learn long chapters of the
+Bible by heart, as well as to read it every syllable through, aloud,
+hard names and all, from Genesis, to the Apocalypse, about once a
+year: and to that discipline&mdash;patient, accurate, and resolute&mdash;I owe,
+not only a knowledge of the book, which I find occasionally
+serviceable, but much of my general power of taking pains, and the
+best part of my taste in literature. From Walter Scott's novels I
+might easily, as I grew older, have fallen to other people's novels;
+and Pope might, perhaps, have led me to take Johnson's English, or
+Gibbon's, as types of language; but once knowing the 32d of
+Deuteronomy, or the 119th Psalm, the 15th of 1st Corinthians, the
+Sermon on the Mount, and most of the Apocalypse, every syllable by
+heart, and having always a way of thinking with; myself what words
+meant, it was not possible for me, even in the foolishest times of
+youth, to write entirely superficial or formal English, and the
+affectation of trying to write like Hooker or George Herbert was the
+most innocent I could have fallen into."</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>"As years went on, and I came to be four or five years old he (the
+father) could command a post-chaise and pair for two months in the
+summer, by help of which, with my mother and me, he went the round of
+his country customers (who liked to see the principal of the house,
+his own traveler); so that, at a jog-trot pace, and through the
+panoramic opening of the four windows of a post-chaise, made more
+panoramic still to me because <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>my seat was a little bracket in front
+(for we used to hire the chaise regularly for the two months out of
+Long Acre, and so could have it bracketed and pocketed as we liked), I
+saw all the highroads, and most of the cross ones, of England and
+Wales, and great part of lowland Scotland, as far as Perth, where
+every other year we spent the whole summer; and I used to read the
+<i>Abbot</i> at Kinross, and the <i>Monastery</i> at Glen Farg, which I used to
+confuse with 'Glendearg,' and thought that the White Lady had as
+certainly lived by the streamlet in the glen of the Ochlis, as the
+Queen of Scots in the island of Loch Leven.</p>
+
+<p>"To my farther benefit, as I grew older, I thus saw nearly all the
+noblemen's houses in England, in reverent and healthy delight of
+uncovetous admiration,&mdash;perceiving, as soon as I could perceive any
+political truth at all, that it was probably much happier to live in a
+small house, and have Warwick castle to be astonished at, than to live
+in Warwick castle and have nothing to be astonished at; but that, at
+all events, it would not make Brunswick Square in the least more
+pleasantly habitable, to pull Warwick castle down."</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>"Contented, by reason of these occasional glimpses of the rivers of
+Paradise, I lived until I was more than four years old in Hunter
+Street, Brunswick Square, the greater part of the year; for a few
+weeks in the summer breathing country air, by taking lodgings in small
+cottages (real cottages, not villas, so-called) either about
+Hampstead, or at Dulwich, at 'Mrs. Ridley's,' the last of a row in a
+lane which led out into the Dulwich fields on one side, and was itself
+full of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>buttercups in spring, and blackberries in autumn. But my
+chief remaining impressions of those days are attached to Hunter
+Street. My mother's general principles of first treatment were, to
+guard me with steady watchfulness from all avoidable pain or danger,
+and, for the rest, to let me amuse myself as I liked, provided I was
+neither fretful or troublesome. But the law was, that I should find my
+own amusement. No toys of any kind were at first allowed, and the pity
+of my Croydon aunt for my monastic poverty in this respect was
+boundless. On one of my birthdays, thinking to overcome my mother's
+resolution by splendor of temptation, she bought the most radiant
+Punch and Judy she could find in the Soho bazaar, as big as a real
+Punch and Judy, all dressed in scarlet and gold, and that would dance,
+tied to the leg of a chair. I must have been greatly impressed, for I
+remember well the look of the two figures, as my aunt herself
+exhibited their virtues. My mother was obliged to accept them, but
+afterward quietly told me it was not right that I should have them,
+and I never saw them again.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor did I painfully wish, what I was never permitted for an instant
+to hope, or even imagine, the possession of such things as one saw in
+toyshops. I had a bunch of keys to play with, as long as I was capable
+only of pleasure in what glittered and jingled, as I grew older I had
+a cart and a ball, and when I was five or six years old, two boxes of
+well-cut wooden bricks. With these modest, but I still think, entirely
+sufficient possessions, and being always summarily whipped if I cried,
+did not do as I was bid, or tumbled on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>the stairs, I soon attained
+serene and secure methods of life and motion, and could pass my days
+contentedly in tracing the squares and comparing the colors of my
+carpet; examining the knots in the wood of the floor or counting the
+bricks in the opposite houses; with rapturous intervals of excitement
+during the filling of the water-cart, through its leathern pipe, from
+the dripping iron post at the pavement edge; or the still more
+admirable proceedings of the turncock, when he turned and turned till
+a fountain sprang up in the middle of the street. But the carpet, and
+what patterns I could find in bed-covers, dresses, or wall papers to
+be examined, were my chief resources, and my attention to the
+particulars in these was soon so accurate, that when at three and a
+half I was taken to have my portrait painted by Mr. Northcote, I had
+not been ten minutes alone with him before I asked him why there were
+holes in his carpet."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep134" id="imagep134"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep134.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep134.jpg" width="52%" alt="Robert Browning" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">ROBERT BROWNING<br />From the portrait by Field Talfourd<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE MARRIAGE OF THE BROWNINGS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>When Wordsworth heard of the marriage of Robert Browning to Elizabeth
+Barrett, he is reported to have said, "So Robert Browning and Miss
+Barrett have gone off together. I hope they understand each
+other&mdash;nobody else would." When Wordsworth said this he was an old man
+and like most old men unable to appreciate the new. Compared with the
+simplicity of much of Wordsworth's poetry a poem like <i>A Death in the
+Desert</i> might seem unintelligible; but surely the same objection
+cannot be urged against the poetry of Mrs. Browning.</p>
+
+<p>The marriage of Robert Browning to Miss Barrett is the one dramatic
+event in his quiet life. To one who has read his passionate and at
+times fiery, unconventional poetry, the runaway, unconventional
+marriage is not unaccountable, but altogether consistent. The manner
+of it was thus:</p>
+
+<p>In her youth Miss Barrett became an invalid through an injury to her
+spine, an accident occurring while she was fixing the saddle of her
+riding horse. As she grew older she was confined to her room. To move
+from a bed to a sofa seemed a perilous adventure requiring a family
+discussion. Her father was a strange <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>unaccountable man, selfish and
+obstinate, and passionately jealous of the affection of his children.
+In the meantime Miss Barrett had written poetry that attracted the
+attention of a kindred spirit. Robert Browning in 1845 wrote to her
+saying that he had once nearly met her and that his sensations then
+were those of one who had come to the outside of a chapel of marvelous
+illumination and found the door barred against him. A little later he
+suggested that he would like to call on her. This commonplace and
+altogether natural suggestion threw the invalid into a state of
+tremulous disapproval. With robust insistence Robert replied, "If my
+truest heart's wishes avail, you shall laugh at east winds yet as I
+do." Miss Barrett replied, "There is nothing to see in me nor to hear
+in me. I never learned to talk as you do in London, although I can
+admire that brightness of carved speech in Mr. Kenyon and others. If
+my poetry is worth anything to any eye, it is the flower of me. I have
+lived most and been most happy in it, and so it has all my colors. The
+rest of me is nothing but a root fit for the ground and dark." A reply
+such as this would be construed by any gentleman as a challenge. The
+substance of Browning's reply was, "I will call at two on Tuesday."</p>
+
+<p>On May 20, 1845, they met. In September, 1846, Miss Barrett walked
+quietly out of her father's house, was married in a church, and
+afterwards returned to her father's house as though nothing had
+happened. Between the marriage and the elopement Robert Browning did
+not call at the Barrett house on Wimpole Street. One of his
+biographers says that this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>absence was due to an inability of
+Browning to ask the maid at the door for Miss Barrett when there no
+longer was a Miss Barrett whom he wished to see.</p>
+
+<p>In passing judgment upon the elopement of this remarkable couple one
+must remember that they were no longer giddy and rash youth. Browning
+was thirty-four and the romantic Juliet was three years older. Again
+it must be remembered that the objecting father was a most
+unreasonable and selfish man. The climax of his selfishness was
+reached when in opposition to the advice of the physicians Mr. Barrett
+refused to allow his daughter to go to Italy. "In the summer of 1846,"
+writes Mr. Chesterton, "Elizabeth Barrett was still living under the
+great family convention which provided her with nothing but an elegant
+deathbed, forbidden to move, forbidden to see proper daylight,
+forbidden to see a friend lest the shock should destroy her suddenly.
+A year or two later, in Italy, as Mrs. Browning, she was being dragged
+up hill in a wine hamper, toiling up the crests of mountains at four
+o'clock in the morning, riding for five miles on to what she calls 'an
+inaccessible volcanic ground not far from the stars.'"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Mitford, the literary gossip of the period, writes a letter to
+Charles Bonar, in which she gives expression to an opinion concerning
+Browning's poetry which is not dissimilar to the one we quoted from
+Wordsworth. Miss Mitford was an intimate friend of Elizabeth Barrett:</p>
+
+<p>"The great news of the season is the marriage of my beloved friend
+Elizabeth Barrett to Robert Browning. I have seen him once only, many
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>years ago. He is, I hear from all quarters, a man of immense
+attainment and great conversational power. As a poet I think him
+overrated.... Those things on which his reputation rests, <i>Paracelsus</i>
+and <i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>, are to me as so many riddles."</p>
+
+<p>In a later letter she writes to the same correspondent: "I at Miss
+Barrett's wedding! Ah, dearest Mr. Bonar, it was a runaway match.
+Never was I so much astonished. He prevailed on her to meet him at
+church with only the two necessary witnesses. They went to Paris.
+There they stayed a week. Happening to meet with Mrs. Jameson, she
+joined them in their journey to Pisa; and accordingly they traveled by
+diligence, by Rhone boat,&mdash;anyhow,&mdash;to Marseilles, thence took
+shipping to Leghorn, and then settled themselves at Pisa for six
+months. She says she is very happy. God grant it continue! I felt just
+exactly as if I had heard that Dr. Chambers had given her over when I
+got the letter announcing her marriage, and found that she was about
+to cross to France. I never had an idea of her reaching Pisa alive.
+She took her own maid and her (dog) Flush. I saw Mr. Browning once.
+Many of his friends and mine, William Harness, John Kenyon, and Henry
+Chorley, speak very highly of him. I suppose he is an accomplished
+man, and if he makes his angelic wife happy, I shall of course learn
+to like him."</p>
+
+<p>The runaway match proved to be a most happy one. This is in disproof
+of the common thought that a poet is of so sensitive and irritable a
+disposition that no woman should expect a calm life with a poet. But
+in this case we have two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>distinguished poets joining hands. They
+lived in great happiness, nor was this peace and harmony purchased at
+the price of servitude and humility of the one. Each respected the
+other. Their romantic passion was based on a spiritual affinity. The
+love letters of the Brownings may have some degree of obscurity, but
+it should be said that the obscurity is one of expression, not the
+obscurity of misunderstanding in the sense in which some of the
+Carlyle letters are obscure. The list of literary men whose marriages
+have proved unhappy is not so long and distinguished as is commonly
+supposed. Milton, Landor, Coleridge, Shelley, Byron, and Ruskin are
+conspicuous examples of men who made shipwreck of marriage, but in
+contrast shine forth the names of Browning, Tennyson, Wordsworth, and
+Shakspere, for there is no evidence against the belief that
+Shakspere's marriage was a happy one; then add to these the American
+names, Longfellow, Lowell, Emerson, Hawthorne, and Holmes, and the
+list is still incomplete.</p>
+
+<p>In verse Mrs. Browning has most exquisitely expressed the power of
+love to transform the gloom of her sick-room into the wholesome
+sunshine of life,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw in gradual vision through my tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those of my own life, who by turn had flung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So weeping, how a mystic shape did move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Guess now who holds thee?"&mdash;"Death!" I said. But, there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The silver answer rang. "Not Death, but Love."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>ROBERT BROWNING</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Shortly after Browning's death a young man published his recollections
+of the poet in an English magazine. The extracts from that article
+will help one to appreciate the kindliness of the great poet.</p>
+
+<p>"My first meeting with Browning came about in this wise. I was sitting
+in the studio of a famous sculptor, who, kindly forgetful of my
+provincial rawness, was entertaining me with anecdotes of his great
+contemporaries; amongst them, Browning. To name him was to undo the
+flood-gates of my young enthusiasm. Would my sculptor friend help me
+to meet the poet, whose teaching had been my only dogma? 'Oh,' said my
+friend, 'that's easy. Write to him&mdash;he is the most amiable fellow in
+the world&mdash;and tell him about yourself, and tell him how much you want
+to know him. Say, if you like, that you are a friend of mine.' The
+advice seemed simple but useless. I felt that not even the portfolio
+of unpublished poems which the imaginative eye might have beheld
+palpable under my arm could so fortify my modesty. But my friend
+assured me that Browning would not be offended, so, after waiting some
+weeks for my crescent courage, I wrote....</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>"I was taken up to his study and shown in. The first thing that struck
+me was that he had built up a barrier of books around his table,
+perhaps because he feared a too practical enthusiasm. Huge heaps of
+books lay on the floor, the chairs, the table, and at first I thought
+the room otherwise unoccupied. But suddenly a dapper little figure
+emerged from a huge armchair by the fire, and stepped briskly across
+the room. For a moment I was bewildered. The poet's face was familiar
+in photographs, but I had somehow imagined him a tall, gaunt man. I
+recovered myself to find him standing before me, holding both my hands
+and saying, 'Now this is really very kind of you, to come so far just
+to see an old man like me.' Then he dragged up a companion chair and
+forced me into it, standing for some moments by my side, with his hand
+on my shoulder. Then he sat down and said, 'Well, tell me all about
+yourself. Have you not brought some of your poems to show me?' Of
+course I had not. I wanted to see him and talk of his work. But for a
+while he would not let me do so. 'We'll talk about me later, if you
+like, though I'm rather tired of the subject,' he said, and proceeded
+to question me pretty closely about my aim and work. Then he sat and
+thought awhile, then came across to me and said, 'Do you know that I
+was nearly fifty before I made any money out of my writings? That's
+the truth, and you will understand my reluctance to advise any one to
+embark on such a cruel career. But&mdash;if you really mean to go in for
+it&mdash;I would do anything I could to shorten your time of waiting. So
+you must just send me some of your work, that I may give you my candid
+opinion, if you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>think it's worth having. And now come and see my
+books.'</p>
+
+<p>... "We went down to lunch, and I was introduced to the poet's sister,
+who is, I was instantly ready to aver, the most charming little lady
+in the world. I don't remember much of the talk at lunch&mdash;except that
+it turned on Ruskin and his art views, with which latter, it seemed to
+me, Browning had not much sympathy. He told me two anecdotes designed
+to prove Ruskin's technical inaccuracy; one relating to Michael
+Angelo, the other to Browning's own exquisite poem, <i>Andrea del
+Sarto</i>. 'But never mind,' said Browning, 'he writes like an angel.'</p>
+
+<p>"Lunch was finished, and my host apologized for having to turn me out,
+as he was obliged to attend some 'preposterous meeting,' he said. I
+was standing in the hall, saying good-by, when suddenly he turned and
+ran up-stairs. Presently he returned, bringing with him a copy of his
+wife's poems. 'Will you take this as a record of what I hope is only
+the first of many meetings?' he said. 'I can't find any of my own in
+that muddle upstairs, but I would rather you would have this than any
+of mine.' Yes, I took it, as proud as a boy could be who receives such
+an honor from his chief idol; prouder than I shall ever be again as I
+read the inscription: 'With the best wishes and regards of Robert
+Browning.' And I went away after he had made me promise&mdash;as though it
+were a thing I might be unwilling to do&mdash;to let him know when I should
+be next in town.</p>
+
+<p>... "I called again at the beautiful house in De Vere Gardens. The
+poet had just come in, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>he told me, from a meeting of the committee
+for the memorial to Matthew Arnold, and he was evidently very
+depressed by the sad thoughts which had come upon him of his 'dear old
+friend, Mat.' 'I have been thinking all the way home,' he said, 'of
+his hardships. He told me once, when I asked him why he had written no
+poetry lately, that he could not afford to do it; but that, when he
+had saved enough, he intended to give up all other work, and go back
+to poetry. I wonder if he has gone back to it <i>now</i>.' Here Browning's
+voice shook, and he was altogether more deeply moved than I had ever
+seen him. 'It's very hard, isn't it?' he went on, 'that a useless
+fellow like me should have been able to give up all his life to
+it&mdash;for, as I think I told you, my father helped me to publish my
+early books&mdash;while a splendid poet like Arnold actually could not
+afford to write the poetry we wanted of him.'</p>
+
+<p>... "The last visit I paid to Browning was short enough, but since it
+<i>was</i> the last, and was marked by one of the most graceful acts ever
+done to me, I may record it as the conclusion of these memories. He
+had written inviting me to call soon, but without naming a day or
+hour. 'If I should happen to be engaged,' he had said, 'I know that
+your kindness will understand and forgive me.' So I called on the
+first morning when I was free for an hour. He came across the room
+with his accustomed heartiness of voice and hand. 'But, my dear boy,
+why did you come to-day? In ten minutes I have an important business
+appointment which I <i>must</i> keep.' The ten minutes went all too soon,
+and I took my hat to go. He was profuse, but plainly sincere, in his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>apologies for turning me out, and made me promise to come again at a
+specified hour. I had hardly left the door, when I heard the scurry of
+footsteps and his voice calling me. I turned and saw him, hatless, at
+the foot of the steps. 'One moment,' he cried; 'I can't let you go
+till you tell me again that you are not offended, and I shan't believe
+<i>that</i> till you promise once again to come. Now, promise'&mdash;holding
+both my hands. Of course I promised, wondering how many smaller men
+would have shown the same courtesy. For some reason on my part, which
+I now forget, that appointment was never kept, and I saw him no more.</p>
+
+<p>"As I stood in Poet's Corner that bitter day of last January, and saw
+him put to rest, I could not but think of him as I had seen him last,
+with the sunlight on his white hair, and I felt his warm hands, and
+heard his kindly voice saying, 'Now, promise!' and I could but think
+of that meeting as a tryst not broken, but deferred. And as I thought
+again of that life, so rich, so vivid, so complete; of that strong
+soul which looked ever forth, and saw promise of clear awaking to
+something nobler than the sweetest dream, I knew that here, at least,
+was one to whom death could do no wrong."</p>
+
+<p class="right">&mdash;Adapted from <i>Littell's Living Age</i>.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep144" id="imagep144"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep144.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep144.jpg" width="50%" alt="Alfred Tennyson" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">ALFRED TENNYSON<br />From a photograph from life<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>KNIGHT'S REMINISCENCE OF TENNYSON</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>William Knight, a celebrated Scotch professor and the great expounder
+of the life and poetry of Wordsworth, in 1890 spent two days with
+Tennyson at Farringford. In an English magazine he has published his
+reminiscence of that visit. After relating the feelings of respect and
+the reverential sentiment with which he approached the place he says:
+"In the avenue leading to the house, the spreading trees just opening
+into leaf, with spring flowers around and beneath&mdash;yellow cowslips and
+blue forget-me-nots&mdash;and the song of birds in the branches overhead,
+seemed a fitting prelude to all that followed. Shortly after I was
+seated in the ante-room, the poet's son appeared, and, as his father
+was engaged, he said, 'Come and see my mother.' We went into the
+drawing-room, where the old lady was reclining on a couch. Immediately
+the lines beginning 'Such age, how beautiful' came into mind. No one
+could ever forget his first sight of Lady Tennyson, her graciousness,
+and the radiant though fragile beauty of old age. Both her eye and her
+voice had an inexpressible charm. She inquired with much interest for
+the widow of one of my colleagues at the University, who used formerly
+to live in the island, close to Farringford, and whose family <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>were
+friends as well as near neighbors. Soon afterwards Tennyson entered,
+and almost at once proposed that we should go out of doors. After a
+short stroll on the lawn under the cedars, we went into the 'careless
+ordered garden,' walked round it, and then sat down in the small
+summer-house. It is a quaint rectangular garden, sloping to the west,
+where nature and art blend happily,&mdash;orchard trees, and old-fashioned
+flower-beds, with stately pines around, giving to it a sense of
+perfect rest. This garden is truly a 'haunt of ancient peace.' Left
+there alone with the bard for some time, I felt that I sat in the
+presence of one of the Kings of Men. His aged look impressed me. There
+was the keen eagle eye, and, although the glow of youth was gone, the
+strength of age was in its place. The lines in his face were like the
+furrows in the stem of a wrinkled oak-tree, but his whole bearing
+disclosed a latent strength and nobility, a reserve of power, combined
+with a most courteous grace of manner. I was also struck by the
+neglig&eacute; air of the man, so different from that of Browning or Arnold
+or Lowell....</p>
+
+<p>"We talked much of the sonnet. He thought the best in the language
+were Milton's, Shakspere's, and Wordsworth's; after these three those
+by his own brother Charles. He said, 'I at least like my brother's
+next to those by the "three immortals."' ...</p>
+
+<p>"He had no great liking, he said, for arranging the poets in a
+hierarchy. He found so much that surpassed him in different ways in
+all the great ones; but he thought that Homer, &AElig;schylus, Sophocles,
+Virgil, Dante, Shakspere, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>Goethe,&mdash;these seven,&mdash;were the
+greatest of the great, up to the year 1800. They are not all equal in
+rank, and even in the work of that heptarchy of genius, there were
+trivial things to be found....</p>
+
+<p>"Just at this stage of our talk Mrs. Hallam Tennyson, Mrs. Douglas
+Freshfield, and her daughter came up the garden-walk to the
+summer-house. Miss Freshfield wore a hat on which was an artificial
+flower, a lilac-branch. It at once caught Tennyson's eye. There was a
+lilac-tree in bloom close at hand, and he said, 'What is that you are
+wearing? It's a flowery lie, it's a speaking mendacity.' He asked how
+she could wear such a thing in the month of May! We rose from the
+bower, and all went down the garden-walk to see the fig-tree at the
+foot of it, and sundry other things at the western entrance-door,
+where Miss Kate Greenaway was painting. We returned along a twisting
+alley under the rich green foliage of elms and ilexes....</p>
+
+<p>"Listening to the wind in the trees and the sound of running
+water&mdash;although it was the very tiniest of rillets&mdash;led us away from
+philosophy, and he talked of Sir Walter Scott, characterizing him as
+the greatest novelist of all time. He said, 'What a gift it was that
+Scotland gave to the world in him. And your Burns! He is supreme
+amongst your poets.' He praised Lockhart's <i>Life of Scott</i>, as one of
+the finest of biographies; and my happening to mention an anecdote of
+Scott from that book led to our spending the greater part of the rest
+of our walk in the telling of stories. Tennyson was an admirable
+storyteller. He asked me for some good Scotch anecdotes, and I gave
+him some, but he was able to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>cap each of them with a better one of
+his own&mdash;all of which he told with arch humor and simplicity.</p>
+
+<p>"He then told some anecdotes of a visit to Scotland. After he had left
+an inn in the island of Skye, the landlord was asked, 'Did he know who
+had been staying in his house? It was the poet Tennyson.' He replied,
+'Lor', to think o' that! and sure I thoucht he was a shentleman!' Near
+Stirling the same remark was made to the keeper of the hotel where he
+had stayed. 'Do you ken who you had wi' you t' other night?' 'Naa, but
+he was a pleesant shentleman.' 'It was Tennyson, the poet.' 'An' what
+may <i>he</i> be?' 'Oh, he is the writer o' verses such as you see i' the
+papers.' 'Noo, to think o' that, jest a pooblic writer, an' I gied him
+ma best bedroom!' Of Mrs. Tennyson, however, the landlord remarked,
+'Oh, but <i>she</i> was an angel!'</p>
+
+<p>"I have said that the conversational power of Tennyson struck me quite
+as much as his poetry had done for forty years. To explain this I must
+compare it with that of some of his contemporaries. It was not like
+the meteoric flashes and fireworks of Carlyle's talk, which sometimes
+dazzled as much as it instructed, and it had not that torrent-rush in
+which Carlyle so often indulged. It was far more restrained. It had
+neither the continuousness nor the range of Browning's many-sided
+conversation, nor did it possess the charm of the ethereal
+visionariness of Newman's. It lacked the fullness and consummate sweep
+of Mr. Buskin's talk, and it had neither the historic range and
+brilliance of Dean Stanley's, nor the fascinating subtlety&mdash;the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>elevation and the depth combined&mdash;of that of the late F.D. Maurice.
+<i>But</i> it was clear as crystal, and calm as well as clear. It was terse
+and exact, precise and luminous. Not a word was wasted and every
+phrase was suggestive. Tennyson did not monopolize conversation. He
+wished to know what other people thought, and therefore to hear them
+state it, that he might understand their position and ideas. But in
+all his talk on great problems, he at once got to their essence,
+sounding their depths with ease, or, to change the illustration, he
+seized the kernel, and let the shell and fragments alone. There was a
+wonderful simplicity allied to his clear vision and his strength. He
+was more child-like than the majority of his contemporaries, and along
+with this there was&mdash;what I have already mentioned&mdash;<i>a great reserve
+of power</i>. His appreciation of other workers belonging to his time was
+remarkable. Neither he nor Browning disparaged their contemporaries,
+as Carlyle so often did, when he spotted their weaknesses, and put
+them in the pillory. From first to last, Tennyson seemed to look
+sympathetically on all good works, and he had a special veneration for
+the strong silent thinkers and workers.</p>
+
+<p>"Tennyson appreciated the work of Darwin and Spencer far more than
+Carlyle did, and many of the ideas and conclusions of modern science
+are to be found in his poetry. Nevertheless he knew the limitation of
+science, and he held that it was the noble office of poetry,
+philosophy, and religion combined to supplement and finally to
+transcend it."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>EMERSON ON CARLYLE AND TENNYSON</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>On Christmas day, 1832, Emerson sailed out of Boston harbor to pay a
+visit to Europe. His health needed a change of work and scene. His
+wife had died, he had separated from his congregation, he manifestly
+was in need of some recreation, and so his friends had advised him to
+take a trip abroad. On the 2d of February he landed at Malta. From
+there he traveled through Italy and finally entered England, ready to
+make the acquaintance of English celebrities whom he had long admired.</p>
+
+<p>He writes in his journal: "Carlisle in Cumberland, Aug. 26. I am just
+arrived in merry Carlisle from Dumfries. A white day in my years. I
+found the youth I sought in Scotland, and good and wise and pleasant
+he seems to me, and his wife a most accomplished, agreeable woman.
+Truth and peace and faith dwell with them and beautify them. I never
+saw more amiableness than is in his countenance."</p>
+
+<p>This passage, of course, refers to his visit to Carlyle, to visit whom
+Emerson had driven over from Dumfries to Craigenputtock, where Carlyle
+had been living for the last five years. In this connection it is
+interesting to read what the man <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>visited had to say about his
+visitor: "That man," Carlyle said to Lord Houghton, "came to see me. I
+don't know what brought him, and we kept him one night, and then he
+left us. I saw him go up the hill; I didn't go with him to see him
+descend. I preferred to watch him mount and vanish like an angel."</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep150" id="imagep150"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep150.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep150.jpg" width="48%" alt="Ralph Waldo Emerson" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">RALPH WALDO EMERSON<br />From a wood engraving of a life photograph<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>In writing of this interview, Mr. Cabot, one of the biographers of
+Emerson, says: "To Emerson the interview was a happy one, and
+gratified the chief wish he had in coming to England, though he did
+not find all that he had sought. He had been looking for a master, but
+in the deepest matters Carlyle, he found, had nothing to teach him.
+'My own feeling,' he says in a letter to Mr. Ireland a few days
+afterwards, 'was that I had met with men of far less power who had got
+greater insight into religious truth.' But he had come close to the
+affectionate nature and the nobility of soul that lay behind the cloud
+of whim and dyspepsia, and he kept to that, and for the rest, confined
+his expectations thenceforth to what Carlyle had to give. 'The
+greatest power of Carlyle,' he afterwards wrote, 'like that of Burke,
+seems to me to reside in the form. Neither of them is a poet, born to
+announce the will of the god, but each has a splendid rhetoric to
+clothe the truth.'"</p>
+
+<p>During this first visit Emerson dined with Lafayette and a hundred
+Americans. By the time he made his second visit Emerson was a far more
+distinguished man than during his first trip. His second visit was
+made in 1847. This time he was a lion among men. He again calls on the
+Carlyles. This time the door is opened by Jane.</p>
+
+<p>"They were very little changed (he writes) <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>from their old selves of
+fourteen years ago, when I left them at Craigenputtock. 'Well,' said
+Carlyle, 'here we are, shoveled together again.' The flood-gates of
+his talk are quickly opened and the river is a great and constant
+stream. We had large communication that night until nearly one
+o'clock, and at breakfast next morning it began again. At noon or
+later we went together, Carlyle and I, to Hyde Park and the palaces,
+about two miles from here, to the National Gallery, and to the
+Strand&mdash;Carlyle melting all Westminster and London down into his talk
+and laughter as he walked. We came back to dinner at five or later,
+then Dr. Carlyle came in and spent the evening, which again was long
+by the clock, but had no other measure. Here in this house we
+breakfast about nine; Carlyle is very apt, his wife says, to sleep
+till ten or eleven, if he has no company. An immense talker he is, and
+altogether as extraordinary in his conversation as in his writing&mdash;I
+think even more so. You will never discover his real vigor and range,
+or how much more he might do than he has ever done, without seeing
+him. I find my few hours' discourse with him in Scotland, long since,
+gave me not enough knowledge of him, and I have now at last been taken
+by surprise.... Carlyle and his wife live on beautiful terms. Nothing
+could be more engaging than their ways, and in her book-case all his
+books are inscribed to her, as they came, from year to year, each with
+some significant lines."</p>
+
+<p>In another place he writes:</p>
+
+<p>"I had good talk with Carlyle last night. He says over and over for
+years, the same thing. Yet his guiding genius is his moral sense, his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>perception of the sole importance of truth and justice, and he too
+says that there is properly no religion in England. He is quite
+contemptuous about <i>Kunst</i> (art) also, in Germans, or English, or
+Americans.... His sneers and scoffs are thrown in every direction. He
+breaks every sentence with a scoffing laugh&mdash;'windbag,' 'monkey,'
+'donkey,' 'bladder;' and let him describe whom he will, it is always
+'poor fellow.' I said 'What a fine fellow you are to bespatter the
+whole world with this oil of vitriol!' 'No man,' he replied, 'speaks
+truth to me.' I said, 'See what a crowd of friends listen to and
+admire you.' 'Yes, they come to hear me, and they read what I write;
+but not one of them has the smallest intention of doing these
+things.'"</p>
+
+<p>While Emerson was in London he was elected to membership in the
+Athen&aelig;um Club, during his stay in England. Here he had the opportunity
+of meeting many famous men. He writes:</p>
+
+<p>"Milnes and other good men are always to be found there. Milnes is the
+most good-natured man in England, made of sugar; he is everywhere and
+knows everything. He told of Landor that one day, in a towering
+passion, he threw his cook out of the window, and then presently
+exclaimed, 'Good God, I never thought of those violets!' The last time
+he saw Landor he found him expatiating on our custom of eating in
+company, which he esteems very barbarous. He eats alone, with
+half-closed windows, because the light interferes with the taste. He
+has lately heard of some tribe in Crim Tartary who have the practice
+of eating alone, and these he extols as much superior to the
+English.... Macaulay is the king of diners-out. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>I do not know when I
+have seen such wonderful vivacity. He has the strength of ten men,
+immense memory, fun, fire, learning, politics, manners, and pride, and
+talks all the time in a steady torrent. You would say he was the best
+type of England."</p>
+
+<p>Of Tennyson he writes: "I saw Tennyson, first at the house of Coventry
+Patmore, where we dined together. I was contented with him at once. He
+is tall and scholastic looking, no dandy, but a great deal of plain
+strength about him, and though cultivated, quite unaffected. Quiet,
+sluggish sense and thought; refined, as all English are, and
+good-humored. There is in him an air of great superiority that is very
+satisfactory. He lives with his college set, ... and has the air of
+one who is accustomed to be petted and indulged by those he lives
+with. Take away Hawthorne's bashfulness, and let him talk easily and
+fast, and you would have a pretty good Tennyson. I told him that his
+friends and I were persuaded that it was important to his health to
+make an instant visit to Paris, and that I was to go on Monday if he
+was ready. He was very good-humored, and affected to think that I
+should never come back alive from France; it was death to go. But he
+had been looking for two years for somebody to go to Italy with, and
+was ready to set out at once, if I would go there.... He gave me a
+cordial invitation to his lodgings (in Buckingham Palace), where I
+promised to visit him before I went away.... I found him at home in
+his lodgings, but with him was a clergyman whose name I did not know,
+and there was no conversation. He was sure again that he was taking a
+final farewell <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>of me, as I was going among the French bullets, but
+promised to be in the same lodgings if I should escape alive....
+Carlyle thinks him the best man in England to smoke a pipe with, and
+used to see him much; had a place in his little garden, on the wall,
+where Tennyson's pipe was laid up."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>LITERARY RECOLLECTIONS OF MAX MUELLER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Another poet whom I knew at Oxford as an undergraduate, and whom I
+watched and admired to the end of his life, was Matthew Arnold. He was
+beautiful as a young man, strong and manly, yet full of dreams and
+schemes. His Olympian manners began even at Oxford; there was no harm
+in them, they were natural, not put on. The very sound of his voice
+and the wave of his hand were Jovelike.... Sometimes at public
+dinners, when he saw himself surrounded by his contemporaries, most of
+them judges, bishops, and ministers, he would groan over the drudgery
+he had to go through every day of his life in examining dirty
+school-boys and school-girls. But he saw the fun of it, and laughed.
+What a pity it was that his friends&mdash;and he had many&mdash;could find no
+better place for him. Most of his contemporaries rose to high position
+in Church and State, he remained to the end an examiner of elementary
+schools. Of course it may be said that like so many of his literary
+friends, he might have written novels and thus eked out a living by
+potboilers of various kinds. But there was something nobler and
+refined in him which restrained his pen from such <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>work. Whatever he
+gave to the world was to be perfect, as perfect as he could make it,
+and he did not think that he possessed the talent for novels. His
+saying that "no Arnold can ever write a novel" is well known, but it
+has been splendidly falsified of late by his own niece. Arnold was a
+delightful man to argue with, not that he could easily be convinced
+that he was wrong, but he never lost his temper, and in the most
+patronizing way he would generally end by, "Yes, yes! my good fellow,
+you are quite right, but, you see, my view of the matter is different,
+and I have little doubt it is the true one!" This went so far that
+even the simplest facts failed to produce any impression on him....</p>
+
+<p>Ruskin often came to spend a few days with his old friends, and as
+uncompromising and severe as he could be when he wielded his pen, he
+was always most charming in conversation. He never, when he was with
+his friends, claimed the right of speaking with authority, even on his
+own special subjects, as he might well have done. It seemed to be his
+pen that made him say bitter things.... He was really the most
+tolerant and agreeable man in society. He could discover beauty where
+no one else saw it, and make allowance where others saw no excuse. I
+remember him as diffident as a young girl, full of questions, and
+grateful for any information. Even on art topics I have watched him
+listening almost deferentially to others who laid down the law in his
+presence. His voice was always most winning, and his language simply
+perfect. He was one of the few Englishmen I knew who, instead of
+tumbling out their sentences like so many <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>portmanteaus, bags, tugs,
+and hat-boxes from an open railway van, seemed to take a real delight
+in building up his sentences, even in familiar conversation, so as to
+make each deliverance a work of art....</p>
+
+<p>And what a beautiful mind his was, and what lessons of beauty he has
+taught us all. At the same time, he could not bear anything
+unbeautiful, and anything low or ignoble in men revolted him and made
+him thoroughly unhappy. I remember once taking Emerson to lunch with
+him, in his rooms in Corpus Christi College. Emerson was an old friend
+of his, and in many respects a cognate soul. But some quite
+indifferent subject turned up, a heated discussion ensued, and Ruskin
+was so upset that he had to quit the room and leave us alone. Emerson
+was most unhappy, and did all he could to make peace, but he had to
+leave without a reconciliation....</p>
+
+<p>Another though less frequent visitor to Oxford was Tennyson. His first
+visit to our house was rather alarming. We lived in a small house in
+High Street, nearly opposite Magdalen College, and our establishment
+was not calculated to receive sudden guests, particularly a poet
+laureate. He stepped in one day during the long vacation, when Oxford
+was almost empty. Wishing to show the great man all civility, we asked
+him to dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. At that time
+almost all the shops were in the market, which closed at one o'clock.
+My wife, a young housekeeper, did her best for our unexpected guest.
+He was known to be a gourmand, and at dinner he was evidently put out
+by finding the sauce with the salmon was not the one he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>preferred. He
+was pleased, however, with the wing of a chicken, and said it was the
+only advantage he got from being a poet laureate, that he generally
+received the liver-wing of a chicken. The next morning at breakfast,
+we had rather plumed ourselves on having been able to get a dish of
+cutlets, and were not a little surprised when our guest arrived, to
+see him whip off the cover of a hot dish, and to hear the exclamation,
+"Mutton chops! the staple of every bad inn in England." However, these
+were but minor matters, though not without importance in the eyes of a
+young wife to whom Tennyson had been like one of the immortals. He was
+full of interest and inquiries about the East, more particularly about
+Indian poetry, and I believe it was then that I told him that there
+was no rhyme in Sanskrit poetry, and ventured to ask him why there
+should be in English. He was not so offended as Samuel Johnson seems
+to have been, who would probably have answered my question by "You are
+a fool, sir; use your own judgment," while Tennyson made the very
+sensible answer that rhyme assisted the memory....</p>
+
+<p>It was generally after dinner ... that Tennyson began to thaw, and to
+take a more active part in conversation. People who have not known him
+then, have hardly known him at all. During the day he was often very
+silent and absorbed in his own thoughts, but in the evening he took an
+active part in the conversation of his friends. His pipe was almost
+indispensable to him, and I remember one time when I and several
+friends were staying at his house, the question of tobacco turned up.
+I confessed that for years I had been a perfect <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>slave to tobacco, so
+that I could neither read nor write a line without smoking, but that
+at last I had rebelled against the slavery, and had entirely given up
+tobacco. Some of his friends taunted Tennyson that he could never give
+up tobacco. "Anybody can do that," he said, "if he chooses to do it."
+When his friends still continued to doubt and to tease him, "Well," he
+said, "I shall give up smoking from to-night." The very same evening I
+was told that he threw his tobacco and his pipes out of the window of
+his bedroom. The next day he was most charming, though somewhat
+self-righteous. The second day he became very moody and captious, the
+third day no one knew what to do with him. But after a disturbed night
+I was told that he got out of bed in the morning, went quietly into
+the garden, picked up one of his broken pipes, stuffed it with the
+remains of the tobacco scattered about, and then having had a few
+puffs, came to breakfast, all right again.</p>
+
+<p>He once very kindly offered to lend me his house in the Isle of Wight.
+"But mind," he said, "you will be watched from morning till evening."
+This was, in fact, his great grievance, that he could not go out
+without being stared at. Once taking a walk with me and my wife on the
+downs behind his house, he suddenly started, left us, and ran home,
+simply because he had descried two strangers coming towards us.</p>
+
+<p>I was told that he once complained to the queen, and said that he
+could no longer stay in the Isle of Wight, on account of the tourists
+who came to stare at him. The queen, with a kindly irony, remarked
+that she did not suffer much <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>from that grievance, but Tennyson not
+seeing what she meant, replied, "No, madam, and if I could clap a
+sentinel wherever I liked, I should not be troubled either."</p>
+
+<p>It must be confessed that people were very inconsiderate. Rows of
+tourists sat like sparrows on the paling of his garden, waiting for
+his appearance. The guides were actually paid by sight-seers,
+particularly by those from America, for showing them the great poet.
+Nay, they went so far as to dress up a sailor to look like Tennyson,
+and the result was that, after their trick had been found out, the
+tourists would walk up to Tennyson and ask him, "Now, are you the real
+Tennyson?" This, no doubt, was very annoying, and later on Lord
+Tennyson was driven to pay a large sum for some useless downs near his
+house, simply in order to escape from the attentions of admiring
+travelers.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE EARLY EDUCATION OF JOHN STUART MILL</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>At an age when most children are playing with a Noah's Ark or a doll,
+John Stuart Mill was initiated into the mysteries of the Greek
+language. "I have no remembrance of the time when I began to learn
+Greek," writes Mill, "I have been told that it was when I was three
+years old." Latin was not begun until his eighth year. By that time he
+had read in Greek,&mdash;&AElig;sop, the Anabasis, the whole of Herodotus, the
+Cyrop&aelig;dia, the Memorabilia, parts of Diogenes Laertius, and of Lucian,
+Isocrates; also six dialogues of Plato. An equipment like this
+suggests the satiric lines of Hudibras:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Besides, 'tis known he could speak Greek<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As naturally as pigs squeak.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>In considering the difficulties that this child&mdash;shall we say
+babe?&mdash;had to overcome one must remember that the aids to learning
+Greek were not then what they are now. In 1820 the Greek lexicon was a
+ponderous thing, almost as big and heavy as the infant student
+himself. Worse than this, the definitions were not in English, but in
+Greek and Latin, and as the boy had not yet learned Latin he had to
+ask his father for the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>meaning of every new word. The immense task
+placed thus upon the child makes one feel indignant and wish that some
+organization for the prevention of cruelty to infants had interfered
+with the ambition of the learned father. But we must admire the
+patience of the father, however we may question his good sense. "What
+he himself was willing to undergo for the sake of my instruction,"
+says the son in describing his father's teaching, "may be judged from
+the fact, that I went through the whole process of preparing my Greek
+lessons in the same room and at the same table at which he was
+writing.... I was forced to have recourse to him for the meaning of
+every word which I did not know. This incessant interruption, he, one
+of the most impatient of men, submitted to, and wrote under that
+interruption several volumes of his History and all else that he had
+to write during those years."</p>
+
+<p>But this does not tell the whole story. Fearing that the Greek might
+be too heavy and concentrated a food for the tender intellect of his
+child, the considerate father added a diet of English history and
+biography. The boy carefully studied and made notes upon Robertson,
+Hume, Gibbon, Watson, Hooke, Langhorne's <i>Plutarch</i>, Burnet's <i>History
+of His Own Time</i>, Millar's <i>Historical View of the English
+Government</i>, Mosheim's <i>Ecclesiastical History</i>. In biography and
+travel he read the life of Knox, the histories of the Quakers,
+Beaver's <i>Africa</i>, Collin's <i>New South Wales</i>, Anson's <i>Voyages</i>, and
+Hawkesworth's <i>Voyages Round the World</i>. "Of children's books, any
+more than of playthings, I had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>scarcely any, except an occasional
+gift from a relation or acquaintance.... It was no part, however, of
+my father's system to exclude books of amusement, though he allowed
+them very sparingly. Of such books he possessed at that time next to
+none, but he borrowed several for me; those which I remember are the
+<i>Arabian Nights</i>, Cazotte's <i>Arabian Tales</i>, <i>Don Quixote</i>, Miss
+Edgeworth's <i>Popular Tales</i>, and a book of some reputation in its day,
+Brooke's <i>Fool of Quality</i>."</p>
+
+<p>All this, it is to be remembered, was done by a boy who was not beyond
+his eighth year. In his eighth year he began Latin, not only as a
+learner but as a teacher. It was his duty to teach the younger
+children of the family what he had learned. This practice he does not
+recommend. "The teaching, I am sure, is very inefficient as teaching,
+and I well know that the relation between teacher and taught is not a
+good moral discipline to either." By the time this prodigy of
+intellect and industry reached the age of fourteen he had studied the
+following formidable list: Virgil, Horace, Phaedrus, Livy, Sallust,
+the Metamorphoses, Terence, Cicero, Homer, Thucydides, the Hellenica,
+Demosthenes, &AElig;schines, Lysias, Theocritus, Anacreon, Aristotle's
+Rhetoric; Euclid, Algebra, the higher mathematics, Joyce's Scientific
+Dialogues, and various treatises on Chemistry; and in addition to all
+this he had read parts of other Greek and Latin authors, and much of
+English poetry and history.</p>
+
+<p>A boy with so heavy a burden of learning is very prone to an equal
+amount of self-conceit. But the father tried to overcome this danger
+by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>holding up a very high standard of comparison,&mdash;"not what other
+people did, but what a man could and ought to do." He succeeded so
+well that the boy was not aware that his attainments were
+extraordinary. "I neither estimated myself highly nor lowly; I did not
+estimate myself at all. If I thought anything about myself, it was
+that I was rather backward in my studies, since I always found myself
+so, in comparison of what my father expected of me." To this assertion
+Mr. Mill very candidly adds: "I assert this with confidence, though it
+was not the impression of various persons who saw me in my childhood.
+They, as I have since found, thought me greatly and disagreeably
+self-conceited; probably because I was disputatious, and did not
+scruple to give direct contradictions to things which I heard said."</p>
+
+<p>A boy who is kept at his studies as assiduously as was young Mill has
+little time for play or association with other boys. This lack of
+contact with companions is a grave defect in the education of Mill. "I
+constantly remained long," writes Mill, "and in a less degree have
+always remained, inexpert in anything requiring manual dexterity; my
+mind, as well as my hands, did its work very lamely when it was
+applied, or ought to have been applied, to the practical details
+which, as they are the chief interest of life to the majority of men,
+are also the things in which whatever mental capacity they have,
+chiefly shows itself."</p>
+
+<p>On the whole we feel that the childhood of Mill could hardly have been
+a happy one. The joy of physical achievement, the free-hearted
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>abandonment of the young barbarian at his play, the power to do as
+well as to know&mdash;these are the birthright of every child. But while we
+may pity him for his lack of these joys, we dare not forget that to
+have lived the life or done the work of John Stuart Mill is no small
+thing. And perhaps this life could not have been lived had his
+education been other than it was.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXIV" id="XXXIV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>CARLYLE GOES TO THE UNIVERSITY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>One of the most tender pictures in the history of English literature
+is that of Carlyle as he starts for his University career. Just a boy,
+a child not yet fourteen! It is early morning in November at
+Ecclefechan&mdash;and Edinburgh with its famous University is a hundred
+miles away. The father and mother have risen early to get Thomas
+ready&mdash;not for the cab to take him to the "purple luxury and plush
+repose" of the Pullman on the Limited Express. No, Tom is going to
+walk,&mdash;his only companion a boy two or three years older. These
+rugged, poor, and godly parents had long discussed the sending of
+Tommy to the great University. James Bell, one of the wise men of the
+community, had said: "Educate a boy, and he grows up to despise his
+ignorant parents," but they knew that depended on the boy. "Thou hast
+not done so; God be thanked," said James Carlyle to his son in after
+years.</p>
+
+<p>But let us come back to our picture. In our mind's eye we see the
+Scotch lad starting out on his hundred-mile trip in the mist of a
+foggy November morning. Almost three-score years after, Carlyle
+himself beautifully describes the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>event: "How strangely vivid, how
+remote and wonderful, tinged with the views of far-off love and
+sadness, is that journey to me now after fifty-seven years of time! My
+mother and father walking with me in the dark frosty November morning
+through the village to set us on our way; my dear and loving mother,
+her tremulous affection, etc."</p>
+
+<p>That's the picture of an unknown boy going to the University to become
+what every pious Scotch mother wants her boy to be&mdash;a minister of the
+gospel.</p>
+
+<p>Here is another picture, taken about sixty years later. In a somewhat
+plainly furnished room in a house on a quiet street in Chelsea, a part
+of London, an old man "worn, and tired, and bent, with deep-lined
+features, a firm under-jaw, tufted gray hair, and tufted gray and
+white beard, and sunken and unutterably sad eyes, is returning from
+the fireplace, where with trembling fingers he had been lighting his
+long clay pipe, and now he resumes his place at a reading desk." Let
+us enter this room with Theodore L. Cuyler, who in his <i>Recollections
+of a Long Life</i> tells us: "Thirty years afterwards, in June, 1872, I
+felt an irrepressible desire to see the grand old man once more, and I
+accordingly addressed him a note, requesting him the favor of a few
+minutes' interview.... After we had waited some time, a feeble,
+stooping figure, attired in a long blue flannel gown, moved slowly
+into the room. His gray hair was unkempt, his blue eyes were still
+keen and piercing, and a bright hectic spot of red appeared on each of
+his hollow cheeks. His hands were tremulous and his voice deep <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>and
+husky. After a few personal inquiries the old man broke out into a
+most extraordinary and characteristic harangue on the wretched
+degeneracy of these evil days. The prophet Jeremiah was cheerfulness
+itself in comparison with him.... Most of his extraordinary harangue
+was like an eruption of Vesuvius, but the laugh he occasionally gave
+showed that he was talking about as much for his own amusement as for
+ours."</p>
+
+<p>Between these two pictures,&mdash;the one showing us the boy trudging away
+in the mist of the November morning, the other revealing an old man
+whose home in Chelsea had become the Mecca of the lovers of English
+literature,&mdash;what has occurred?</p>
+
+<p>The young boy has finished his studies at the University; has
+concluded not to enter the ministry; has studied law; served as tutor;
+translated a masterpiece of German into English, and finally dedicated
+his powers to becoming a notability in English literature: wrote
+<i>Sartor Resartus</i>, the <i>History of the French Revolution</i>, a <i>Life of
+Cromwell</i>, a <i>Life of Frederick the Great</i>, and has become
+world-renowned as one of the great figures of the Nineteenth Century.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXV" id="XXXV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>CARLYLE AND HIS WIFE</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In 1826 occurred what Saintsbury calls the most important event in the
+life of Carlyle,&mdash;his marriage with Jane Welsh, a young woman who
+traced her ancestry back to John Knox, the rugged Scotch reformer.
+Jane was a keen, active, high-strung, sensitive soul. There has arisen
+a formidable mass of literature discussing the relationship between
+Thomas and Jane. Were they happy or were they miserable?</p>
+
+<p>Jane Welsh was a Scotch lady whose family was socially superior to
+that of Carlyle's. Her father had been a physician, while Carlyle's
+was but a rude stone-mason,&mdash;and yet a great man. It is said she
+married Thomas because she was ambitious and wanted to be the wife of
+a famous man, and she had discovered in the unknown Thomas the marks
+of genius. In after years she is reported to have said: "I married for
+ambition. Carlyle had exceeded all that my wildest hopes ever imagined
+for him; <i>and I am miserable</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Jeannie had what she had bargained for and yet she was unhappy,&mdash;why?</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle was a big-hearted, hard-working, gruff, but kind-hearted
+individual. I have not a doubt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>that he loved his Jeannie. But he took
+no pains to show his love in those tender though trivial devotions
+that mean so much to the sensitive wife.</p>
+
+<p>During the first few years of their married life, they lived in a
+lonely place and had but a scant income. We have a very interesting
+picture of their life at Craigenputtock. Thomas could not eat bakers'
+bread, so Jeannie baked. The one servant they had was not competent.
+It may have been this same servant that was responsible for Thomas'
+finding, altogether unexpectedly, of course, a dead mouse at the
+bottom of his dish of oatmeal. As to the bread-baking Jean has given
+us a very graphic account:</p>
+
+<p>"Further we were very poor, and further and worst, being an only
+child, and brought up to 'great prospects,' I was sublimely ignorant
+of every branch of useful knowledge, though a capital Latin scholar,
+and very fair mathematician! It behooved me in these astonishing
+circumstances to learn to sew! Husbands, I was shocked to find, wore
+their stockings into holes, and were always losing buttons, and I was
+expected 'to look to all that;' also it behooved me to learn to
+<i>cook</i>! no capable servant choosing to live at such an out-of-the-way
+place, and my husband having bad digestion, which complicated my
+difficulties dreadfully. The bread, above all, bought at Dumfries,
+'soured on his stomach' (Oh heaven!), and it was plainly my duty as a
+Christian wife to bake at home. So I sent for Cobbett's <i>Cottage
+Economy</i>, and fell to work at a loaf of bread. But knowing nothing
+about the process of fermentation or the heat of ovens, it came to
+pass that my loaf got put into the oven at the time that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>myself ought
+to have been put into bed; and I remained the only person not asleep
+in a house in the middle of a desert. One o'clock struck, and then
+two, and then three, and still I was sitting there in an immense
+solitude, my whole body aching with weariness, my heart aching with a
+sense of forlornness and <i>degradation</i>. That I who had been so petted
+at home, whose comfort had been studied by everybody in the house, and
+who had never been required to <i>do</i> anything, but <i>cultivate my mind</i>,
+should have to pass all those hours of the night in watching <i>a loaf
+of bread</i>, which mightn't turn out bread after all! Such thoughts
+maddened me, till I laid down my head on the table and sobbed aloud.
+It was then that somehow the idea of Benvenuto Cellini sitting up all
+night watching his Perseus in the furnace came into my head, and
+suddenly I asked myself: 'After all, in the sight of the Upper Powers,
+what is the mighty difference between a statue of Perseus and a loaf
+of bread, so that each be the thing that one's hand has found to do?'
+... If he had been a woman living at Craigenputtock, with a dyspeptic
+husband, sixteen miles from a baker, and he a bad one, all these same
+qualities would have come out more fitly in a <i>good</i> loaf of bread.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot express what consolation this germ of an idea spread over my
+uncongenial life during the years we lived at that savage place, where
+my two immediate predecessors had gone <i>mad</i>, and the third had taken
+to drink."</p>
+
+<p>While enjoying the description which Mrs. Carlyle has painted in such
+an entertaining manner, it is well to observe that she does not blame
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>her husband. She seems to be writing the account while she is silently
+laughing at the absurd preparation her life had had for the duties of
+the wife of a poor man. But Mr. T.P. O'Connor, who writes in 1895, is
+outspoken:</p>
+
+<p>"I do not want to speak disrespectfully of poor Carlyle, but in spirit
+it is somewhat hard to keep one's hand off him, as we reconstruct
+those scenes in the gaunt house at Craigenputtock. There is a little
+detail in one scene which adds a deeper horror. I have said that Mrs.
+Carlyle had to scrub the floors, and as she scrubbed them Carlyle
+would look on smoking&mdash;drawing in from tobacco pleasant
+comfortableness and easy dreams&mdash;while his poor drudge panted and
+sighed over the hard work, which she had never done before. Do you not
+feel that you would like to break the pipe in his mouth, and shake him
+off the chair, and pitch him on to the floor, to take a share of the
+physical burden which his shoulders were so much more able to bear?"</p>
+
+<p>Another anecdote is that at a dinner while Carlyle was monopolizing
+the conversation, talking as only he could talk, he, the irritable,
+turned upon his wife with "Jeanie, don't breathe so hard!" And still
+again, we hear it said that Tennyson once remarked it was well the
+Carlyles had married each other for if each had married another there
+would have been <i>four</i> instead of <i>two</i> unhappy people. But I think
+the truer remark was made when Tennyson said to his son, Hallam: "Mr.
+and Mrs. Carlyle on the whole enjoy life together, or else they would
+not have chaffed one another so heartily."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>The <i>Century</i> of some years ago contained this witty skit from the pen
+of Bessie Chandler:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">And I sit here, thinking, thinking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">How your life was one long winking<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At Thomas' faults and failings, and his undue share of bile!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Won't you own, dear, just between us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That this living with a genius<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Isn't, after all, so pleasant,&mdash;is it, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>However, with all that may be said to the contrary, I do not think we
+dare say that the marriage of Thomas and Jeannie was an unhappy one.
+After reading fifteen hundred pages of biography and hundreds of
+letters passing to and fro, I am of the belief of Mr. Tennyson, that
+on the whole their union was a happy one.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly after Carlyle had been elected Rector of the University of
+Edinburgh, Jean died suddenly. While out driving one afternoon by Hyde
+Park, she jumped out to pick up her little dog, over whose foot a
+carriage had passed. She was never again seen alive. In her carriage
+she was found dead with her hands folded on her lap. When Carlyle
+heard of it he was away at Scotsbrig. Later in describing his feelings
+he wrote: "It had a kind of <i>stunning</i> effect on me. Not for above two
+days could I estimate the immeasurable depth of it, or the infinite
+sorrow which had peeled my life all bare, and a moment shattered my
+poor world to universal ruin." And Froude tells us that in Carlyle's
+old age&mdash;he lived to be eighty-five&mdash;he often broke forth in these
+passionate words of Burns:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had we never loved sae kindly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had we never loved sae blindly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never met and never parted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had ne'er been broken-hearted.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep175" id="imagep175"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep175.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep175.jpg" width="52%" alt="Thomas Carlyle" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">THOMAS CARLYLE<br />From a photograph from life<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXVI" id="XXXVI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>CARLYLE AS LECTURER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In 1834, the year of the death of Coleridge, we find Carlyle, like
+many another Scotchman, leaving Scotland to enter the great Babylon,
+London. The previous six years he had passed with his wife at
+Craigenputtock. He was almost forty years of age. His wife had great
+confidence in his ability, which up to this time the world had not
+recognized. So she urged him to struggle for influence and power in
+the great heart of the modern world. Number 5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, is
+the house they selected. There for the remaining forty-seven years of
+his life he worked and loved and stormed. Their neighborhood was one
+famous in association with the names of many <i>literati</i>. Near by
+Smollett wrote <i>Count Fathom</i>; in the same locality More had
+entertained the great scholar, Erasmus; there too had once lived
+Bolingbroke, and earlier, the Count de Grammont; and last but not
+least the author of Abou Ben Adhem, Leigh Hunt.</p>
+
+<p>When Emerson once suggested to Carlyle that he come over to America to
+lecture, Carlyle took kindly to the idea. He kept it in mind as a
+possibility for years, but he never carried it into effect. But he did
+lecture in London. His <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>literary work was not bringing him the money
+he needed. His friends were struck with his ability. Why should he not
+lecture? This, if well managed, would bring him immediate
+remuneration. His friends set diligently to work, issued a prospectus,
+tickets at a guinea a course, and invited persons of influence to
+attend. Spedding wrote this letter to Monckton Milnes:</p>
+
+<p>"I take the opportunity of writing to make you know, if you do not
+know already, that Carlyle lectures on German literature next month;
+the particulars you will find in the inclosed syllabus, which, if it
+should convey as much knowledge to you as it does ignorance to me,
+will be edifying. Of course, you will be here to attend the said
+lectures, but I want you to come up a little before they begin, that
+you may assist in procuring the attendance of others. The list of
+subscribers is at present not large, and you are just the man to make
+it grow. As it is Carlyle's first essay in this kind, it is important
+that there should be a respectable number of hearers. Some name of
+decided piety is, I believe, rather wanted. Learning, taste, and
+nobility are represented by Hallam, Rogers, and Lord Lansdowne. H.
+Taylor has provided a large proportion of family, wit, and beauty, and
+I have assisted them to a little Apostlehood. We want your name to
+represent the great body of Tories, Roman Catholics, High Churchmen,
+metaphysicians, poets, and Savage Landor. Come!"</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle was busy with his <i>French Revolution</i> and so did not make as
+careful preparation as he might have made. Yet he was so full of his
+subject that if he could overcome the difficulties of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>public
+speaking, he was bound to be interesting. As the day approached both
+he and his wife grew nervous. For diversion he drew up a humorous
+ending: "Good Christians, it has become entirely impossible for me to
+talk to you about German or any literature or terrestrial thing; one
+request only I have to make, that you would be kind enough to cover me
+under a tub for the next six weeks and to go your ways with all my
+blessing." This fortunately he did not need to use. Mrs. Carlyle
+worried lest he would be late, but by dint of close attention she felt
+she could have him "at the place of execution" at the appointed hour.
+How to get him to stop at "four precisely" was another problem. One
+humorous suggestion was that a lighted cigar might be laid on the
+table before him when the clock struck the hour.</p>
+
+<p>"May the First, 1837," says Professor MacMechan, "was a notable day.
+In the afternoon, Carlyle lectured at Almack's, and in the evening
+Macready produced young Mr. Browning's <i>Strafford</i>, for the first
+time, at Covent Garden. Hallam, of the <i>Middle Ages</i>,&mdash;'a broad, old,
+positive man, with laughing eyes,'&mdash;was chairman and brought the
+lecturer face to face with his first audience, the two hundred holders
+of guinea tickets. It was made up of the elements referred to in
+Spedding's letter. Learning, taste, nobility, family, wit, and beauty
+were all represented in that assembly; 'composed of mere quality and
+notabilities,' says Carlyle. It is easy to figure the scene; the men
+all clean-shaven, in the clumsy coats, high collars, and enormous
+neck-cloths of the period, the ladies, and there were naturally <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>more
+ladies than men, following the vagaries of fashion in 'bishop' sleeves
+and the 'pretty church-and-state bonnets,' that seemed to Hunt at
+times, 'to think through all their ribbons.' We call that kind of
+bonnet 'coal-scuttle' now, but Maclise's portrait of Lady Morgan
+trying hers on before a glass justifies Hunt's epithet. The lecturer
+was the lean, wiry type of Scot, within an inch of six feet. In face,
+he was not the bearded, broken-down Carlyle of the Fry photograph, but
+the younger Carlyle of the Emerson portrait. Clean-shaven, as was then
+the fashion, the determination of the lower jaw lying bare, the thick
+black hair brushed carelessly and coming down on the bony, jutting
+forehead, violet-blue eyes, deep-set, and alert, the whole face shows
+the Scot and the peasant in every line. It was a striking face, the
+union of black hair, blue eyes, and, usually, ruddy color on the high
+cheek bones, 'as if painted ... at the plow's tail,' Lady Eastlake
+remarked, and she was an artist. Harriet Martineau remarks that he was
+as 'yellow as a guinea,' but this would be due to some temporary
+gastric disturbance. He was very nervous, as was most natural, and
+stood with downcast eyes, his fingers picking at the desk before him.</p>
+
+<p>At the beginning his speech was broken, and his throat was dry, drink
+as he would; but his desperate determination not to break down carried
+him through. The society people were 'very humane' to him, and the
+lecturer had a message for them; his matter was new, his manner was
+interesting; he knew his subject. The rugged Scottish accent came like
+a welcome draught of caller air from the moorlands of Galloway, to
+the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>dwellers in London drawing-rooms, and 'they were not a little
+astonished when the wild Annandale voice grew high and earnest.'"</p>
+
+<p>From this first venture which was so successful&mdash;he cleared one
+hundred and thirty-five guineas after all the expenses had been
+paid&mdash;Carlyle was induced to give other series in the next few years.
+One of the most popular books by Carlyle is <i>Heroes and Hero Worship</i>;
+this first was given in a course of lectures. When "The Hero as Man of
+Letters" was given, Caroline Fox, an ardent admirer of the Scot, was
+in attendance. She has left a vivid description of the man: "Carlyle
+soon appeared, and looked as if he felt a well-dressed London audience
+scarcely the arena for him to figure in as a popular lecturer. He is a
+tall, robust-looking man; rugged simplicity and indomitable strength
+are in his face, and such a glow of genius in it&mdash;not always
+smoldering there, but flashing from his beautiful gray eyes, from the
+remoteness of their deep setting under that massive brow. His manner
+is very quiet, but he speaks as one tremendously convinced of what he
+utters, and who had much, very much, in him that was quite
+unutterable, quite unfit to be uttered to the uninitiated ear; and
+when the Englishman's sense of beauty or truth exhibited itself in
+vociferous cheers, he would impatiently, almost contemptuously, wave
+his hand, as if that were not the kind of homage which truth demanded.
+He began in a rather low and nervous voice, with a broad Scotch
+accent, but it soon grew firm, and shrank not abashed from its great
+task."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXVII" id="XXXVII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>CARLYLE ON WORDSWORTH AND BROWNING</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>On our first day's journey, wrote Mr. Duffy in the <i>Contemporary
+Review</i>, the casual mention of Edmund Burke induced me to ask Carlyle
+who was the best talker he had met among notable people in London.</p>
+
+<p>He said that when he met Wordsworth first he had been assured that he
+talked better than any man in England. It was his habit to talk
+whatever was in his mind at the time, with total indifference to the
+impression it produced on his hearers. On this occasion he kept
+discoursing how far you could get carried out of London on this side
+and on that for sixpence. One was disappointed,&mdash;perhaps,&mdash;but, after
+all, this was the only healthy way of talking, to say what is actually
+in your mind, and let sane creatures who listen to make what they can
+of it. Whether they understood or not, Wordsworth maintained a stern
+composure, and went his way, content that the world went quite another
+road. When he knew him better, he found that no man gave you so
+faithful and vivid a picture of any person or thing which he had seen
+with his own eyes.</p>
+
+<p>I inquired if Wordsworth came up to this description he had heard of
+him as the best talker in England.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>"Well," he replied, "it was true you could get more meaning out of
+what Wordsworth had to say than from anybody else. Leigh Hunt would
+emit more pretty, pleasant, ingenious flashes in an hour than
+Wordsworth in a day. But in the end you would find, if well
+considered, that you had been drinking perfumed water in one case, and
+in the other you got the sense of a deep, earnest man, who had thought
+silently and painfully on many things. There was one exception to your
+satisfaction with the man. When he spoke of poetry he harangued about
+meters, cadences, rhythms, and so forth, and one could not be at the
+pains of listening to him. But on all other subjects he had more sense
+in him of a sound and instructive sort than any other literary man in
+England."</p>
+
+<p>I suggested that Wordsworth might naturally like to speak of the
+instrumental part of his art, and consider what he had to say very
+instructive, as by modifying the instrument, he had wrought a
+revolution in English poetry. He taught it to speak in unsophisticated
+language and of the humbler and more familiar interests of life.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle said, "No, not so; all he had got to say in that way was like
+a few driblets from the great ocean of German speculation on kindred
+subjects by Goethe and others. Coleridge, who had been in Germany,
+brought it over with him, and they translated Teutonic thought into a
+poor, disjointed, whitey-brown sort of English, and that was nearly
+all. But Wordsworth, after all, was the man of most practical mind of
+any of the persons connected with literature whom he had encountered;
+though his pastoral pipings were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>far from being of the importance his
+admirers imagined. He was essentially a cold, hard, silent, practical
+man, who, if he had not fallen into poetry, would have done effectual
+work of some sort in the world. This was the impression one got of him
+as he looked out of his stern blue eyes, superior to men and
+circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>I said I had expected to hear of a man of softer mood, more
+sympathetic and less taciturn.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle said, "No, not at all; he was a man quite other than that; a
+man of an immense head and great jaws like a crocodile's, cast in a
+mold designed for prodigious work."</p>
+
+<p>"I begged him," continued Mr. Duffy, in writing of conversations with
+Carlyle, "to tell me something of the author of a serial I had come
+across lately, called <i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>, printed in painfully
+small type, on inferior paper, but in which I took great delight.
+There were ballads to make the heart beat fast, and one little
+tragedy, <i>The Blot in the 'Scutcheon</i>, which, though not over-disposed
+to what he called sentimentality, I could not read without tears. The
+heroine's excuse for the sin which left a blot in a 'scutcheon
+stainless for a thousand years, was, in the circumstances of the case,
+as touching a line as I could recall in English poetry:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I had no mother, and we were so young."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>He said Robert Browning had a powerful intellect, and among the men
+engaged in literature in England just now was one of the few from whom
+it was possible to expect something. He was somewhat uncertain about
+his career, and he himself (Carlyle) had perhaps contributed to the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>trouble by assuring him that poetry was no longer a field where any
+true or worthy success could be won or deserved. If a man had anything
+to say entitled to the attention of rational creatures, all mortals
+would come to recognize after a little that there was a more effectual
+way of saying it than in metrical numbers. Poetry used to be regarded
+as the natural, and even the essential language of feeling, but it was
+not at all so; there was not a sentiment in the gamut of human passion
+which could not be adequately expressed in prose.</p>
+
+<p>Browning's earliest works had been loudly applauded by undiscerning
+people, but he was now heartily ashamed of them, and hoped in the end
+to do something altogether different from <i>Sordello</i> and <i>Paracelsus</i>.
+He had strong ambition and great confidence in himself, and was
+considering his future course just now. When he first met young
+Browning, he was a youth living with his parents, people of
+respectable position among the Dissenters, but not wealthy neither,
+and the little room in which he kept his books was in that sort of
+trim that showed that he was the apple of their eyes. He was about six
+and thirty at present, and a little time before had married Miss
+Barrett. She had long been confined to a sofa by a spinal disease, and
+seemed destined to end there very speedily, but the ending was to be
+quite otherwise, as it proved. Browning made his way to her in a
+strange manner, and they fell mutually in love. She rose up from her
+sick-bed with recovered strength and agility, and was now, it was
+understood, tolerably well. They married and were living together in
+Italy, like the hero and heroine of a medi&aelig;val romance.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXVIII" id="XXXVIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE AUTHOR OF "JANE EYRE"</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Charlotte Bront&euml; was born in Yorkshire in 1816. A generation ago
+everybody was reading and talking about <i>Jane Eyre</i>, her most popular
+novel. The life of the author was not a happy one. She was compelled
+to teach for a living, and her position as governess was at times
+humiliating to her proud spirit. Her two sisters, whom she tenderly
+loved, died young; her brother was no credit to the family, and the
+life surrounding the parsonage&mdash;she was the daughter of a
+clergyman&mdash;was not particularly cheery, yet her many trials but
+enriched a rare and beautiful character.</p>
+
+<p>While living at the parsonage she would occasionally receive a box of
+books from her publisher. The following letter is self-explanatory:</p>
+
+<p>"Do not ask me to mention what books I should like to read. Half the
+pleasure of receiving a parcel from Cornhill consists in having its
+contents chosen for us. We like to discover, too, by the leaves cut
+here and there that the ground has been traveled before us. I took up
+Leigh Hunt's book, <i>The Town</i>, with the impression that it would be
+interesting only to Londoners, and I was surprised, ere I had read
+many pages, to find <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>myself enchained by his pleasant, graceful, easy
+style, varied knowledge, just views, and kindly spirit. There is
+something peculiarly anti-melancholic in Leigh Hunt's writings, and
+yet they are never boisterous&mdash;they resemble sunshine, being at once
+bright and tranquil.</p>
+
+<p>I like Carlyle better and better. His style I do <i>not</i> like, nor do I
+always concur in his opinions, nor quite fall in with his
+hero-worship; but there is a manly love of truth, an honest
+recognition and fearless vindication of intrinsic greatness, of
+intellectual and moral worth considered apart from birth, rank, or
+wealth, which commands my sincere admiration. Carlyle would never do
+for a contributor to the <i>Quarterly</i>. I have not read his <i>French
+Revolution</i>. Carlyle is a great man, but I always wish he would write
+plain English. Emerson's <i>Essays</i> I read with much interest and often
+with admiration, but they are of mixed gold and clay,&mdash;deep,
+invigorating truth, dreary and depressing fallacy, seem to me combined
+therein.</p>
+
+<p>Scott's <i>Suggestions on Female Education</i> I read with unalloyed
+pleasure; it is justly, clearly, and felicitously expressed. The girls
+of this generation have great advantages&mdash;it seems to me that they
+receive much encouragement in the acquisition of knowledge and the
+cultivation of their minds. In these days women may be thoughtful and
+well read, without being stigmatized as "blues" or pedants.</p>
+
+<p>I have lately been reading <i>Modern Painters</i>, and have derived from
+the work much genuine pleasure, and I hope, some edification; at any
+rate it has made me feel how ignorant I had previously been on the
+subjects which it treats. Hitherto I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>have only had instinct to guide
+me in judging of art; I feel now as if I had been walking
+blindfold&mdash;this book seems to give me eyes. I <i>do</i> wish I had pictures
+within reach by which to test the new sense. Who can read these
+glowing descriptions of Turner's works without longing to see them!
+However eloquent and convincing the language in which another's
+opinion is placed before you, you still wish to judge for yourself. I
+like this author's style much; there is both energy and beauty in it.
+I like himself too, because he is such a hearty admirer. He does not
+give half measure of praise or veneration. He eulogizes, he reverences
+with his whole soul. One can sympathize with that sort of devout,
+serious admiration (for he is no rhapsodist), one can respect it. Yet,
+possibly, many people would laugh at it. I am truly obliged to Mr.
+Smith for giving me this book, not often having met with one that has
+pleased me more.</p>
+
+<p>I congratulate you on the approaching publication of Mr. Ruskin's new
+work. If the <i>Seven Lamps of Architecture</i> resemble their predecessor,
+<i>Modern Painters</i>, they will be no lamps at all, but a new
+constellation&mdash;seven bright stars, for whose rising the reading world
+ought to be anxiously agaze.</p>
+
+<p>I am beginning to read Eckermann's <i>Goethe</i>&mdash;it promised to be a most
+interesting work. Honest, simple, single-minded Eckermann! Great,
+powerful, giant-souled, but also profoundly egotistical old Johann
+Wolfgang von Goethe! He <i>was</i> a mighty egotist. He thought no more of
+swallowing up poor Eckermann's existence in his own, than the whale
+thought of swallowing Jonah.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>The worst of reading graphic accounts of such men, of seeing graphic
+pictures of the scenes, the society in which they moved, is that it
+excites a too tormenting longing to look on the reality; but does such
+reality now exist? Amidst all the troubled waters of European society,
+does such a vast, strong, selfish old leviathan now roll ponderous? I
+suppose not.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+<br />
+
+<p>I often wish to say something on the "condition-of-women" question,
+but it is one on which so much cant has been talked, that one feels a
+sort of reluctance to approach it. I have always been accustomed to
+think that the necessity of earning one's living is not, in itself, an
+evil; though I feel it may become a heavy evil if health fails, if
+employment lacks, if the demand upon our efforts, made by the weakness
+of others dependent upon us becomes greater than our strength. Both
+sons and daughters should early be inured to habits of independence
+and industry.</p>
+
+<p>A governess' lot is frequently, indeed, bitter, but its results are
+precious. The mind, feelings, and temper are subjected to a discipline
+equally painful and priceless. I have known many who were unhappy as
+governesses, but scarcely one who, having undergone the ordeal, was
+not ultimately strengthened and improved&mdash;made more enduring for her
+own afflictions, more considerate for the afflictions of others. The
+great curse of a single female life is its dependency; daughters, as
+well as sons, should aim at making their way through life. Teachers
+may be hard-worked, ill-paid, and despised; but the girl who stays at
+home <i>doing nothing</i> is worse off than the worse-paid <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>drudge of a
+school; the listlessness of idleness will infallibly degrade her
+nature.</p>
+
+<p>Lonely as I am, how should I be if Providence had never given me
+courage to adopt a career, perseverance to plead through two long
+weary years with publishers till they admitted me? How should I be,
+with youth passed, sisters lost, a resident in a moorland parish where
+there is not a single resident family? In that case I should have no
+world at all. The raven weary of surveying the deluge, and with no ark
+to return to, would be my type.</p>
+
+<p>As it is, something like a hope and motive sustain me still. I wish
+every woman in England had also a hope and a motive. Alas! I fear
+there are many old maids who have neither.</p>
+
+<p class="right">&mdash;Adapted from <i>Littell's Living Age</i>.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XXXIX" id="XXXIX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XXXIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THACKERAY IN AMERICA</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Thackeray, like many other Englishmen of note, came to America to
+lecture in order to make money. He had delivered lectures in London
+and in other towns in England on the <i>English Humorists</i>. Why not use
+his popularity in America as a means of acquiring a little fortune for
+the sake of his wife and two girls. "I must and will go," he wrote to
+his eldest daughter, "not because I like it, but because it is right I
+should secure some money against my death for your mother and you two
+girls. And I think, if I have luck, I may secure nearly a third of the
+sum that I think I ought to leave behind me by a six months' tour in
+the States."</p>
+
+<p>Let us, in order to get a first-hand impression, read from letters
+that he wrote from America:</p>
+
+<p>"The passage is nothing, now it is over; I am rather ashamed of gloom
+and disquietude about such a trifling journey. I have made scores of
+new acquaintances and lighted on my feet as usual. I didn't expect to
+like people as I do, but am agreeably disappointed and find many most
+pleasant companions, natural and good; natural and well read and well
+bred too, and I suppose am none the worse pleased because everybody
+has <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>read all my books and praises my lectures (I preach in a
+Unitarian Church, and the parson comes to hear me. His name is Mr.
+Bellows, it isn't a pretty name), and there are 2,000 people nearly
+who come, and the lectures are so well liked that it is probable I
+shall do them over again. So really there is a chance of making a
+pretty little sum of money for old age, imbecility, and those young
+ladies afterwards.... Broadway is miles upon miles long, a rush of
+life such as I have never seen; not so full as the Strand, but so
+rapid. The houses are always being torn down and built up again, the
+railroad cars drive slap into the midst of the city. There are
+barricades and scaffoldings banging everywhere. I have not been into a
+house, except the fat country one, but something new is being done to
+it, and the hammerings are clattering in the passage, or a wall or
+steps are down, or the family is going to move. Nobody is quiet here,
+nor am I. The rush and restlessness please me, and I like, for a
+little, the dash of the stream. I am not received as a god, which I
+like too. There is one paper which goes on every morning saying I am a
+snob, and I don't say no. Six people were reading it at breakfast this
+morning, and the man opposite me this morning popped it under the
+table-cloth. But the other papers roar with approbation."</p>
+
+<p>In this letter, of which we have read a fragment, Mr. Thackeray
+inclosed a clipping from the New York <i>Evening Post</i>. This is what the
+newspaper had to say: "The building was crowded.... Every one who saw
+Mr. Thackeray last evening for the first time seemed to have had
+their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>impressions of his appearance and manner of speech corrected.
+Few expected to see so large a man; he is gigantic; six feet four at
+least; few expected to see so old a person; his hair appears to have
+kept silvery record over fifty years; and then there was a notion in
+the minds of many that there must be something dashing and 'fast' in
+his appearance, whereas his costume was perfectly plain; the
+expression of his face grave and earnest; his address perfectly
+unaffected, and such as we might expect to meet with, in a well-bred
+man somewhat advanced in years. His elocution also surprised those who
+had derived their impressions from the English journals. His voice is
+a superb tenor, and possesses that pathetic tremble which is so
+effective in what is called emotive eloquence, while his delivery was
+as well suited to the communication he had to make as could well have
+been imagined.</p>
+
+<p>"His enunciation is perfect. Every word he uttered might have been
+heard in the remotest quarters of the room, yet he scarcely lifted his
+voice above a colloquial tone. The most striking feature in his whole
+manner was the utter absence of affectation of any kind. He did not
+permit himself to appear conscious that he was an object of peculiar
+interest in the audience, neither was he guilty of the greater error
+of not appearing to care whether they were interested in him or not.
+In other words, he inspired his audience with a respect for him, as a
+man proportioned to the admiration, which his books have inspired for
+him as an author."</p>
+
+<p>From Philadelphia Thackeray writes: "Oh, I am tired of shaking hands
+with people, and acting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>the lion business night after night.
+Everybody is introduced and shakes hands. I know thousands of
+colonels, professors, editors, and what not, and walk the streets
+guiltily, knowing that I don't know 'em, and trembling lest the man
+opposite to me is one of my friends of the day before. I believe I am
+popular, except at Boston among the newspaper men who fired into me,
+but a great favorite with the <i>monde</i> there and elsewhere. Here in
+Philadelphia it is all praise and kindness. Do you know there are
+500,000 people in Philadelphia? I daresay you had no idea thereof, and
+smile at the idea of there being a <i>monde</i> here and at Boston and New
+York.... I am writing this with a new gold pen, in such a fine gold
+case. An old gentleman gave it to me yesterday, a white-headed old
+philosopher and political economist, there's something simple in the
+way these kind folks regard a man; they read our books as if we were
+Fielding, and so forth. The other night men were talking of Dickens
+and Bulwer as if they were equal to Shakespeare, and I was pleased to
+find myself pleased at hearing them praised. The prettiest girl in
+Philadelphia, poor soul, has read <i>Vanity Fair</i> twelve times. I paid
+her a great big compliment yesterday, about her good looks of course,
+and she turned round delighted to her friend and said, '<i>Ai most
+tallut</i>,' that is something like the pronunciation."</p>
+
+<p>In another letter: "Now I have seen three great cities, Boston, New
+York, Philadelphia, I think I like them all mighty well. They seem to
+me not so civilized as our London, but more so than Manchester and
+Liverpool. At Boston is very good literate company indeed; it is like
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>Edinburgh for that,&mdash;a vast amount of toryism and donnishness
+everywhere. That of New York the simplest and least pretentious; it
+suffices that a man should keep fine house, give parties, and have a
+daughter, to get all the world to him."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XL" id="XL"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XL<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>GEORGE ELIOT BECOMES A WRITER OF FICTION</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>As one is ready to call Elizabeth Barrett the greatest poetess of the
+nineteenth century, so there is little hesitation in pronouncing
+George Eliot the foremost of the many women who have written fiction.
+The literary critics sometimes dispute her supremacy by urging the
+claims of Jane Austen, who is said to have Shaksperean power in the
+delineation of character. But the name of Jane Austen is unknown to
+the general public. For every reader of <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> there
+are a score of readers of <i>Adam Bede</i>.</p>
+
+<p>George Eliot is the pseudonym of Mary Ann Evans. She took the name of
+<i>George</i> because it was the first name of Mr. Lewes, and Eliot "was a
+good, mouth-filling, easily pronounced word."</p>
+
+<p>George Eliot was almost thirty-seven years old before she began to
+write fiction; in this respect reminding us of Scott, who had first
+achieved fame as a poet before he began in his maturity to write
+fiction. We are happy in having from the pen of George Eliot herself
+the account of how she began to write fiction:</p>
+
+<p>"September, 1856, made a new era in my life, for it was then I began
+to write fiction. It had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>always been a vague dream of mine that some
+time or other I might write a novel; and my shadowy conception of what
+the novel was to be, varied, of course, from one epoch of my life to
+another. But I never went further toward the actual writing of the
+novel than an introductory chapter describing a Staffordshire village
+and the life of the neighboring farm-houses; and as the years passed
+on I lost any hope that I should ever be able to write a novel."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lewes encouraged George Eliot by admiring her introductory
+chapter. He first read it when they were together in Germany. When
+they had returned to England and she was more successful in her essay
+writing than he had expected, he continued to urge her to try to write
+a story. "He began to say very positively, 'You must try and write a
+story,' and when we were at Tenby he urged me to begin at once. I
+deferred it, however, after my usual fashion with work that does not
+present itself as an absolute duty. But one morning, as I was thinking
+what should be the subject of my first story, my thoughts merged
+themselves into a dreamy doze, and I imagined myself writing a story,
+of which the title was <i>The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton</i>.
+I was soon wide awake again and told G. (Mr. Lewes). He said 'Oh, what
+a capital title!' and from that time I had settled in my mind that
+this should be my first story. George used to say, 'It may be a
+failure&mdash;it may be that you are unable to write fiction. Or, perhaps,
+it may be just good enough to warrant your trying again.' Again, 'You
+may write a <i>chef-d'&oelig;uvre</i> at once&mdash;there's no telling.' But his
+prevalent impression was, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>that though I could hardly write a <i>poor</i>
+novel, my effort would want the highest quality of fiction&mdash;dramatic
+presentation. He used to say, 'You have wit, description, and
+philosophy&mdash;those go a good way towards the production of a novel. It
+is worth while for you to try the experiment.'"</p>
+
+<p>When she had finished the first part of <i>Amos Barton</i>, Mr. Lewes was
+no longer skeptical about her ability to write dialogue. The next
+question was whether she had the power of pathos. This was to be
+determined by the way in which the death of Milly was to be treated.
+"One night G. went to town on purpose to leave me a quiet evening for
+writing it. I wrote the chapter from the news brought by the shepherd
+to Mrs. Hackit, to the moment when Amos is dragged from the bedside,
+and I read it to G. when he came home. We both cried over it, and then
+he came up to me and kissed me, saying, 'I think your pathos is better
+than your fun.'"</p>
+
+<p>The first part of <i>Amos Barton</i> appeared in the January number of
+<i>Blackwood</i>. The publisher paid the author fifty guineas. Afterwards,
+when the series of stories dealing with clerical life was published in
+book form, she was paid &pound;120; later, when the publishing firm decided
+to issue a thousand copies instead of seven hundred and fifty, &pound;60 was
+added to the original sum. George Eliot expressed herself as sensitive
+to the merits of checks for fifty guineas, but the success of her
+later writings was so pronounced that a check for fifty guineas would
+have made little impression, except a feeling of disdain.</p>
+
+<p><i>Amos Barton</i> was followed by <i>Mr. Gilfil's Love Story</i>, and <i>Janet's
+Repentance</i>. The three <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>comprise <i>Scenes from Clerical Life</i>. The
+stories are based upon events which happened in the early life of the
+writer when she lived in Warwickshire. The village of Milby is really
+Nuneaton. When the villagers and country people read the <i>Scenes from
+Clerical Life</i> there was great excitement. Who could this <i>George
+Eliot</i> be? Some one who had lived among them and heard all the gossip
+of the neighborhood. But they could not recall any man with enough
+literary ability to do what had been done. Finally they did remember
+that a man, Liggins by name, had written poetry. The poetry was rather
+weak stuff, but perhaps his strength lay in fiction. Liggins was
+flattered by the suspicions of his neighbors. His own doubt was
+gradually changed to belief. Yes, he was the author of this new
+fiction, because every one said he was. The voice of the people is the
+voice of God. He was invited to write for a theological magazine.
+Finally George Eliot was obliged to reveal her identity when the
+public was about to subscribe a sum of money for the pseudo-literary
+Liggins who was so fastidious as to refuse money for the product of
+his genius. Here ends the career of Liggins, the liar.</p>
+
+<p>One reason the villagers had for believing one of their own number was
+the author was based on the conversations in the <i>Scenes from Clerical
+Life</i>. Not only were they true to life, but they were conversations
+that had actually taken place. How did George Eliot hear them? Had she
+loitered in the public room of the village tavern? Mr. C.S. Olcott
+writes in the <i>Outlook</i>,&mdash;"The real conversations which were so
+cleverly reported were actually heard by Robert Evans, the father <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>of
+George Eliot, who doubtless often visited the Bull in company with his
+neighbors. He repeated them to his wife, not realizing that the little
+daughter who listened so attentively was gifted with a marvelous
+memory, or that she possessed a genius that could transform a simple
+tale into a novel of dramatic power. Mary Ann Evans had moved to
+Coventry sixteen years before, and was therefore scarcely known in
+Nuneaton at the time the stories appeared. She then had no literary
+fame, and was no more likely to be thought of in this connection than
+any one of a hundred other school-girls."</p>
+
+<p>In her journal she records on October 22, 1857,&mdash;"Began my new novel,
+<i>Adam Bede</i>." For it her publishers offered her &pound;800 for the copyright
+for four years; later they added &pound;400, and still later Blackwoods,
+finding a ready sale for their numerous editions, proposed to pay &pound;800
+above the original price. And for the appearance of <i>Romola</i> in the
+<i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, Mr. George Smith offered &pound;10,000, but &pound;7000 was
+accepted. For <i>Middlemarch</i>, which appeared in separate publication,
+that is, independent of a magazine, she received a still larger
+amount. Middlemarch is considered by many critics her best work. It
+was very popular from the first. In a letter to John Blackwood,
+November, 1873, George Eliot writes,&mdash;"I had a letter from Mr.
+Bancroft (the American ambassador at Berlin) the other day, in which
+he says that everybody in Berlin reads <i>Middlemarch</i>. He had to buy
+two copies for his house, and he found the rector of the university, a
+stupendous mathematician, occupied with it in the solid part of the
+day."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>The public may prefer <i>Adam Bede</i> or <i>Middlemarch</i> but it is reported
+that George Eliot herself preferred <i>Silas Marner</i>. This is the report
+of Justin McCarthy, who was a frequent visitor on Sunday afternoons at
+the Priory, the home of George Eliot, where many distinguished
+visitors, such as Herbert Spencer, Tyndall, and Huxley, loved to
+gather. "There is a legend," writes Mr. McCarthy, "that George Eliot
+never liked to talk about her novels. I can only say that she started
+the subject with me one day. It was, to be sure, about a picture some
+painter had sent her, representing a scene in <i>Silas Marner</i>, and she
+called my attention to it, and said that of all her novels <i>Silas
+Marner</i> was her favorite. I ventured to disagree with her, and to say
+that the <i>Mill on the Floss</i> was my favorite. She entered into the
+discussion quite genially, just as if she were talking of the works of
+some stranger, which I think is the very perfection of the manner
+authors ought to adopt in talking about their books."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLI" id="XLI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE AUTHOR OF "ALICE IN WONDERLAND"</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>It is said that when Victoria, late queen of England, had read <i>Alice
+in Wonderland</i> she was so pleased that she asked for more of the
+author's books. They brought her a treatise on logarithms by the Rev.
+C.L. Dodgson. Lewis Carroll and the Rev. C.L. Dodgson were one and the
+same person, although they were two dissimilar characters. The one was
+a popular author of nonsense that delighted children by the hundreds
+of thousands and the other was a scholarly mathematician.</p>
+
+<p>C.L. Dodgson came of good Northern-England stock. His father,
+grandfather, and great-grandfather were clergymen&mdash;a contradiction,
+says his biographer, Mr. Collingwood, of the scandalous theory that
+three generations of parsons end in a fool. As a boy he kept all sorts
+of odd and unlikely pets. From Rugby he entered Oxford. In 1856 he was
+made college lecturer in mathematics, a position which he filled for a
+quarter of a century. That he had thoughts of lighter material than
+mathematics is evidenced by a short poem that appeared about this time
+in a college paper called <i>College Rhymes</i>. Two of the stanzas run
+like this:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She has the bear's ethereal grace<br /></span><span class='pn'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">The bland hyena's laugh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The footsteps of the elephant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The neck of the giraffe;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I love her still, believe me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though my heart its passion hides,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is all my fancy painted her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But oh! how much besides.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The year 1862 saw the beginning of the world-famous <i>Alice</i>. He told
+the story to Dean Liddell's three daughters. "Alice," the second of
+the three (now Mrs. Reginald Hargreaves) thus tells the story:</p>
+
+<p>"I believe the beginning of <i>Alice</i> was told one summer afternoon when
+the sun was so burning that we had landed in the meadows down the
+river, deserting the boat to take refuge in the only bit of shade to
+be found, and which was under a new-made hay-rick. Here from all three
+came the old petition of 'Tell us a story,' and so began the ever
+delightful tale. Sometimes to tease us&mdash;and perhaps being really
+tired&mdash;Mr. Dodgson would stop suddenly and say, 'And that's all till
+next time.' 'Oh! but it is next time,' would be the exclamation from
+all three; and after some persuasion the story would start afresh.
+Another day perhaps the story would begin in the boat, and Mr.
+Dodgson, in the midst of telling a thrilling adventure, would pretend
+to fall fast asleep, to our great dismay." ...</p>
+
+<p>"Many of Lewis Carroll's friendships with children began in a railway
+carriage. Once when he was traveling, a lady, whose little daughter
+had been reading <i>Alice</i>, startled him by exclaiming: 'Isn't it sad
+about poor Mr. Lewis Carroll? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>He's gone mad, you know.... I have it
+on the best authority.'"</p>
+
+<p>Lewis Carroll, or rather Mr. Dodgson, did not wish his acquaintances
+to speak of him as the author of <i>Alice</i>. In his every-day work he
+wanted to be known as the serious mathematician. He was conservative
+in his ideas and did not look with favor upon the movement to
+overthrow Euclid. In 1870 he published a book entitled <i>Euclid and his
+Modern Rivals</i>. The London <i>Spectator</i> speaks of this as probably the
+most humorous contribution ever devoted to the subject of mathematics.
+In an academical discussion held at Oxford he once published three
+rules to be followed in debate. This is one of the three: "Let it be
+granted that any one may speak at any length on a subject at any
+distance from that subject."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLII" id="XLII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>ABOUT DARWIN</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>When a prominent literary journal at the close of the last century
+asked a number of distinguished Americans and Englishmen to name the
+ten most influential books of the century, it was interesting to note
+that Darwin's <i>Origin of Species</i> received more frequent mention than
+any other book. Five years after Charles Darwin had been buried (he
+was laid to rest in Westminster Abbey in 1882), his son published the
+<i>Life and Letters of Darwin</i>, which included an autobiographical
+chapter. From this work we can gather enough to show some aspects of
+this remarkable man.</p>
+
+<p>Men of genius are often in childhood very imaginative. It is sometimes
+pretty difficult to distinguish between playful imagination and lying.
+Let us give Darwin the benefit of the doubt in this instance:</p>
+
+<p>"One little event during this year (1817) has fixed itself very firmly
+in my mind, and I hope that it has done so from my conscience having
+been afterwards sorely troubled by it; it is curious as showing that
+apparently I was interested at this early age in the variability of
+plants! I told another little boy (I believe it was Leighton, who
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>afterwards became a well-known lichenologist and botanist), that I
+could produce variously colored polyanthuses and primroses by watering
+them with certain colored fluids, which was of course a monstrous
+fable, and had never been tried by me."</p>
+
+<p>Darwin's school experiences were not always profitable. He says:</p>
+
+<p>"I had many friends, and got together a good collection of old verses,
+which by patching together, sometimes aided by other boys, I could
+work into any subject. Much attention was paid to learning by heart
+the lessons of the previous day. This I could effect with great
+facility, learning forty or fifty lines of Virgil or Homer whilst I
+was in morning chapel. But this exercise was utterly useless, for
+every verse was forgotten in forty-eight hours. I was not idle, and
+with the exception of versification, generally worked conscientiously
+at my classics, not using cribs. The sole pleasure I ever received
+from such studies, was from some of the odes of Horace, which I
+admired greatly."</p>
+
+<p>Of his years at Cambridge he writes:</p>
+
+<p>"During the three years which I spent at Cambridge my time was wasted,
+as far as the academical studies were concerned, as completely as at
+Edinburgh and at school. I attempted mathematics, and even went,
+during the summer of 1828, with a private tutor (a very dull man) to
+Barmouth, but I got on very slowly. The work was repugnant to me
+chiefly from my not being able to see any meaning in the very early
+steps in algebra. This impatience was very foolish, and in after years
+I have deeply regretted that I did <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>not proceed far enough at least to
+understand something of the great leading principles of mathematics,
+for men thus endowed seem to have an extra sense.... In order to pass
+the B.A. examination, it was also necessary to get up Paley's
+<i>Evidences of Christianity</i>, and his <i>Moral Philosophy</i>. This was done
+in a thorough manner, and I am convinced that I could have written out
+the whole of the <i>Evidences</i> with perfect correctness, but not of
+course in the clear language of Paley. The logic of this book and, as
+I may add, of his <i>Natural Theology</i>, gave me as much delight as did
+Euclid. The careful study of these works, without attempting to learn
+any part by rote, was the only part of the academical course which, as
+I then felt and as I still believe, was of the least use to me in the
+education of my mind. I did not at that time trouble myself about
+Paley's premises, and taking these on trust I was charmed and
+convinced by the long line of argumentation."</p>
+
+<p>One of the great opportunities of Darwin's life came to him when, some
+time after he had finished his course at Cambridge, he was offered a
+place as naturalist on the <i>Beagle</i>, a ship sent by the English
+government on a survey. At first Darwin thought he could not go
+because his father was opposed to the plan. Finally the father said he
+would consent if any man of common sense should advise his son to go.
+This common sense man "was found in the person of his uncle, a Josiah
+Wedgwood, who advised the father to permit his son to go. The voyage
+has been described by Darwin, and thousands have been interested and
+profited by the reading. Some of the letters that he wrote to his
+friends during his trip are also <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>very interesting. Here is one he
+sent to his cousin, Fox:</p>
+
+<p>"My mind has been, since leaving England, in a perfect <i>hurricane</i> of
+delight and astonishment, and to this hour scarcely a minute has
+passed in idleness.... Geology carries the day; it is like the
+pleasure of gambling. Speculating, on first arrival, what the rocks
+may be, I often mentally cry out, three to one tertiary against
+primitive; but the latter has hitherto won all the bets.... My life,
+when at sea, is so quiet, that to a person who can employ himself,
+nothing can be pleasanter; the beauty of the sky and brilliancy of the
+ocean together make a picture. But when on shore, and wandering in the
+sublime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than Claude ever
+imagined, I enjoy a delight which none but those who have experienced
+it can understand. If it is to be done, it must be by studying
+Humboldt. At our ancient snug breakfasts, at Cambridge, I little
+thought that the wide Atlantic would ever separate us; but it is a
+rare privilege that with the body, the feelings and memory are not
+divided. On the contrary, the pleasantest scenes of my life, many of
+which have been at Cambridge, rise from the contrast of the present
+the more vividly in my imagination."</p>
+
+<p>From Valparaiso, after he had been two years on the voyage, he writes
+to a friend:</p>
+
+<p>"That this voyage must come to a conclusion my reason tells me,
+otherwise I see no end to it. It is impossible not bitterly to regret
+the friends and other sources of pleasure one leaves behind in
+England; in place of it there is much solid enjoyment, some present,
+but more in anticipation, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>when the ideas gained during the voyage can
+be compared with fresh ones. I find in Geology a never-failing
+interest, as it has been remarked, it creates the same grand ideas
+respecting the world which astronomy does for the universe. We have
+seen much fine scenery; that of the tropics in its glory and
+luxuriance exceeds even the language of Humboldt to describe. A
+Persian writer could alone do justice to it, and if he succeeded he
+would in England be called the 'Grandfather of all liars.'"</p>
+
+<p>No one can read the life of Darwin without feeling great respect for
+his perseverance. His faithful devotion to his work can teach us all a
+useful lesson. Says his son:</p>
+
+<p>"No one except my mother, knows the full amount of suffering he
+endured, or the full amount of his wonderful patience. For all the
+latter years of his life she never left him for a night, and her days
+were so planned that all his resting hours might be shared with her.
+She shielded him from every possible annoyance, and omitted nothing
+that might save him trouble, or prevent his becoming overtired, or
+that might alleviate the many discomforts of his ill-health. I
+hesitate to speak thus freely of a thing so sacred as the life-long
+devotion which prompted this constant and tender care. But it is, I
+repeat, a principal feature of his life, that for nearly forty years
+he never knew one day of the health of ordinary men, and that thus his
+life was one long struggle against the weariness and strain of
+sickness. And this cannot be told without speaking of the one
+condition which enabled him to bear the strain and fight out the
+struggle to the end."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>That Darwin himself appreciated the goodness of his wife can be seen
+from the following tribute which has appeared in <i>More Letters of
+Charles Darwin</i>. It does not appear in the <i>Autobiography</i> because
+Mrs. Darwin was living at the time of its publication. Where in all
+literature can a more tender and beautiful appreciation be found?&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You all know your mother, and what a good mother she has been to all
+of you. She has been my greatest blessing, and I can declare that in
+my whole life I have never heard her utter one word I would rather
+have been unsaid. She has never failed in kindest sympathy towards me,
+and has borne with the utmost patience my frequent complaints of
+ill-health and discomfort. I do not believe she has ever missed an
+opportunity of doing a kind action to any one near her. I marvel at my
+good fortune that she, so infinitely my superior in every single moral
+quality, consented to be my wife. She has been my wise adviser and
+cheerful comforter throughout life, which without her would have been
+during a very long period a miserable one from ill-health. She has
+earned the love of every soul near her."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLIII" id="XLIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>ANECDOTES OF HUXLEY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Huxley was more than one of the greatest scientists of the last
+century; he was a man of literary ability. By his popular lectures and
+clear expositions he probably did more than any other man of the
+century to popularize the many and important discoveries of the
+scientific world. At first there was much opposition to him, owing to
+a lack of information on the part of the public as to the import of
+the doctrine of evolution. Ex-President Gilman of Johns Hopkins
+University tells what a storm of protest was raised in America when
+Huxley was invited to deliver the opening address at the founding of
+the new university. Huxley is not even now regarded as an orthodox
+man, but much of the former prejudice has given way.</p>
+
+<p>John Fiske, who in so many ways can be regarded as the American
+Huxley, has published a magazine article giving his impressions of
+Huxley. In this article he gives two versions of a famous Huxley
+anecdote. Here is one:</p>
+
+<p>"It was at the meeting of the British Association at Oxford in 1860,
+soon after the publication of Darwin's epoch-making book, and while
+people in general were wagging their heads at it, that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>the subject
+came up before a hostile and fashionable audience. Samuel Wilberforce,
+the plausible and self-complacent Bishop of Oxford, commonly known as
+'Soapy Sam,' launched out in a rash speech, conspicuous for its
+ignorant mis-statements, and highly seasoned with appeals to the
+prejudices of the audience, upon whose lack of intelligence the
+speaker relied. Near him sat Huxley, already known as a man of
+science, and known to look favorably upon Darwinism, but more or less
+youthful withal, only five-and-thirty, so that the bishop anticipated
+sport in badgering him. At the close of his speech he suddenly turned
+upon Huxley and begged to be informed if the learned gentleman was
+really willing to be regarded as the descendant of a monkey. Eager
+self-confidence had blinded the bishop to the tactical blunder in thus
+inviting a retort. Huxley was instantly upon his feet with a speech
+demolishing the bishop's card house of mistakes; and at the close he
+observed that since a question of personal preferences had been very
+improperly brought into a discussion of a scientific theory, he felt
+free to confess that if the alternatives were descent, on the one hand
+from a respectable monkey, or on the other from a bishop of the
+English church who would stoop to such misrepresentations and sophisms
+as the audience had lately listened to, he would declare in favor of
+the monkey!... It is curious to read that in the ensuing buzz of
+excitement a lady fainted, and had to be carried from the room; but
+the audience were in general quite alive to the bishop's blunder in
+manners and tactics, and, with the genuine English love of fair play,
+they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>loudly applauded Huxley. From that time forth it was recognized
+that he was not the sort of man to be browbeaten. As for Bishop
+Wilberforce, he carried with him from the affray no bitterness, but
+was always afterwards most courteous to his castigator."</p>
+
+<p>Huxley was a great reader of history, poetry, metaphysics, and
+fiction, but this is not what made him a great scientist. Original men
+make books, they do not need to read them. Yet Huxley loved to read.
+He even in his old age studied Greek to read Aristotle and the New
+Testament in the original. But Huxley loved things even more than
+books. He had little respect for mere bookish knowledge. "A rash
+clergyman once, without further equipment in natural science than
+desultory reading, attacked the Darwinian theory in some sundry
+magazine articles, in which he made himself uncommonly merry at
+Huxley's expense. This was intended to draw the great man's fire, and
+as the batteries remained silent the author proceeded to write to
+Huxley, calling his attention to the articles, and at the same time,
+with mock modesty, asking advice as to the further study of these deep
+questions. Huxley's answer was brief and to the point: 'Take a
+cockroach and dissect it.'"</p>
+
+<p>Huxley was fond of children and their ways. His son, Leonard, tells us
+that Julian, the grandchild of Huxley was a child made up of a
+combination of cherub and pickle. Huxley had been in his garden
+watering with a hose. The little four-year-old was with him. Huxley
+came in and said: "I like that chap! I like the way he looks you
+straight in the face and disobeys you. I told <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>him not to go on the
+wet grass again. He just looked up boldly straight at me, as much as
+to say, 'What do <i>you</i> mean by ordering me about?' and deliberately
+walked on to the grass." In the spring the approval was not so
+decided. "I like that chap; he looks you straight in the face. But
+there's a falling off in one respect since last August&mdash;he now does
+what he is told."</p>
+
+<p>When Julian, the grandchild, was learning to read and write, he became
+interested in <i>Water-Babies</i>, a story that has delighted so many
+children. In it he found a reference to his grandfather as one who
+knew much about water-babies. So he wrote to his grandfather:</p>
+
+<div class="block2"><p>Dear Grandpater, have you seen a water baby? Did you put it in
+a bottle? Did it wonder if it could get out? Can I see it some
+day?</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="padding-right: 10em;">Your loving</span><br />
+<span class="sc" style="padding-right: 5em;">Julian.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>This is the answer to the letter:</p>
+
+<div class="block">
+<p class="right">March 24, 1892.</p>
+
+<p class="sc">My Dear Julian:</p>
+
+<p>I never could make out about that water-baby. I have seen
+babies in water and babies in bottles; but the baby in the
+water was not in the bottle and the baby in the bottle was not
+in the water.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span style="padding-right: 10em;">Ever your loving</span><br />
+<span class="sc" style="padding-right: 5em;">Grandpater.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Huxley was also fond of cats and dogs and pets of all kind. His son
+tells us that once he found his father in an uncomfortable seat, while
+the cat had the best chair. He defended himself by saying that he
+could not turn the beast away. In 1893 a man, who was writing on the
+<i>Pets of Celebrities</i>, wrote to him for information concerning his
+personal likings. Huxley sent him this letter:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>A long series of cats has reigned over my household for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+last forty years or thereabouts; but I am sorry to say that I
+have no pictorial or other record of their physical and moral
+excellencies.</p>
+
+<p>The present occupant of the throne is a large young gray
+tabby, Oliver by name. Not that in any sense he is a
+protector, for I doubt whether he has the heart to kill a
+mouse. However, I saw him catch and eat the first butterfly of
+the season, and trust that the germ of courage thus manifest
+may develop, with age, into efficient mousing.</p>
+
+<p>As to sagacity, I should say that his judgment respecting the
+warmest place and the softest cushion in the room is
+infallible, his punctuality at meal-time is admirable, and his
+pertinacity in jumping on people's shoulders till they give
+him some of the best of what is going indicates great
+firmness.</p></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLIV" id="XLIV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>STEVENSON AT VAILIMA</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Robert Louis Stevenson, the writer of <i>Treasure Island</i> and many other
+exciting romances, was an exile from home during the last few years of
+his life. The state of his health demanded a sunny clime and so he was
+forced to live in Samoa, a group of islands in the South Pacific.
+About three miles behind Apia, on a slight plateau seven hundred feet
+above the level of the sea, he cleared the forest and made a house. "I
+have chosen the land to be my land, the people to be my people, to
+live and die with," said Stevenson in his speech to the Samoan chiefs.
+Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, his step-son, thus describes their abode:</p>
+
+<p>"Unbroken forest covered Vailima when first we saw it; not the forest
+of the temperate zone with its varied glades and open spaces, but the
+thick tangle of the tropics, dense, dark, and cold in even the hottest
+day, where one must walk cutlass in hand to slash the lianas and the
+red-edged stinging leaves of a certain tree that continually bar one's
+path. The murmur of streams and cascades fell sometimes upon our ears
+as we wandered in the deep shade, and mingled with the cooing of wild
+doves and the mysterious, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>haunting sound of a native woodpecker at
+work. Our Chinaman, who was with us on our first survey, busied
+himself with taking samples of the soil, and grew almost incoherent
+with the richness of what he called the 'dirty.' We, for our part,
+were no less enchanted with what we saw, and could realize, as we
+forced our way through the thickets and skirted the deep ravines, what
+a noble labor lay before our axes, what exquisite views and glorious
+gardens could be carved out of the broken mountain side and the sullen
+forest."</p>
+
+<p>As Stevenson was afraid that villas might be made to intervene between
+him and the sea, he bought much land that his view might be forever
+unobstructed. He entered into the work of clearing the forest with
+vigorous delight. For months he lived in pioneer confusion. Gangs of
+native workmen worked from morning to night.</p>
+
+<p>"The new house was built," says Mr. Osbourne; "I arrived from England
+with the furniture, the library, and other effects of our old home;
+the phase of hard work and short commons passed gradually away, and a
+form of hollow comfort dawned upon us. I say hollow comfort, for
+though we began to accumulate cows, horses, and the general apparatus
+of civilized life, the question of service became a vexing one. An
+expensive German cooked our meals and quarreled with the white
+house-maid; the white overseer said 'that manual labor was the one
+thing that never agreed with him,' and that it was an unwholesome
+thing for a man to be awakened in the early morning, 'for one ought to
+wake up natural-like,' he explained. The white <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>carter 'couldn't bear
+with niggers,' and though he did his work well and faithfully, he
+helped to demoralize the place and loosen discipline. Everything was
+at sixes and sevens, when, on the occasion of Mrs. Stevenson's going
+to Fiji for a few months' rest, my sister and I took charge of
+affairs. The expensive German was bidden to depart; Mr. Stevenson
+discharged the carter; the white overseer (who was tied to us by
+contract) was bought off in cold coin, to sleep out his 'natural
+sleep' under a kindlier star and to engage himself (presumably) in
+intellectual labors elsewhere. There are two sides to 'white
+slavery'&mdash;that cherished expression of the labor agitator&mdash;and with
+the departure of our tyrants we began again to raise our diminished
+heads. My sister and I threw ourselves into the kitchen, and took up
+the labor of cooking with zeal and determination; the domestic
+boundaries proved too narrow for our new-found energies, and we
+overflowed into the province of entertainment, with decorated menus,
+silver plate and finger-bowls! The aristocracy of Apia was pressed to
+lunch with us, to commend our independence and to eat our biscuits. It
+was a French Revolution in miniature; we danced the carmagnole in the
+kitchen and were prepared to conquer the Samoan social world. One
+morning, before the ardor and zest of it all had time to be dulled by
+custom, I happened to discover a young and very handsome Samoan on our
+back veranda. He was quite a dandified youngster, with a red flower
+behind his ear and his hair limed in the latest fashion. I liked his
+open, attractive face and his unembarrassed manner, and inquired what
+propitious fate <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>had brought him to sit upon our ice-chest and radiate
+good nature on our back porch. It seemed that Simele, the overseer,
+owed him two Chile dollars, and that he was here, bland, friendly, but
+insistent, to collect the debt in person. That Simele would not be
+back for hours in no way daunted him, and he seemed prepared to swing
+his brown legs and show his white teeth for a whole eternity.</p>
+
+<p>"'Chief,' I said, a sudden thought striking me, 'you are he that I
+have been looking for so long. You are going to stay in Vailima and be
+our cook!'</p>
+
+<p>"'But I don't know how to cook,' he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"'That is no matter,' I said. 'Two months ago I was as you; to-day I
+am a splendid cook. I will teach you my skill.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But I don't want to learn,' he said, and brought back the
+conversation to Chile dollars.</p>
+
+<p>"'There is no good making excuses,' I said. 'This is a psychological
+moment in the history of Vailima. You are the Man of Destiny.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But I haven't my box,' he expostulated.</p>
+
+<p>"'I will send for it,' I returned. 'I would not lose you for twenty
+boxes. If you need clothes, why there stands my own chest; flowers
+grow in profusion and the oil-bottle rests never empty beside my
+humble bed; and in the hot hours of the afternoon there is the
+beautifulest pool where one can bathe and wash one's lovely hair.
+Moreover, so generous are the regulations of Tusitala's (Stevenson's)
+government that his children receive weekly large sums of money, and
+they are allowed on Sundays to call their friends to this elegant
+house and entertain them with salt beef and biscuit.'</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>"Thus was Taalolo introduced into the Vailima kitchen, never to leave
+it for four years save when the war-drum called him to the front with
+a six-shooter and a 'death-tooth'&mdash;the Samoan war-cutlass or
+head-knife. He became in time not only an admirable chef, but the
+nucleus of the whole native establishment and the loyalest of our
+whole Samoan family. His coming was the turning-point in the history
+of the house. We had achieved independence of our white masters, and
+their discontented white faces had disappeared one by one. Honest
+brown ones now took their places and we gained more than good servants
+by the change."</p>
+
+<p>The following incident illustrates the high regard in which Stevenson
+was held by the native Samoans. When Mataafa, a claimant for the
+throne of Upolo, was imprisoned by the European powers, Stevenson
+visited him in prison and gave him tobacco and other gifts to cheer
+the disconsolate chief. He also visited other prisoners who had sided
+in the affairs of Mataafa. When they were released they wished to show
+their gratitude in some tangible way. So they built a fine wide road
+to the home of the famous writer, a work which they disliked but which
+their love for Stevenson enabled them to accomplish. They called it
+"The Road of the Loving-Heart." Once when his favorite body-servant,
+Sosimo, had anticipated some of his master's wants and Stevenson had
+complimented him with, "Great is the wisdom!" "Nay," replied Sosimo
+with truer insight, "Great is the Love!"</p>
+
+<p>Stevenson's manner of life at Vailima was somewhat like this: At six
+o'clock or earlier he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>arose and began the day's work. By dawn the
+rest of the household were up, and at about eight his wife's daughter
+began to take his dictation, working from then until noon. The
+afternoons were usually spent in some form of recreation&mdash;riding was a
+favorite pastime. He was fond of strolling through the tropical
+forest, and of taking part in any of the numerous outdoor sports.
+However, when he was in the height of literary inspiration, he stayed
+at his desk all day long.</p>
+
+<p>On Sunday evening the household was always called together for
+prayers; a chapter was read from the Samoan Bible, Samoan hymns were
+sung and one of Stevenson's own beautiful prayers, one usually written
+for the occasion, was read, concluding with the Lord's Prayer in the
+tongue of the natives. In the dominant note of these prayers, the call
+for courage and cheerfulness, one can hear the cry of the dying
+Stevenson's need: "The day returns and brings us the petty round of
+irritating concerns and duties. Help us to play the man, help us to
+perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound
+with industry.... Give us health, food, bright weather, and light
+hearts.... As the sun lightens the world, so let our loving-kindness
+make bright the house of our habitation."</p>
+
+<p>Stevenson died as he wished&mdash;in the midst of his work. After a day
+spent in writing his <i>Weir of Hermiston</i>, a day full of life and
+gayety, he suddenly fainted and died a short time afterwards. In the
+prayer offered the evening before had been this sentence,&mdash;"When the
+day returns, return to us our sun and comforter, and call us up with
+morning faces and with morning hearts, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>eager to be happy, if
+happiness shall be our portion&mdash;and if the day be marked for sorrow,
+strong to endure it."</p>
+
+<p>On the following morning a group of powerful Samoans bore the coffin
+upon their shoulders to the summit of Mount Vaea, where it was the
+wish of Mr. Stevenson that he should rest. One of the inscriptions
+upon the tomb is his own noble <i>Requiem</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Under the wide and starry sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dig the grave and let me lie;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glad did I live and gladly die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I laid me down with a will.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This be the verse you grave for me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here he lies where he longed to be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Home is the sailor, home from the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the hunter home from the hill.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLV" id="XLV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>KIPLING IN INDIA</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In four lines of oft-quoted poetry Pope has declared that with words
+the same rule holds that applies to fashion,&mdash;"Alike fantastic if too
+new or old." Fashion changes, not only the fashions of millinery but
+of literature also. When the world is tired of the brilliant wit of
+Byron, it turns in relief to the contemplative verse of Wordsworth;
+when Longfellow and Tennyson have had their artistic day and a
+thousand imitators have produced romantic poetry, because</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Most can raise the flowers now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all have got the seed,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">then this same world turns with delight to the robust poetry of
+Kipling. He has brought a new dish to the banquet of life, or at least
+a new flavor has been given to the old.</p>
+
+<p>Kipling is a man's poet, robust and virile. As a preface to one of his
+stories he wrote:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go stalk the red deer o'er the heather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ride, follow the fox, if you can!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But for pleasure and profit together<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Allow me the hunting of man;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">and this joy in the hunting of man is what has <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>made Kipling so
+acceptable to men. Kipling has the defects of his virtues. There is a
+certain brutality in his point of view. His beautiful <i>Recessional</i> is
+not the greater part of Kipling. His voice "is still for war." His
+critics charge him with "Jingoism." One of the most brilliant parodies
+of recent times is Watson's</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Best by remembering God, say some,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We keep our high imperial lot&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fortune, I think, has mainly come<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When we forgot, when we forgot!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">The greater influence of Kipling, both in his prose and poetry, is
+contrary to the humanitarian spirit of the age. Le Gallienne has
+said,&mdash;"As a writer Mr. Kipling is a delight; as an influence a
+danger."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kipling sprang into public notice because he had genius and
+because he had a new world to reveal to a jaded public. Mr. E. Kay
+Robinson was a friend and associate of Kipling when both were in the
+land of mysteries, India. Mr. Robinson went to India in 1884 and soon
+began to write verses over the signature of "K.R." Kipling was writing
+ballads under the initials "R.K." The similarity of the signatures
+attracted Kipling and he wrote to Robinson. They were afterwards
+associated in newspaper work and became close friends. Robinson has
+written about Kipling in India:</p>
+
+<p>"My first sight of Kipling was at an uninteresting stage, when he was
+a short, square, dark youth, who unfortunately wore spectacles instead
+of eyeglasses and had an unlucky eye for color in the selection of his
+clothes. He had a weakness apparently for brown cloth with just that
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>suggestion of ruddiness or purple in it which makes some browns so
+curiously conspicuous. The charm of his manner, however, made you
+forget what he looked like in half a minute....</p>
+
+<p>"Among Kipling's early journalistic experiences was his involuntary
+assumption 'for this occasion only' of the r&ocirc;le of the fighting
+editor. He was essentially a man of peace, and would always prefer
+making an angry man laugh to fighting with him; but one day there
+called at the office a very furious photographer. What the paper may
+have said about him or his photographs has been forgotten, but never
+will those who witnessed it forget the rough-and-tumble all over the
+floor in which he and Kipling indulged. The libel, or whatever it was,
+which had infuriated the photographer was not Kipling's work, but the
+quarrel was forced upon him, and although he was handicapped by his
+spectacles and smaller stature he made a very fine draw of it, and
+then the photographer&mdash;who, it may be remarked, was very drunk&mdash;was
+ejected. And Kipling wiped his glasses and buttoned his collar.</p>
+
+<p>"That trick of wiping his spectacles is one which Kipling indulged
+more frequently than any man I have ever met, for the simple reason
+that he was always laughing; and when you laugh till you nearly cry
+your spectacles get misty. Kipling, shaking all over with laughter,
+and wiping his spectacles at the same time with his handkerchief, is
+the picture which always comes to mind as most characteristic of him
+in the old days."</p>
+
+<p>With regard to Kipling's minute and exact <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>knowledge of details Mr.
+Robinson has this to say:</p>
+
+<p>"To learn to write as soldiers think, he spent long hours loafing with
+the genuine article. He watched them at work and at play and at prayer
+from the points of view of all his confidants&mdash;the combatant officer,
+the doctor, the chaplain, the drill sergeant, and the private himself.
+With the navy, with every branch of sport, and with natural history,
+he has never wearied in seeking to learn all that man may learn at
+first-hand, or the very best second-hand, at any rate.... But most
+wonderful was his insight into the strangely mixed manners of life and
+thought of the natives of India. He knew them all through their
+horizontal divisions of rank and their vertical sections of caste;
+their ramifications of race and blood; their antagonisms and blendings
+of creed; their hereditary strains of calling or handicraft. Show him
+a native, and he would tell you his rank, caste, race, origin,
+habitat, creed, and calling. He would speak to the man in his own
+fashion, using familiar, homely figures, which brightened the other's
+surprised eyes with recognition of brotherhood and opened a straight
+way into his confidence. In two minutes the man&mdash;perhaps a wild hawk
+from the Afghan hills&mdash;would be pouring out into the ear of this
+sahib, with heaven-sent knowledge and sympathy, the weird tale of the
+blood feud and litigation, the border fray, and the usurer's iniquity,
+which had driven him so far afield as Lahore from Bajaur. To Kipling
+even the most suspected and suspicious of classes, the religious
+mendicants, would open their mouths freely.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>"By the road thick with the dust of camels and thousands of cattle and
+goats, which winds from Lahore Fort to the River Ravi, there are
+walled caravanserais the distant smell of which more than suffices for
+most of the Europeans who pass, but sitting with the travelers in the
+reeking inside Kipling heard weird tales and gathered much knowledge.
+Under a spreading peepul tree overhanging a well by the same road
+squatted daily a ring of almost naked fakirs, smeared with ashes, who
+scowled at the European driving by; but for Kipling there was, when he
+wished it, an opening in the squatting circle and much to be learned
+from the unsavory talkers. That is how Kipling's finished
+word-pictures take the lifelike aspect of instantaneous photographs."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLVI" id="XLVI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>BENJAMIN FRANKLIN RUNS AWAY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Benjamin Franklin had so many strong qualities, was eminent in so many
+lines of endeavor, that we do not always include him among the
+literary men of America. However, his <i>Autobiography</i> is a
+masterpiece. In sincerity and simplicity it is unsurpassed. This is
+all the more remarkable because it was written at a time when ornate
+writing was the fashion. A man's style is the outgrowth of his nature,
+and it is a striking comment upon the robust quality of Franklin's
+mind that his style has the simplicity of the Bible, or <i>Pilgrim's
+Progress</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The following account, taken from his <i>Autobiography</i>, begins just
+after he has landed in New York, a boy of seventeen who has run away
+from home because he felt that his brother was not treating him
+fairly:</p>
+
+<p>My inclinations for the sea were by this time worn out, or I might now
+have gratified them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a
+pretty good workman, I offered my service to the printer in the place,
+old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first printer in
+Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel of George
+Keith. He could give me no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>employment, having little to do and help
+enough already; but, says he, "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost
+his principal hand, Aquilla Rose, by death; if you go thither I
+believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was a hundred miles farther;
+I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things
+to follow me round by sea.</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep226" id="imagep226"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep226.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep226.jpg" width="58%" alt="Benjamin Franklin" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">BENJAMIN FRANKLIN<br />From a portrait by Duplessis<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>In crossing the bay we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to
+pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long
+Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell
+overboard. When he was sinking, I reached through the water to his
+shock pate, and drew him up so that we got him in again. His ducking
+sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his
+pocket a book, which he desired I would dry for him. It proved to be
+my old favorite author, Bunyan's <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>, in Dutch,
+finely printed on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better than I
+had ever seen it wear in its own language. I have since found that it
+has been translated into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose
+it has been more generally than any other book, except, perhaps, the
+Bible. Honest John was the first that I know of who mixed narration
+and dialogue; a method of writing very engaging to the reader, who in
+the most interesting parts finds himself, as it were, brought into the
+company and present at the discourse. Defoe in his <i>Crusoe</i>, his <i>Moll
+Flanders</i>, <i>Religious Courtship</i>, <i>Family Instructor</i>, and other
+pieces, has imitated it with success, and Richardson has done the same
+in his <i>Pamela</i>, etc.</p>
+
+<p>When we drew near the island we found it was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>at a place where there
+could be no landing, there being a great surf on the stony beach. So
+we dropped anchor, and swung round toward the shore. Some people came
+down to the water edge and hallooed to us, as we did to them; but the
+wind was so high and the surf so loud that we could not hear so as to
+understand each other. There were canoes on the shore, and we made
+signs, and hallooed that they should fetch us, but they either did not
+understand us or thought it impracticable, so they went away, and
+night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait till the wind should
+abate. In the meantime, the boatman and I concluded to sleep if we
+could, and so crowded into the scuttle with the Dutchman, who was
+still wet, and the spray beating over the head of our boat leaked
+through to us, so that we were almost as wet as he. In this manner we
+lay all night, with very little rest; but the wind abating the next
+day, we made a shift to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty
+hours on the water, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of
+filthy rum, the water we sailed on being salt.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went in to bed; but,
+having read somewhere that cold water, drunk plentifully, was good for
+a fever, I followed the prescription, sweat plentifully most of the
+night, my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, I
+proceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington,
+where I was told I should find boats that would carry me the rest of
+the way to Philadelphia.</p>
+
+<p>It rained very hard all the day. I was thoroughly soaked, and by noon
+a good deal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>tired, so I stopped at a poor inn, where I stayed all
+night, beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so
+miserable a figure, too, that I found, by the questions asked me, I
+was suspected to be some runaway servant and in danger of being taken
+up on that suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got in
+the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington, kept
+by one Dr. Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I took
+some refreshment, and finding I had read a little, became very
+sociable and friendly. Our acquaintance continued as long as he lived.
+He had been, I imagine, an itinerant doctor, for there was no town in
+England, or country in Europe, of which he could not give a very
+particular account. He had some letters, and was ingenious, but much
+of an unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after, to
+travesty the Bible in doggerel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil. By
+this means he set many of the facts in a very ridiculous light, and
+might have hurt weak minds if his work had been published; but it
+never was.</p>
+
+<p>At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reached
+Burlington, but had the mortification to find that the regular boats
+were gone a little before my coming, and no other expected to go
+before Tuesday, this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old
+woman in the town of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the
+water, and asked her advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till
+a passage by water should offer; and, being tired with my foot
+traveling, I accepted the invitation. She, understanding I was a
+printer, would have had me stay at that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>town and follow my business,
+being ignorant of the stock necessary to begin with. She was very
+hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox cheek with great good will,
+accepting only of a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself fixed
+till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the evening by the side
+of the river, a boat came by, which I found was going toward
+Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in, and, as
+there was no wind, we rowed all the way, and about midnight, not
+having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident we must
+have passed it, and would row no farther. The others knew not where we
+were, so we put toward the shore, got into a creek, and landed near an
+old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire, the night being
+cold, in October, and there we remained till daylight. Then one of the
+company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little above
+Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek, and
+arrived there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, and
+landed at the Market Street wharf.</p>
+
+<p>I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and
+shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your
+mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since
+made there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come
+round by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out
+with shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul, nor where to look for
+lodging. I was fatigued with traveling, rowing, and want of rest; I
+was very hungry, and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch
+dollar and about a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people
+of the boat for my passage, who at first refused it, on account of my
+rowing; but I insisted on their taking it, a man being sometimes more
+generous when he has but a little money than when he has plenty,
+perhaps through fear of being thought to have but little.</p>
+
+<p>Then I walked up the street, gazing about, till near the market house
+I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and,
+inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he
+directed me to, in Second Street, and asked for biscuit, intending
+such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in
+Philadelphia. Then I asked for a threepenny loaf, and was told they
+had none such. So not considering or knowing the difference of money
+and the greater cheapness, nor the names of his bread, I bade him give
+me threepenny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great
+puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having
+no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and
+eating the other. Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth
+Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when
+she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly
+did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went
+down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut Street, eating my roll all the
+way, and, coming round, found myself again on Market Street wharf,
+near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river
+water; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a
+woman and her child that came <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>down the river in the boat with us, and
+were waiting to go farther.</p>
+
+<p>Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
+many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way. I
+joined them, and was thereby led into the great meetinghouse of the
+Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
+round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor
+and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and
+continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to
+rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in,
+in Philadelphia.</p>
+
+<p>Walking down again toward the river, and looking in the faces of
+people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I liked, and,
+accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get
+lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here,"
+says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a
+reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me I'll show thee a better."
+He brought me to the Crooked Billet, in Water Street. Here I got a
+dinner, and while I was eating it several sly questions were asked me,
+as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance that I might
+be some runaway.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner my sleepiness returned, and, being shown to a bed, I lay
+down without undressing and slept till six in the evening, was called
+to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next
+morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could, and went to Andrew
+Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>his father,
+whom I had seen in New York, and who, traveling on horseback, had got
+to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received
+me civilly, and gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present
+want a hand, being lately supplied with one; but there was another
+printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ
+me; if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would
+give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business should
+offer.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLVII" id="XLVII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>WASHINGTON IRVING</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Washington Irving may be called the father of American literature. It
+is true he is not the first writer who flourished on American soil,
+but in point of accomplishment he is the first literary man to impress
+himself upon the readers of the two continents. And what a sweet,
+beautiful soul he is! The only rival he has is Franklin, and Franklin
+is not a literary man, though he produced a literary masterpiece in
+his <i>Autobiography</i>. The test of a great piece of literature is, In a
+hundred years can it be bought in a new edition for ten cents? The New
+Testament can be bought for ten cents, so can the <i>Autobiography</i>, and
+the <i>Sketch Book</i>. These emerge from the sea of mediocrity of early
+American life. They abide while the works of the Michael Wigglesworths
+and Anne Bradstreets can be found only in the collections of the
+fortunate book-lover.</p>
+
+<p>The early settlers believed in the virtue of large families. It is
+well, for otherwise Franklin and Irving would have been lost to
+American life. Franklin was the youngest son in a family of seventeen
+children, there were two girls younger (Benjamin was the eighth child
+of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>second wife), and Irving was the eighth son and last child in
+a family of eleven children. It is not hard to account for Irving's
+first name. Nowadays when you meet a boy named Dewey or Garfield it is
+not difficult to guess the boy's age. Irving was born in 1783; the air
+was laden with the praises of the great American leader. "Washington's
+work is ended," said the mother, "and the child shall be named after
+him." Several years after this when Washington, as President, was in
+New York, Lizzie, the Scotch servant of the Irving family, followed
+the great man into a shop and said, "Please, your honor, here's a
+bairn was named after you." Washington placed his hand on the lad's
+head and gave him a fatherly blessing.</p>
+
+<p>Like Lowell and Bryant, Irving was first devoted to the law, but his
+devotion was not of the quality that consumes. He soon strayed into
+pleasanter paths. In January, 1807, appeared the first number of
+<i>Salmagundi</i>, a humorous periodical which caused a great deal of
+curiosity as to the authors, whose witty articles appeared
+anonymously. Two years later came the droll <i>History of New York by
+Diedrich Knickerbocker</i>, a book in which according to Scott were to be
+seen traces of the wit of Swift. Scott said that he used to read it
+aloud to his wife and guests until "our sides were absolutely sore
+with laughing."</p>
+
+<p>Before this work had appeared, Irving lost in three consecutive years
+three persons who would have rejoiced the most in his success,&mdash;his
+father, "the tenderest and best of sisters, a woman of whom a brother
+might be proud," and his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>sweetheart, Matilda Hoffman. She was a rare
+and beautiful maiden who had kindled in the heart of Irving a passion
+which survived her death until he himself passed away an old man. When
+he died his friends found her miniature and a lock of fair hair,
+together with the part of a manuscript written for a lady who had
+asked Irving why he had never married. Describing Miss Hoffman he
+says:</p>
+
+<p>"The more I saw her, the more I had reason to admire her. Her mind
+seemed to unfold itself leaf by leaf, and every time to discover new
+sweetness. Nobody knew her so well as I, for she was generally
+silent.... Never did I meet with more intuitive rectitude of mind,
+more delicacy, more exquisite propriety in word, thought, and action
+than in this young creature. Her brilliant little sister used to say
+that 'people began by admiring her, but ended by loving Matilda.' For
+my part I idolized her." Irving then continues by giving a long
+account of his efforts to succeed in his literary and legal work with
+a view of earning a place in life so as to enable him to marry. "In
+the midst of this struggle and anxiety she fell into a consumption. I
+cannot tell you what I suffered.... I saw her fade rapidly away,
+beautiful, and more beautiful, and more angelic to the very last. I
+was often by her bedside, and when her mind wandered she would talk to
+me with a sweet, natural, and affecting eloquence that was
+overpowering. I saw more of the beauty of her mind in that delirious
+state than I ever had before.... I was by her when she died, and was
+the last she ever looked upon.... She was but seventeen."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>So poignant was the grief of Irving that for thirty years after her
+death he did not like any one to mention her name to him. One day he
+was visiting her father when one of her nieces, taking some music from
+a drawer, brought with it a piece of embroidery. "Washington," said
+Mr. Hoffman, "this was poor Matilda's work." The effect was
+instantaneous. The light-hearted conversationalist of a moment before
+became silent and soon left the house. When in <i>Bracebridge Hall</i> he
+writes,&mdash;"I have loved as I never again shall love in this world&mdash;I
+have been loved as I shall never again be loved,"&mdash;is he not thinking
+of the fair Matilda? And in a note-book we find,&mdash;"She died in the
+beauty of her youth, and in my memory she will ever be young and
+beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>In May, 1815, Irving went abroad for the second time. His purpose was
+to stay a few months; he remained seventeen years. The first sight
+that greeted the newly arrived American in Liverpool was the
+mail-coach bringing the news of the battle of Waterloo. Irving's
+sympathies were with Napoleon. "In spite of all his misdeeds he is a
+noble fellow, and I am confident will eclipse in the eyes of posterity
+all the crowned wiseacres that have crushed him by their overwhelming
+confederacy." In the year 1818 the Irving brothers went into
+bankruptcy. Washington's interest in the business was that of a
+younger brother who had little responsibility. But of late years he
+had been much harassed by the accumulating troubles. With the end of
+the business anxieties he turns to literature with a whole-souled
+devotion. His home friends tried <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>to secure for him the position of
+Secretary of the Legation in London; his brother William wrote that
+Commodore Decatur was keeping open for his acceptance the office of
+Chief Clerk in the Navy Department; but Irving turned the offers
+aside. Irving is usually imaged as a sunshiny, genial, easy-going
+gentleman into whose blood little of the iron of firmness had been
+infused. The fact that he not only refused these offers but also
+rejected offers from Scott and Murray shows that he had will enough to
+keep to the bent of his genius at a time when he needed money and
+influence. Murray offered him a salary of &pound;1000 a year to be the
+editor of a periodical.</p>
+
+<p>The first number of the <i>Sketch Book</i> appeared in May, 1819, and
+consisted mainly in point of merit of two papers, <i>The Wife</i> and <i>Rip
+Van Winkle</i>. The series was finished in 1820. The work was highly
+successful in America, and Irving was deeply moved by the cordial
+expressions of praise that reached him. His manly nature is revealed
+in a letter to a friend in which he says,&mdash;"I hope you will not
+attribute all this sensibility to the kind reception I have met to an
+author's vanity. I am sure it proceeds from very different sources.
+Vanity could not bring the tears into my eyes as they have been
+brought by the kindness of my countrymen. I have felt cast down,
+blighted, and broken-spirited, and these sudden rays of sunshine
+agitate me more than they revive me. I hope&mdash;I hope I may yet do
+something more worthy of the appreciation lavished on me."</p>
+
+<p>Irving had not intended to publish the <i>Sketch Book</i> in England, but
+owing to reprints by others <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>he was obliged to take the matter in his
+own hands. Murray refused to undertake the work. Then Irving became
+his own publisher. But the work sold so well that Murray bought the
+copyright for two hundred pounds.</p>
+
+<p>In 1826 we find Irving in Spain. To the American reader the name of
+Spain is forever associated with that of Irving, for <i>The Alhambra</i>,
+<i>The Conquest of Granada</i>, and <i>The Life of Columbus</i> are the rich
+evidences of his absorption of the spirit of Spain. The <i>Life of
+Columbus</i> was written with great care. Irving wanted to produce
+something that would do credit to the scholarship of his loved
+America. Murray paid about fifteen thousand dollars for the English
+copyright. For the <i>Conquest of Granada</i> he received ten thousand
+dollars, and for <i>The Alhambra</i> a Mr. Bentley paid five thousand.</p>
+
+<p>While Irving was in Madrid one of his most welcome visitors was
+Longfellow, then a young man of twenty, fresh from college. Writing to
+his father Longfellow says,&mdash;"Mr. Rich's family is very agreeable, and
+Washington Irving always makes one there in the evening. This is
+altogether delightful, for he is one of those men who put you at ease
+with them in a moment. He makes no ceremony whatever with one, and of
+course is a very fine man in society, all mirth and good humor. He has
+a most beautiful countenance, and a very intellectual one, but he has
+some halting and hesitating in his conversation, and says very
+pleasant, agreeable things in a husky, weak, peculiar voice. He has a
+dark complexion, dark hair, whiskers already a little gray. This is a
+very offhand portrait of so illustrious a man."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>It is interesting to compare this sketch with one that Longfellow drew
+from memory many years later,&mdash;"I had the pleasure of meeting Mr.
+Irving in Spain, and found the author, whom I had loved, repeated in
+the man. The same playful humor, the same touches of sentiment, the
+same poetic atmosphere; and what I admired still more, the entire
+absence of all literary jealousy, of all that mean avarice of fame
+which counts what is given to another as so much taken from one's
+self.... Passing his house at the early hour of six one summer
+morning, I saw his study window already wide open. On my mentioning it
+to him afterwards he said, 'Yes, I am always at work by six.' Since
+then I have often remembered that sunny morning and that open window,
+so suggestive of his sunny temperament and his open heart, and equally
+so of his patient and persistent toil."</p>
+
+<p>Irving's career is usually looked upon as ideal. In many ways it was
+singularly blessed. Friends, influence, fame, and wealth were his.
+When an American publisher undertook the issuing of a new edition of
+Irving's works in 1848, there was much uncertainty as to the success
+of the venture, but the author received eighty-eight thousand dollars
+from 1848 to 1859. He also had the satisfaction of working to the
+last, although the last year was one of suffering. "I am rather
+fatigued, my dear, by my night's rest," he replied to the anxious
+inquiry of a niece. He had been hard at work upon his <i>Life of
+Washington</i>, and he sometimes feared he might have overtaxed his
+brain. "I do not fear death," he said, "but I would like to go down
+with all sails set."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>This modest prayer was granted. To the day of his death he was able to
+receive visitors, talk intelligently, read for his own pleasure, and
+take short drives. The day before he died he attended church, and on
+coming home he remarked that he must "get a dispensation to allow
+whist on Sunday evenings," because he dreaded the long, lonely nights.
+On Monday he went to bed, and as he turned to arrange the pillows he
+gave a slight exclamation and instantly expired.</p>
+
+<p>By his mother's side they laid him, in a cemetery overlooking the
+Hudson and the valley of Sleepy Hollow, a region made forever famous
+by the genial pen of Irving. "I could not but remember his last words
+to me," writes a friend who made a pilgrimage to the spot on the day
+of the funeral, "when his book was finished and his health was
+failing: 'I am getting ready to go. I am shutting up my doors and
+windows.' And I could not but feel that they were all open now, and
+bright with the light of eternal morning."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLVIII" id="XLVIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>COOPER AND "THE SPY"</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>James Fenimore Cooper is one of the most interesting characters in the
+history of American authorship. Irving, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell,
+Holmes, and Hawthorne early in life showed their literary bent, and
+lived academic and peaceful careers. They were also popular. Cooper
+was thirty years old before he thought of writing, and his life was
+embittered by the consciousness that he was the target of the most
+bitter criticism, both at home and abroad. Yet not one of the
+distinguished authors I have named is more widely known to-day than
+Cooper. Matthew Arnold has said somewhere that an author's place in
+the future is to be determined by his contemporaneous ranking in
+foreign lands. If that is true the names of Mark Twain, Cooper, Walt
+Whitman, and Poe will rank high in the annals of posterity, for their
+European fame is said to be the most general of any of the American
+writers.</p>
+
+<p>There is an appealing fascination about the boyhood days of Cooper.
+When James was a babe of fourteen months his father moved to the
+headwaters of the Susquehanna. The family consisted of fifteen
+persons; James, the future <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>novelist, was the eleventh of twelve
+children. Their home was in the midst of the forest. Near by was the
+charming lake, Otsego. The father owned several thousand acres, and
+was, probably, the most prominent man in that sparsely-settled region.
+What boy would want a finer opportunity to indulge all the wild
+propensities that lurk in the untamed heart of every healthy
+youngster? To roam in the untracked forest, to sail the lake, to hunt,
+to fish, to dream of the great unknown world lying just beyond the
+sun-tipped trees,&mdash;what can the schools give in exchange for this? Is
+it surprising that the wholesomeness of the forest and the charm and
+freshness of God's out-of-doors found their way into the man's novels,
+when so many delightful boyhood experiences must have found their way
+into the boy's heart?</p>
+
+<p>As I said, Cooper was thirty years old before he began to write. He
+had studied under an Episcopal rector, and was intending to enter the
+junior class at Yale; the rector died and Cooper entered the second
+term of the freshman class; for some frolic in which he was engaged he
+was dismissed; he then entered the navy, where he gathered valuable
+experience which he worked afterwards into literature; he married;
+resigned, and lived the quiet life of a country gentleman. One day he
+threw down an English novel he had been reading and said to his wife,
+"I believe I could write a better story myself." Now this is a feeling
+that many of us have had, but few of us are put to the test. Cooper's
+wife fortunately told him to make the trial. He did so, and
+<i>Precaution</i> was the result. This was published in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>1820. As a novel
+it is a failure; as a literary document it is highly interesting.
+<i>Precaution</i> is a story of English life. Why should Cooper write of
+American life when all Americans seemed to consider American life dull
+and prosaic? Politically we were free; intellectually we were slaves.
+The English lark sang in American poetry and English lords talked in
+American novels. It was not until 1837 that Emerson gave that famous
+address, <i>The American Scholar</i>, an event which Lowell calls "without
+any former parallel in our literary annals," and which Holmes declared
+to be "our intellectual Declaration of Independence."</p>
+
+<p><i>Precaution</i> has been called a failure, but it was not so much of a
+failure that Cooper's friends discouraged him from trying again. No,
+it was a first attempt and gave promise of something better. Why not
+write about American scenes and events? The very neighborhood in which
+he lived had been the scene of many stirring adventures during the
+Revolutionary conflict. "Years before, while at the residence of John
+Jay, his host had given him, one summer afternoon, the account of a
+spy that had been in his service during the war. The coolness,
+shrewdness, fearlessness, but above all the unselfish patriotism of
+the man had profoundly impressed the Revolutionary leader who had
+employed him. The story made an equally deep impression upon Cooper at
+the time. He now resolved to take it as the foundation of the tale he
+had been persuaded to write."</p>
+
+<p>Near the close of 1821 <i>The Spy</i> appeared. In March of the following
+year a third edition was on the market. The work soon appeared in
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>England, published by Miller, the same publisher that had first
+ventured to bring Irving's <i>Sketch Book</i> before the English public. In
+England the book was at once successful. This meant much to the
+American estimate of the author's ability, for American critics were
+afraid to praise a work that had not yet been applauded by England. In
+this same year, 1822, a French translation appeared. In France the
+work was enthusiastically received. This was the first of many
+translations into many European languages. Its influence in teaching
+patriotism cannot be estimated, nor can its value as an effective
+retort to the sneer "Who reads an American book?" ever be overlooked.</p>
+
+<p>About the early life of Cooper there are unfortunately but few
+anecdotes. One reason for this lack of <i>personalia</i> about a man who
+had a most vigorous personality is due to his dying request. He
+enjoined upon his family that they permit no authorized biography to
+appear. Because of this we have lost much that would be valuable in
+estimating the character of Cooper. There is a story that when he was
+a young man he engaged in a foot-race for a prize of a basket of
+fruit. "While Cooper and his competitor were preparing to start, a
+little girl stood by full of eagerness for the exciting event. Cooper
+quickly turned and picked her up in his arms. 'I'll carry her and beat
+you!' he exclaimed, and away they went, Cooper with his laughing
+burden, the other runner untrammeled. It is almost needless to add
+that Cooper won the race, else why should the story have been
+preserved?" One cannot help speculating about the size of the girl and
+the speed of the rival runner, if this story is true.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>A more satisfying story is that told of Cooper's meeting with Scott.
+In 1826 Cooper went to Europe. With a family of ten persons he moved
+about for seven years. Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, and
+England were visited. When in Paris the two romancers met.</p>
+
+<p>"Est ce Monsieur Cooper que j'ai l'honneur de voir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur je m'appelle Cooper."</p>
+
+<p>"Eh bien, donc, je suis Walter Scott."</p>
+
+<p>After a minute or two of French Sir Walter suddenly recollected
+himself and said: "Well, here have I been <i>parley vooing</i> to you in a
+way to surprise you, no doubt, but these Frenchmen have got my tongue
+so set to their lingo that I have half forgotten my own language."</p>
+
+<p>I have said that Cooper was not popular. This is not putting it strong
+enough. He was more than unpopular; he was hated by his neighbors, and
+slandered by the press at home and abroad. This lamentable condition
+of affairs was not due to any despicable qualities in the man, for
+Cooper was a kind father, an affectionate husband, a good citizen, and
+an honest, truth-loving man. These seem admirable qualities. Of few of
+us can much higher praise be spoken. Why then did the citizens of
+Cooper's home village hold a mass meeting and pass resolutions to the
+effect that Cooper had rendered "himself odious to a greater portion
+of the citizens of this community," and why should <i>Fraser's
+Magazine</i>, three thousand miles away, call Cooper "a liar, a bilious
+braggart, a full jackass, an insect, a grub, and a reptile"?</p>
+
+<p>The cause is not far to seek. Cooper was the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>most disputatious man in
+the history of American literature. Cooper used to tell the story of
+the man who in an argument was met with: "Why it is as plain as that
+two and two make four." "But I deny that too," was the retort, "for
+two and two make twenty two." Cooper was himself that sort of a man.
+He always had a quarrel on his hands. The more pugnacious a man is,
+the more militant he will find society. He instituted libel suits
+against the most prominent editors in the country, among them Horace
+Greeley and Thurlow Weed. And what is more to the point,&mdash;he won his
+cases. But this did not make him any more popular with the press. When
+we remember that Billingsgate was an important part of the literary
+equipment of the critic of Cooper's time, we need not be surprised
+that Cooper's pugnacity evoked such sweet disinterestedness as Park
+Benjamin indulged in when he called Cooper "a superlative dolt, and a
+common mark of scorn and contempt of every well-informed American."</p>
+
+<p>In addition to this denunciation of Cooper as a man, there have in
+recent years arisen severe criticisms on Cooper as a writer. "There
+are nineteen rules," writes Mark Twain, "governing literary art in the
+domain of romantic fiction&mdash;some say twenty-two. In <i>Deerslayer</i>
+Cooper violated eighteen of them." And then Mark Twain gives us the
+detailed specifications. It is very cleverly put, this criticism of
+Mark Twain's. But the astounding fact remains that the one rule Cooper
+did not violate seems to secure him a place in the Pantheon of
+authors. Along with Poe, and Whitman, and Mark himself, Cooper is
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>found in various editions on the shelves of the bookdealers and in the
+libraries of the book-lovers from the Thames to the Volga. If Cooper
+had observed only one or two more of the rules of literary art, where
+would he stand? One is reminded of the Dutchman who was told that this
+clock would run eight days without winding. "Ach, Himmel, what would
+she do if she was woundt?"</p>
+
+<p>The one literary sin that Cooper does not commit is dulness. He is
+interesting. Of course there are some of Cooper's works that no one
+cares to read now. But he is to be judged by his best, not by his
+worst. Balzac is something of a novelist himself, and has a right to
+be heard. "If Cooper," says Balzac in a passage quoted by every writer
+who touches upon Cooper, "had succeeded in the painting of character
+to the same extent that he did in the painting of the phenomena of
+nature, he would have uttered the last word of our art." This is no
+mean praise. Cooper is read because he is interesting. He shall
+continue to be read for another reason. He is wholesome and vigorous.
+The air we breathe is the air of the pine forest and the salt sea.
+Youth is forever attracted by the mystery and adventure of primitive
+life. As America becomes more and more densely settled the
+imagination will turn back to the early times when the bear and the
+deer, the settler and Indian were tracking the trail through the
+forest and along the shore. For this reason Cooper is likely to
+remain an abiding force in American literature.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="XLIX" id="XLIX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>XLIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY AND BISMARCK</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>John Lothrop Motley, the American historian, a writer who in his <i>The
+Rise of the Dutch Republic</i> produced a history as fascinating as a
+romance and a work that was immediately in Europe translated into
+three different languages, was, after graduation from Harvard, a
+student at Goettingen. Here he studied German so well that in after
+years he was asked by the emperor of Austria whether he were not a
+German. Here too he became acquainted with Bismarck.</p>
+
+<p>That they were great friends is evident from letters by Bismarck
+himself. "I never pass by old Logier's House, in the
+Friedrichstrasse&mdash;wrote Bismarck in 1863&mdash;without looking up at the
+windows that used to be ornamented by a pair of red slippers sustained
+on the wall by the feet of a gentleman sitting in the Yankee way, his
+head below and out of sight. I then gratify my memory with remembrance
+of 'good old colony times when we were roguish chaps.'" And here is
+another part of a letter which illustrates that even dignitaries like
+to unbend and become like boys again. This letter was written by the
+minister of foreign affairs to the minister of the United States at
+the court of Vienna:</p>
+
+<div class="block">
+<p class="right"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>Berlin, May 23d, 1864.<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Jack my Dear,&mdash; ... what do you do that you never write a line
+to me? I am working from morn to night like a nigger, and you
+have nothing to do at all&mdash;you might as well tip me a line as
+well as looking at your feet tilted against the wall of God
+knows what a dreary color. I cannot entertain a regular
+correspondence; it happens to me that during five days I do
+not find a quarter of an hour for a walk; but you, lazy old
+chap, what keeps you from thinking of your old friends? When
+just going to bed in this moment my eye met with yours on your
+portrait, and I curtailed the sweet restorer, sleep, in order
+to remind you of Auld Lang Syne. Why do you never come to
+Berlin? It is not a quarter of an American's holiday from
+Vienna, and my wife and me should be so happy to see you once
+more in this sullen life. When can you come, and when will
+you? I swear that I will make out the time to look with you on
+old Logier's quarters, ... and at Gerolt's, where they once
+would not allow you to put your slender legs upon a chair. Let
+politics be hanged and come to see me. I promise that the
+Union Jack shall wave over our house, and conversation and the
+best old hock shall pour damnation upon the rebels. Do not
+forget old friends, neither their wives, as mine wishes nearly
+as ardently as myself to see you, or at least to see as
+quickly as possible a word of your handwriting.</p>
+
+<p style="margin-bottom: .2em; margin-top: -.5em;">Sei gut und komm oder schreibe.</p>
+
+<p class="right" style="margin-top: -.5em;"><span style="padding-right: 15em;">Dein,</span><br />
+<span class="sc" style="padding-right: 5em;">V. Bismarck.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>In a letter to Oliver Wendell Holmes in 1878, Bismarck in answer to an
+inquiry tells how the two became friends.</p>
+
+<p>"I met Motley at Goettingen in 1832, I am not sure if at the beginning
+of the Easter term or Michaelmas term. He kept company with German
+students, though more addicted to study than we members of the
+fighting clubs. Although not having mastered yet the German language
+he exercised a marked attraction by a conversation sparkling with wit,
+humor, and originality. In autumn of 1833, having both of us emigrated
+from Goettingen to Berlin for the prosecution of our studies, we
+became fellow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>lodgers in the house No. 161 Friedrichstrasse. There we
+lived in the closest intimacy, sharing meals and outdoor exercise.
+Motley by that time had arrived at talking fluently: he occupied
+himself not only in translating Goethe's poem, <i>Faust</i>, but tried his
+hand even in composing German verses. Enthusiastic admirer of
+Shakspere, Byron, Goethe, he used to spice his conversation abundantly
+with quotations from these his favorite authors. A pertinacious
+arguer, so much so that sometimes he watched my awakening in order to
+continue a discussion on some topic of science, poetry, or practical
+life cut short by the chime of the small hours, he never lost his mild
+and amiable temper.... The most striking feature of his handsome and
+delicate appearance was uncommonly large and beautiful eyes. He never
+entered a drawing-room without exciting the curiosity and sympathy of
+the ladies."</p>
+
+<p>While the sheets of Motley's history were passing through the press in
+1856, he paid a visit to Bismarck at Frankfort:</p>
+
+<p>"When I called," says Motley, "Bismarck was at dinner, so I left my
+card, and said I would come back in half an hour. As soon as my card
+had been carried to him (as I learned afterwards) he sent a servant
+after me to the hotel, but I had gone another way. When I came back I
+was received with open arms. I can't express to you how cordially he
+received me. If I had been his brother, instead of an old friend, he
+could not have shown more warmth and affectionate delight in seeing
+me. I find I like him better even than I thought I did, and you know
+how high an opinion I always expressed of his talents and
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>disposition. He is a man of very noble character, and of very great
+powers of mind. The prominent place which he now occupies as a
+statesman sought <i>him</i>. He did not seek it or any other office. The
+stand which he took in the Assembly from conviction, on the occasion
+of the outbreak of 1848, marked him at once to all parties as one of
+the leading characters of Prussia....</p>
+
+<p>"In the summer of 1851, he told me that the minister, Manteuffel,
+asked him one day abruptly, if he would accept the post of ambassador
+at Frankfort, to which (although the proposition was as unexpected a
+one to him as if I should hear by the next mail that I had been chosen
+governor of Massachusetts) he answered after a moment's deliberation,
+yes, without another word. The king, the same day, sent for him, and
+asked him if he would accept the place, to which he made the same
+brief answer, 'Ja.' His majesty expressed a little surprise that he
+made no inquiries or conditions, when Bismarck replied that anything
+which the king felt strong enough to propose to him, he felt strong
+enough to accept. I only write these details that you may have an idea
+of the man. Strict integrity and courage of character, a high sense of
+honor, a firm religious belief, united with remarkable talents, make
+up necessarily a combination which cannot be found any day in any
+court; and I have no doubt that he is destined to be prime minister,
+unless his obstinate truthfulness, which is apt to be a
+stumbling-block for politicians, stands in his way....</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he accepted the post and wrote to his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>wife next day, who was
+preparing for a summer's residence in a small house they had taken on
+the sea-coast, that he could not come because he was already
+established in Frankfort as minister. The result, he said, was three
+days of tears on her part. He had previously been leading the life of
+a plain country squire with a moderate income, had never held any
+position in the government or in diplomacy, and had hardly ever been
+to court."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="L" id="L"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>L<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE YOUTH OF GEORGE TICKNOR</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>George Ticknor was born in 1791. His father, he says, fitted him for
+college. He never went to a regular school. President Wheelock,
+Professor Woodward, and others connected with Dartmouth College, who
+were in the habit of making his father's house their home in the long
+winter vacations, took much notice of him; and the professor, after
+examining him in Cicero <i>Orations</i> and the Greek Testament, gave him a
+certificate of admission before he was ten years old. "Of course," he
+adds, "I knew very little, and the whole thing was a form, perhaps a
+farce. There was no thought of my going to college then, and I did not
+go till I was fourteen, but I was twice examined at the college (where
+I went with my father and mother every summer) for advanced standing,
+and was finally admitted as a junior, and went to reside there from
+Commencement, August, 1805." He learned very little at college. "The
+instructors generally were not as good teachers as my father had been,
+and I knew it." He consequently took no great interest in study,
+although he liked reading Horace, and had mathematics enough to enjoy
+calculating the great eclipse of 1806, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>making a projection of it
+which turned out nearly right. To supply the deficiency in classical
+acquirements with which he left college, he was placed under Dr. John
+Gardiner, of Trinity Church, who was reputed a good scholar, having
+been bred in the mother country under Dr. Parr.</p>
+
+<p>"I prepared at home what he prescribed, and the rest of my time
+occupied myself according to my tastes. I read with him parts of Livy,
+the <i>Annals</i> of Tacitus, the whole of Juvenal and Persius, the
+<i>Satires</i> of Horace, and portions of other Latin classics which I do
+not remember. I wrote Latin prose and verse. In Greek I read some
+books of the <i>Odyssey</i>, I don't remember how many; the <i>Alcestis</i>; and
+two or three other plays of Euripides; the <i>Prometheus Vinctus</i> of
+&AElig;schylus; portions of Herodotus, and parts of Thucydides,&mdash;of which
+last I only remember how I was tormented by the account of the plague
+at Athens. This was the work of between two and three years."</p>
+
+<p>After a year's experience in law, he decides to give up his profession
+and goes to Europe in order to study at Goettingen. On reaching
+Liverpool his first introduction is to Roscoe, and then on his way to
+London he stops at Hatton to visit Dr. Parr, who astonished him not a
+little by observing, "Sir, I would not think I had done my duty if I
+went to bed any night without praying for the success of Napoleon
+Bonaparte."</p>
+
+<p>In London Mr. Ticknor formed a friendship with Lord Byron; two men
+more unlike in every respect can hardly be conceived of, and it is
+amusing to think of Byron impressing his visitor as being "simple and
+unaffected," or of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>speaking "of his early follies with
+sincerity," and of his own works "with modesty." It is amusing, too,
+to hear that as Lady Byron is going out for a drive, "Lord Byron's
+manner to her was affectionate; he followed her to the door, and shook
+hands with her, as if he were not to see her for a month." The
+following curious anecdote shows that Byron was no less unpatriotic in
+his views than Dr. Parr himself. Mr. Ticknor is calling upon him, and
+Byron is praising Scott as the first man of his time, and saying of
+Gifford that no one could have a better disposition, when,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Sir James Bland Burgess, who had something to do in negotiating Jay's
+Treaty, came suddenly into the room, and said abruptly, 'My lord, my
+lord, a great battle has been fought in the Low Countries, and
+Bonaparte is entirely defeated.' 'But is it true?' said Lord Byron,
+'is it true?' 'Yes, my lord, it is certainly true; and an aid-de-camp
+arrived in town last night, he has been in Downing Street this
+morning, and I have just seen him as he was going to Lady
+Wellington's. He says he thinks Bonaparte is in full retreat towards
+Paris.' After a moment's pause, Lord Byron replied, 'I am sorry for
+it;' and then, after another slight pause, he added, 'I didn't know
+but I might live to see Lord Castlereagh's head on a pole. But I
+suppose I sha'n't now.' And this was the first impression produced on
+his imperious nature by the news of the battle of Waterloo."</p>
+
+<p>But Byron is not Mr. Ticknor's only London friend, for we read of a
+breakfast with Sir Humphry Davy, a "genuine bookseller's dinner" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>with
+Murray, and a visit to the author of <i>Gertrude of Wyoming</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Goettingen, however, is the object of his journey, and at Goettingen
+he remains for the next year and a half. If he does not learn to scorn
+the delights of society, he has at least the resolution to live the
+laborious days of the earnest student. He studies five languages, and
+works twelve hours in the twenty-four. Greek, German, theology, and
+natural history seem chiefly to claim his attention, but he is also
+busy with French, Italian, and Latin, and manages at the same time to
+keep up his English reading. He is much amused with the German
+professors, and describes them with no little humor. There is
+Michaelis, who asks one of his scholars for some silver shoe-buckles,
+in lieu of a fee. There is Schultze, who "looks as if he had fasted
+six months on Greek prosody and the Pindaric meters." There is
+Blumenbach, who has a sharp discussion at a dinner-table, and next day
+sends down three huge quartos all marked to show his authorities and
+justify his statements.</p>
+
+<p>Here is another interesting anecdote given in Ticknor's <i>Memoirs</i>:</p>
+
+<p>"When I was in Goettingen, in 1816, I saw Wolf, the most distinguished
+Greek scholar of the time. He could also lecture extemporaneously in
+Latin. He was curious about this country, and questioned me about our
+scholars and the amount of our scholarship. I told him what I
+could,&mdash;amongst other things, of a fashionable, dashing preacher of
+New York having told me that he took great pleasure in reading the
+choruses of &AElig;schylus, and that he read them <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>without a dictionary! I
+was walking with Wolf at the time, and, on hearing this, he stopped,
+squared round, and said, 'He told you that, did he?' 'Yes,' I
+answered. 'Very well; the next time you hear him say it, do you tell
+him he lies, and that I say so.'"</p>
+
+<p>During a six weeks' vacation there is a pleasant tour through Germany,
+and at Weimar Mr. Ticknor makes the acquaintance of Goethe, who talked
+about Byron, and "his great knowledge of human nature."</p>
+
+<p>And now in the November of 1816, there comes an intimation that
+Harvard College wishes to recall Mr. Ticknor to his old home, and give
+him the professorship of French and Spanish literature. It was a
+matter of difficulty for him to make a final decision, and a year
+passes before he determined to accept the charge, and a year and a
+half more before he enters upon its duties.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile he leaves Goettingen, visits Paris, Geneva, and Rome, and
+then goes on to Spain.... When in Spain, Mr. Ticknor is busy learning
+Spanish and collecting Spanish books, and here he lays the groundwork
+for that special literary distinction for which he is now so widely
+known.&mdash;Adapted from the <i>Athenaeum</i> and <i>Quarterly Review</i>.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LI" id="LI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>FITZ-GREENE HALLECK</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Fitz-Greene Halleck died at a ripe old age in 1867. On the evening of
+February 2d, 1869, Bryant delivered an address on the life and
+writings of Halleck. The address was given before the New York
+Historical Society and was printed the next day in the <i>New York
+Evening Post</i>. Here is an interesting extract from the address:</p>
+
+<p>"When 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 subsequent 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
+had 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 to
+acquire?</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>"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. He had a
+tenacious verbal memory, and having composed his poems without
+committing them to paper, he revised them in the same manner,
+murmuring them to himself in his solitary moments, recovering the
+enthusiasm with which they were first received, and in this state
+heightening the beauty of the thought or of the expression. I remember
+that once in crossing Washington Park I saw Halleck before me and
+quickened my pace to overtake him. As I drew near I heard him crooning
+to himself what seemed to be lines of verse, and as he threw back his
+hands in walking I perceived that they quivered with the feeling of
+the passage he was reciting. I instantly checked my pace and fell
+back, out of reverence for the mood of inspiration which seemed to be
+upon him, and fearful lest I should intercept the birth of a poem
+destined to be the delight of thousands of readers.</p>
+
+<p>"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
+he wrought up his verses to that transparent clearness of expression
+which causes the thought to be seen through them without any
+interposing dimness, so that the thought and the phrase seem one, and
+the thought enters the mind like a beam of light. I suppose that
+Halleck's time being taken up by the tasks of his vocation, he
+naturally lost by degrees the habit of composing in this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>manner, and
+that he found it so necessary to the perfection of what he wrote that
+he adopted no other in its place.</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever was the reason that Halleck ceased so early to write, let us
+congratulate ourselves that he wrote at all. Great authors often
+overlay and almost smother their own fame by the voluminousness of
+their writings. So great is their multitude, and so rich is the
+literature of our language, that for frequent readings we are obliged
+to content ourselves with mere selections from the works of best and
+most beloved of our poets, even those who have not written much. It is
+only a few of their works that dwell and live in the general mind.
+Gray, for example, wrote little, and of that little one short poem,
+his <i>Elegy</i>, can be fairly said to survive in the public admiration,
+and that poem I have sometimes heard called the most popular in our
+language."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LII" id="LII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE AUTHOR OF THANATOPSIS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Thanatopsis may be said to be the most remarkable poem written by an
+American youth. "The unfailing wonder of it is," writes an American
+critic in a magazine article, "that a boy of seventeen could have
+written it; not merely that he could have made verse of such
+structural beauty and dignity, but that the thoughts of which it is
+compacted could have been a boy's thoughts. The poem seems to have
+been written while he was at his father's house in Cummington, in the
+summer of 1811, before he had definitely begun the study of law. Fond
+as he had been of showing his earlier effusions to his father and
+others, the consciousness of having done something different and
+greater must have come upon him at this time, for it was only by
+accident, six years after the writing of <i>Thanatopsis</i>, that his
+father chanced to find it and the poem now called <i>An Inscription Upon
+the Entrance to a Wood</i>, among some papers in a desk the boy had used
+while at home. Dr. Bryant read them with amazement and delight,
+hurried at once to the house of a neighbor, a lady of whose sympathy
+he felt sure, thrust them into her hands, and, with the tears running
+down his cheeks, said, 'Read them; they are Cullen's.'</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep262" id="imagep262"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep262.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep262.jpg" width="52%" alt="William Cullen Bryant" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT<br />From a photograph from life<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>"Now it had happened only a short time before, that Dr. Bryant had
+been asked in Boston to urge his son to contribute to the newly
+established <i>North American Review</i>, and had written him a letter on
+the editor's behalf. Here was the opportunity of a proud father.
+Without telling his son of his discovery or his purpose, he left the
+poems one day, together with some translations from <i>Horace</i> by the
+same hand, at the office of <i>The North American</i>. The little package
+was addressed to his editorial friend, Mr. Willard Phillips, of whom
+tradition tells us that as soon as he read the poems he betook himself
+in hot haste to Cambridge to display his treasures to his associates,
+Richard H. Dana and Edward T. Channing. 'Ah, Phillips,' said Dana,
+when he had heard the poems read, 'you have been imposed upon. No one
+on this side of the Atlantic is capable of writing such verse.' But
+Phillips, believing Dr. Bryant to be responsible for it, declared that
+he knew the writer, and that Dana could see him at once if he would go
+to the State House in Boston. Accordingly the young men posted into
+town, and Dana, unconvinced after looking long and carefully at Dr.
+Bryant in his seat in the Senate, said, 'It is a good head, but I do
+not see <i>Thanatopsis</i> in it.'"</p>
+
+<p>Bryant is never thought of as a humorist, and his poetry is devoid of
+playfulness. But in this letter to his mother, in which he announces
+his marriage with Frances Fairchild, we have evidence that Bryant had
+a strong sense of humor.</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p><span class="sc">Dear Mother</span>: I hasten to send you the melancholy
+intelligence of what has lately happened to me.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>Early on the evening of the eleventh day of the present month
+I was at a neighboring house in this village. Several people
+of both sexes were assembled in one of the apartments, and
+three or four others, with myself, were in another. At last
+came in a little elderly gentleman, pale, thin, with a solemn
+countenance, pleuritic voice, hooked nose, and hollow eyes. It
+was not long before we were summoned to attend in the
+apartment where he and the rest of the company were gathered.
+We went in and took our seats; the little elderly gentleman
+with the hooked nose prayed, and we all stood up. When he had
+finished most of us sat down. The gentleman with the hooked
+nose then muttered certain cabalistic expressions, which I was
+too much frightened to remember, but I recollect that at the
+conclusion I was given to understand that I was married to a
+young lady by the name of Frances Fairchild, whom I perceived
+standing by my side, and I hope in the course of few months to
+have the pleasure of introducing to you as your
+daughter-in-law, which is a matter of some interest to the
+poor girl, who has neither father or mother in the world.</p></div>
+
+<p>Next to <i>Thanatopsis</i> the most widely-known and admired of Bryant's
+work is <i>To a Waterfowl</i>. There are two very interesting stories
+pertaining to this much quoted poem, one relating to the origin of the
+poem, the other recording its effect on two fastidious young
+Englishmen, Hartley Coleridge and Matthew Arnold.</p>
+
+<p>Bryant was a young man with no assurance as to what the future might
+have in store for him. He was journeying over the hills to Plainfield
+to see whether there might possibly be an opening for a young lawyer.
+It was the 15th of December, 1816, and we can imagine that the gloom
+of the gathering twilight helped to deepen the youth's despondency.
+But before the glimmering light of evening had given place entirely to
+the dark of night, the sky was transfigured with the bright rays of
+the setting sun. The New England sky was flooded for a moment with
+seas of chrysolite and opal. While young Bryant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>stopped to enjoy the
+brilliant scene, a solitary bird made its way across the sky. He
+watched it until it was lost in the distant horizon, and then went on
+with new courage as he thought the thoughts so beautifully expressed
+in the poem which he wrote after he reached the house where he was to
+stay for the night.</p>
+
+<p>The incident in regard to Matthew Arnold is related by Godwin in a
+letter to Bigelow:</p>
+
+<p>"Once when the late Matthew Arnold, with his family, was visiting the
+ever-hospitable country home of Mr. Charles Butler, I happened to
+spend an evening there. In the course of it Mr. Arnold took up a
+volume of Mr. Bryant's poems from the table and turning to me said,
+'This is the American poet, <i>facile princeps</i>'; and after a pause, he
+continued: 'When I first heard of him, Hartley Coleridge (we were both
+lads then) came into my father's house one afternoon considerably
+excited and exclaimed, 'Matt, do you want to hear the best short poem
+in the English language?' 'Faith, Hartley, I do,' was my reply. He
+then read a poem <i>To a Waterfowl</i> in his best manner. And he was a
+good reader. As soon as he had done he asked, 'What do you think of
+that?' 'I am not sure but you are right, Hartley, is it your
+father's?' was my reply. 'No,' he rejoined, 'father has written
+nothing like that.' Some days after he might be heard muttering to
+himself,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The desert and illimitable air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lone wandering but not lost."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LIII" id="LIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>CURTIS AND HAWTHORNE AT THE BROOK FARM</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The social experiment known as the Brook Farm enterprise is one of the
+most interesting episodes in American literature. Mrs. Ora G. Sedgwick
+is one of the many writers who have written about the place and its
+inhabitants. She went there in June, 1841, and lived for some time at
+the Hive, the principal community edifice. She was then but a girl of
+sixteen, but the impressions on her youthful mind were strong enough
+to enable her recently to describe her life there. As to Curtis she
+has this to say:</p>
+
+<p>"The arrival of George William Curtis, then a youth of eighteen, and
+his brother Burrill, two years his senior, was a noteworthy event in
+the annals of Brook Farm, at least in the estimation of the younger
+members. I shall never forget the flutter of excitement caused by Mr.
+Ripley's announcing their expected coming in these words: 'Now we're
+going to have two young Greek gods among us.' ... On a bright morning
+in May, 1842, soon after Mr. Ripley's announcement, as I was coming
+down from the Eyrie to the Hive, I saw Charles A. Dana with two
+strange young men approaching my 'magic gate' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>from the direction of
+the Hive. Arriving at the gate before me, Mr. Dana threw it open with
+the flourish peculiar to his manner, and stood holding it back. His
+companions stood beside him, and all three waited for me to pass
+through. I saw at a glance that these must be 'the two young Greek
+gods.' They stood disclosed, not like Virgil's Venus, by their step,
+but by their beauty and bearing. Burrill Curtis was at that time the
+more beautiful. He had a Greek face, of great purity of expression,
+and curling hair. George too was very handsome&mdash;not so remarkably as
+in later life, but already with a man's virile expression.</p>
+
+<p>"About George William Curtis there was a peculiar personal elegance
+and an air of great deference in listening to one whom he admired or
+looked up to. There was a certain remoteness (at times almost
+amounting to indifference) about him, but he was always courteous. His
+friends were all older than himself, and he appeared much older in
+manners and conversation than he was in years; more like a man of
+twenty-five than a youth of eighteen."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sedgwick also gives us a charming glimpse at the great American
+novelist, Hawthorne:</p>
+
+<p>"I do not recollect Hawthorne's talking much at the table. Indeed, he
+was a very taciturn man. One day, tired of seeing him sitting
+immovable on the sofa in the hall, as I was learning some verses to
+recite at the evening class for recitation formed by Charles A. Dana,
+I daringly took my book, pushed it into his hands, and said, 'Will you
+hear my poetry, Mr. Hawthorne?' He gave me a sidelong glance from his
+very shy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>eyes, took the book, and most kindly heard me. After that he
+was on the sofa every week to hear me recite.</p>
+
+<p>"One evening he was alone in the hall, sitting on a chair at the
+farther end, when my room mate, Ellen Slade, and myself were going
+upstairs. She whispered to me, 'Let's throw the sofa pillows at Mr.
+Hawthorne.' Reaching over the bannisters, we each took a cushion and
+threw it. Quick as a flash he put out his hand, seized a broom that
+was hanging near him, warded off our cushions, and threw them back
+with sure aim. As fast as we could throw them at him he returned them
+with effect, hitting us every time, while we could hit only the broom.
+He must have been very quick in his movements. Through it all not a
+word was spoken. We laughed and laughed, and his eyes shone and
+twinkled like stars. Wonderful eyes they were, and when anything witty
+was said I always looked quickly at Mr. Hawthorne; for his dark eyes
+lighted up as if flames were suddenly kindled behind them, and then
+the smile came down to his lips and over his grave face.</p>
+
+<p>"My memories of Mr. Hawthorne are among the pleasantest of my Brook
+Farm recollections. His manners to children were charming and kind. I
+saw him one day walking, as was his custom, with his hands behind his
+back, head bent forward, the two little Bancrofts and other children
+following him with pleased faces, and stooping every now and then with
+broad smiles, after which they would rise and run on again behind him.
+Puzzled at these maneuvers, I watched <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>closely, and found that
+although he hardly moved a muscle except to walk, yet from time to
+time he dropped a penny, for which the children scrambled."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LIV" id="LIV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>HAWTHORNE AND THE SCARLET LETTER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>On June 8, 1849, Hawthorne walked out of the Salem Custom House&mdash;a man
+without a job. Taylor's Whig administration had come in, so our
+Democratic friend, Mr. Hawthorne, walked out. The job he left was not
+in our modern eyes a very lucrative one, it was worth $1,200 a year
+and Hawthorne had had it for three years. But he went out "mad," for
+he knew he had not meddled in politics and he thought that as an
+author&mdash;even if he was the "most obscure man of letters in
+America"&mdash;he was entitled to some consideration.</p>
+
+<p>And then there were the wife and children! As he walked home to tell
+them the doleful news, he was much depressed by thoughts of them. He
+had paid his old debts; but he had saved nothing. He seemed to lack
+money, friends, and influence. He had written to a friend in
+Boston,&mdash;"I shall not stand upon my dignity; that must take care of
+itself.... Do not think anything too humble to be mentioned to me. The
+intelligence has just reached me, and Sophia has not yet heard it. She
+will bear it like a woman,&mdash;that is to say better than a man." What a
+noble tribute to woman's fortitude! Hawthorne's belief in the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>sustaining love of his wife reminds us of a tradition which says that
+he never read a letter from his wife without first washing his hands.
+To him the act was sacred, and like a priest of old before handling
+the symbols of love he performed the rites of purification.</p>
+
+<p>His son tells us how the wife met the news with which he greeted her
+on his arrival at home, "that he had left his head behind." She
+exclaimed, "Oh, then you can write your book!" And when he with the
+prudence of a practical man wanted to know where the bread and rice
+were to come from while he was writing the book, she like all good
+wives&mdash;of olden times, at least&mdash;brought forth a "pile of gold" which
+she had saved from the household weekly expenses. When the pile of
+gold had been subjected to mathematical accuracy it dwindled to $150,
+but it was enough to tide over immediate wants.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the early winter that James T. Fields, the publisher who
+plays such a prominent part in the early history of American
+literature, descended upon the quiet Salem household like the
+"godmother in a fairy story." Fields has told the story of his visit:
+"I found him alone in a chamber over the sitting-room of the dwelling;
+and as the day was cold, he was hovering near a stove. We fell into
+talk about his future prospects, and he was, as I feared I should find
+him, in a very desponding mood. 'Now,' said I, 'is the time for you to
+publish, for I know during these years in Salem you must have got
+something ready for the press.' 'Nonsense,' said he, 'what heart had I
+to write anything, when my publishers have been so many years trying
+to sell <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>a small edition of the <i>Twice-told Tales</i>.' I still pressed
+upon him the good chances he would have now with something new. 'Who
+would risk publishing a book for me, the most unpopular writer in
+America?' 'I would,' said I, 'and would start with an edition of 2,000
+copies of anything you would write.' 'What madness!' he exclaimed.
+'Your friendship for me gets the better of your judgment.' 'No, no!'
+he continued, 'I have no money to indemnify a publisher's losses on my
+account.' I looked at my watch, and found that the train would be soon
+starting for Boston, and I knew that there was not much time to lose
+in trying to discover what had been his literary work during these
+last few years in Salem. I remember that I pressed him to reveal to me
+what he had been writing. He shook his head and gave me to understand
+that he had produced nothing. At that moment I caught sight of a
+bureau or set of drawers near where we were sitting; and immediately
+it occurred to me that hidden in that article of furniture was a story
+or stories by the author of <i>Twice-told Tales</i>; and I became so
+positive of it that I charged him vehemently with the fact. He seemed
+surprised, I thought, but shook his head again; and I rose to take my
+leave, begging him not to come into the cold entry, saying I would
+come back and see him again in a few days. I was hurrying down the
+stairs when he called after me from the chamber, asking me to stop a
+moment. Then quickly stepping into the entry with a roll of MS. in his
+hands, he said: 'How in heaven's name did you know this thing was
+there? As you found me out, take what was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>written, and tell me, after
+you get home and have time to read it, if it is good for anything. It
+is either very good or very bad&mdash;I don't know which!' On my way to
+Boston I read the germ of <i>The Scarlet Letter</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Hawthorne's original plan was to write a number of stories, of which
+this particular one was to be the longest. He was going to call his
+book of tales, <i>Old-Time Legends: together with Sketches, Experimental
+and Ideal</i>,&mdash;a title which Woodberry calls "ghostly with the
+transcendental nonage of his genius." Fields urged that the tale be
+made longer and fuller and that it be published by itself. So the
+original plan was changed, as was also the title. This was wise, for
+the cumbersome original title would have killed any book, but the
+present title is nothing short of a stroke of genius.</p>
+
+<p>About this time Hawthorne's friends, under the leading of Hillard,
+sent a kind letter and a considerable sum of money. Hawthorne
+replied,&mdash;"I read your letter in the vestibule of the Post Office; and
+it drew&mdash;what my troubles never have&mdash;the water to my eyes; so that I
+was glad of the sharply-cold west wind that blew into them as I came
+homeward, and gave them an excuse for being red and bleared." After
+saying it was sweet to be remembered, but bitter to need their aid, he
+concludes,&mdash;"The money, dear Hillard, will smooth my path for a long
+time to come. The only way in which a man can retain his self-respect,
+while availing himself of the generosity of his friends, is by making
+it an incitement to his utmost exertion, so that he may not need their
+help again. I shall look upon it so&mdash;nor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>will shun any drudgery that
+my hand shall find to do, if thereby I may win bread."</p>
+
+<p>Four days after this letter was written, on February 3, 1850, he
+finished <i>The Scarlet Letter</i>. He writes to a friend saying he read
+the last scene to his wife, or rather tried to read it, "for my voice
+swelled and heaved, as if I were tossed up and down on an ocean as it
+subsides after a storm." Mrs. Hawthorne told a friend that her husband
+seemed depressed all during that winter. "There was a knot in his
+forehead all the time," said his wife. One day he told her he had a
+story that he wished to read to her. He read part of the work one
+evening. The next evening he continued. His wife followed the story
+with intense interest. Her excitement arose until when he was reading
+near the end of the book, where Arthur and Hester and the child meet
+in the forest, Mrs. Hawthorne sank from her low stool to the floor and
+said she could endure no more. Hawthorne stopped and said in
+wonder,&mdash;"Do you really feel it so much? Then there must be something
+in it."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Hawthorne relates that on the day after the MS. was delivered to
+Fields, this publisher returned and when admitted to the house caught
+up her boy in his arms and said,&mdash;"You splendid little fellow, do you
+know what a father you have?" Then he ran upstairs to talk to
+Hawthorne, calling to her as he went that he had sat up all night to
+read the story. Soon her husband came down and walked about the room
+with a new light in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Early in April the book was issued in an edition of 5,000 copies; this
+was soon exhausted, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>Hawthorne was well started on that career of
+literary fame which led Mr. Hamilton W. Mabie, a hundred years after
+the birth of Hawthorne, to call him "the foremost literary artist of
+America."</p>
+
+<p><i>The Scarlet Letter</i>, as Hawthorne himself tells us, is a story of
+"human frailty and sorrow." It is the story of one who has brooded
+long and faithfully upon the problem of evil. In it we read that man
+is the master of his fate. The great difference between ancient and
+modern literature is this: the old dramatists seem to believe that
+somewhere there is a power above and beyond the control of man, a
+blind, unreasoning force that seems to play with man as the football
+of chance. Whatever may be done by man will prove unavailing if Fate
+or Destiny has decreed otherwise. Out of such a philosophy of life
+comes the story of &OElig;dipus. The modern conception is that expressed
+by Shakspere:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in ourselves, that we are underlings.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">Still later Henley in his one great poem has expressed the thought
+with vigor,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Out of the night that covers me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Black as the pit from pole to pole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thank whatever gods there be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my unconquerable soul!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">With unfaltering aim Hawthorne shows that each character works out its
+own destiny. That man is helpless, the sport of gods, the football of
+Fate, is disproved by the patient transformation in the character of
+Hester.</p>
+
+<p>Some one has well characterized <i>The Scarlet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>Letter</i> as "a drama of
+the spirit." It is a story such as only one who had brooded deeply on
+the problem of evil could write. Hawthorne was a "solitary brooder
+upon life." Every one who knew him testified to this impression. When
+William Dean Howells, a young man from Ohio, knocked at the door of
+the Wayside Cottage, a letter of introduction in his hand, and a
+feeling of hero-worship in his heart, he was ushered into the presence
+of the great romancer, who advanced "carrying his head with a heavy
+forward droop" and with pondering pace. His look was "somber and
+brooding&mdash;the look of a man who had dealt faithfully and therefore
+sorrowfully with that problem of evil which forever attracted and
+forever evaded Hawthorne."</p>
+
+<p>Hawthorne impressed all who met him with his reserve and shyness. Many
+stories are told to illustrate this quality. Hawthorne was once a
+visitor at a club where a number of literary men had gathered. The
+taciturnity of Hawthorne was more impressive than the loquacity of the
+witty Holmes. After Hawthorne had left Emerson said, "Hawthorne rides
+his dark horse well." George William Curtis relates this anecdote:</p>
+
+<p>"...I recall the silent and preternatural vigor with which, on one
+occasion, he wielded his paddle to counteract the bad rowing of a
+friend who conscientiously considered it his duty to do something and
+not let Hawthorne work alone, but who with every stroke neutralized
+all Hawthorne's efforts. I suppose he would have struggled until he
+fell senseless rather than to ask his friend to desist. His principle
+seemed to be, if a man cannot understand without talking to him, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>it
+is quite useless to talk, because it is immaterial whether such a man
+understands or not."</p>
+
+<p>Hawthorne's father was a man of the sea, a man of few words, and it is
+sometimes said that the romancer inherited his shy and reserved
+disposition from his father. But his mother was not behind the father
+in reserve. After her husband's death she shut herself up in
+Hindoo-like seclusion and lived the life of a hermit for more than
+forty years.</p>
+
+<p>Hawthorne gives us an interesting account of his boyhood in an
+autobiographical note to his friend Stoddard. "When I was eight or
+nine years old, my mother, with her three children, took up her
+residence on the banks of the Sebago Lake, in Maine, where the family
+owned a large tract of land; and here I ran quite wild ... fishing all
+day long, or shooting with an old fowling-piece; but reading a good
+deal too, on the rainy days, especially in <i>Shakspere</i> and <i>The
+Pilgrim's Progress</i>."</p>
+
+<p>More pertinent as to his habits of loneliness is the following account
+of how he lived for nine or ten years after his graduation from
+Bowdoin. "I had always," he writes, "a natural tendency (it appears to
+have been on the paternal side) toward seclusion; and this I now
+indulged to the utmost, so that, for months together, I scarcely held
+human intercourse outside of my own family, seldom going out except at
+twilight, or only to take the nearest way to the most convenient
+solitude, which was oftenest the seashore.... Having spent so much of
+my boyhood and youth from my native place, I had very few
+acquaintances in Salem, and during the nine or ten years <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>that I spent
+there, in this solitary way, I doubt whether so much as twenty people
+in the town were aware of my existence."</p>
+
+<p>Such was the solitariness of the youthful Hawthorne. Is it surprising
+that in the fiction of the mature man there should be a pervading
+sense of remoteness, of silences that fascinate, of mysteries that
+charm?</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LV" id="LV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>MAX M&Uuml;LLER'S RECOLLECTIONS OF EMERSON, LOWELL, AND HOLMES</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Living at Oxford, writes Max M&uuml;ller, I have had the good fortune of
+receiving visits from Emerson, Dr. Wendell Holmes, and Lowell, to
+speak of the brightest stars only. Each of them stayed at our house
+for several days, so that I could take them in at leisure, while
+others had to be taken at one gulp, often between one train and the
+next. Oxford has a great attraction for all Americans, and it is a
+pleasure to see how completely they feel at home in the memories of
+the place. The days when Emerson, Wendell Holmes, and Lowell were
+staying with us, the breakfasts and luncheons, the teas and dinners,
+and the delightful walks through college halls, chapels and gardens
+are possessions forever....</p>
+
+<p>I do not wonder that philosophers by profession had nothing to say to
+his (Emerson's) essays because they did not seem to advance their
+favorite inquiries beyond the point they had reached before. But there
+were many people, particularly in America, to whom these rhapsodies
+did more good than any learned disquisitions or carefully arranged
+sermons. There is in them what attracts us so much in the ancients,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>freshness, directness, self-confidence, unswerving loyalty to truth,
+as far as they could see it. He had no one to fear, no one to please.
+Socrates or Plato, if suddenly brought to life in America, might have
+spoken like Emerson, and the effect produced by Emerson was certainly
+like that produced by Socrates in olden times.</p>
+
+<p>What Emerson's personal charm must have been in earlier life we can
+only conjecture from the rapturous praises bestowed on him by his
+friends, even during his lifetime.... And his influence was not
+confined to the American mind. I have watched it growing in England. I
+can still remember the time when even experienced judges spoke of his
+essays as mere declamations, as poetical rhapsodies, as poor
+imitations of Carlyle. Then gradually one man after another found
+something in Emerson which was not to be found in Carlyle,
+particularly his loving heart, his tolerant spirit, his comprehensive
+sympathy with all that was or was meant to be good and true, even
+though to his own mind it was neither the one nor the other....</p>
+
+<p>Another eminent American who often honored my quiet home at Oxford was
+James Russell Lowell, for a long time United States minister in
+England. He was a professor and at the same time a politician and a
+man of the world. Few essays are so brimful of interesting facts and
+original reflections as his essays entitled <i>Among my Books</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Lowell's conversation was inexhaustible, his information astonishing.
+Pleasant as he was, even as an antagonist, he would occasionally lose
+his temper and use very emphatic language. I was once sitting next to
+him when I heard him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>stagger his neighbor, a young lady, by bursting
+out with, "But, madam, I do not accept your major premise!" Poor
+thing, she evidently was not accustomed to such language, and not
+acquainted with that terrible term. She collapsed, evidently quite at
+a loss as to what gift on her part Mr. Lowell declined to accept.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes even the most harmless remark about America would call forth
+very sharp replies from him. Everybody knows that the salaries paid by
+America to her diplomatic staff are insufficient, and no one knew it
+better than he himself. But when the remark was made in his presence
+that the United States treated their diplomatic representatives
+stingily, he fired up, and discoursed most eloquently on the
+advantages of high thoughts and humble living....</p>
+
+<p>I lost the pleasure of shaking hands with Longfellow during his stay
+in England. Though I have been more of a fixture at Oxford than most
+professors, I was away during the vacation when he paid his visit to
+our university, and thus lost seeing a poet to whom I felt strongly
+attracted, not only by the general spirit of his poetry, which was
+steeped in German thought, but as the translator of several of my
+father's poems.</p>
+
+<p>I was more fortunate with Dr. Wendell Holmes. His arrival in England
+had been proclaimed beforehand, and one naturally remained at home in
+order to be allowed to receive him. His hundred days in England were
+one uninterrupted triumphal progress. When he arrived at Liverpool he
+found about three hundred invitations waiting for him. Though he was
+accompanied by a most active and efficient daughter, he had at once to
+engage a secretary to answer <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>this deluge of letters. And though he
+was past eighty, he never spared himself, and was always ready to see
+and to be seen. He was not only an old, but a ripe and mellow man.
+There was no subject on which one could touch which was not familiar
+to the autocrat of the breakfast table. His thoughts and his words
+were ready, and one felt that it was not for the first time that the
+subject had been carefully thought out and talked out by him. That he
+should have been able to stand all the fatigue of the journey and the
+constant claims on his ready wit seemed to me marvelous. I had the
+pleasure of showing him the old buildings of Oxford. He seemed to know
+them all, and had something to ask and say about every one. When we
+came to Magdalen College, he wanted to see and to measure the elms. He
+was very proud of some elms in America, and he had actually brought
+some string with which he had measured the largest tree he knew in his
+own country. He proceeded to measure one of our finest elms in
+Magdalen College, and when he found that it was larger than his
+American giant, he stood before it admiring it, without a single word
+of envy or disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>I had, however, a great fright while he was staying at our house. He
+had evidently done too much, and after our first dinner party he had
+feverish shivering fits, and the doctor whom I sent for declared at
+once that he must keep perfectly quiet in bed, and attend no more
+parties of any kind. This was a great disappointment to myself and to
+a great many of my friends. But at his time of life the doctor's
+warning could not be disregarded, and I had, at all events, the
+satisfaction of sending him off to Cambridge safe <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>and sound. I had
+him several days quite to myself, and there were few subjects which we
+did not discuss. We mostly agreed, but even where we did not, it was a
+real pleasure to differ from him. We discussed the greatest and the
+smallest questions, and on every one he had some wise and telling
+remarks to pour out. I remember one conversation while we were sitting
+at an old wainscoted room at All Souls', ornamented with the arms of
+former fellows. It had been at first the library of the college, then
+one of the fellows' rooms, and lastly a lecture room. We were deep in
+the old question of the true relation between the divine and human in
+man, and here again, as on all other questions, everything seemed to
+be clear and evident to his mind. Perhaps I ought not to repeat what
+he said to me when we parted: "I have had much talk with people in
+England; with you I have had a real conversation." We understood each
+other and wondered how it was that men so often misunderstood one
+another. I told him that it was the badness of our language, he
+thought it was the badness of our tempers. Perhaps we were both right.
+With him again good-by was good-by for life, and at such moments one
+wonders indeed how kindred souls became separated, and one feels
+startled and repelled at the thought that, such as they were on earth,
+they can never meet again. And yet there is continuity in the world,
+there is no flaw, no break anywhere, and what has been will surely be
+again, though how it will be we cannot know, and if only we trust in
+the wisdom that pervades the whole universe, we need not know.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LVI" id="LVI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>HOWELLS CALLS ON EMERSON, AND DESCRIBES LONGFELLOW</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In 1860 William Dean Howells, now one of the foremost literary
+influences in the English-speaking world, was a young man writing for
+the <i>Ohio State Journal</i> of Columbus. Several of his poems had been
+kindly received and published by the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, so that the
+young lady from New England who screamed with surprise at seeing the
+<i>Atlantic</i> on a western table and cried, "Why, have you got the
+<i>Atlantic Monthly out here</i>?" could be met with, "There are several
+contributors to the <i>Atlantic</i> in Columbus." The several were Howells
+and J.J. Piatt. But to be an accepted contributor to the <i>Atlantic</i>
+was not enough. Howells must see the literary celebrities of New
+England. Emerson and Bayard Taylor he had seen and heard in Columbus,
+but Longfellow, Hawthorne, Lowell, Holmes, and Whittier were the
+literary saints at whose shrine he wished to burn the sacred incense
+of his adoring soul.</p>
+
+<p>From Hawthorne he received a card introducing him to Emerson. Emerson
+was then about sixty, although nothing about him suggested an old man.
+After some conversation on general topics, Emerson began to talk of
+Hawthorne, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>praising Hawthorne's fine personal qualities. "But his
+last book," he added, reflectively, "is mere mush." This criticism
+related to the <i>Marble Faun</i>. Of course, such a comment shocked
+Howells, whose sense of literary values was much keener than
+Emerson's. "Emerson had, in fact," writes Howells, "a defective sense
+as to specific pieces of literature; he praised extravagantly, and in
+the wrong place, especially among the new things, and he failed to see
+the worth of much that was fine and precious beside the line of his
+fancy."</p>
+
+<p>Then Emerson made some inquiry about a Michigan young man who had been
+sending some of his poetry to Emerson. Howells was embarrassed to be
+obliged to say that he knew nothing of the Michigan poet. Later
+Emerson asked whether he had become acquainted with the poems of Mr.
+William Henry Channing. Howells replied that he knew them only through
+the criticism of Poe.</p>
+
+<p>"Whose criticisms?" asked Emerson.</p>
+
+<p>"Poe's," replied Howells.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," Emerson cried after a thoughtful moment, "you mean <i>the jingle
+man</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>This was a moment of confusion and embarrassment for Howells. Had the
+vituperative pen of Poe ever thrown off more stinging criticism than
+that? "<i>The jingle man!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Emerson turned the conversation to Howells himself and asked him what
+he had written for the <i>Atlantic</i>. Howells replied, and Emerson took
+down the bound volumes and carefully affixed Howells' initials to the
+poems. "He followed me to the door, still speaking of poetry, and as
+he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>took a kindly enough leave of me, he said one might very well give
+a pleasant hour to it now and then." This was a shock to Howells. "A
+pleasant hour!" Howells was intending to consecrate all time and
+eternity to it, and here is the Sage of Concord coolly speaking of
+poetry as though it were some trifling diversion, like billiards or
+whist.</p>
+
+<p>Later in life when Howells resided in Cambridge he had abundant
+opportunity to become acquainted with Longfellow, whom in <i>Literary
+Friends and Acquaintance</i> he calls the "White Mr. Longfellow."</p>
+
+<p>"He was the most perfectly modest man I ever saw, ever imagined, but
+he had a gentle dignity which I do not believe any one, the coarsest,
+the obtusest, could trespass upon. In the years when I began to know
+him, his long hair and the beautiful beard which mixed with it were of
+iron-gray, which I saw blanch to a perfect silver, while that pearly
+tone of his complexion, which Appleton so admired, lost itself in the
+wanness of age and pain. When he walked, he had a kind of spring in
+his gait, as if now and again a buoyant thought lifted him from the
+ground. It was fine to meet him coming down a Cambridge street; you
+felt that the encounter made you a part of literary history, and set
+you apart with him for the moment from the poor and mean. When he
+appeared in Harvard Square, he beatified if not beautified the ugliest
+and vulgarest looking spot on the planet outside of New York. You
+could meet him sometimes at the market, if you were of the same
+provision-man as he, for Longfellow remained as constant to his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>tradespeople as to any other friends. He rather liked to bring his
+proofs back to the printer himself, and we often found ourselves
+together at the University Press, where <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i> used to
+be printed. But outside of his own house Longfellow seemed to want a
+fit atmosphere, and I love best to think of him in his study, where he
+wrought at his lovely art with a serenity expressed in his smooth,
+regular, and scrupulously perfect handwriting. It was quite vertical,
+and rounded, with a slope neither to the right nor left, and at the
+time I knew him first, he was fond of using a soft pencil on printing
+paper, though commonly he wrote with a quill. Each letter was distinct
+in shape, and between the verses was always the exact space of half an
+inch. I have a good many of his poems written in this fashion, but
+whether they were the first drafts or not I cannot say; very likely
+not. Towards the last he no longer sent the poems to the magazines in
+his own hand, but they were always signed in autograph.</p>
+
+<p>"I once asked him if he were not a great deal interrupted, and he
+said, with a faint sigh, Not more than was good for him, he fancied;
+if it were not for the interruptions, he might overwork. He was not a
+friend to stated exercise, I believe, nor fond of walking, as Lowell
+was; he had not, indeed, the childish associations of the younger poet
+with the Cambridge neighborhoods; and I never saw him walking for
+pleasure except on the east veranda of his house, though I was told he
+loved walking in his youth. In this and in some other things
+Longfellow was more European than American, more Latin than Saxon. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>He
+once said quaintly that one got a great deal of exercise in putting on
+and off one's overcoat and overshoes....</p>
+
+<p>"He was patient, as I said of all things, and gentle beyond all mere
+gentlemanliness. But it would have been a great mistake to mistake his
+mildness for softness. It was most manly and firm, and of course, it
+was braced with the New England conscience he was born to. If he did
+not find it well to assert himself, he was prompt in behalf of his
+friends, and one of the fine things told of him was his resenting some
+things said of Sumner at a dinner in Boston during the old pro-slavery
+times; he said to the gentlemen present that Sumner was his friend,
+and he must leave their company if they continued to assail him.</p>
+
+<p>"But he spoke almost as rarely of his friends as of himself. He liked
+the large, impersonal topics which could be dealt with, on their human
+side, and involved characters rather than individuals. This was rather
+strange in Cambridge, where we were apt to take our instances from our
+environments. It was not the only thing he was strange in there; he
+was not to that manner born; he lacked the final intimacies which can
+come only of birth and lifelong association, and which make the men of
+the Boston breed seem exclusive when they least feel so; he was
+Longfellow to the friends who were James, and Charles, and Wendell to
+one another. He and Hawthorne were classmates at college, but I never
+heard him mention Hawthorne; I never heard him mention Whittier or
+Emerson. I think his reticence about his contemporaries was largely
+due to his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>reluctance from criticism: he was the finest artist of
+them all, and if he praised he must have praised with the reservations
+of an honest man. Of younger writers he was willing enough to speak.
+No new contributor made his mark in the magazine unnoted by him, and
+sometimes I showed him verse in manuscript which gave me peculiar
+pleasure. I remember his liking for the first piece that Mr. Maurice
+Thompson sent me, and how he tasted the fresh flavor of it and inhaled
+its wild new fragrance."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LVII" id="LVII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>LONGFELLOW, THE UNIVERSAL POET</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>We have passed the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Longfellow,
+and he still remains the favorite American poet. Not that Longfellow
+is one of the great world poets; Longfellow himself would have been
+offended with that eulogistic extravagance which would place him among
+the few immortals. He is not a Homer, nor a Dante, nor a Shakspere.
+No, he is not even a Wordsworth in philosophic insight into nature,
+nor a Shelley in power to snatch the soul into the starry empyrean,
+nor a Tennyson in variety and passion, nor a Milton in grandeur of
+poetic expression. He is&mdash;only Longfellow. But that means he has his
+own peculiar charm. It is idle to detract from the fame of one man
+because he is not some one else. Roast beef may be more nutritious
+than strawberries, but that is no criticism upon the flavor of the
+strawberry. Longfellow is not Milton, but then neither is Milton
+Longfellow:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I cannot carry forests on my back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Neither can you crack a nut.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Of late years the critics have been finding fault with Longfellow.
+They have said that really <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>Longfellow is no poet. Frederic Harrison
+calls Evangeline "goody, goody dribble!" and Quiller-Couch in his
+anthology gives three pages to Longfellow and seven to Wilfred Scawen
+Blunt&mdash;but who is Blunt? When I was in Berlin I found in a German
+history of English and American Literature one-half a page devoted to
+Longfellow and ten pages to Poe. Perhaps some of this criticism is but
+the natural reaction following the extreme praise that ensued after
+the death of Longfellow in 1882.</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep290" id="imagep290"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep290.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep290.jpg" width="55%" alt="Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW<br />From a wood engraving of a life photograph<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>But Longfellow is surviving all derogatory criticism. He is still the
+poet with the universal appeal. It is altogether probable that he is
+more widely read to-day than any other American poet. Even foreigners
+still express their affection for this poet of the domestic
+affections. In 1907 Sir Henry Mortimer Durand, the English Ambassador
+to the United States, made an address in which he made graceful
+acknowledgement of his debt to this American poet:</p>
+
+<p>"I owe much of the pleasure of my life to American writers of every
+shade of thought.... But I owe to one American writer much more than
+pleasure. Tastes differ and fashions change, and I am told that the
+poetry of Longfellow is not read as it used to be. Men in my own
+country have asked me whether the rivers of Damascus were not better
+than all the waters of Israel, whether Shakspere, and Milton, and
+Shelley, and Keats were not enough for me, that I need go to
+Longfellow. And Americans have seemed surprised that I did not speak
+rather of Lowell and Bryant and others. Far be it from me to say a
+word against any of them. I have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>loved them all from my youth up,
+every one of them in his own way, and Shakspere as the master and
+compendium of them all. No one, I suppose, would place Longfellow as a
+poet quite on the same level with some of them. But the fact remains
+that, for one reason or another, perhaps in part from early
+associations, Longfellow has always spoken to my heart. Many a time,
+in lands far away from the land he loved so well, I have sought for
+sympathy in happiness and in sorrow&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not from the grand old masters,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not from the bards sublime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose distant footsteps echo<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through the corridors of time&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">but from that pure and gentle and untroubled spirit."</p>
+
+<p>Professor E.A. Grosvenor, of Amherst, years ago published an article
+on Longfellow that was widely copied. It is an interesting account of
+a conversation in 1879 on board the Messageries steamer <i>Donai</i>, bound
+from Constantinople to Marseilles. On board many nationalities were
+represented. The story is a fine illustration of the wide-spread
+popularity of the American poet.</p>
+
+<p>"One evening, as we were quitting the Straits of Bonifacio, some one
+remarked at dinner that, though Victor Hugo was born in Paris, the
+earliest impressions of his life were received in Corsica, close to
+which we were passing. Ten or twelve of us lingered after the meal was
+finished to talk of the great French poet. One of the party spoke of
+him as embodying, more than any other writer, the humanistic
+tendencies of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>nineteenth century and as the exponent of what is
+best in humanity.</p>
+
+<p>"We had been talking in French, when the Russian lady exclaimed in
+English to the gentleman who had last spoken, 'How can you, an
+American, give to him the place that is occupied by your own
+Longfellow? Longfellow is the universal poet. He is better known, too,
+among foreigners than any one except their own poets! Then she
+commenced repeating in rich, mellow tones:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I stood on the bridge at midnight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As the clocks were striking the hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the moon rose over the city<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Behind the dark church tower.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">I recall how her voice trembled over the words:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the burden laid upon me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seemed greater than I could bear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">and how it swelled out in the concluding lines:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As the symbol of love in Heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And its wavering image here.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">It was dramatic and never to be forgotten. Then she added, 'I long to
+visit Boston that I may stand on the Bridge.'</p>
+
+<p>"In the company was an English captain returning from the Zulu war. He
+was the son of that member of Parliament' who had been the chief
+supporter of the claimant in the famous Tichborne case, and who had
+poured out his money like water in behalf of the man whom he
+considered cruelly wronged. The captain was a typical British soldier,
+with every characteristic of his class. Joining our steamer at Genoa,
+he had so far talked only of the Zulus and, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>bitter indignation,
+of the manner in which the Prince Imperial had been deserted by
+British soldiers to be slain by savages. As soon as the Russian lady
+had concluded he said: 'I can give you something better than that,'
+and began in a voice like a trumpet:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell me not in mournful numbers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Life is but an empty dream.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">His recitation of the entire poem was marked by the common English
+upheaval and down-letting of the voice in each line; but it was
+evident that he loved what he was repeating.</p>
+
+<p>"Then a tall, lank, gray-haired Scotchman, who knew no French, who had
+hardly mingled with the other passengers, and who seemed always
+communing with himself, suddenly commenced:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is no flock, however watched and tended,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But one dead lamb is there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">He repeated only a few stanzas, but could apparently have given the
+whole poem, had he wished.</p>
+
+<p>"For myself, I know that my contribution was <i>My Lost Youth</i>,
+beginning</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Often I think of the beautiful town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That is seated by the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Often in thought go up and down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pleasant streets of that dear old town<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And my youth comes back to me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">Never did the distance from an early home seem so great to one, New
+England born, as in that strange company, gathered from many lands,
+each with words upon the lip which the American had first heard in
+childhood.</p>
+
+<p>"A handsome, olive-cheeked young man, a Greek from Manchester,
+educated and living in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>England, said, 'How do you like this?' Then he
+began to sing:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Stars of the summer night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Far in yon azure deeps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hide, hide your golden light!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">She sleeps!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">My lady sleeps!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Sleeps!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">So he rendered the whole of that exquisite serenade&mdash;dear to American
+college students&mdash;with a freedom and a fire which hinted that he had
+sung it at least once before on some more appropriate occasion.
+Perhaps to some dark-eyed maiden of that elegant Greek colony of
+Manchester it had come as a revelation, and perhaps she had first
+heard it sung in front of her father's mansion and had looked down,
+appreciative but unseen, from above.</p>
+
+<p>"The captain of the <i>Donai</i> was not her regular commander, but an
+officer of the national French navy, who was in charge only for a few
+voyages. A thorough Frenchman, no one would have accused him of
+knowing a word of any tongue, save his own. Versatile, overflowing
+with wit and <i>bons mots</i>, it must have wearied him to be silent so
+long. To our astonishment, in accents so Gallic that one discerned
+with difficulty that he was attempting English, he intoned:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Zee seds of neet fair valeeng fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ven t'rough an Alpeen veelage past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A yout, who bore meed snow and eece<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bannair veed dees strange deveece<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Excelsiorr!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"'<i>Eh, voila</i>,' he exclaimed with satisfaction, '<i>J'ai appris cela a
+l'&eacute;cole. C'est tout l'anglais que je sais.</i>'</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>"'<i>Mais, commandant</i>,' said the Russian lady, '<i>ce n'est pas l'anglais
+du tout ce que vous venez de dire l&agrave;.</i>'</p>
+
+<p>"'<i>Ah, oui, madame, &ccedil;a vient de votre Longfellow.</i>'</p>
+
+<p>"None of the other passengers contributed, but already six
+nationalities had spoken&mdash;Scotch, Russian, Greek, French, English, and
+American. As we arose from the table and went up on deck to watch the
+lights glimmering in Napoleon's birthplace, Ajaccio, the Russian lady
+said: 'Do you suppose there is any other poet of any country, living
+or dead, from whom so many of us could have quoted? Not one. Not even
+Shakspere or Victor Hugo or Homer.'"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LVIII" id="LVIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>HENRY DAVID THOREAU</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>During his lifetime Thoreau published but two books,&mdash;<i>Walden</i>, and
+the <i>Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers</i>,&mdash;and these had but
+limited sale while the author was living. Over seven hundred copies of
+the <i>Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers</i> were returned, to
+Thoreau by his publisher. Thoreau must have had a helpful sense of
+humor, for after lugging the burden upstairs he complacently
+remarks,&mdash;"I have now a library of nearly nine hundred volumes, over
+seven hundred of which I wrote myself." In recent times a costly
+edition of all Thoreau's writings has been published. He is one of the
+rare spirits whose fame increases with the years. But of all his
+voluminous writings <i>Walden</i>, so it seems to me, is the most readable,
+the freshest, the most stimulating. Higginson says that it is,
+perhaps, the only book yet written in America that can bear an annual
+reading.</p>
+
+<p><i>Walden</i> is a record of Thoreau's sojourn for about two years in the
+woods by Walden Pond. He went about two miles from his mother's door,
+built a little house or hut, and there lived, reading his favorite
+books, philosophizing, studying <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>nature, and to a great extent
+avoiding society. Some people have condemned him as selfish, others
+have defended him. His best defense is his work. If anything so fresh
+and readable as <i>Walden</i> be the result, we might be willing to deny
+ourselves the society of some of our urban friends, without charging
+them with selfishness. Thoreau is sometimes called a "wild man"; in a
+sense, he is untamed. He himself confessed,&mdash;"There is in my nature,
+methinks, a singular yearning toward all wildness." Yet he was a true
+lover of men. He hated slavery and went to jail rather than pay his
+taxes, because he disbelieved in supporting a government that upheld
+slavery. When his friend, the philosophic Emerson, peered into the
+prison cell and said,&mdash;"Henry, why are you here?" the quick retort
+was,&mdash;"Why are you not here?"</p>
+
+<p>It must be remembered that Thoreau lived in a time of social
+experiment. Hawthorne had thrown in his lot for a brief time with the
+Brook Farm idealists. Why should not Thoreau make an experiment of his
+own? Why not live the simple life before Wagner wrote about it? He was
+tired of the conventionalities of society, of the incessant
+interruptions to steady thought. Society is naught but a conspiracy to
+compel imitation. "The head monkey of Paris puts on a traveler's cap,
+and all the monkeys in America do the same." So Thoreau moves out into
+the woods by the side of Walden Pond. Before he can live there he must
+build his house:</p>
+
+<p>"Near the end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe and went down to the
+woods by Walden Pond, nearest to where I intended to build my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>house,
+and began to cut down some tall arrowy pines, still in their youth,
+for timber. It is difficult to begin without borrowing, but perhaps it
+is the most generous course thus to permit your fellow-men to have an
+interest in your enterprise. The owner of the axe as he released his
+hold on it, said that it was the apple of his eye; but I returned it
+sharper than I received it."</p>
+
+<p>His house, when finished, was ten feet wide and fifteen long. The
+exact cost was twenty-eight dollars, twelve and one-half cents. In
+<i>Walden</i> he gives an itemized account of the cost. And then he adds,
+with a twinkle of his eye, I think,&mdash;"I intend to build me a house
+which will surpass any on the main street in Concord in grandeur and
+luxury, as soon as it pleases me as much and will cost me no more than
+my present one."</p>
+
+<p>Thoreau also finds some satisfaction that his house cost him less than
+the year's rent of a college room at Harvard; for there the mere rent
+of a student's room, "which is only a little larger than my own, is
+thirty dollars each year, though the corporation had the advantage of
+building thirty-two side by side and under one roof."</p>
+
+<p>In this book he gives a very interesting account of what his food cost
+him during the eight months from July 4 to March 1. Here is his list:</p>
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="40%" summary="food costs">
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl" width="80%">Rice</td>
+  <td class="tdl" width="20%">$1.73-&frac12;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Molasses</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;1.73</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Rye meal</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;1.04-&frac34;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Indian meal</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.99-&frac34;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Pork</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.22</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Flour</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.88</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Sugar</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.80</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Lard</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.65</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>Apples</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.25</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Dried apple</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.22</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Sweet potatoes</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.10</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">One pumpkin</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.06</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">One watermelon</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.02</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl">Salt</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.03</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Yes," says he, "I did eat $8.74, all told; but I should not thus
+unblushingly publish my guilt, if I did not know that most of my
+readers were equally guilty with myself, and that their deeds would
+look no better in print." In this connection one may call to mind a
+reported saying of Mrs. Emerson's to the effect that Henry never got
+very far away from the sound of the dinner horn. It is not hard to
+imagine that the hospitable Emerson often invited the kindred-spirited
+Thoreau into his house for a warm and abundant dinner. Another writer
+recently has advanced also this thought: Thoreau was not so much of a
+selfish hermit as it might appear. He went into the woods to make his
+house or hut a station on the underground railroad. If this be true, a
+new and different light is thrown upon Thoreau's conduct.</p>
+
+<p>Thoreau was a great lover of nature and the things of nature loved
+him. Dr. Channing gives us this glimpse of the man:</p>
+
+<p>"Thoreau named all the birds without a gun, a weapon he never used in
+mature years. He neither killed nor imprisoned any animal, unless
+driven by acute needs. He brought home a flying squirrel, to study its
+mode of flight, but quickly carried it back to the wood. He possessed
+true instincts of topography, and could conceal choice things in the
+bush and find them again.... If Thoreau needed a box in his walk, he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>would strip a piece of birch bark off the tree, fold it, when cut
+straightly, together, and put his tender lichen or brittle creature
+therein."</p>
+
+<p>Emerson supplements this picture with the following account of a visit
+he once made to Walden:</p>
+
+<p>"The naturalist waded into the pool for the water plants, and his
+strong legs were no insignificant part of his armor. On this day he
+looked for the menyanthes and detected it across the wide pool; and,
+on examination of the floret, declared that it had been in flower five
+days. He drew out of his breast-pocket a diary, and read the names of
+all the plants that should bloom that day, whereof he kept account as
+a banker does when his notes are due.... He could pace rods more
+accurately than another man could measure them with rod and chain. He
+could find his way in the woods at night better by his feet than by
+his eyes. He knew every track in the snow and on the ground, and what
+creature had taken the path in the snow before him."</p>
+
+<p>Thoreau could write the most beautiful descriptions when he was so
+inclined. Here is an exquisite description of a snowstorm.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever admire the steady, silent, windless fall of the snow, in
+some lead-colored sky, silent save the little ticking of the flakes as
+they touched the twigs? It is chased silver, molded over the pines and
+oak leaves. Soft shades hang like curtains along the closely-draped
+wood-paths. Frozen apples become little cider-vats. The old crooked
+apple-trees, frozen stiff in the pale, shivering sunlight, that
+appears to be dying of consumption, gleam forth like the heroes of one
+of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>Dante's cold hells; we would mind any change in the mercury of the
+dream. The snow crunches under the feet; the chopper's axe rings
+funereally through the tragic air. At early morn the frost on
+button-bushes and willows was silvery and every stem and minutest twig
+and filamentary weed came up a silver thing, while the cottage smoke
+rose salmon-colored into that oblique day. At the base of ditches were
+shooting crystals, like the blades of an ivory-handled penknife, the
+rosettes and favors fretted of silver on the flat ice. The little
+cascades in the brook were ornamented with transparent shields, and
+long candelabrums and spermaceti-colored fools'-caps and plated
+jellies and white globes, with the black water whirling along
+transparently underneath. The sun comes out, and all at a glance,
+rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds start into intense life on
+the angles of the snow crystals."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LIX" id="LIX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE LAST DAYS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>There has been great difference of opinion concerning the genius of
+Poe. His life also has been the subject of much controversy. By some
+Poe is painted as a fiend incarnate, by others as a man more sinned
+against than sinning. When Howells visited Emerson he was surprised to
+hear the Concord Sage refer to Poe as the "jingle man," but then
+Emerson himself had been treated rather contemptuously by Poe, and
+that, together with Emerson's lack of appreciation of melody, may
+account for the "jingle man" expression.</p>
+
+<p>It is not strange that Poe has been the subject of bitter criticism.
+He himself was bitter and unjust in his criticisms of others. He once
+wrote: "Bryant is not <i>all</i> a fool. Mr. Willis is not <i>quite</i> an ass.
+Mr. Longfellow <i>will</i> steal, but, perhaps, he cannot help it." The man
+who will write like that must expect similar vituperation in return.
+To have friends, a man must be friendly. Poe was lacking in those warm
+human sympathies that attract our fellow-men. The human touch lacking
+in his art is also lacking in his life. "Except the wife who idolized
+him," writes Mr. Woodberry in his excellent Life of Poe, "and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>the
+mother who cared for him, no one touched his heart in the years of his
+manhood, and at no time was love so strong in him as to rule his life;
+as he was self-indulgent, he was self-absorbed, and outside of his
+family no kind act, no noble affection, no generous sacrifice is
+recorded of him."</p>
+
+<p>In <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>, 1878, Mrs. Susan T. Weiss in writing of the
+<i>Last Days of Edgar Allan Poe</i>, one of the most accurate accounts of
+this period of the poet's life, gives us a more pleasing impression.
+We quote the following extracts:</p>
+
+<p>It was a day or two after his arrival that Poe, accompanied by his
+sister, called on us.... The remembrance of that first meeting with
+the poet is still as vividly impressed upon my mind as though it had
+been but yesterday. A shy and dreamy girl, scarcely more than a child,
+I had all my life taken an interest in those strange stories and poems
+of Edgar Poe; and now, with my old childish impression of their author
+scarcely worn off, I regarded the meeting with an eager, yet shrinking
+anticipation. As I entered the parlor, Poe was seated near the window,
+quietly conversing. His attitude was easy and graceful, with one arm
+lightly resting on the back of his chair. His dark curling hair was
+thrown back from his broad forehead&mdash;a style in which he habitually
+wore it. At sight of him, the impression produced upon me was of a
+refined, highbred, and chivalrous gentleman. I use this word
+"chivalrous" as exactly descriptive of something in his whole
+<i>personnel</i>, distinct from either polish or high-breeding, and which,
+though instantly apparent, was yet an effect too subtle to be
+described. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>He rose on my entrance, and, other visitors being present,
+stood with one hand on the back of his chair, awaiting my greeting. So
+dignified was his manner, so reserved his expression, that I
+experienced an involuntary recoil, until I turned to him and saw his
+eyes suddenly brighten as I offered my hand; a barrier seemed to melt
+between us, and I felt that we were no longer strangers....</p>
+
+<p>While upon this subject, I venture, though with great hesitation, to
+say a word in relation to Poe's own marriage with his cousin, Virginia
+Clemm. I am aware that there exists with the public but one view of
+this union, and that so lovely and touching in itself, that to mar the
+picture with even a shadow inspires almost a feeling of remorse. Yet
+since in the biography of a distinguished man of genius truth is above
+all things desirable, and since in this instance the facts do not
+redound to the discredit of any party concerned, I may be allowed to
+state what I have been assured is truth.</p>
+
+<p>Poets are proverbial for uncongenial marriages, and to this Poe can
+scarcely be classed as an exception. From the time when as a youth of
+nineteen he became a tutor to his sweet and gentle little cousin of
+six years old, he loved her with the protective tenderness of an elder
+brother. As years passed he became the subject of successive fancies
+or passions for various charming women; but she gradually budding into
+early womanhood experienced but one attachment&mdash;an absorbing devotion
+to her handsome, talented, and fascinating cousin. So intense was this
+passion that her health and spirits became seriously <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>affected, and
+her mother, aroused to painful solicitude, spoke to Edgar about it.
+This was just as he was preparing to leave her house, which had been
+for some years his home, and enter the world of business. The idea of
+this separation was insupportable to Virginia. The result was that
+Poe, at that time a young man of twenty-eight, married his little,
+penniless, and delicate child-cousin of fourteen or fifteen, and thus
+unselfishly secured her own and her mother's happiness. In his wife he
+had ever the most tender and devoted of companions; but it was his own
+declaration that he ever missed in her a certain intellectual and
+spiritual sympathy necessary to perfect happiness in such an union....
+He was never a deliberately unkind husband, and toward the close of
+Mrs. Poe's life he was assiduous in his tender care and attention. Yet
+his own declaration to an intimate friend of his youth was that his
+marriage "had not been a congenial one;" and I repeatedly heard the
+match ascribed to Mrs. Clemm, by those who were well acquainted with
+the family and the circumstances. In thus alluding to a subject so
+delicate, I have not lightly done so, or unadvisedly made a statement
+which seems refuted by the testimony of so many who have written of
+the "passionate idolatry" with which the poet regarded his wife. I
+have heard the subject often and freely discussed by Poe's most
+intimate friends, including his sisters, and upon this authority I
+speak. Lovely in person, sweet and gentle in disposition, his young
+wife deserved, doubtless, all the love that it was in his nature to
+bestow. Of his unvarying filial affection for Mrs. Clemm, and of her
+almost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>angelic devotion to himself and his interests, there can be no
+question.</p>
+
+<p>Once in discussing <i>The Raven</i>, Poe observed that he had never heard
+it correctly delivered by even the best readers&mdash;that is, not as he
+desired that it should be read. That evening, a number of visitors
+being present, he was requested to recite the poem, and complied. His
+impressive delivery held the company spell-bound, but in the midst of
+it, I, happening to glance toward the open window above the level roof
+of the greenhouse, beheld a group of sable faces the whites of whose
+eyes shone in strong relief against the surrounding darkness. These
+were a number of our family servants, who having heard much talk about
+"Mr. Poe, the poet," and having but an imperfect idea of what a poet
+was, had requested permission of my brother to witness the recital. As
+the speaker became more impassioned and excited, more conspicuous grew
+the circle of white eyes, until when at length he turned suddenly
+toward the window, and, extending his arm, cried, with awful
+vehemence, "Get thee back into the tempest, and the night's Plutonian
+shore!" there was a sudden disappearance of the sable visages, a
+scuttling of feet, and the gallery audience was gone. Ludicrous as was
+the incident, the final touch was given when at that moment Miss Poe,
+who was an extraordinary character in her way, sleepily entered the
+room, and with a dull and drowsy deliberation seated herself on her
+brother's knee. He had subsided from his excitement into a gloomy
+despair, and now, fixing his eyes upon his sister, he concluded:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the raven never flitting, still is sitting, <i>still</i> is sitting,<br /></span><span class='pn'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="noin">The effect was irresistible; and as the final "nevermore" was solemnly
+uttered the half-suppressed titter of two very young persons in a
+corner was responded to by a general laugh. Poe remarked quietly that
+on his next delivery of a public lecture "he would take Rose along, to
+act the part of the raven, in which she seemed born to excel." ...</p>
+
+<p>It is with feelings of deep sadness, even after the lapse of so many
+years, that I approach the close of these reminiscences.</p>
+
+<p>Poe one day told me that it was necessary that he should go to New
+York. He must make certain preparations for establishing his magazine,
+the <i>Stylus</i>, but he should in less than two weeks return to Richmond,
+where he proposed henceforth to reside. He looked forward to this
+arrangement with great pleasure. "I mean to turn over a new leaf; I
+shall begin to lead a new life," he said, confidently. He had often
+spoken to me of his books,&mdash;"few, but <i>recherch&eacute;</i>,"&mdash;and he now
+proposed to send certain of these by express, for my perusal. "You
+must annotate them extensively," he said. "A book wherein the minds of
+the author and the reader are thus brought in contact is to me a
+hundredfold increased in interest. It is like flint and steel." One of
+the books which he desired me to read was Mrs. Browning's poems, and
+another one of Hawthorne's works. I remember his saying of the latter
+that he was "indisputably the best prose writer in America;" that
+"Irving and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>rest were mere commonplace beside him;" and that
+"there was more inspiration of true genius in Hawthorne's prose than
+in all Longfellow's poetry." This may serve to give an idea of his own
+opinion of what constitutes genius, though some of Longfellow's poems
+he pronounced "perfect of their kind."</p>
+
+<p>The evening of the day previous to that appointed for his departure
+from Richmond, Poe spent at my mother's. He declined to enter the
+parlors, where a number of visitors were assembled, saying he
+preferred the more quiet sitting-room; and here I had a long and
+almost uninterrupted conversation with him. He spoke of his future,
+seeming to anticipate it with an eager delight, like that of youth. He
+declared that the last few weeks in the society of his old and new
+friends had been the happiest that he had known for many years, and
+that when he again left New York he should there leave behind all the
+trouble and vexation of his past life....</p>
+
+<p>In speaking of his own writings Poe expressed his conviction that he
+had written his best poems, but that in prose he might yet surpass
+what he had already accomplished....</p>
+
+<p>He was the last of the party to leave the house. We were standing on
+the portico, and after going a few steps he paused, turned, and again
+lifted his hat, in a last adieu. At the moment, a brilliant meteor
+appeared in the sky directly over his head, and vanished in the east.
+We commented laughingly upon the incident; but I remembered it sadly
+afterward.</p>
+
+<p>That night he spent at Duncan's lodge; and as his friend said, sat
+late at his window, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>meditatively smoking, and seemingly disinclined
+for conversation. On the following morning he went into the city,
+accompanied by his friends Dr. Gibbon Carter and Dr. Mackenzie. The
+day was passed with them and others of his intimate friends. Late in
+the evening he entered the office of Dr. John Carter, and spent an
+hour in looking over the day's papers; then taking Dr. Carter's cane
+he went out, remarking that he would step across to Saddler's (a
+fashionable restaurant) and get supper. From the circumstance of his
+taking the cane, leaving his own in its place, it is probable that he
+had intended to return; but at the restaurant he met with some
+acquaintances who detained him until late, and then accompanied him to
+the Baltimore boat. According to their account he was quite sober and
+cheerful to the last, remarking, as he took leave of them, that he
+would soon be in Richmond again.</p>
+
+<p>... Three days after, a friend came to me with the day's issue of the
+<i>Richmond Dispatch</i>. Without a word she pointed to a particular
+paragraph, where I read,&mdash;"Death of Edgar A. Poe, in Baltimore."</p>
+
+<p>Poe had made himself popular in Richmond, people had become interested
+in him, and his death cast a universal gloom over the city. His old
+friends, and even those more recently formed, and whom he had
+strangely attached to himself, deeply regretted him. Mr. Sully came to
+consult with me about a picture of <i>The Raven</i> which he intended to
+make; and in the course of the conversation expressed himself in
+regard to his lost friend with a warmth of feeling and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>appreciation
+not usual to him. The two had been schoolmates; and the artist said:
+"Poe was one of the most warm-hearted and generous of men. In his
+youth and prosperity, when admired and looked up to by all his
+companions, he invariably stood by me and took my part. I was a dull
+boy at learning, and Edgar never grudged time or pains in assisting
+me." In further speaking, he said, with a decision and earnestness
+which impressed me, "It was Mr. Allan's cruelty in casting him upon
+the world, a beggar, which ruined Poe. Some who had envied him took
+advantage of his change of fortune to slight and insult him. He was
+sensitive and proud, and felt the change keenly. It was this which
+embittered him. By nature no person was less inclined to reserve or
+bitterness, and as a boy he was frank and generous to a fault." In
+speaking of his poems, Mr. Sully remarked: "He has an eye for
+dramatic, but not for scenic or artistic effect. Except in <i>The
+Raven</i>, I can nowhere in his poems find a subject for a picture."</p>
+
+<p>In closing these reminiscences, I may be allowed to make a few remarks
+founded upon my actual personal knowledge of Poe, in at least the
+phase of character in which he appeared to me. What he may have been
+to his ordinary associates, or to the world at large, I do not know;
+and in the picture presented to us by Dr. Griswold,&mdash;half maniac, half
+demon,&mdash;I confess, I cannot recognize a trait of the gentle, grateful,
+warm-hearted man whom I saw amid his friends,&mdash;his careworn face all
+aglow with generous feeling in the kindness and appreciation to which
+he was so little accustomed. His faults were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>sufficiently apparent;
+but for these a more than ordinary allowance should be made, in
+consideration of the unfavorable influences surrounding him from his
+very birth. He was ever the sport of an adverse fortune. Born in
+penury, reared in affluence, treated at one time with pernicious
+indulgence and then literally turned into the streets, a beggar and an
+outcast, deserted by those who had formerly courted him, maliciously
+calumniated, smarting always under a sense of wrong and
+injustice,&mdash;what wonder that his bright, warm, and naturally generous
+and genial nature should have become embittered? What wonder that his
+keenly sensitive and susceptible poetic temperament should have become
+jarred, out of tune, and into harsh discord with himself and mankind?
+Let the just and the generous pause before they judge; and upon their
+lips the breath of condemnation will soften into a sigh of sympathy
+and regret.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LX" id="LX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>ARTEMUS WARD</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Poor Artemus! says Haweis in his lecture on the American humorist, I
+shall not see his like again, as he appeared for a few short weeks
+before an English audience at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes, as to looks, profoundly dejected, at others shy or
+reproachful; nervously anxious to please (apparently), yet with a
+certain twinkle at the back of his eye which convinced you of his
+perfect <i>sang froid</i>, and one thing always&mdash;full, unescapably full, of
+fun....</p>
+
+<p>When Artemus arrived here in 1866 he was a dying man.</p>
+
+<p>I can see him now, as he came on the narrow platform in front of his
+inferior panorama, and stole a glance at the densely packed room and
+then at his panorama.</p>
+
+<p>His tall, gaunt, though slender figure, his curly light hair and large
+aquiline nose, which always reminded me of a macaw; his thin face
+flushed with consumption, his little cough, which seemed to shake him
+to pieces, and which he said "was wearing him out," at which we all
+laughed irresistibly, and then felt ashamed of ourselves, as well we
+might; but he himself seemed to enjoy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>his cough. It was all part of
+that odd, topsy-turvy mind in which everything appeared most natural
+upside down!</p>
+
+<p>On first entering he would seem profoundly unconscious that anything
+was expected of him, but after looking at the audience, then at his
+own clothes, and then apologetically at his panorama, he began to
+explain its merits.</p>
+
+<p>The fact is Artemus intended having the finest scenes that could be
+painted, but he gave that up on account of the expense, and then
+determined to get the worst as the next best thing for his purpose.</p>
+
+<p>When anything very bad came up he would pause and gaze admiringly at
+the canvas, and then look round a little reproachfully at the company.</p>
+
+<p>"This picture," he would say, "is a great work of art; it is an oil
+painting done in petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was the last
+thing they did before dying. They did this, and then they expired. I
+wish you were nearer to it so you could see it better. I wish I could
+take it to your residences and let you see it by daylight. Some of the
+greatest artists in London come here every morning before daylight
+with lanterns to look at it. They say they never saw anything like it
+before, and they hope they never shall again!"</p>
+
+<p>Certain curious brown splotches appearing in the foreground, Artemus
+pointed gravely to them, and said:</p>
+
+<p>"These are intended for horses; I know they are, because the artist
+told me so. After two years, he came to me one morning and said, 'Mr.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>Ward, I cannot conceal it from you any longer; they are horses.'"</p>
+
+<p>Apropos of nothing he observed:</p>
+
+<p>"I really don't care for money; I only travel around to show my
+clothes."</p>
+
+<p>This was a favorite joke of his. He would look with a piteous
+expression of discomfort and almost misery at his black trousers and
+swallowtail coat, a costume in which he said he was always most
+wretched.</p>
+
+<p>"These clothes I have on," he continued, "were a great success in
+America." And then quite irrelevantly and rather hastily, "How often
+do large fortunes ruin young men! I should like to be ruined, but I
+can get on very well as I am!"</p>
+
+<p>So the lecture dribbled on with little fragments of impertinent
+biography, mere pegs for slender witticisms like this:</p>
+
+<p>"When quite a child I used to draw on wood. I drew a small cartload of
+raw material over a wooden bridge, the people of the village noticed
+me, I drew their attention, they said I had a future before me; up to
+that time I had an idea it was behind me."</p>
+
+<p>Or this:</p>
+
+<p>"I became a man. I have always been mixed up with art. I have an uncle
+who takes photographs, and I have a servant who takes anything he can
+set his hands on."</p>
+
+<p>With one more example from his life among the Mormons, which,
+perhaps, though brief, includes a greater variety of wit and humor
+than any single passage I could select, I must conclude my memorial
+glimpses of this incomparable and lamented humorist.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>"I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon of me while I
+was in Utah.</p>
+
+<p>"It was leap year when I was there, and seventeen young widows&mdash;the
+wives of a deceased Mormon (he died by request)&mdash;offered me their
+hearts and hands. I called upon them one day, and taking their soft,
+white hands in mine&mdash;which made eighteen hands altogether&mdash;I found
+them in tears. And I said 'Why is this thus?&mdash;what is the reason of
+this thusness?'</p>
+
+<p>"They hove a sigh&mdash;seventeen sighs of different size. They said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"'Oh, soon thou wilt be gonested away!'</p>
+
+<p>"I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I usually
+wentested. They said&mdash;'Doth not like us?'</p>
+
+<p>"I said, 'I doth, I doth!' I also said, 'I hope your intentions are
+honorable, as I am a lone child and my parents are far, far away!'</p>
+
+<p>"They then said, 'Wilt not marry us?'</p>
+
+<p>"I said, 'Oh no, it cannot was.'</p>
+
+<p>"Again they asked me to marry them, and again I declined. When they
+cried&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"'Oh, cruel man: this is too much&mdash;oh, too much!'</p>
+
+<p>"I told them it was on account of the muchness that I declined."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXI" id="LXI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>EDMUND GOSSE VISITS WHITTIER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In December of 1884, Mr. Edmund Gosse, one of the most distinguished
+of English critics, visited Whittier at a house called Oak Knoll, in
+Massachusetts, where he was then staying with friends. We quote brief
+extracts from a report of that visit as published in <i>Good Words</i>, an
+English magazine:</p>
+
+<p>"Doubtless in leafy season Oak Knoll may have its charms, but it was
+distinctly sinister that December morning. We rang, and after a long
+pause the front door opened slightly, and a very unprepossessing dog
+emerged, and shut the door (if I may say so) behind him. We were face
+to face with this animal, which presented none of the features
+identified in one's mind with the idea of Mr. Whittier. It sniffed
+unpleasantly, but we spoke to it most blandly and it became assured
+that we were not tramps. The dog sat down, and looked at us; we had
+nowhere to sit down, but we looked at the dog. Then, after many
+blandishments, but feeling very uncomfortable, I ventured to hold the
+dog in conversation while I rang again. After another pause the door
+was slightly opened, and a voice of no agreeable timbre asked what we
+wanted. We explained, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>across the dog, that we had come by appointment
+to see Mr. Whittier. The door was closed a second time, and, if our
+carriage had still been waiting, we should certainly have driven back
+to Danvers. But at length a hard-featured woman grudgingly admitted
+us, and showed us, growling as she did it, into a parlor.</p>
+
+<p>"Our troubles were then over, for Mr. Whittier, himself appeared, with
+all that report had ever told of a gentle sweetness and dignified
+cordial courtesy. He was then seventy-seven years old, and, although
+he spoke of age and feebleness, he showed few signs of either; he was,
+in fact, to live eight years more. Perhaps because the room was low,
+he seemed surprisingly tall; he must, in fact, have been a little less
+than six feet high. The peculiarity of his face rested in the
+extraordinary large and luminous black eyes, set in black eyebrows,
+and fringed with thick black eye-lashes curiously curved inward....</p>
+
+<p>"His generosity to those much younger and less gifted than himself is
+well known, and I shall not dwell on the good-natured things which he
+proceeded to say to his English visitor. He made no profession, at any
+time, of being a critic, and his formula was that such and such verse
+or prose had given him pleasure&mdash;'I am grateful to thee for all that
+enjoyment' was his charming way of being kind.... He spoke with great
+emotion of Emerson&mdash;'the noblest human being I have known,' and of
+Longfellow, 'perhaps the sweetest. But you will see Holmes,' he added.
+I said that it was my great privilege to be seeing Dr. Holmes every
+day, and that the night before he had sent all sorts of affectionate
+messages by me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>to Mr. Whittier. The latter expressed great curiosity
+to see Holmes's short <i>Life of Emerson</i> which, in fact, was published
+five or six days later.... Mr. Whittier greatly surprised me by
+confessing that he was quite color-blind. He exemplified his condition
+by saying that if I came to Amesbury I should be scandalized by one of
+his carpets. It appeared that he was never permitted, by the guardian
+goddess of his hearth, to go 'shopping' for himself, but that once,
+being in Boston, and needing a carpet, he had ventured to go to a
+store and buy what he thought to be a very nice, quiet article,
+precisely suited to adorn a Quaker home. When it arrived at Amesbury
+there was a universal shout of horror, for what had struck Mr.
+Whittier as a particularly soft combination of browns and grays
+proved, to normal eyes, to be a loud pattern of bright red roses on a
+field of the crudest cabbage-green."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXII" id="LXII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF WHITTIER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In the <i>New England Magazine</i> Charlotte Forten Grimke writes
+entertainingly of Whittier. From this article we are permitted to
+quote the following extracts:</p>
+
+<p>"And so it happened that, one lovely summer day, my friend and I found
+ourselves on the train, rapidly whirling eastward, through the
+pleasant old town of Newburyport, across the 'shining Merrimac,' on
+our way to the poet's home in Amesbury. Arriving at the station, we
+found Mr. Whittier awaiting us, and a walk of a few minutes brought us
+to his house on Friend Street. Amesbury, a busy manufacturing town,
+pleasantly situated on the Merrimac, impressed me at first as hardly
+retired enough for a poet's home; for fresh in my recollection were
+Longfellow's historic house, guarded by stately poplars, standing back
+from the quiet Cambridge street, and Lowell's old mansion, completely
+buried in its noble elms; and each of these had quite realized my
+ideal of the home of a poet. But the little house looked very quiet
+and homelike; and when we entered it and received the warm welcome of
+the poet's sister, we felt, as all felt who entered that hospitable
+door, the very spirit of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>peace descending upon us. The house was
+then white (it was afterwards painted a pale yellow), with green
+blinds, and a little vine-wreathed piazza on one side, upon which
+opened the glass door of 'the garden room,' the poet's favorite
+sitting-room and study. The windows of this room looked out upon a
+pleasant, old-fashioned garden. The walls on both sides of the
+fireplace were covered with books. The other walls were hung with
+pictures, among which we noticed 'The Barefoot Boy,' a painting of Mr.
+Whittier's birthplace in Haverhill, a copy of that lovely picture,
+'The Motherless,' under which were written some exquisite lines by
+Mrs. Stowe, and a beautiful little sea-view, painted by a friend of
+the poet. Vases of fresh, bright flowers stood upon the mantelpiece.
+After we had rested we went into the little parlor, where hung the
+portrait of the loved and cherished mother, who some years before had
+passed away to the 'Better Land.' Hers was one of those sweet, aged
+faces which one often sees among the Friends,&mdash;full of repose,
+breathing a benediction upon all around. There were other pictures and
+books, and upon a table in the corner stood Rogers' 'Wounded Scout.'</p>
+
+
+<div class="img"><a name="imagep320" id="imagep320"></a>
+<a href="images/imagep320.jpg">
+<img border="0" src="images/imagep320.jpg" width="50%" alt="John Greenleaf Whittier" /></a><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER<br />From a photograph<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>"At the head of the staircase hung a great cluster of pansies, purple
+and white and gold. Mr. Whittier called our attention to their
+wonderful resemblance to human faces,&mdash;a resemblance which we so often
+see in pansies, and which was brought out with really startling
+distinctness in this picture.</p>
+
+<p>"In the cool, pleasant chamber assigned to us, pervaded by an air of
+Quaker serenity and purity, was a large painting of the poet in his
+youth. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>This was the realization of my girlish dreams. There were the
+clustering curls, the brilliant dark eyes, the firm, resolute mouth.
+He looked like a youthful Bayard, 'without fear and without reproach,'
+ready to throw himself unflinchingly into the most stirring scenes of
+the battle of life.</p>
+
+<p>"We were at once greatly interested in Miss Whittier, and impressed by
+the simplicity and kindness of her manner. We saw the soul's beauty
+shining in her soft, dark eyes, and in the smile which, like her
+brother's, was very winning, and we felt it in the music of her
+gentle voice and the warm pressure of her hand. There was a refreshing
+atmosphere of unworldliness about her. She had rarely been away from
+her home, and although her brother's fame obliged her to receive many
+strangers, she had never, as she told us, been able to overcome a
+shyness of disposition, except in the case of a very few friends. She
+was naturally witty and original, and when she did shake off her
+shyness, had a childlike way of saying bright things which was very
+charming. She and her brother had lived together, alone since their
+mother's death, and in their mutual devotion have been well compared
+to Charles Lamb and his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"We spent a delightful evening in the garden-room in quiet, cheerful
+talk. In society Mr. Whittier had the reputation of being very shy,
+and he was so among strangers; but at times, in the companionship of
+his friends, no one could be more genial. He had even a boyish
+frankness of manner, a natural love of fun, a keen appreciation of the
+humorous, which the sorrows and poor health of many years failed to
+subdue. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>That night he talked to us freely of his childhood, of the
+life on the old farm in Haverhill, which he has so vividly described
+in <i>Snow-Bound</i>, and showed us a venerable book, <i>Davideis</i>, being a
+history of David written in rhyme, the quaintest and most amusing
+rhyme, by Thomas Ellwood, a friend of Milton. It was the first book of
+'poetry,' he told us, that he read when a boy. He entertained us with
+stories of people who came to see him. He had many very interesting
+and charming visitors, of course, but there were also many exceedingly
+queer ones, and these, he said with a queer smile, generally 'brought
+their carpet bags!' He said he was thankful to live in such a place as
+Amesbury, where people did not speak to him about his poems, nor think
+of him as a poet. Sometimes he had amused himself by tracking the most
+persistent of the lion-hunters, and found that the same individuals
+went to Emerson and Longfellow and other authors, and made precisely
+the same speeches. Emerson was not much annoyed by them; he enjoyed
+studying character in all its phases.</p>
+
+<p>"Begging letters and begging visits were also very frequent, and his
+sister told us that her brother had frequently been victimized in his
+desire to help those whose pitiful stories he believed. One day he
+received a letter from a man in a neighboring town, asking him for a
+loan of ten dollars, and assuring him that he should blow his brains
+out if Mr. Whittier did not send him the money. The tone of the letter
+made him doubt the sincerity of the writer, and he did not send the
+money, comforting himself, he said, with the thought that the man
+really had no brains to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>blow out. 'I must confess, however,' he
+added, 'I looked rather anxiously at the newspapers for the next few
+days, but seeing no news of a suicide in the neighboring town, I was
+relieved.'</p>
+
+<p>"His sister once told us of an incident which occurred during the war,
+which pleased them very much. One night, at a late hour, the door-bell
+rang, and her brother, on answering it, found a young man in an
+officer's uniform standing at the door. 'Is this Mr. Whittier?' he
+asked. 'Yes.' 'Well, sir,' was the quick reply, 'I only wanted to have
+the pleasure of shaking hands with you.' And with that he seized the
+poet's hand, shook it warmly, and rushed away, before Mr. Whittier
+had recovered from his surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"In subsequent visits to Mr. Whittier, he was sometimes induced to
+talk about his poems, although that was a subject on which he rarely
+spoke. On my friend's once warmly praising <i>Maud Muller</i>, he said
+decidedly that he did not like the poem, because it was too sad; it
+ministered to the spirit of unrest and dissatisfaction which was only
+too prevalent. With <i>My Psalm</i> he felt much better satisfied, because
+it was more hopeful. His favorite poets were Wordsworth and Burns. He
+once showed us an autograph letter of Burns, which he prized very
+highly, and a number of beautiful photographs of Scotch scenery, the
+gift of a sturdy old Scotchman, a neighbor of his and also an ardent,
+admirer of Burns.</p>
+
+<p>"Our conversation occasionally touched on the subject of marriage, and
+I remember his asking us if we could imagine why there should be so
+much unhappiness among married people, even <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>among those who seemed to
+have everything calculated to make them happy, and who really loved
+each other. He said he had pondered over the subject a good deal, and
+had finally concluded that it was because they saw too much of each
+other. He did not believe it was well for any two human beings to have
+too much of each other's society. We told him that, being a
+much-to-be-commiserated bachelor, he was not competent authority on
+that subject.</p>
+
+<p>"Among the most intimate of his friends were Mr. and Mrs. James T.
+Fields, Colonel Higginson, Charles Sumner, and Bayard Taylor. To the
+two latter, and also to Emerson, he has alluded very beautifully in
+one of his most characteristic poems, <i>The Last Walk in Autumn</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"On visiting the poet after my return from the South, for a vacation,
+I found a new inmate of the house, a gray and scarlet parrot, named
+Charlie, a great pet of the poet and his sister, and far-famed for his
+wit and wisdom. He could say many things with great distinctness, and
+although at first refusing rather spitefully to make my acquaintance,
+when I invited him to come into the kitchen and get his supper he at
+once hopped upon my hand and behaved in the most amicable manner. It
+was very comical to see him dance to a tune of Mr. Whittier's
+whistling. His master told us that he would climb toilsomely up the
+spout, pausing at every step or two to say, in a tone of the deepest
+self-pity, 'Poor Charlie!' and when he reached the roof screaming
+impertinently at the passers-by. The Irish children said that he
+called them 'Paddies,' and threatened him with dire vengeance. Mr.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>Whittier said he did not know; he 'could believe anything of that
+bird.' Charlie's favorite amusement was shaking the unripe pears from
+the trees in the garden; and when he saw Miss Whittier approaching, he
+would steal away with drooping head, like a child caught in a naughty
+action. This gifted bird afterwards died, and was much missed by the
+poet, who alluded to him in the poem entitled <i>The Common Question</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Whittier showed me a couple of stuffed birds which had been sent
+to him by the Emperor of Brazil, after reading his <i>Cry of a Lost
+Soul</i>, in allusion to the bird in South American forests which has so
+intensely mournful a note that the Indians give it a name which
+signifies a lost soul. The first birds which were sent did not reach
+him, and the Emperor on hearing it sent two more. The bird is larger
+than a mocking bird, and has sober gray plumage, very unlike the
+bright-hued creatures usually seen in tropical forests.</p>
+
+<p>"The Emperor was a warm admirer of Mr. Whittier, and one of the first
+persons for whom he inquired on reaching Boston was the poet. There
+was some delay about their meeting and Dom Pedro became very
+impatient. At last they met in a house in Boston. Dom Pedro expressed
+great delight at meeting the poet, and talked with him a long time,
+paying very little attention to any one else. On leaving, he asked Mr.
+Whittier to accompany him downstairs, and before entering his carriage
+threw his arms around the astonished poet and embraced him warmly.</p>
+
+<p>"Rare and beautiful were the qualities which met in Mr. Whittier: a
+singularly unworldly and sweet disposition, and unwavering love of
+truth <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>and justice, a keen sense of humor, the highest type of
+courage, and a firm faith in God's goodness, which no amount of
+suffering ever shook. For years he was an invalid, a martyr to severe
+headaches. He once told me that he had not for a long time written
+anything without suffering. The nearest and dearest of his earthly
+ties had been severed by death. But he never rebelled. His life
+exemplified the spirit of resignation which is breathed throughout so
+many of his poems.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All as God wills, who wisely heeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To give or to withhold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knoweth more of all my needs<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than all my prayers have told.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"My husband and I made our last visit to him two years ago, at Oak
+Knoll. He gave us his customary warm greeting and, although in
+extremely feeble health, was as sweet and genial in spirit and as
+entertaining in conversation as ever. He took us into his cosey little
+library, and talked about his books and pictures and old friends, and
+promised to send us his latest photograph,&mdash;which he afterwards did.
+Fearing to weary him, we stayed but a short time. So frail he looked,
+that in parting from him our hearts were saddened by the thought that
+we might not look upon that dear face again. And so it proved. I shall
+ever remember him as I saw him then, in his beautiful country home,
+surrounded by devoted friends, awaiting calmly the summons to enter
+into rest&mdash;in that serene and lovely old age which comes only to those
+gifted ones whose lives are the embodiment of all that is noblest and
+best and sweetest in their poetry.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>"Farewell, beloved, revered friend! Thou art gone to join the loved
+ones who beckoned to thee from those blessed shores of Peace. To thee,
+how great the gain! To us, how infinite the loss! But thy influence
+shall remain with us. Still shalt thou</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">... be to other souls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cup of strength in some great agony,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beget the smiles that have no cruelty&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in diffusion ever more intense.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXIII" id="LXIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>HENRY WARD BEECHER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>It would be no compliment to call Henry Ward Beecher the American
+Spurgeon. He may be that, but he is more. If we can imagine Mr.
+Spurgeon and Mr. John Bright with a cautious touch of Professor
+Maurice and a strong tincture of the late F.W. Robertson&mdash;if, I say,
+it is possible to imagine such a compound being brought up in New
+England and at last securely fixed in a New York pulpit, we shall get
+a product not unlike Henry Ward Beecher....</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Beecher was brought up in the country. His novel, <i>Norwood</i>&mdash;not
+very readable, by the way, although full of charming passages&mdash;abounds
+in woods and streams, hills and dales, and flowers. "The willows," he
+tells us somewhere, "had thrown off their silky catkins, and were in
+leaf; the elm was covered with chocolate-colored blossoms, the soft
+maple drew bees to its crimson tassels." Would that all preachers and
+writers used no more offensive and superfluous flowers of speech than
+such as these....</p>
+
+<p>When he wants to illustrate the comfort of a powerful, unseen, though
+protective love, he tells us how, as a boy, he woke up one midsummer
+night and listened, with a sense of half-uneasy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>awe, to the wild cry
+of the marsh birds, whilst the moonlight streamed full into his room;
+and then, as he grew more and more disturbed, he suddenly heard his
+father clear his throat "a-hem," in the next room, and instantly that
+familiar sound restored his equanimity. The illustration is simple,
+but it hits the mark and goes home. His affectionate tributes to his
+father and mother are constantly breaking forth in spite of himself.
+"I thank God," he says, "for two things. First, that I was born and
+bred in the country, of parents that gave me a sound constitution and
+a noble example. I never can pay back what I got from my parents. Next
+I am thankful that I was brought up in circumstances where I never
+became acquainted with wickedness." How delightful it is to think of a
+man who, without a taint of conscious insincerity, but simply out of
+the fulness of his heart, can get up before four thousand people, and
+say:</p>
+
+<p>"I never was sullied in act, nor in thought when I was young. I grew
+up as pure as a woman. And I cannot express to God the thanks which I
+owe to my mother, and to my father, and to the great household of
+sisters and brothers among whom I lived. And the secondary knowledge
+of those wicked things which I have gained in later life in a
+professional way, I gained under such guards that it was not harmful
+to me." ...</p>
+
+<p>He has a wonderful way of importing his leisure hours into the pulpit,
+and making the great cooped-up multitude feel something of the joy and
+freshness of his own exhilaration. One golden day above others seems
+to have dwelt in his mind. He refers to it again and again.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>"When I walked one day on the top of Mt. Washington&mdash;glorious day of
+memory! Such another day I think I shall not experience till I stand
+on the battlements of the New Jerusalem&mdash;how I was discharged of all
+imperfections; the wide far-spreading country which lay beneath me in
+beauteous light, how heavenly it looked, and I communed with God. I
+had sweet tokens that he loved me. My very being rose right up into
+his nature. I walked with him, and the cities far and near of New
+York, and all the cities and villages which lay between it and me,
+with their thunder, the wrangling of human passions below me, were to
+me as if they were not."</p>
+
+<p>Some of his sermons are full of vacation-rambles. He passes through
+woods and gardens and plucks flowers and fragrant leaves, which will
+all have to do service in Brooklyn Church; he watches the crowded
+flight of pigeons from the treetops, and thinks of men's riches that
+so make themselves wings and fly away. As he scales the mountains and
+sees the summer storms sweep through the valleys beneath him, he
+thinks of the storms in the human heart&mdash;"many, many storms there are
+that lie low and hug the ground, and the way to escape them is to go
+up the mountain sides and get higher than they are."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Beecher's travels in Europe were not thrown away upon his ardent
+and artistic temperament. He has stood before the great pictures to
+some purpose, and has not failed to read their open secret.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever stood in Dresden to watch that matchless picture of
+Raphael's, the 'Madonna di San Siste'? Engravings of it are all
+through <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>the world; but no engraving has ever reproduced the mother's
+face. The Infant Christ that she holds is far more nearly represented
+than the mother. In her face there is a mist. It is wonder, it is
+love, it is adoration, it is awe&mdash;it is all these mingled, as if she
+held in her hands her babe, and yet it was God! That picture means
+nothing to me as it does to the Roman Church; but it means everything
+to me, because I believe that every mother should love the God that is
+in her child, and that every mother's heart should be watching to
+discern and see in the child, which is more than flesh and blood,
+something that takes hold of immortality and glory."</p>
+
+<p class="right">&mdash;Selected from the <i>Contemporary Review</i>.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXIV" id="LXIV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE LONDON "TIMES" ON LOWELL</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The London <i>Times</i>, sometimes nicknamed the <i>Thunderer</i>, was for many
+years the most influential paper in the world. Emerson in his <i>English
+Traits</i> says, "No power in England is more felt, more feared, or more
+obeyed." In view of the high position of this paper it is a matter of
+interest to our American students of literature to read what this
+paper had to say on the death of Lowell.</p>
+
+<p>Here follows the larger part of the editorial from the <i>Times</i>:</p>
+
+<p>The death of Mr. Lowell will probably be more keenly and widely felt
+in England than would be that of any other American, or, indeed, of
+any other man who was not a fellow-countryman of our own. To very many
+in England it will be counted as a grave personal loss; and thousands
+more will miss in him one whom through his writings they had admired,
+felt with, laughed with, as with a friend. For a long time past, in
+fact ever since he quitted the Legation, his long annual visits to
+London have been regarded by a wide circle as one of the events of the
+year, and he himself as one of the most valued guests. We had hoped
+that this last June would again see him in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>his old London haunts,
+bright, genial, interesting as ever; but a cruel fate decided that
+this was not to be, and neither the Old World nor the New should know
+him more. Never a strong man, he has succumbed, at a ripe age, it is
+true, but prematurely, as all will think who knew how fresh his
+intelligence and his sympathies were to the last. With him there
+passes away one of the very few Americans who were the equals of any
+son of the Old World&mdash;of any Frenchman or any Englishman&mdash;in that
+indefinable mixture of qualities, which we sum up for want of a better
+word, under the name of culture. How did he arrive at it? The answer
+is, by natural gifts, by constant play of mind with mind in talk, and
+by reading. On those who casually met Mr. Lowell in society, he
+certainly did not make the impression of a book-worm, or of a man to
+whom books were indispensable; but none the less is it true that
+whenever official business was not too heavy, he invariably read for a
+<i>minimum</i> of four hours a day. This did not include the time that he
+gave to ephemeral literature; it was the time that he spent in the
+serious reading of books, generally old books. How many of us, not
+professed students, can show a record as good, or half as good? He
+read quickly, too, in various languages, his favorites being the
+English of the Elizabethans, Spanish, old French, and modern French.
+His excellent memory and wonderful assimilative power built up this
+reading into the mental endowments that all the world admired.</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Lowell came to England as the representative of the United
+States under the last Republican administration, London felt a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>sympathetic curiosity as to the author of the famous <i>Biglow Papers</i>
+and of so much excellent prose criticism. In a very short time the
+feeling warmed into admiration and friendship. The official world
+spoke well of the way in which the new minister performed his
+duties&mdash;generally not very heavy, but always demanding tact and
+prudence&mdash;of his position as minister. Menacing sounds, indeed, began
+to be heard from across the ocean, when the Irish Fenians, who control
+so much of the press of the United States, began to raise the cry that
+Mr. Lowell sacrificed the interests of their dynamitard friends to a
+brutal British government; but, as the Washington officials took no
+notice, nobody here paid much attention to the matter. In social life,
+the new minister began to be a power. He went everywhere&mdash;to the
+houses of the great, to the houses of the men of letters, and to
+places where such people most do congregate. His talk was excellent
+give-and-take. He was neither a professional anecdotist, like another
+famous American talker, Mr. Chauncey Depew, nor a man on the watch for
+something to disagree with, like Mr. Blaine, nor even, as was his
+admirable successor, Mr. Phelps, a man of long silences broken by
+flashes of humor. Mr. Lowell seemed to know everything and have his
+knowledge always to hand; he was quick in repartee; he mixed anecdote
+with reflection in the happiest manner; he laughed at others' jests,
+and they laughed at his. Still, one had to be a little careful with
+him, for there were points on which he was extremely sensitive.
+Nobody, for example, must talk in his presence of <i>Americanisms</i>, or
+hint that the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>standard of language and literature observed in America
+showed any deflection from the best standard of the race....</p>
+
+<p>On one occasion Mr. Lowell was sorely tempted to make his permanent
+home here. Just about the time of his ceasing to be minister, he was
+seriously sounded as to his willingness to be nominated to the new
+post of professor of English language and literature at Oxford. Had he
+consented to stand, not even a board determined to sink literature in
+philology could have passed over his claims. But he declined, for two
+reasons. There were claims of family, over in Massachusetts, and,
+greatly as he loved the mental atmosphere of England, he thought it
+his duty not to accept a definitely English post. And the sense of
+duty is strong in that old Puritan stock from which he sprang.</p>
+
+<p>... But the distinguishing feature of Mr. Lowell was his adding to
+these high literary gifts the strong practical side which made of him
+a social power and a diplomatist. Naturally, such a man made a mark by
+his speeches, and happy was the audience, at the unveiling of a
+monument or at a literary dinner, that had the privilege of listening
+to Mr. Lowell. Seldom in England, where this kind of speaking is not
+cultivated as an art, have we witnessed such a perfect union of
+self-possession, sense, and salt. The speech on Henry Fielding, the
+speech in which he compared the sound of London to "the roaring loom
+of time," the address on Democracy&mdash;to mention but a few&mdash;will not be
+easily forgotten. Nor will those who had the privilege of experiencing
+it, in however slight a degree, forget the sweet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>affectionateness
+which, in spite of an occasional irritability and over-sensitiveness,
+was at the root of Mr. Lowell's character. Corrupt politicians
+disliked him and feared the barbed arrows of his indignant wit; but he
+goes to the grave mourned by all that is best in America, and he takes
+with him the heart-felt regard as well as the admiration, of this
+elder branch of our common English race.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXV" id="LXV"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE WRITING OF "AMERICA"</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The Rev. Dr. Samuel F. Smith, author of <i>America</i>, died in Boston in
+1895. On April 3, of the same year, he had received a grand public
+testimonial in Music Hall in recognition of his authorship of
+<i>America</i>. In the souvenir of that occasion Dr. Smith tells how he
+came to write the poem that made him famous.</p>
+
+<p>"In the year 1831 William C. Woodbridge, of New York, a noted
+educator, was deputed to visit Germany and inspect the system of the
+public schools, that if he should find in them any features of
+interest unknown to our public schools here they might be adopted in
+the schools of the United States. He found that in the German schools
+much attention was given to music; he also found many books containing
+music and songs for children. Returning home, he brought several of
+these music-books, and placed them in the hands of Mr. Lowell Mason,
+then a noted composer, organist, and choir leader. Having himself no
+knowledge of the German language he brought them to me at Andover,
+where I was then studying theology, requesting me, as I should find
+time, to furnish him translations of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>German words, or to write
+new hymns and songs adapted to the German music.</p>
+
+<p>"On a dismal day in February, 1832, looking over one of these books,
+my attention was drawn to a tune which attracted me by its simple and
+natural movement and its fitness for children's choirs. Glancing at
+the German words at the foot of the page, I saw that they were
+patriotic, and I was instantly inspired to write a patriotic hymn of
+my own.</p>
+
+<p>"Seizing a scrap of waste paper, I began to write, and in half an hour
+I think the words stood upon it substantially as they are sung to-day.
+I did not know at the time that the tune was the British <i>God Save the
+King</i>. I do not share the regrets of those who deem it an evil that
+the national tune of Britain and America is the same. On the contrary,
+I deem it a new and beautiful tie of union between the mother and the
+daughter, one furnishing the music (if, indeed, it is really English),
+and the other the words.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not propose to write a national hymn. I did not think that I
+had done so. I laid the song aside, and nearly forgot that I had made
+it. Some weeks later I sent it to Mr. Mason, and on the following
+Fourth of July, much to my surprise, he brought it out at a children's
+celebration in the Park Street Church, in Boston, where it was first
+sung in public."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXVI" id="LXVI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS AND HER FIRST STORY</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Some years ago the author of <i>Gates Ajar</i> told in an American magazine
+how she began her literary career. From this account we quote:</p>
+
+<p>"The town of Lawrence was three miles and a half from Andover. Up to
+the year 1860 we had considered Lawrence chiefly in the light of a
+place to drive to.... Upon the map of our young fancy the great mills
+were sketched in lightly; we looked up from the restaurant ice-cream
+to see the hands pour out for dinner, a dark and restless, but a
+patient, throng, used in those days, to standing eleven hours and
+quarter&mdash;women and girls&mdash;at their looms, six days of the week, and
+making no audible complaints; for socialism had not reached Lawrence,
+and anarchy was content to bray in distant parts of the geography at
+which the factory people had not arrived when they left school....</p>
+
+<p>"...One January evening, we were forced to think about the mills with
+curdling horror that no one living in that locality when the tragedy
+happened will forget.</p>
+
+<p>"At five o'clock the Pemberton Mills, all hands being at the time on
+duty, without a tremor of warning, sank to the ground.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>"At the erection of the factory a pillar with a defective core had
+passed careless inspectors. In technical language the core had
+'floated' an eighth of an inch from its position. The weak spot in the
+too thin wall of the pillar had bided its time, and yielded. The roof,
+the walls, the machinery fell upon seven hundred and fifty living men
+and women, and buried them. Most of these were rescued, but
+eighty-eight were killed. As the night came on, those watchers on
+Andover Hill who could not join the rescuing parties, saw a strange
+and fearful light at the north.</p>
+
+<p>"Where we were used to watching the beautiful belt of the lighted
+mills blaze&mdash;a zone of laughing fire from east to west, upon the
+horizon bar&mdash;a red and awful glare went up. The mill had taken fire. A
+lantern, overturned in the hands of a man who was groping to save an
+imprisoned life, had flashed to the cotton, or the wool, or the oil
+with which the ruins were saturated. One of the historic
+conflagrations of New England resulted.</p>
+
+<p>"With blanching cheeks we listened to the whispers that told us how
+the mill-girls, caught in the ruins beyond hope of escape, began to
+sing. They were used to singing, poor things, at their
+looms&mdash;mill-girls always are&mdash;and their young souls took courage from
+the familiar sound of one another's voices. They sang the hymns and
+songs which they had learned in the schools and churches. No classical
+strains, no 'music for music's sake,' ascended from that furnace; no
+ditty of love or frolic, but the plain, religious outcries of the
+people: <i>Heaven is my Home</i>, <i>Jesus, Lover of my Soul</i>, and <i>Shall we
+Gather at the River?</i> Voice after voice dropped. The fire <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>raced on. A
+few brave girls still sang:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall we gather at the river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There to walk and worship ever?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"But the startled Merrimac rolled by, red as blood beneath the glare
+of the burning mills, and it was left to the fire and the river to
+finish the chorus.</p>
+
+<p>"At the time this tragedy occurred, I felt my share of its horror,
+like other people; but no more than that. My brother, being of the
+privileged sex, was sent over to see the scene, but I was not allowed
+to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Years after, I cannot say just how many, the half-effaced negative
+came back to form under the chemical of some new perception of the
+significance of human tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>"It occurred to me to use the event as the basis of a story. To this
+end I set forth to study the subject. I had heard nothing in those
+days about 'material,' and conscience in the use of it, and little
+enough about art. We did not talk about realism then. Of critical
+phraseology I knew nothing, and of critical standards only what I had
+observed by reading the best fiction. Poor novels and stories I did
+not read. I do not remember being forbidden them; but, by that
+parental art finer than denial, they were absent from my convenience.</p>
+
+<p>"It needed no instruction in the canons of art, however, to teach me
+that to do a good thing, one must work hard for it. So I gave the best
+part of a month to the study of the Pemberton Mill tragedy, driving to
+Lawrence, and investigating every possible avenue of information left
+at that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>too long remove of time which might give the data. I visited
+the rebuilt mills, and studied the machinery. I consulted engineers
+and officials and physicians, newspaper men, and persons who had been
+in the mill at the time of its fall. I scoured the files of old local
+papers, and from these I took certain portions of names, actually
+involved in the catastrophe, though, of course, fictitiously used.
+When there was nothing left for me to learn on the subject, I came
+home and wrote a little story called "The Tenth of January,' and sent
+it to the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>, where it appeared in due time.</p>
+
+<p>"This story is of more interest to its author than it can possibly be
+now to any reader, because it distinctly marked for me the first
+recognition which I received from literary people."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXVII" id="LXVII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>SIDNEY LANIER</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Next to Poe, Sidney Lanier ranks as the foremost of the poets of the
+South. In character Lanier is one of the rarest and purest of souls.
+His life was so chaste, his ideals so high, his devotion to his art so
+unselfish that he has been called "the Sir Galahad among American
+poets." Dr. Gilman, who in his capacity as president of Johns Hopkins
+University had frequent opportunities to observe Lanier, who was an
+instructor in this institution, has made the following comment,&mdash;"The
+appearance of Lanier was striking. There was nothing eccentric or odd
+about him, but his words, manners, ways of speech, were distinguished.
+I have heard a lady say that if he took his place in a crowded
+horse-car, an exhilarating atmosphere seemed to be introduced by his
+breezy ways."</p>
+
+<p>He was born in Georgia in 1842. After graduation from a small college
+in his native state and then serving as tutor for a short time, he
+entered the Confederate army. During his war experiences, whether in
+the field or in prison, he studied poetry and played the flute. These
+two arts were his passions for life. While yet in his college days he
+had acquired a fine reputation as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span>a flute-player. At eighteen he was
+said to be the best flute-player in Georgia. One of his college
+friends at the time made record of his admiration in writing,&mdash;"Tutor
+Lanier is the finest flute-player you or I ever saw. It is perfectly
+splendid&mdash;his playing. He is far-famed for it. His flute cost fifty
+dollars, and he runs the notes as easily as any one on the piano."</p>
+
+<p>The passionate love of his sensitive soul is revealed in this poetic
+description of a visit to the opera:</p>
+
+<p>"I have just come in from the <i>Tempest</i> at the Grand Opera House ...
+and my heart is so full.... In one interlude between the scenes we had
+a violin solo, adagio, with soft accompaniment by orchestra. As the
+fair tender notes came, they opened like flower-buds expanding into
+flowers under the sweet rain of the accompaniment. Kind heavens! My
+head fell on the seat in front, I was weighed down with great loves
+and great ideas and divine inflowings and devout outflowings, and as
+each note grew and budded, and became a bud again and died into a
+fresh birth in the next bud tone, I also lived these flower-tone
+lives, and grew and expanded, and folded back and died and was born
+again, and partook of the unfathomable mysteries of flowers and
+tones." And at another time he writes in the same vein,&mdash;"'Twas
+opening night of Theodore Thomas' orchestra at Central Park Garden,
+and I could not resist the temptation to go and bathe in the sweet
+amber seas of this fine orchestra, and so I went, and tugged me
+through a vast crowd, and, after standing some while, found a seat,
+and the baton waved, and I plunged into the sea, and lay <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>and floated.
+Ah! the dear flutes and oboes and horns drifted me hither and thither,
+and the great violins and small violins swayed me upon waves, and
+overflowed me with strong lavations, and sprinkled glistening foam in
+my face, and in among the clarinetti, as among waving water-lilies
+with plexile stems, pushed my easy way, and so, even lying in the
+music waters, I floated and flowed, my soul utterly bent and
+prostrate." Who has ever written more expressively of that ecstasy
+that lays hold of the sensuous soul of the lover of fine music?</p>
+
+<p>Lanier is one of the heroic souls of song. Like Stevenson he was
+cheery enough to jest about his poverty. His contest with the demon of
+Want seems to have been fiercer even than was the warfare waged by the
+gay romancer. Lanier wishes to meet Charlotte Cushman, but he is not
+sure that he can; he must sell a poem or two to get the price of a
+suitable new dress coat. "Alas," he writes to the lady herself, in
+that gay spirit of humor which is the strong defense of some sensitive
+souls, "with what unspeakable care I would have brushed this present
+garment of mine in days gone by, if I had dreamed that the time would
+come when so great a thing as a visit to <i>you</i> might hang upon the
+little length of its nap! Behold, it is not only in man's breast that
+pathos lies, and the very coat lapel that covers it may be a tragedy."</p>
+
+<p>The poetic temperament is commonly supposed to be at variance with
+domestic tranquillity. The domestic life of Lanier is a contradiction
+to that popular belief. He ends one of his letters to his wife with
+this petition,&mdash;"Let us lead them <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>(the children) to love everything
+in the world, above the world, and under the world adequately; that is
+the sum and substance of a perfect life. And so God's divine rest be
+upon every head under the roof that covers thine this night, prayeth
+thy husband."</p>
+
+<p>In his letter to Gibson Peacock, January 6, 1878, we have a charming
+picture of the delight of a man who has at last found a place to nest
+his family, after some years of forlorn wanderings and uncertainties:</p>
+
+<p>"...I have also moved my family into our new home, have had a
+Christmas tree for the youngsters, have looked up a cheap school for
+Harry and Sidney, have discharged my daily duties as first flute of
+the Peabody Orchestra, have written a couple of poems and part of an
+essay on Beethoven and Bismarck, have accomplished at least a hundred
+thousand miscellaneous nothings.... We are in a state of supreme
+content with our new home; it really seems to me as incredible that
+myriads of people have been living in their own homes heretofore; as
+to the young couple with a first baby it seems impossible that a great
+many other couples have had similar prodigies. Good heavens! how I
+wish that the whole world had a home.</p>
+
+<p>"I confess that I am a little nervous about the gas bills, which must
+come in, in the course of time; and there are the water rates, and
+several sorts of imposts and taxes; but then the dignity of being
+liable to such things is a very supporting consideration. No man is a
+Bohemian who has to pay a water tax and a street tax. Every day when I
+sit down in my dining-room&mdash;<i>my</i> <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>dining-room! I find the wish growing
+stronger that each poor soul in Baltimore, whether saint or sinner,
+could come and dine with me. How I would carve out the merry-thoughts
+for the old hags! How I would stuff the big wan-eyed rascals till
+their rags ripped again! There was a knight of old times who built the
+dining-hall of his castle across the highway, so that every wayfarer
+must perforce pass through; there the traveler, rich or poor, found
+always a trencher and wherewithal to fill it. Three times a day in my
+own chair at my own table, do I envy that knight and wish that I might
+do as he did."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXVIII" id="LXVIII"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>THE STORY OF MARK TWAIN'S DEBTS</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The story of "Mark Twain's Debts" is told in <i>The Bookman</i> by
+Frederick A. King. We are permitted to tell the story in Mr. King's
+own words:</p>
+
+<p>An anecdote is recorded of Mark Twain and General Grant, who, in
+company with William D. Howells, once sat together at luncheon, spread
+in the General's private office in the purlieus of Wall Street, in the
+days when war and statesmanship had been laid aside, and the hero of
+battles and civic life was endeavoring to retrieve his scattered
+fortunes by a trial of business.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you write your memoirs?" asked Mark Twain, mindful of how
+much there was to record, and how eager would be the readers of such a
+work.</p>
+
+<p>But the General with characteristic modesty demurred, and the point
+was not pressed. This was several years before the failure of the firm
+of Ward and Grant, which swept away the General's private fortune,
+leaving him an old man, broken in health, and filled with anxiety
+about the provision for his family after he should be gone.</p>
+
+<p>When the evil days at last came, some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span>memory of the suggestion
+dropped by his friend, the humorist&mdash;who could be immensely serious,
+too, when need be&mdash;may have led to the task that, in added contention
+with pain and suffering, constituted the last battle that the General
+should fight.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever the influence moving General Grant to the final decision to
+compose his memoirs, it happened, to his great fortune, that Mark
+Twain again called, and found that the work he had long ago suggested
+was at last in progress; but also that the inexperienced writer,
+modestly underestimating the commercial value of his forthcoming work,
+was about to sign away the putative profits. Fifty thousand dollars
+offered for his copyright seemed a generous sum to the unliterary
+General Grant, and it took the vehement persuasion of one who was
+himself a publisher to convince him that his prospective publishers
+would not hesitate at quadrupling that sum rather than lose the chance
+of publishing the book.</p>
+
+<p>When the conjecture was proven true, the General with characteristic
+generosity, withdrew the contract from his prospective publishers and
+placed it in the hands of the firm that Mark Twain headed. All the
+provisions were amply fulfilled; for when Mark Twain paid his last
+visit to the stricken author at the place of sojourn on Mount
+McGregor, he brought to the now speechless sufferer the smile of
+happiness and satisfaction by saying: "General, there is in the bank
+now royalties on advanced sales aggregating nearly $300,000. It is at
+Mrs. Grant's order."</p>
+
+<p>The anecdote is given at this length because, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>taken in connection
+with subsequent events dealing with General Grant's benefactor, it
+points a forceful illustration of the irony of fortune. There came a
+day when the very instrument by which Mark Twain was enabled to
+provide a peaceful close to the life of a brave warrior, and to
+guarantee affluence for his family, delivered himself a stroke that
+dissipated his own fortune at a time when age is supposed to have
+absorbed the vigor for a new grapple with destinies.</p>
+
+<p>In 1884 the publishing firm of C.L. Webster and Company was organized
+to publish the works of Mark Twain. Of this firm Mark Twain was
+president; but he took little active part in the management of its
+affairs. Able to conceive in broad outlines successful policies, he
+was singularly deficient in the power to handle the details of their
+execution. On April 18, 1894, the firm whose business enterprises had
+always figured in large sums through the immense popularity of the
+author-publisher's own works, the <i>Memoirs of General Grant</i>, and the
+<i>Life of Pope Leo</i>, made an assignment for the benefit of its
+creditors. The bankrupt firm acknowledged liabilities approximating
+$80,000. What in the ordinary view of commercial affairs would have
+furnished but one item in the list of failures which record the
+misfortunes of ninety per cent who engage in business, became in this
+instance a notable case through the eminence of the chief actor.</p>
+
+<p>What might he have done?</p>
+
+<p>The law could lay claim upon his personal assets. To surrender these
+possessions proved no act of self-sacrifice, considering his wife's
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>fortune, upon which the law had no claim. His wife, however, joined
+him in the act of renunciation, and they stood together penniless.
+Beyond this point there could be no legal, and, to many minds, no
+moral responsibility for the debts of his firm. One can speculate upon
+the force of the temptation to take advantage of the position. Mark
+Twain was sixty years old, and ill at that. Having sacrificed all he
+possessed to meet the demands of his creditors, he might justly claim
+the benefit of what remained of capacity for wealth-producing labor.
+His own words in reply to a slander which insinuated that he had set
+to work again for his own benefit are splendid for inspiration and
+honesty:</p>
+
+<p>"The law recognizes no mortgage on a man's brain, and a merchant who
+has given up all he has may take advantage of the laws of insolvency,
+and start free again for himself; but I am not a business man, and
+honor is a harder master than the law. It cannot compromise for less
+than a hundred cents on the dollar."</p>
+
+<p>... The great parallel case to the one here under examination is that
+of Sir Walter Scott, who lost his all through the failure of his
+printers, the Ballantynes, and between January, 1826, and January,
+1828, earned for his creditors nearly &pound;40,000. In the early stages of
+this trial he suffered acutely from the attitude of his friends, and
+he records in his diary how some would smile as if to say: "Think
+nothing about it, my lad; it is quite out of our thoughts;" how others
+adopted an affected gravity "such as one sees and despises at a
+funeral," while the best bred "just shook hands and went on."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>How the world treated Mark Twain we learn from the speech at the
+banquet given by the Lotus Club on his return from his arduous journey
+around the world: "There were ninety-six creditors in all, and not by
+a finger's weight did ninety-five out of the ninety-six add to the
+burden of that time."</p>
+
+<p>"'Don't you worry, and don't you hurry,' was what they said." With the
+courage of a man buffeted, but not beaten, he gathered himself up for
+"one more last try for fortune and fair fame." In the latter part of
+1895 he started out on a tour of the English-speaking countries of the
+world to give lectures and readings from his own works.</p>
+
+<p>There were misgivings, of course, as to the success of the venture.
+Here was a field not absolutely untried, but not hitherto cultivated
+to the point of assured success. In 1873 he had made a lecture tour in
+England and in 1885 had given platform readings in company with George
+W. Cable. But age had sapped the zest for public appearance, and he
+was skeptical of his power to move people with interest in his books.
+Moreover, there was a further thing to be considered, a possible
+impediment to success among the English colonies which he proposed to
+visit. His popularity with Englishmen had never been great, owing to
+the liberties he had taken with that nation's people in <i>Innocents
+Abroad</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The latter apprehension was the more remote, however, for, starting
+from New York, he had a continent to traverse before embarking for the
+shores that held for him an uncertain welcome. To test his ability to
+interest an audience, to "try <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>it on the dog," as they say in
+theatrical parlance, he subjected himself to the severest test
+possible, crossed to Randall's Island and read before a company of
+boys. Unsophisticated by the lecturer's reputation as a humorist, the
+boys proved to be the organs of sincerest testimony to the permanence
+of the old power to amuse, and the first public appearance in
+Cleveland, Ohio, was undertaken with fewer misgivings.</p>
+
+<p>From Vancouver, Mark Twain sailed for Sidney and gave readings before
+the English-speaking communities of Australia; then continued on to
+Tasmania, New Zealand, Ceylon, India and South Africa.</p>
+
+<p>His fears as to his welcome among Englishmen were proved to be
+groundless. In Australia, great as was his success as a lecturer, his
+personal success outweighed even that, and the market on his books was
+exhausted. We cannot follow him on this trip of mingled arduous labor
+and personal satisfaction. The humorous reactions of his homely vision
+upon the quaint, the bizarre, the pretentious, aspects of life in
+remote parts of the world may be read in his own record of this
+journey, <i>Following the Equator</i>. There are few things to record of
+this great effort to pay his debts.</p>
+
+<p>In India he was taken ill, but the disease was not severe. In June,
+1897, when he had circled the globe and had settled for a time in
+London, cablegrams came from that city announcing his mental and
+physical collapse. The English-speaking world was stricken with
+sympathy, and the New York <i>Herald</i> at once began a subscription fund
+for his relief. The report was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>contradicted at once, but admiration
+for the author's strenuous effort seemed to grow, and the <i>Herald</i>
+fund was assuming generous proportions when the following
+characteristic message declining to accept the relief came from the
+proposed beneficiary:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>I was glad when you instituted that movement, for I was tired
+of the fact and worry of debt, but I recognized that it is not
+permissible for a man whose case is not hopeless to shift his
+burden to other men's shoulders.</p></div>
+
+<p>In November of the same year a report was circulated that he was out
+of debt, but from Vienna, whither he had gone to live, came a laconic
+cablegram nailing the optimistic impeachment:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>Lie. Wrote no such letters. Still deeply in debt.</p></div>
+
+<p>Nearly half of the original indebtedness needed to be paid, and here,
+with scarcely an opposing voice in judgment, he might have waived the
+claim upon himself for his firm's responsibilities, but he avowed that
+he would pay dollar for dollar.</p>
+
+<p>The time of accomplishment was not long in coming. When the
+undertaking was begun, it was with the resolution to clear up the debt
+in three years. Allowing for the unexpected, it was feared it would
+take four, then at the age of sixty-four a new start in life would be
+open to the author, who might point to a considerable occupancy of
+space on library shelves and regard a life work accomplished. It took
+but two years and a half to pay the debt. He began the effort the
+latter part of 1895 and finished it in the early part of 1898.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>His return to America and his home in 1900 was, in the unromantic
+procedure of our self-conscious days, of the nature of a triumph. He
+was formally welcomed by the Lotus Club, and, of course, as delicately
+as might be, he was praised for his honesty. His reply to compliment
+was a generous recognition of social virtue, which renders easier such
+an effort as he made.</p>
+
+<p>Said he:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>Your president has referred to certain burdens which I was
+weighted with. I am glad he did, as it gives me an opportunity
+which I wanted. To speak of those debts&mdash;you all knew what he
+meant when he referred to it, and to the poor bankrupt firm of
+C.L. Webster and Company. No one has said a word about those
+creditors. There were ninety-six creditors in all, and not by
+a finger's weight did ninety-five out of the ninety-six add to
+the burden of that time. They treated me well; they treated me
+handsomely. I never knew I owed them anything; not a sign came
+from them.</p></div>
+
+<p>The story is one of simple elements, and suits the prosaic character
+of our age. It does not match Sir Walter's for romance. There was no
+such brain-racking work; no forcing of the phantasmal multitude of the
+poet's brain to dance to pay the expenses of the funeral; no medi&aelig;val
+castle to sacrifice; no tragic failure of the ultimate goal. What
+there is of real romance seems obscured by the facts of more or less
+safe speculation upon assured futures. It was a safe business venture.</p>
+
+<p>The hero was not unworthy of the praises which his peers at the Lotus
+dinner were glad to lavish. Said St. Clair McKelway:</p>
+
+<p>"He has enough excess and versatility to be a genius. He has enough
+quality and quantity of virtues to be a saint. But he has honorably
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>transmuted his genius into work, whereby it has been brought into
+relations with literature and with life. And he has preferred warm
+fellowship to cool perfection, so that sinners love him and saints are
+content to wait for him."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXIX" id="LXIX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>HAMLIN GARLAND'S LITERARY BEGINNING</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>Hamlin Garland is one of the writers whose name suggests the great
+Northwest. He was born in Wisconsin in 1860, went to Iowa and later to
+Dakota, striving at an early age to wrest a living from the soil. At
+ten years of age he plowed seventy acres of land. His vivid
+descriptions of Western farm-life are not the results of reading and
+casual observation, supplemented by a vivid imagination; they are the
+products of actual experiences.</p>
+
+<p>In a personal interview with Mr. Garland, Frank G. Carpenter gives us
+the following interesting particulars:</p>
+
+<p>"The conversation here turned to Mr. Garland's literary work, and he
+told me how he was first led to write by reading Hawthorne's <i>Mosses
+from an Old Manse</i>. This book so delighted him that he wanted to write
+essays like it for a living, and he practised at this during the
+intervals of his school-teaching and studying for years. It was not
+until he was older that he attempted fiction or poetry. The story of
+his first published article is a curious one. Said he:</p>
+
+<p>"'My first literary success was a poem which I wrote for <i>Harper's
+Weekly</i>, entitled 'Lost in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>the Norther.' It was a poem describing a
+blizzard and the feelings of a man lost in it. I received twenty-five
+dollars for it.'</p>
+
+<p>"'That must have been a good deal of money to you then, Mr. Garland?'</p>
+
+<p>"'It was,' was the reply. 'It was my first money in literature, and I
+spent it upon my father and mother. I paid five dollars for a copy of
+Grant's <i>Memoirs</i>, which I sent father, and with the remaining twenty
+dollars I bought a silk dress for my mother. It was the first silk
+dress she had ever had.'</p>
+
+<p>"'When did you write your first fiction?'</p>
+
+<p>"'My mother got half of the money I received for that,' replied Mr.
+Garland, 'as it was due to her that I wrote it. I had been studying in
+Boston for several years, when I went out to Dakota to visit my
+parents. The night after I arrived I was talking with mother about old
+times and old friends. She told me how one family had gone back to New
+York for a visit, and had returned very happy, in getting back to
+their Western home. As she told the story, the pathos of it struck me.
+I went into another room and began to write. The story was one of the
+best chapters of my book <i>Main-Traveled Roads</i>. I read it to mother,
+and she liked it, and upon telling her that I thought it was worth at
+least seventy-five dollars, she replied: "Well, if that is so, I think
+you ought to <i>divvy</i> with me, for I gave you the story." "I will,"
+said I, and so, when I got my seventy-five dollars, I sent her a check
+for thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents. I got many other good
+suggestions during that trip to Dakota. I wrote poems and stories.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>Some of the stories were published in <i>The Century</i>, and I remember
+that I received six hundred dollars within two weeks from its editors.
+It was perhaps a year later before I published my first book. It had a
+good sale, and I have been writing from that day to this.'</p>
+
+<p>"Hamlin Garland spends a part of every year in the West. He has bought
+the old home place where he was born in Wisconsin, and he has there a
+little farm of four acres, upon which he raises asparagus,
+strawberries, onions, and bushels of other things. His mother lives
+with him. During my talk with him the other night he said: 'I like the
+West and the Western people. I have been brought up with them, and I
+expect to devote my life to writing about them. I spend a portion of
+each summer on the Rocky Mountains, camping out. I like to go where I
+can sleep in the open air and have elbow-room away from the crowded
+city.'"</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXX" id="LXX"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>STEPHEN CRANE: A "WONDERFUL BOY"</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>In 1900, Stephen Crane, while yet barely thirty, died. His early
+passing away was widely regarded as a loss to American literature. In
+England he was especially admired as a vigorous writer. His <i>The Red
+Badge of Courage</i> won him wide recognition as a keen analyst. Old
+soldiers who read the story could not believe that it was written by a
+boy who was born after the war had ended. By many critics his stories
+of boyhood are considered the writings that shall be longest
+remembered. Shortly before his death Mr. Crane wrote the following
+letter to the editor of a Rochester daily:</p>
+
+<p>"My father was a Methodist minister, author of numerous works of
+theology, and an editor of various periodicals of the church. He was a
+graduate of Princeton, and he was a great, fine, simple mind. As for
+myself, I went to Lafayette College, but did not graduate. I found
+mining-engineering not at all to my taste. I preferred base-ball.
+Later I attended Syracuse University, where I attempted to study
+literature, but found base-ball again much more to my taste. My first
+work in fiction was for the New York <i>Tribune</i>, when I was eighteen
+years old. During this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>time, one story of the series went into the
+<i>Cosmopolitan</i>. At the age of twenty I wrote my first novel&mdash;<i>Maggie</i>.
+It never really got on the market, but it made for me the friendship
+of William Dean Howells and Hamlin Garland, and since that time I have
+never been conscious for an instant that those friendships have at all
+diminished. After completing <i>Maggie</i>, I wrote mainly for the New York
+<i>Press</i> and for <i>The Arena</i>. In the latter part of my twenty-first
+year I began <i>The Red Badge of Courage</i>, and completed it early in my
+twenty-second year. The year following I wrote the poems contained in
+the volume known as <i>The Black Riders</i>. On the first day of last
+November I was precisely twenty-nine years old and had finished my
+fifth novel, <i>Active Service</i>. I have only one pride, and that is that
+the English edition of <i>The Red Badge of Courage</i> has been received
+with great praise by the English reviewers. I am proud of this simply
+because the remoter people would seem more just and harder to win."</p>
+
+<p>In another letter to the same editor he writes about his literary
+sincerity:</p>
+
+<p>"The one thing that deeply pleases me is the fact that men of sense
+invariably believe me to be sincere. I know that my work does not
+amount to a string of dried beans&mdash;I always calmly admit it&mdash;but I
+also know that I do the best that is in me without regard to praise or
+blame. When I was the mark for every humorist in the country, I went
+ahead; and now when I am the mark for only fifty per cent of the
+humorists of the country, I go ahead; for I understand that a man is
+born into the world with his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>own pair of eyes, and he is not at all
+responsible for his vision&mdash;he is merely responsible for his quality
+of personal honesty. To keep close to this personal honesty is my
+supreme ambition."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="LXXI" id="LXXI"></a><hr />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span><br />
+
+<h3>LXXI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3>
+
+<h4>EUGENE FIELD</h4>
+<br />
+
+<p>The general public will always remember Eugene Field as the author of
+<i>Little Boy Blue</i>, the many friends of Field, in addition to their
+memory of him as the charming poet of childhood, will always think of
+him as the irrepressible prince of merry-makers. To perpetrate a joke
+Field spared neither labor nor his friends. Many of his pranks were
+mere whimsicalities, innocent pleasantries that hurt no one. He would
+spend three hours in illustrating a letter to a friend, filling the
+letter with gossipy trivialities and using six different kinds of ink
+to make it look grotesque.</p>
+
+<p>During the last years of Field's too brief life he was importuned so
+frequently for the facts concerning his career that he printed a brief
+biography or <i>Auto-Analysis</i>, as he called it. This contains a
+generous portion of fiction mingled with some fact. He begins his
+autobiography with:</p>
+
+<p>"I was born in St. Louis, Mo., September 3, 1850.... Upon the death of
+my mother (1856), I was put in the care of my (paternal) cousin, Miss
+Mary Field French, at Amherst, Mass.</p>
+
+<p>"In 1865 I entered the private school of Rev. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>James Tufts, Monson,
+Mass., and there fitted for Williams College, which institution I
+entered as a freshman in 1868. Upon my father's death, in 1869, I
+entered the sophomore class of Knox College, Galesburg, Ill., my
+guardian, John W. Burgess, now of Columbia College, being then a
+professor in that institution. But in 1870 I went to Columbia, Mo.,
+and entered the State University there, and completed my junior year
+with my brother. In 1872 I visited Europe, spending six months and my
+patrimony in France, Italy, Ireland, and Italy. In May, 1873, I became
+a reporter on the St. Louis <i>Evening Journal</i>. In October of that year
+I married Miss Julia Sutherland Comstock (born in Chenango Co., N.Y.),
+of St. Joseph, Mo., at that time a girl of sixteen. We have had eight
+children&mdash;three daughters and five sons."</p>
+
+<p>This is not all of the autobiography. There are about a thousand words
+more. The reason Field attended three collegiate institutions is that
+his mischievous pranks made him <i>persona non grata</i> to the college
+authorities. In after years the old historian of Knox College wrote:
+"He was prolific of harmless pranks and his school life was a big
+joke."</p>
+
+<p>The gay irresponsibility of Field is early illustrated in the reckless
+manner in which he spent "six months and his patrimony" in Europe. In
+1872 Field received $8,000, the first portion of his patrimony. He
+proposed to a young friend, Comstock, the brother of Julia, whom he
+later married, that they go to Europe. Field offered to bear all the
+expenses of the trip. They went and for six months they had a glorious
+time. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span>Soon the money was gone; he telegraphed for more; was obliged
+to sell the odd curios he had gathered to pay his way home. This
+expenditure of his money in a trip abroad is not so unprofitable a
+venture as it appears. The elder Field had left a fortune valued at
+$60,000; Eugene's share was to be about $25,000. In two years he spent
+about $20,000. His brother Roswell, more prudent, lived for several
+years on his share but finally, owing to the depreciation of real
+estate values, saw his fortune dwindle away. He is said to have envied
+the shrewdness of Eugene in spending his money when he had it.</p>
+
+<p>Field had the highest respect for womankind. In his <i>Auto-Analysis</i> he
+writes: "I am fond of companionship of women, and I have no
+unconquerable prejudice against feminine beauty. I recall with pride
+that in twenty-two years of active journalism I have always written in
+reverential praise of womankind." This respect for womankind, however,
+did not prevent him from playing pranks upon his wife. On their
+wedding journey he delighted to tease his young Julia by ordering at
+Delmonico's "boiled pig's feet &agrave; la St. Jo." A few years later a
+quartet was accustomed to meet at Eugene's home. Field did not sing
+with the quartet but as a fifth member acted as reader or reciter in
+their little entertainments. Eugene delighted to tease his wife by
+walking into the parlor when the quartet was practicing at his home
+and saying: "Well, boys, let us take off our coats and take it easy;
+it's too hot." When this was done, Eugene would blaze forth in the
+brilliancy of a red flannel undershirt, with white cuffs and collar
+pinned to his shirt.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>When Carl Schurz was making his senatorial campaign in Missouri, Field
+was sent with the party to report the meetings. Field, although
+greatly admiring Schurz, took great delight in misreporting Schurz,
+whose only comment would be: "Field, why will you lie so
+outrageously?" One evening when a group of German serenaders had
+assembled in front of the hotel to do honor to Schurz, Field rushed
+out and pretending to be Schurz, addressed them in broken English. At
+another time, at a political meeting, Field suddenly stepped out to
+the front and began:</p>
+
+<p>"Ladies and Shentlemen: I haf such a pad colt dot et vas not bossible
+for me to make you a speedg to-night, but I haf die bleasure to
+introduce to you my brilliant chournalistic friendt Euchene Fielt, who
+will spoke you in my blace."</p>
+
+<p>While in Denver Field worked upon the <i>Tribune</i>. Over his desk
+hung,&mdash;"This is my busy day," and on the wall,&mdash;"God bless our
+proofreader, He can't call for him too soon." In his office he kept an
+old bottomless black-walnut chair. Across its yawning chasm he would
+carelessly thrown old newspapers. As it was the only unoccupied chair
+in the room, the casual visitor would drop unsuspectingly into the
+trap. The angry subscriber who had come to wreak vengeance upon the
+writer of irritating personalities could not withstand the apparently
+sincere apologies which Field lavished upon his victim. It was so
+humiliating to a man of Field's sensibilities to be obliged to receive
+such important visitors in an office whose very furniture indicated
+the poverty of the newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>In 1883 Field moved to Chicago, where the rest <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span>of his life was
+passed. Mr. Stone, one of the proprietors of <i>The News</i>, had gone to
+Denver to have a personal interview with Field, whose work had
+attracted attention in the newspaper world. Field stipulated that he
+was to have a column a day for his own use. The Chicago public soon
+was attracted by the brilliant versatility of the writer of "Sharps
+and Flats," the title of the column written by Field.</p>
+
+<p>Some months after Field had moved to Chicago he concluded that the
+general public ought to know that he had arrived. It was a cold
+morning in December. "So he arrayed himself in a long linen duster,
+buttoned up from knees to collar, put an old straw hat on his head,
+and taking a shabby book under one arm and a palm-leaf fan in his
+hand, he marched all the way down Clark Street, past the City Hall, to
+the office. Everywhere along the route he was greeted with jeers or
+pitying words, as his appearance excited the mirth or commiseration of
+the passers-by. When he reached the entrance to the <i>Daily News</i>
+office he was followed by a motley crowd of noisy urchins whom he
+dismissed with a grimace and the cabalistic gesture with which
+Nicholas Koorn perplexed and repulsed Antony Van Corlear from the
+battlement of the fortress of Rensellaerstein. Then closing the door
+in their astonished faces, he mounted the two flights of stairs to the
+editorial rooms, where he recounted, with the glee of the boy he was
+in such things, the success of his joke."</p>
+
+<p>Field had execrable taste in dress and he knew it. Consequently he
+enjoyed presenting neckties to his friends. His biographer, Slason
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span>Thompson, who worked in the same newspaper office, separated only by a
+low thin partition, relates that in the afternoon about two o'clock
+Field would stick his head above the partition and say,&mdash;"Come along,
+Nompy, and I'll buy you a new necktie," and when Thompson would
+decline the offer, Field would mildly respond, "Very well, if you
+won't let me buy you a necktie, you must buy me a lunch," and off to
+the coffee-house they would march, where the bill would be paid by
+Thompson, for Field was indeed through life the gay knight he styled
+himself, <i>sans peur and sans monnaie</i>.</p>
+
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+<div class="tr">
+<p class="cen"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a>Typographical errors corrected in text:</p>
+<br />
+Page &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;x: &nbsp;Thackery replaced with Thackeray<br />
+Page &nbsp;&nbsp;10: &nbsp;'he became actor' replaced with 'he became an actor'<br />
+Page 350: &nbsp;conconstituted replaced with constituted<br />
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,10085 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories of Authors, British and American, by
+Edwin Watts Chubb
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Stories of Authors, British and American
+
+Author: Edwin Watts Chubb
+
+Release Date: October 13, 2008 [EBook #26910]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTHORS, BRITISH AND AMERICAN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Jeannie Howse and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Transcriber's Note:                                       |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |
+    | been preserved.                                           |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |
+    | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+   [Illustration: GEOFFREY CHAUCER
+   From a portrait in Occleve's Poems in the British Museum]
+
+
+
+
+Stories of Authors
+
+_British and American_
+
+BY
+EDWIN WATTS CHUBB
+Professor of English Literature
+in the Ohio University.
+
+
+_ILLUSTRATED_
+
+
+New York
+STURGIS & WALTON
+COMPANY
+1910
+
+_All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1910
+BY STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
+
+Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910
+
+Reprinted May, 1910
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+The purpose of this book is to help in making literature and the
+makers of literature alive and interesting. Few schools have libraries
+including the bound volumes of the magazines of the past quarter of a
+century. But what an aid such a collection is to the appreciation of
+literature! The dignified and abbreviated history of literature cannot
+indulge in such delightful gossip as is found in the freer essay and
+fuller biography. To show the excellences of the art and the
+lovableness of the artist rather than to hunt for defects is the duty
+and the delight of the teacher of literature. This does not mean,
+however, that one dare never see the weaker side, the foibles and
+eccentricities of the man of genius.
+
+I like Macaulay none the less because his cock-sureness and loquacity
+came dangerously near to making him a bore; Dr. Johnson grows in
+interest when I learn that he found it a continual and almost hopeless
+struggle to become an early riser, that he feared death, and could
+drink tea as long as the housekeeper could brew it; that Tennyson was
+a slave to tobacco and acted like a yokel when the newly-wedded
+Muellers entertained him at breakfast does not detract from my
+enjoyment of the exquisite pathos of _Tears, Idle Tears_; that the
+marriage of the Brownings was a runaway romance is a whole commentary
+of explanation when I read their poems of romantic love; that
+Longfellow is said to have declined an invitation to the Adirondacks
+because he was told that Emerson was to carry a gun is really far more
+delightful, and I may add valuable, information than to know the exact
+date of the birth of either. Of knowledge such as this is the kingdom
+of literary interest. It is not well to place our literary lights upon
+a pedestal so lofty that the radiating warmth and light never reach
+our hearts.
+
+While many of the articles may be somewhat gossipy in tone, the
+serious phase has not been overlooked. The sketches have been gathered
+from many sources. Some have been written by myself, others have been
+gathered from magazines and books. I wish to acknowledge the kindness
+of _Scribners' Magazine_, of the _Bookman_, and of the _New England
+Magazine_ in permitting me to use articles originally appearing in
+these respective magazines. To all who have wittingly or unwittingly
+made it possible for me to gather my material I wish to acknowledge my
+indebtedness. Every article has been written, selected, or adapted
+because of some special value. In these pages the reader may find what
+Lamb earned during the years of his famous clerkship, or the exciting
+details of Shelley's death. How many times have we heard of Sir Philip
+Sidney's immortal act of chivalry as he _lay_ on the field at Zutphen!
+But definite information has it otherwise. To learn of the prodigious
+industry of the youthful Mill, the perseverance of Darwin, the heroic
+struggle of Scott, the gentleness of Stevenson, the modesty of
+Browning, the lifelong consecration of Motley,--is not the leaven of
+inspiration made of knowledge such as this?
+
+I have an unshaken conviction that the highest art of the teacher is
+manifested in the awakening of such an interest that the pupil shall
+forever after be an eager learner. Am I wrong in hoping that no one,
+though with but a meager knowledge of literature, can read these
+sketches without a desire to know more of the men and women who are
+the glory of England and America? Here is but a taste of a more
+sumptuous feast.
+
+    Dreams, books are each a world; and books, we know,
+    Are a substantial world, both pure and good:
+    Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
+    Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
+
+                                     EDWIN WATTS CHUBB.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ENGLISH WRITERS
+
+CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
+
+      I. The Ancient Tabard Inn                                      1
+
+     II. Sir Philip Sidney at Zutphen                                4
+
+    III. About Shakspere                                             9
+
+     IV. John Milton                                                17
+
+      V. Charles Lamb, the Clerk of the India House                 24
+
+     VI. Dr. Johnson and Charles Lamb                               28
+
+    VII. The Death of Dr. Johnson                                   33
+
+   VIII. Gray Writes the Elegy                                      37
+
+     IX. Cowper as a Letter Writer                                  42
+
+      X. Gibbon and His Visit to Rome                               46
+
+     XI. Burns Falls in Love                                        50
+
+    XII. Burns' First Book of Poems                                 54
+
+   XIII. Samuel Taylor Coleridge in School and College              59
+
+    XIV. Byron as Swimmer and Feaster                               64
+
+     XV. Shelley as a Freshman                                      71
+
+    XVI. The Death of Shelley                                       76
+
+   XVII. The School-days of John Keats                              82
+
+  XVIII. The Heroism of Sir Walter Scott                            88
+
+    XIX. Walter Savage Landor                                       93
+
+     XX. Leigh Hunt's Business Ability                             100
+
+    XXI. De Quincey Runs Away                                      102
+
+   XXII. Macaulay's Childhood                                      108
+
+  XXIII. Macaulay Becomes Famous                                   114
+
+   XXIV. Dickens Writes the Pickwick Papers                        119
+
+    XXV. Charles Dickens as Reader                                 123
+
+   XXVI. On the Death of Dickens                                   126
+
+  XXVII. Ruskin's Childhood                                        130
+
+ XXVIII. The Marriage of the Brownings                             135
+
+   XXIX. Robert Browning                                           140
+
+    XXX. Knight's Reminiscences of Tennyson                        145
+
+   XXXI. Emerson on Carlyle and Tennyson                           150
+
+  XXXII. Literary Recollections of Max Mueller                      156
+
+ XXXIII. The Early Education of John Stuart Mill                   162
+
+  XXXIV. Carlyle Goes to the University                            167
+
+   XXXV. Carlyle and His Wife                                      170
+
+  XXXVI. Carlyle as Lecturer                                       175
+
+ XXXVII. Carlyle on Wordsworth and Browning                        180
+
+XXXVIII. The Author of "Jane Eyre"                                 184
+
+  XXXIX. Thackery in America                                       189
+
+     XL. George Eliot Becomes a Writer of Fiction                  194
+
+    XLI. The Author of "Alice in WonderLand"                       200
+
+   XLII. About Darwin                                              203
+
+  XLIII. Anecdotes of Huxley                                       209
+
+   XLIV. Stevenson at Vailima                                      214
+
+    XLV. Kipling in India                                          221
+
+
+AMERICAN WRITERS
+
+   XLVI. Benjamin Franklin Runs Away                               226
+
+  XLVII. Washington Irving                                         234
+
+ XLVIII. Cooper and "The Spy"                                      242
+
+   XLIX. John Lothrop Motley and Bismarck                          249
+
+      L. The Youth of George Ticknor                               254
+
+     LI. Fitz-Greene Halleck                                       259
+
+    LII. The Author of Thanatopsis                                 262
+
+   LIII. Curtis and Hawthorne at the Brook Farm                    266
+
+    LIV. Hawthorne and the Scarlet Letter                          270
+
+     LV. Max Mueller's Recollections of Emerson, Lowell and Holmes  279
+
+    LVI. Howells Calls on Emerson, and Describes Longfellow        284
+
+   LVII. Longfellow, the Universal Poet                            290
+
+  LVIII. Henry David Thoreau                                       297
+
+    LIX. The Last Days of Edgar Allan Poe                          303
+
+     LX. Artemus Ward                                              313
+
+    LXI. Edmund Gosse Visits Whittier                              317
+
+   LXII. Personal Recollections of Whittier                        320
+
+  LXIII. Henry Ward Beecher                                        329
+
+   LXIV. The London "Times" on Lowell                              333
+
+    LXV. The Writing of "America"                                  338
+
+   LXVI. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and her First Story               340
+
+  LXVII. Sidney Lanier                                             344
+
+ LXVIII. The Story of Mark Twain's Debts                           349
+
+   LXIX. Hamlin Garland's Literary Beginning                       358
+
+    LXX. Stephen Crane: A "Wonderful Boy"                          361
+
+   LXXI. Eugene Field                                              364
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+Geoffrey Chaucer                                        _Frontispiece_
+
+                                                           FACING PAGE
+
+The Old Tabard Inn                                                   2
+
+William Shakspere                                                    8
+
+John Milton                                                         16
+
+Robert Burns                                                        50
+
+Lord Byron                                                          64
+
+Percy Bysshe Shelley                                                70
+
+Charles Dickens                                                    122
+
+Robert Browning                                                    134
+
+Alfred Tennyson                                                    144
+
+Ralph Waldo Emerson                                                150
+
+Thomas Carlyle                                                     175
+
+Benjamin Franklin                                                  226
+
+William Cullen Bryant                                              262
+
+Henry Wadsworth Longfellow                                         290
+
+John Greenleaf Whittier                                            320
+
+
+
+
+STORIES OF AUTHORS
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE ANCIENT TABARD INN
+
+
+The picture we see here is that of an inn whose fame is as widespread
+as the love of English poetry, for it is at the Tabard Inn that
+Chaucer more than five hundred years ago assembled his nine and twenty
+pilgrims who were preparing to visit the tomb of Thomas a Becket at
+Canterbury. The witchery of the springtime had stirred the blood of
+these Londoners who, perhaps, were enticed from home more by the soft
+April showers and the melody of the birds than by their need of
+spiritual consolation. This, at least, is the impression we receive as
+in imagination we join these immortal pilgrims at the Tabard. Our
+guide is
+
+    Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath
+      Preluded those melodious bursts that fill
+    The spacious times of great Elizabeth
+      With sounds that echo still,--
+
+and as he moves among his motley group, let us take a glance at the
+Tabard.
+
+The picture we have is that of the typical old English inn. "As late
+as 1870 the ruins of the famous Tabard could be found. It was near St.
+Saviour in the Borough High Street. Turning from the street into one
+of those courtyards which abound in the east of London, the visitor
+comes upon the ruins of the once famous inn the very name of which has
+been transformed by time. It is now known as the '_Talbot_,' but the
+inscription above the doorway contradicts the modern signboard and
+proclaims the house to be '_The Ancient Tabard Inn_.' The whole yard
+is redolent of dilapidation. Facing the visitor on entering is an
+interesting block of old buildings, forming part of the left side, and
+the bottom of what once was an ample courtyard. This part of the
+building contains not improbably the shell of the corresponding
+portion of the original inn. The doors of the first floor all open
+into one of the wide balustraded galleries or verandas so common in
+the genuine old English hostelry. Until recently the landlord of the
+_Talbot_, then a small public-house, and still forming part of the
+modern mass of brick building that blocks up the right side and part
+of the center of the courtyard, rented the rooms by which this
+balustraded gallery was, and still is, surrounded. They were then let
+as bedrooms, and kept in good repair; and are supposed to occupy the
+site of the very rooms once tenanted by the Canterbury pilgrims; the
+gallery probably differing but little in appearance from what it was
+when Chaucer frequented it in search of good wine. The landlord
+eventually became insolvent; the paltry tavern was shut up, and the
+bedrooms were dismantled. In that plight they might be seen some years
+ago, may still possibly be seen--empty, dusty, dreary--ranged above
+ground-floor premises which do duty as a parcels' conveyance office,
+and abutting on a mean, ill-kept yard. Until within the last few
+years the coigne of the old balustraded gallery was connected on the
+right with the modern brick mass by an ancient wood-work bridge,
+coeval at least with the oldest portion of the building as it stands.
+But the bridge is gone, and the lust of gold and the pride of life
+have so destroyed that spirit of reverence and refined superstitious
+love for the venerable which should characterize an advanced
+civilization, that it is greatly to be feared the rest of the
+structure will soon follow. Yet it was in this courtyard, and before
+this very inn, that Chaucer and his nine-and-twenty pilgrims stood in
+picturesque confusion in the early dawn of that spring morning, long,
+long ago; and agreed for their common amusement on the road each one
+of them should tell at least one tale in going to, and another in
+returning from Canterbury; the best story teller to be treated to a
+supper by his fellow travelers on their return to the Tabard Inn. The
+company comprises representatives from all classes of society except
+the two extremes; there is neither a prince nor a beggar. The
+characters are taken from middle-class life, of which they may be
+accepted as fair and truthful types; being described with a vigorous
+fidelity which has never been surpassed in the whole range of art.
+Every figure stands out from the canvas sharp and clear like pictures
+seen through a stereoscope. Not a touch, not a line is wanting; each
+trick of speech and peculiarity of feature or of dress, is
+photographed with Preraphaelite fidelity."
+
+   [Illustration: THE OLD TABARD INN
+   From a drawing by Herbert Railton]
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+SIR PHILIP SIDNEY AT ZUTPHEN
+
+
+Whenever the name of Sir Philip Sidney is mentioned one involuntarily
+thinks of noble generosity and knightly gentleness and self-sacrifice.
+And here is the story of the act that forever united his name with the
+highest ideals of chivalry:
+
+In August, 1586, Leicester assembled his troops at Arnheim, which he
+made his headquarters. After reducing Doesburg, he prepared to besiege
+Zutphen, an important town on the Yssel. The garrison was in sore need
+of provisions, which Parma, before marching to its relief, determined
+to supply. A convoy of corn, meat, and other necessaries, sufficient
+to victual the place for three months, was accordingly collected, and
+on the twenty-second of September left the Spanish camp. So high was
+Parma's estimate of the importance of preserving Zutphen, that the
+escort despatched with the convoy numbered twenty-nine hundred foot
+and six hundred horse. Leicester was informed of the enemy's movement,
+but not of the force which protected it. An ambuscade of five hundred
+men, under Sir John Norris, was held sufficient to intercept the
+convoy. About fifty young officers volunteered to add their services.
+This gallant band was composed of the flower of the English army....
+It was indeed "an incredible extravagance to send a handful of such
+heroes against such an army," but Leicester can scarcely be blamed for
+failing to restrain the impulsive ardor which animated his entire
+staff. Sidney's characteristic magnanimity betrayed him that day into
+a fatal excess. He had risen at the first sound of the trumpet and
+left his tent completely armed, but observing that Sir William Pelham,
+an older soldier, had not protected his legs with cuishes, returned
+and threw off his own. The morning was cold and densely foggy, as the
+little company galloped forth to join their comrades in ambush. Just
+as they came up, Sir John Norris had caught the first sounds of the
+approaching convoy. Almost at the same moment the fog cleared off and
+revealed at what terrible odds the battle was to be fought that day.
+Mounted arquebusiers, pikemen and musketeers on foot, Spaniards,
+Italians, and even, it is said, Albanians, to the number of
+thirty-five hundred, guarded the wagons before and behind. The English
+were but five hundred and fifty men. Yet among them all, the historian
+has the right of blood to say with confidence, "There was no thought
+of retreat." The indomitable national spirit embodied itself in the
+war-cry of young Essex: "Follow me, good fellows, for the honor of
+England and England's queen!" At the word a hundred horsemen, Sidney
+in the midst, with lance in hand and curtel-axe at saddle-bow, spurred
+to the charge. The enemy's cavalry broke, but the musketeers in the
+rear fired a deadly volley, under cover of which it formed anew. A
+second charge re-broke it. In the onset Sidney's horse was killed, but
+he remounted and rode forward. Lord Willoughby, after unhorsing and
+capturing the Albanian leader, lost his own horse. Attacked on all
+sides, he must have fallen and yielded, when Sidney came to the rescue
+and struck down his assailants. Individual valor, however, proved
+unavailing against the might of numbers. After nearly two hours'
+desperate opposition, the convoy still made way. Charge succeeded
+charge in the vain effort to prevent its effecting a junction with the
+garrison, two thousand of whom were waiting for the right moment to
+sally forth. In the last of these onsets, Sir Philip's impetuosity
+carried him within musket-shot of the camp. A bullet struck his
+unprotected leg, just above the knee, and shattered the bone. He
+endeavored to remain on the field, but his horse became unmanageable,
+and in agonies of pain and thirst he rode back to the English
+quarters, a mile and a half distant. An incident of that ride, as told
+in the quaint language of Lord Brooke, retains the immortal charm of
+pathos which commands our tears, how often soever repeated:
+
+    In which sad progress, passing along by the rest of the army,
+    where his uncle the general was, and being thirsty with excess
+    of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought
+    him, but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a
+    poor soldier carried along who had eaten his last at that same
+    feast, ghastly, casting up his eyes at the bottle, which Sir
+    Philip perceiving, took it from his head before he drank, and
+    delivered it to the poor man with these words, "Thy necessity
+    is greater than mine." And when he had pledged this poor
+    soldier, he was presently carried to Arnheim.
+
+The golden chain of heroic actions, Christian and pagan, may contain
+examples of self-denial sublimer and more absolute than this; but in
+the blended grace and tenderness of its knightly courtesy, we know not
+where to find its parallel.
+
+Leicester met his nephew as he was borne back to the camp, and burst
+into a genuine passion of sorrow. Many a rough soldier among those
+who, in returning from the failure of their impossible enterprise, now
+came up with their comrade, was unmanned for the first time that day.
+Sir William Russell, as tender-hearted as he was daring, embraced him
+weeping, and kissed his hand amid broken words of admiration and
+sympathy. But Sidney needed no consolation. "I would," said Leicester,
+in a letter to Sir Thomas Heneage, "you had stood by to hear his most
+loyal speeches to her Majesty, his constant mind to the cause, his
+loving care over me, and his most resolute determination for death;
+not one jot appalled for his blow, which is the most grievous that
+ever I saw with such a bullet."
+
+The English surgeons at first gave hopes of his speedy restoration to
+health, and the favorable news was sent to England. Lady Sidney, who
+had followed him to Flushing some months before, at once hastened to
+him, but with no idea of his danger. The nation at large thought him
+convalescent. He himself, however, never expected to recover, although
+submitting with fortitude to whatever systems of treatment were
+proposed. Nothing was left untried that affection could suggest or the
+imperfect science of the age effect. His wife tenderly nursed him, and
+his two younger brothers were constantly at his side. His quondam foe,
+Count Hohenlo, though himself dangerously wounded, sent off his own
+physician, Adrian Van den Spiegel, to his aid. After examining the
+injuries Adrian pronounced them mortal, and then hastened back to the
+Count, whose case was not so desperate. "Away, villain!" cried the
+generous soldier in a transport of wrath; "never see my face again
+till thou bring better news of that man's recovery, for whose
+redemption many such as I were happily lost!"
+
+From the first to the last moment of his suffering Sir Philip's temper
+was calm and cheerful. During the three weeks that he lingered at
+Arnheim he occupied himself with the thoughts befitting a
+death-bed.... On the 17th of October he felt himself dying, and
+summoned his friends to say farewell. His latest words were addressed
+to his brother Robert: "Love my memory; cherish my friends; their
+faith to me may assure you they are honest. But, above all things,
+govern your will and affections by the will and word of your Creator;
+in me beholding the end of this world with all her vanities." When
+powerless to speak, he replied to the entreaty of friends, who desired
+some token of his trust in God, by clasping his hands in the attitude
+of prayer, and a few moments afterwards had ceased to breathe.
+
+                 --Adapted from the _Edinburgh Review_.
+
+   [Illustration: WILLIAM SHAKSPERE
+   From the portrait by Martin Droeshout]
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+ABOUT SHAKSPERE
+
+
+What would we not give to be able to relate a half-dozen good
+anecdotes about Shakspere? It is true there are traditions, the best
+known of which is the story that he poached deer in the park of Sir
+Thomas Lucy. Men have discussed the pros and cons of this
+deer-stealing tradition with a gravity and fulness worthy of a
+weightier cause. Suppose he did engage in the exciting sport of
+worrying a nobleman who had a game preserve. Does that fact blacken
+the youth's character? It is said the students at Oxford were the most
+notorious poachers in the kingdom, although expulsion was the penalty.
+Dr. Forman relates how a student who afterwards became a bishop was
+more given to poaching than to study.
+
+What do we know about the life of Shakspere? We know that he was born
+at Stratford-on-Avon in 1564, that he died there in 1616, April 23.
+Some years ago I stood in the house which is reputed to be the place
+of his birth; over 20,000 pilgrims from all lands each year pay their
+shilling for the privilege of going through that house; the town
+corporation has purchased the property and controls it; the place has
+been photographed until the reading world is familiar with the
+picture,--and yet we do not positively know that Shakspere was born in
+that house. For Shakspere's father owned two houses at the time of the
+son's birth; in which of the two he lived at this time we can but
+guess. We suppose he lived in the Henley Street house, for it was the
+better of the two houses and the Shakspere family was prospering when
+William was born. The house itself has been remodeled. I think it is
+Sidney Lee who says that the only thing that remains as it was in
+Shakspere's time is the cellar. We do not know the day of Shakspere's
+birth. In Holy Trinity Church one may look into the book containing
+the baptismal record of the babe, William. He was baptized on April 26
+and as children were usually baptized three days after their birth we
+infer he was born April 23. We know that he married Anne Hathaway, a
+woman eight years his senior; that in early manhood he went to London;
+that he became an actor, dramatist, manager of a theater; that in
+1597 he bought New Place, the stateliest residence in Stratford; that
+he lived in Stratford during the last years of his life as a highly
+esteemed and worthy man, and that he died in 1616 and was buried in
+Trinity Church. These are the facts in the records of Shakspere's
+life. They, however, are not the important facts. The main fact in his
+life is his work, the matchless collection of literary masterpieces
+that bear the imprint of his genius. It is also well to keep in mind
+that our paucity of definite documentary records is not characteristic
+of Shakspere alone. We may know little of Shakspere, but we know less
+of Marlowe, his most brilliant competitor.
+
+It is because we know so little of fact in the life of Shakspere that
+we delight to let fancy paint its charming pictures. We are led into
+the old Grammar School which Shakspere in all probability attended.
+Tradition points out the desk at which he used to sit. We can infer
+what he studied. The name of the Latin grammar then used we can deduce
+from his quoting a Latin sentence just as it was misquoted in Lilly's
+grammar. Artists have painted from imagination the picture of the boy
+Shakspere. Poets have wandered over the Warwickshire region and in
+their mind's eye have seen the youthful bard as he walked over the
+same picturesque region. In _Midsummer-Night's Dream_ we read
+
+    I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
+    Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
+    Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
+    With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.--
+
+and we see the young Shakspere, keen-eyed, observant, reveling in the
+beauty of nature. In _Macbeth_ we read
+
+    This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
+    Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
+    Unto our gentle senses.--
+
+and we recall that Kenilworth and Warwick Castles are near Stratford
+and we see the boyish Shakspere as he walks about these magnificent
+testimonies to the might and power of feudal England, or perhaps
+mingling with the crowd when Royalty has come to Kenilworth to be
+entertained by the lavish Leicester. So, too, when we find in _Much
+Ado About Nothing_
+
+    The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
+    Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
+    And greedily devour the treacherous bait,--
+
+we have a picture before us of the boy standing on the banks of the
+placid Avon, enjoying the sports of boyhood and unconsciously
+receiving impressions that shall later be reproduced to adorn with
+freshest imagery the poetry of the world's greatest genius.
+
+After years of labor the scholars of the world have scraped together
+enough definite information to make the Life of Shakspere, as Mr.
+Raleigh puts it, "assume the appearance of a scrap-heap of respectable
+size." But to us the great fact in the life of Shakspere is that he
+has given us his masterpieces. Perhaps it is just as well that we know
+so little about the facts in his life. We have all the more time to
+study his works. About their quality there is little of disagreement.
+Three hundred years ago Ben Jonson wrote
+
+            ... I confess thy writings to be such
+    As neither man nor muse can praise too much,--
+
+and the critic of to-day is saying the same thing, only he uses two
+volumes instead of two lines to say it. It is true an occasional
+voice, like that of Tolstoy's, will be heard in protest, but the
+protest and the critic are both likely to be forgotten before the
+consensus of three centuries shall be set aside.
+
+Shakspere lives and shall live as long as the human race shall delight
+in the study of the human heart, not because of the chastity and
+clearness of his diction, not because of the supremacy of his
+imagination, nor because of the variety of his melodious verse,--not
+even because of the matchless combination of all these charms; but the
+Bard of Stratford lives and shall live because his sanity enabled him
+to see the "God of things as they are," and his passion penetrated
+into the deepest sorrows and rose to the highest aspirations of the
+human heart,--and throughout all this sympathizing with goodness and
+while despising the depraved yet pitying with a heart of love.
+
+No system-maker or formula-builder can account for Shakspere. Genius
+is ever a miracle. However, we can study the environment in which
+genius moves and has its being. When we ask ourselves how does it
+happen that the plays of Shakspere breathe such a wholesome and
+vigorous morality, we are led to two conclusions,--first, that the
+England of Shakspere's time was a wholesome and vigorous England;
+second, that the man Shakspere was sound to the core.
+
+The close of the sixteenth century is one of the most remarkable
+periods in the history of the world. Indeed, so striking is the
+intellectual activity of this age that lately an eminent scientist
+advanced the hypothesis that some electric influence, some magnetic
+current must have let itself loose to work upon the destinies of the
+world in the production of great men. For in that period in Italy we
+find Tasso, the greatest of modern epic poets; then too lived Galileo
+and Kepler, the astronomers; in France we find the philosophic
+essayist, Montaigne; in Spain the world-renowned Cervantes, the author
+of the immortal Don Quixote; in England both Bacon and Shakspere,
+beside a host of other writers, generals, admirals and artists. This
+same age is the most flourishing period in Mahometan India; so, too,
+in China, in Japan, and even in far away Persia we find an unusual
+degree of intellectual activity.
+
+The England of Shakspere! The phrase suggests a train of associations
+that kindle the imagination. The age of literature, war, conquest,
+adventure, and achievement. The era of Edmund Spenser, "called from
+faeryland to struggle 'gainst dark ways;" of Sir Philip Sidney, the
+scholar, the courtier, the gentleman; of Sir Walter Raleigh, author,
+knight, and explorer; of Bacon, "the wisest, meanest, brightest of
+mankind." It is the time when in the _Golden Hind_ Drake is
+circumnavigating the globe; when Hawkins is exploring the Indies, and
+Frobisher is becoming the hero of the Northwest passage; the age of
+marvelous tales told by intrepid explorers and adventurers returning
+from America, a land whose fountains renewed youth and whose rivers
+flowed over sands of gold. It is the era of English sea-dogs pillaging
+Spanish provinces in spite of imperial manifestos,--above all, it is
+the age of the Spanish Armada.
+
+To recall what this means it is necessary to remember that Spain was
+the great dominating empire of the sixteenth century. Philip II, the
+Duke of Alva, the horrors of the Spanish inquisition, condemn Spain's
+power in this period. But one midsummer morn all England awoke to the
+glorious news that the Invincible Armada lay at the bottom of the sea.
+England had triumphed, and now for the first time national life
+dreamed of the possibility of leadership in the great game of
+world-politics. The atmosphere was electric with new life. In rural
+England along lanes flanked with green hedges Englishmen walked with
+bosoms swelling with new pride, in bustling London vigorous burghers
+strode the city's streets with hearts pulsating with new warmth, and
+everywhere the eyes of all Englishmen flashed with new fire.
+
+Could a soul so sensitive as Shakspere's live in such an atmosphere
+and not be influenced by it? Listen to him as he pays his beautiful,
+patriotic tribute to England's national glory:
+
+    This other Eden, demi-paradise,
+    This fortress built by Nature for herself,
+    This precious stone set in the silver sea,
+    This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
+    This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
+    Dear for her reputation through the world.
+
+And the second cause, we say, is the personality of the man himself.
+Shakspere wrote pure and lofty poetry because his was a pure and lofty
+nature. I know the disparagers of Shakspere and the advocates of the
+Baconian theory make much of the traditional wildness of Shakspere's
+youth. The common argument is that a man who is charged with the
+poaching of deer in his youth is too bad to write good poetry,
+therefore Bacon wrote Shakspere. Was Bacon an angel? By the same
+process of reasoning Burns could not have written the Cotter's
+Saturday Night. But I deny that Shakspere was profligate, and in
+making this denial I need not prove the impeccability of Shakspere.
+But his life was essentially pure, his heart good, because the
+influence of the life is sane and wholesome.
+
+Not alone the greatest intellect of his time, of all times, but also
+the greatest heart, was that possessed by this Warwickshire poet. As a
+man thinketh in his heart so he is. As Shakspere was, so he wrote.
+This crystalline wholesome water dashing over this rocky cliff did
+not have its origin in yonder pool. Pure water does not flow from a
+mud-puddle. Here is a man who in twenty years writes in round numbers
+forty productions--the task of Hercules. The product of the man
+attests the nobility of his soul. No man can labor for twenty years
+without putting his stamp upon his work. Shakspere was no bar-room
+brawler, no prodigal spender of time and substance in riotous living.
+He lived to the mature age of fifty-two and died a well-to-do man. The
+prodigals of the world do not retire with a competency. I repeat that
+Shakspere was not impeccable; he was no Puritan; but we cannot think
+of the creator of Hamlet, Ophelia, Othello, Desdemona, Cordelia,
+Portia, Rosalind, Miranda, and Prospero as other than a man of a
+contrite spirit and a pure heart. As he surpassed his contemporaries
+in breadth and loftiness of intellect, so too he surpassed them in the
+reach and vigor of his moral feeling.
+
+We cannot believe that this man who penetrated deeper than others into
+the mystery of life missed the meaning of his own life. Let us hear
+the conclusion of the whole matter--the power that moves the world is
+not brilliancy of intellect; it is purity of heart. Nobility of
+character is the essence of powerful personality. Lincoln is greater
+than Webster, Washington than Jefferson, not through greater mental
+grasp, but because of a purer spiritual essence. The world without
+takes its meaning and color from the world within. Shakspere saw a
+world of pure passion and wholesome sanity because his world within
+was pure and sane.
+
+   [Illustration: JOHN MILTON
+   From a miniature by Faithorne, painted in 1667]
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+JOHN MILTON
+
+
+In 1623, when Milton was a boy of fifteen, John Heminge and Henry
+Condell, "only to keep the memory of so worthy a friend and fellow
+alive as was our Shakspere," had given to the world the folio edition
+of Shakspere's works, very anxious that the said folio might commend
+itself to "the most noble and incomparable pair of brethern," William,
+Earl of this, and Philip, Earl of that, and exceedingly unconscious
+that, next to the production of the works themselves, they were doing
+the most important thing done, or likely to be done, in the literary
+history of the world. Milton read Shakspere, and in the lines which he
+wrote upon him in 1630, there seems to be the due throb of
+transcendent admiration....
+
+As Shakspere is the supreme name in this order of poets, the men of
+sympathy and of humor, Milton stands first in that other great order
+which is too didactic for humor, and of which Schiller is the best
+recent representative. He was called the lady of his college not only
+for his beautiful face, but because of the vestal purity and austerity
+of his virtue. The men of the former class are intuitive, passionate,
+impulsive; not steadily conscious of their powers; fitful,
+unsystematic. Their love is ecstasy; their errors are the intoxication
+of joy; their sorrows are the pangs of death....
+
+Milton, the poet of Puritanism, stands out in bold contrast to these
+imperfect characters. From his infancy there was nothing unregulated
+in his life. His father, clearly a superior man, of keen
+Protestantism, successful in business, well skilled in music, soon
+perceived that one of the race of immortals had been born in his
+house. He began, apparently with the conscious and delighted assent of
+his son, to give the young Apollo such an education as Plato might
+have prescribed. An eminently good education it proved to be; only not
+so good, with a view to the production of a world-poet, as that which
+nature, jealous of the Platos and pedagogues, and apt to tumble them
+and their grammatical appurtenances out of the window when she has one
+of her miraculous children in hand, had provided for that Stratford
+lad who came to London broken in character and probably almost broken
+in heart, some forty years earlier, to be a hanger-on of the theaters
+and to mount the intellectual throne of the world. No deer-stealing
+expeditions late o' nights when the moon silvered the elms of
+Charlecote chase; no passionate love affairs and wild boy-marriage.
+
+Milton, carefully grounded in the tongues, went in due course to
+Cambridge University, and during those years when the youthful mind is
+in its stage of richest recipiency, lived among the kind of men who
+haunt seats of learning,--on the whole, the most uninteresting men in
+existence, whose very knowledge is a learned ignorance; not bees of
+industry, who have hoarded information by experience, but
+book-_worms_.... It is important, also, that Milton was never to any
+distracting extent in love. If Shakspere had been a distinguished
+university man, would he have told us of a catch that could "draw
+three souls out of one weaver?" And if the boy of eighteen had not
+been in a fine frenzy about Anne Hathaway, could he have known how
+Juliet and Romeo, Othello and Desdemona, loved?
+
+... It is a proof of the fiery and inextinguishable nature of Milton's
+genius that it triumphed over the artificiality of his training; that
+there is the pulse of a true poetical life in his most highly wrought
+poems, and that the whole mountain of his learning glows with the
+strong internal flame. His inspiration was from within, the
+inspiration of a profound enthusiasm for beauty and an impassioned
+devotion to virtue. The district in which he lived during much of his
+most elaborate self-education is not marked enough to have disturbed,
+by strong impressions from without, the development of his genius from
+within. Horton lies where the dead flat of southeastern Buckingham
+meets the dead flat of southwestern Middlesex. Egham Hill, not quite
+so high as Hampstead, and the chalk knoll on which Windsor Castle
+fails to be sublime, are the loftiest ground in the immediate
+neighborhood. Staines, the Pontes of the Romans, and Runnymede with
+its associations, are near the parish church of Horton, in which
+Milton worshiped for five or six years, and in which his mother is
+buried, has one of the Norman porches common in the district, but is
+drearily heavy in its general structure, and forms a notable contrast
+to that fine example of the old English church in which, by the
+willows of Avon, lie Shakspere's bones. The river Colne breaks itself,
+a few miles to the north, into a leash of streams, the most
+considerable of which flows by Horton. The abounding watercourses are
+veiled with willows, but the tree does not seem to have attracted
+Milton's attention. It was reserved for the poet-painter of the _Liber
+Studiorum_ to show what depths of homely pathos, and what exquisite
+picturesqueness of gnarled and knotted line, could be found in a
+pollard willow, and for Tennyson to reveal the poetic expressiveness
+of the tree as denoting a solemn and pensive landscape, such as that
+amid whose "willowy hills and fields" rose the carol
+
+                    ... mournful, holy,
+    Chaunted loudly, chaunted lowly,
+    Till her blood was frozen slowly,
+    And her eyes were darkened wholly,
+
+of the Lady of Shalott....
+
+Milton's bodily appearance at this time was in brilliant
+correspondence with the ideal which imagination might form of a
+youthful poet. Perfect in all bodily proportions, an accomplished
+fencer, with delicate flowing hair, and beautiful features through
+which genius, still half in slumber, shed its mystic glow, he was all
+that the imagination of Greece saw in the young Hyperion or Apollo.
+
+... His three daughters, Anne, Deborah, and Mary, were the children of
+his first wife. He was twice married after her death in 1653, but had
+no more children. So early as 1644 his sight began to fail, and when
+his little girls were left motherless, they could be known to him, as
+Professor Masson touchingly says, "only as tiny voices of complaint
+going about in the darkness." The tiny voices did not move him to love
+or pity. His impatient and imperious nature had doubtless undergone
+exquisite misery from the moaning discontent of his wife; the
+daughters took the mother's part so soon as they were able to
+understand her sorrows; and the grave Puritan displeasure with which
+Milton regards the mother seems to have been transferred to the
+children. His austerity as a Puritan and a pedagogue, and the worse
+than old Hebrew meanness of his estimate of women, appear to the
+greatest disadvantage in connection with his daughters. Had they been
+sons, he would have thrown all his ardor into the enterprise of their
+education. The training of boys was one of his enthusiasms; but his
+daughters were taught nothing except to read, and were ordered to read
+aloud to him in languages of which they did not understand a word.
+Naturally they never loved him; his fame, which they were not able to
+appreciate, cast on them no ray of comforting light; and they thought
+probably in sad and scared bewilderment of the relations between their
+unhappy wraith-like mother, and their Titan father. How different the
+warm and tender relations between Shakspere and his children! In that
+instance it was the daughter, the pet Judith, that was the demure
+sweet Puritan, yet with a touch of her father's wit in her, and able
+to enjoy all the depth of his smile when he would ask her whether
+cakes and ale were to be _quite_ abolished when the reign of the
+saints came in.
+
+... To the man himself we turn, for one brief glance before laying
+down the pen. In the evil times of the Restoration, in the land of
+the Philistines, Agonistes but unconquerable, the Puritan Samson ended
+his days. Serene and strong; conscious that the ambition of his youth
+had been achieved, he begins the day with the Hebrew Bible, listens
+reverently to words in which Moses or David or Isaiah spake of God.
+But he attends no church, belongs to no communion, and has no form of
+worship in his family; notable circumstances which we may refer, in
+part at least, to his blindness, but significant of more than that.
+His religion was of the spirit, and did not take kindly to any form.
+Though the most Puritan of the Puritan, he had never stopped long in
+the ranks of any Puritan party, or given satisfaction to Puritan
+ecclesiastics and theologians. In his youth he loved the night; in his
+old age he loves the sunlight of early morning as it glimmers on his
+sightless eyes. The music which had been his delight since childhood
+has still its charm, and he either sings or plays on the organ or
+bass-violin every day. In his gray coat, at the door of his house in
+Bunhill Fields, he sits on clear afternoons; a proud, ruggedly genial
+old man, with sharp satiric touches in his talk, the untunable fiber
+in him to the last. Eminent foreigners come to see him; friends
+approach reverently, drawn by the splendor of his discourse. It would
+range, one can well imagine, in glittering freedom, like "arabesques
+of lightning," over all ages and all literatures. He was the prince of
+scholars; a memory of superlative power waiting, as submissive
+handmaid, on the queenliest imagination. The whole spectacle of
+ancient civilization, its cities, its camps, its landscapes, was
+before him. There he sat in his gray coat, like a statue cut in
+granite. England had made a sordid failure, but he had not failed. His
+soul's fellowship was with the great Republicans of Greece and Rome,
+and with the Psalmist and Isaiah and Oliver Cromwell.
+
+       --From Peter Bayne in the _Contemporary Review_.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+CHARLES LAMB, THE CLERK OF THE INDIA HOUSE
+
+
+The author of the _Essays of Elia_ and _Tales Founded on the Plays of
+Shakspere_ worked for the greater part of his life in the employ of
+the Honorable East India Company. He received his appointment in 1792,
+the year of the birth of Shelley. He had been trained at Christ's
+Hospital for a university career; this gave him a good classical
+education but not especially good preparation for his new work. Had he
+been obliged to pass a civil service examination he would hardly have
+received the appointment. Of geography and arithmetic he knew little.
+The schoolboy of to-day will be surprised to learn that a boy a
+hundred and more years ago might reach the age of fifteen in a good
+grammar school of that period and yet not be able to use the
+multiplication table. As late as 1823 Lamb writes: "I think I lose a
+hundred pounds a year owing solely to my want of neatness in making up
+accounts: how I puzzle 'em out at last is the wonder!" There is no
+evidence, however, to show that Lamb did not overcome his lack of
+preparation. The contrary impression sometimes prevails, due, perhaps,
+to his supposed apology for his late arrival by his representation
+that he made up for it by a correspondingly early departure. His
+industry must have been appreciated, for his salary rose from nothing
+to a fair figure.
+
+The modern young man, desirous of earning a good salary at once, will
+be surprised at the statement that Lamb worked for nothing at first.
+He will be still more surprised to learn that in those days a clerk in
+the employ of the great India Company worked three years for nothing.
+This period evidently was considered as the apprenticeship. It is true
+a gratuity of 30 pounds was given, and by extra work one might earn
+small sums. In April, 1795, three years having ended, he received a
+salary of 40 pounds a year. The next year it rose to 70. By 1799 it
+had advanced to 90, and from then on to 1814 he received an increment
+of ten pounds every two years. He also received a gratuity each year.
+The gratuity by 1814 had amounted to 80 pounds. After a reorganization
+of the company in 1815 Lamb seems to have progressed in salary, for he
+then received 480 pounds, and in 1821 it was 700; and at the time of
+his retirement it was 730.
+
+On the whole, one can say that Lamb's lot was not a hard one. No
+doubt, many of his fellow-authors had reason to envy him his assured
+income. His work was hard and not always pleasant, but he knew, with
+all his half-pretended grumbling, that it would not be wise to rely on
+his pen for a livelihood. He once remonstrated with the poetical
+Quaker, Bernard Barton, who proposed to give up a bank-clerkship, in
+this wise: "Trust not the public; I bless every star that Providence,
+not seeing good to make me independent, has seen it next good to
+settle me down on the stable foundation of Leadenhall.... Henceforth
+I retract all my fond complaints of mercantile employments; look upon
+them as lovers' quarrels. I was but half in earnest. Welcome, dead
+timber of a desk that makes me live! a little grumbling is a wholesome
+medicine for the spleen; but in my inner heart do I improve and
+embrace this our close but unharassing way of life."
+
+That his work was no sinecure can be gathered from this letter of
+about 1815: "On Friday I was at office from ten in the morning (two
+hours dinner excepted) to eleven at night; last night till nine. My
+business and office business in general have increased so; I don't
+mean I am there every night, but I must expect a great deal of it. I
+never leave till four, and do not keep a holiday now once in ten
+times, where I used to keep all red-letter days and some five days
+besides, which I used to dub nature's holidays.... I had formerly
+little to do.... Hard work and thinking about it taints even the
+leisure hours--stains Sunday with workday contemplations."
+
+After thirty-three years of service he was granted by his company a
+pension of 450 pounds. On the minutes of the Court of Directors can be
+found the following resolution: "that the resignation of Mr. Charles
+Lamb, of the accountant-general's office, on account of certified
+ill-health be accepted, and it appearing that he has served the
+company faithfully for thirty-three years ... he be allowed a pension
+of 450 pounds annually."
+
+When the resolution was communicated to him he went home to enjoy one
+long holiday of leisure and literary study and authorship. "I am
+Retired Leisure.... I have worked task work, and have the rest of the
+day to myself." But his day did not last many years. "Lamb was but
+fifty when he quitted the service of the company; yet less than ten
+years of life were left to him. Not only so, but the happiness he had
+expected to find proved more and more elusive. The increasing
+frequency of his sister's aberration was a heavy burden for a back
+which grew daily less able to bear the strain. The leisure to which he
+had looked forward so eagerly was spent in listening to incoherent
+babblings, that rambling chat which was to him 'better than the sense
+and sanity of this world.' In her lucid intervals they played picquet
+together, or talked gravely but firmly of the inevitable separation
+looming nearer and nearer. In 1830 Hazlitt died. Four years later that
+'great and dear spirit,' Coleridge, passed away after long suffering.
+The blow to Lamb was stunning in its severity; and the loss of this
+earliest and best-loved friend possibly accelerated his own decease.
+Towards the close of the year a fall while walking caused a trifling
+wound. No harm was expected to result; but the general feebleness of
+his health brought on erysipelas, and upon Saturday, January 3, 1835,
+he was borne to his rest in a quiet corner of Edmonton Church-yard,
+there to await the coming, twelve years later, of the sister who had
+been throughout his life at once his greatest joy and his chiefest
+care."
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+DR. JOHNSON AND CHARLES LAMB
+
+
+Between Johnson and Lamb there would seem to be little in common. The
+ponderous old philosopher, "tearing his meat like a tiger, and
+swallowing his tea in oceans," presents a picture very dissimilar to
+that of the stammering Lamb whom Coleridge has well called the
+"gentle-hearted Lamb." And yet there are many points of similarity.
+
+Perhaps the most striking resemblance is in respect to their
+generosity. The unfailing testimony of all their friends is that
+neither could restrain the impulse to give. The celebrated De Quincey
+is led to characterize Lamb's munificence as _princely_, while
+Procter, one of his younger friends, simply says, "he gave away
+greatly." On the other hand, the testimony in regard to the generosity
+of Johnson is equally strong. He was so open-hearted that he could not
+trust himself to go upon the street with much money in his purse.
+Neither Lamb nor Johnson believed in the modern methods of attending
+to charitable giving through the mediation of boards and committees.
+Each violated the commonest precepts of a coldblooded political
+economy. If want and suffering were depicted upon the face of the
+mendicant, that was enough to call for the open purse. What if the
+beggar did look like a thief or drunkard? He might spend the money for
+gin or tobacco, but what of that? "Why should they be denied such
+sweeteners of their existence?" was Johnson's indulgent plea. This
+stern moralist so much enjoyed giving that he doubtless would have
+regretted the passing of laws prohibiting the beggar from plying his
+vocation in public. So too would the genial Elia, who obeyed his own
+precept of "give and ask no questions."
+
+While returning to his lodgings after midnight Johnson would often
+drop pennies into the hands of poor children sleeping on the
+thresholds and stalls, to furnish them with the means for a breakfast.
+This was done at a time when he was living on pennies himself.
+"Reader," pleads Elia in his _Praise of Chimney Sweepers_, "if thou
+meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to
+give him a penny--it is better to give him a twopence." And then Lamb
+describes the choice and fragrant drink, _Saloop_, the delight of the
+sweep, a basin of which together with a slice of delicate bread and
+butter will cost but a twopence. As we read the description we have no
+hesitancy in believing that the "unpennied sweep" frequently became a
+pennied sweep after the gentle Elia had passed by.
+
+Goldsmith once remarked that to be miserable was enough to insure the
+protection of Johnson. This generous quality of mind filled the house
+of Johnson with a queer assortment of pensioners. Had Lamb's home life
+permitted, equally full of the needy and homeless would it have been.
+In 1796 occurred the terrible tragedy that we may permit Lamb himself
+to describe in his letter to Coleridge,--"White, or some of my
+friends, or the public papers by this time may have informed you of
+the terrible calamities that have fallen on our family. I will only
+give you the outlines: My poor, dear, dearest sister, in a fit of
+insanity, has been the death of her own mother. I was at hand only
+time enough to snatch the knife out of her grasp. She is at present in
+a madhouse, from which I fear she must be moved to an hospital.... My
+poor father was slightly wounded, and I am left to take care of him
+and my aunt.... God Almighty have us well in his keeping!" Lamb
+assumed the tender care of his sister, and his watchfulness and loving
+care are more beautiful than the most charming essay he ever wrote.
+But this condition at home prevented that generous open-hearted
+hospitality so characteristic of Johnson. As it was he contributed to
+the support of several. For a long period he gave thirty pounds a year
+to his old schoolmistress. Telfourd relates that when Lamb saw the
+nurse who had waited on Coleridge during his last illness, he forced
+five guineas on her. Equally impulsive was his manner toward Procter,
+whom he one time noticed to be in low spirits and imagined the cause
+to be lack of money. "My dear boy," said he suddenly turning toward
+his friend, "I have a quantity of useless things, I have now in my
+desk a--a hundred pounds--that I don't _know_ what to do with. Take
+it."
+
+Some years ago when comparing these two men a Mr. Roose wrote in
+concluding his paper: "We are all familiar with Johnson's huge,
+ungainly form, arrayed in brown suit more or less dilapidated,
+singed, bushy wig, black stockings, and mean old shoes. A quaint
+little figure, Lamb comes before our vision, in costume uncontemporary
+and as queer as himself, consisting of a suit of black cloth (they
+both affected dark colors), rusty silk stockings shown from the knees,
+thick shoes a mile too large, shirt with a wide, ill-plaited frill,
+and tiny white neckcloth tied in a minute bow."
+
+It is pleasant to fancy these two originals being brought into
+personal contact. Nor is it hard, for all the tokens to the contrary,
+to imagine Elia taking the grand, humane old doctor into his embrace
+(a huger armful than his beloved folios), sitting up with him o'
+nights, as he did with them, delighting in the humor of his
+conversation, which was said by a contemporary to be unequaled except
+by the old comedians, in whom Lamb's spirit found diversion; piercing
+to heights and depths in his nature which Boswell never revealed to
+him; while Johnson, it may safely be inferred, would have loved this
+"poor Charles," in whom Carlyle could perceive but so slender a strain
+of worth. But had they met at all, it would have been on equal terms.
+Goldsmith maintained with difficulty, though he did maintain, his
+attitude of independence towards the colossus of his age. Charles
+Lamb, without any difficulty and without the show of assertiveness,
+would have maintained it better. Lamb, who from earliest manhood
+refused to knock under to the threatening intellectual arrogance of
+Coleridge; who shook Wordsworth by the nose instead of by the hand
+with the greeting, "How d'ye do, old Lake Poet!"--his stammering voice
+might have broken with impunity on the doctor's weightiest utterances
+with the absurdest quips and twists of speech of which even he was
+capable. Yet both were of wayward nature, and had they met might not
+have coalesced.
+
+Lamb would have understood Johnson better than Johnson would have
+understood the whimsicalities of the witty clerk. At one time while
+discussing authors with friends Lamb said,--"There is Dr. Johnson: I
+have no curiosity; no strange uncertainty about him."
+
+Johnson's restraint in the use of alcoholic drinks is in contrast with
+Lamb's indulgence. But Johnson's intemperate tea-drinking makes him
+one with Lamb in his struggle with tobacco. In writing to Coleridge
+for advice on smoking, Lamb asks: "What do you think of smoking? I
+want your sober _average noon opinion_ of it.... May be the truth is,
+that _one_ pipe is wholesome, _two_ pipes toothsome, _three_ pipes
+noisome, _four_ pipes fulsome, _five_ pipes quarrelsome; and that's
+the _sum_ on't. But that is deciding rather upon rhyme than reason."
+And Telfourd tells us that when Parr saw Lamb puffing like some
+furious enchanter, he asked how he had acquired the power of smoking
+at such a rate. Lamb replied, "I toiled after it, sir, as some men
+toil after virtue."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE DEATH OF DR. JOHNSON
+
+
+By common consent Boswell's _Life of Johnson_ takes first place as a
+biography. Some critics go so far as to say that the excellence of the
+biography is to be accounted for by the deficiency in the character of
+Boswell; that Boswell was such a blind and whole-souled worshiper of
+Johnson that he exposed the faults of his subject with the same zeal
+with which he published the virtues. This may be true. Whether true or
+not, it is not an altogether bad quality. Many of us think that the
+biographies of our modern men of letters would have more vivacity and
+lifelikeness were they to contain an occasional glimpse of the hero
+when he is not on the parade ground. The biography of Tennyson by his
+son, Lord Hallam, would be far more convincing had the son given us
+occasional pictures of the poet when he was not at his best. But,
+perhaps, it is too much to hope that a reverent and admiring son can
+give the world a vital, impartial, and comprehensive life of his
+father.
+
+Boswell has given us a full account of Johnson's last days. The gruff
+old lexicographer had lived a robust life; he had faced many
+temptations, and had not always retired from the conflict victorious.
+On the whole, however, he had lived an exemplary life, but like many
+another good man he had a dread of dying; he feared he might not meet
+the last foe as worthily as a man of his character and reputation
+should. But this was a groundless fear. For when the last illness was
+upon him, he asked his physician to tell him plainly whether there was
+any hope of his recovery. The doctor first asked his patient whether
+he could hear the whole truth, whatever it might be. Upon hearing an
+affirmative reply, the physician declared that in his opinion nothing
+short of a miracle would restore health.
+
+"Then," said Johnson, "I will take no more physic, not even my
+opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul unclouded."
+
+A brother of Boswell's wrote the following letter concerning the last
+hours of Johnson:
+
+"The Doctor, from the time that he was certain his death was near,
+appeared to be perfectly resigned, was seldom or never fretful or out
+of temper, and often said to his faithful servant, who gave me this
+account, 'Attend, Francis, to the salvation of your soul, which is the
+object of greatest importance:' he also explained to him passages in
+the Scripture, and seemed to have pleasure in talking upon religious
+subjects.
+
+"On Monday, the 13th of December, the day on which he died, a Miss
+Morris, daughter to a particular friend of his, called, and said to
+Francis, that she begged to be permitted to see the doctor, that she
+might earnestly request him to give her his blessing. Francis went
+into the room, followed by the young lady, and delivered the message.
+The doctor turned himself in the bed, and said, 'God bless you, my
+dear!' These were the last words he spoke. His difficulty of breathing
+increased till about seven o'clock in the evening, when Mr. Barber and
+Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in the room, observed that the noise
+he made in breathing had ceased, went to the bed, and found he was
+dead."
+
+This account, together with several others given by various friends,
+assures us that the death of Johnson was trustful and tranquil. It is
+another illustration of that beautiful dispensation of nature which,
+as a rule, makes death a mere slipping away, a falling asleep. The
+Francis who is mentioned in the letter is the faithful negro servant
+whom Johnson so generously provided for in his will. In making his
+will the doctor had asked a friend how much of an annuity gentlemen
+usually gave to a favorite servant, and was told that in the case of a
+nobleman fifty pounds a year was considered an adequate reward for
+many years of faithful service:
+
+"Then," said Johnson, "shall I be _nobilissimus_, for I mean to leave
+Frank seventy pounds a year, and I desire you to tell him so."
+
+This generosity was too much for the equanimity of Sir John Hawkins,
+one of the executors of the will, who, when he found that this negro
+servant would receive about fifteen hundred pounds, including an
+annuity of seventy pounds a year, grumbled and muttered "a caveat
+against ostentatious bounty and favor to negroes." But however much
+the Sir Johns may grumble, we cannot think the less of Johnson for his
+kindness in remembering a faithful and deserving servant.
+
+Johnson's refusal to take either wine or opiates recalls that in an
+age in which the use of alcoholic drinks was very common he was an
+uncompromising foe to wine, and that he was, in his latter years, loud
+in his praise of water. "As we drove back to Ashbourne," says Boswell,
+"Dr. Johnson recommended to me, as he had often done, to drink water
+only. 'For,' said he, 'you are then sure not to get drunk; whereas if
+you drink wine, you are never sure.'" And this was not the only matter
+in which he was in advance of his contemporaries, and of most of ours
+too. Johnson liked satisfying food, such as a leg of pork, or veal pie
+well stuffed, with plum pie and sugar, and he devoured enormous
+quantities of fruit, especially peaches. His inordinate love of tea
+has almost passed into a proverb,--he has actually been credited with
+twenty-five cups at a sitting, and he would keep Mrs. Thrale brewing
+it for him till four o'clock in the morning. The following impromptu,
+spoken to Miss Reynolds, points its own moral:
+
+    For hear, alas, the dreadful truth,
+      Nor hear it with a frown:
+    Thou can'st not make the tea so fast
+      As I can gulp it down.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+GRAY WRITES THE ELEGY
+
+
+Recently I was conversing with a practical man of affairs who had just
+returned from his first visit to Europe. Art galleries had proved
+tiresome and Westminster Abbey had bored him. But there was one place
+that he had determined to see and see it he did.
+
+"What place was that?" I asked.
+
+"Stoke Pogis," was the reply.
+
+Is not this answer indicative of the attitude of thousands who can
+never forget the exquisite charm cast over their youth by the
+melancholy beauty of the _Elegy in a Country Church-yard_? If fame was
+the end of General Wolfe's ambition, he was wise in saying that he
+would rather have written the _Elegy_ than be able to take Quebec on
+the morrow; for of all English poems the _Elegy_ is the most popular
+and widely known; it is the flower of the "literature of melancholy."
+The _Elegy_ is the glorification of the obscure; therein lies its
+popularity. The most of us are obscure. The _Elegy_ flatters us by
+suggesting that we might have swayed the rod of empire or "waked to
+ecstasy the living lyre," if we had had the chance,--or, what we think
+is more likely the explanation, if we had not had a saner insight into
+the values of life than the Miltons and Cromwells.
+
+Stoke Pogis is always associated with the name of Gray. It is a
+village, if such it may be called, between London and Windsor Castle.
+The church is "on a little level space about four miles north of the
+Thames at Eton. From the neighborhood of the church no vestige of
+hamlet or village is visible, and the aspect of the place is slightly
+artificial, like a rustic church in a park on a stage. The traveler
+almost expects to see the grateful peasantry of an opera, cheerfully
+habited, make their appearance, dancing on the greensward."
+
+Gray and his mother, the father having died in 1741, went to Stoke
+Pogis in 1742. At West End House, a simple farmhouse of two stories,
+Gray lived for many years. In the autumn of 1742 was begun the _Elegy
+in a Country Church-yard_. The common impression is that the whole
+poem was written at Stoke Pogis, but this is not the truth. It is
+better to say that it was begun in October or November at Stoke Pogis,
+continued seven years later at the same place and at Cambridge, and
+finished at Stoke Pogis on June 12th, 1750. It is interesting to note
+that in each case an impetus was given to the composition of the poem
+by the death of a friend. Several months before the poem was begun in
+1742, West, a friend whose death made a very deep impression upon the
+sensitive nature of Gray, had passed away; and on October 31 Jonathan
+Rogers, an uncle of Gray's, died at Stoke Pogis; and when the poem was
+next taken up Gray was mourning the death of his aunt. In commenting
+on this subject Mr. Gosse writes,--"He was a man who had a very
+slender hold on life himself, who walked habitually in the Valley of
+the Shadow of Death, and whose periods of greatest vitality were
+those in which bereavement proved to him that, melancholy as he was,
+even he had something to lose and to regret."
+
+On the 12th of June, 1750, Gray wrote to his friend, Horace
+Walpole,--"Having put an end to a thing whose beginning you have seen
+long ago, I immediately send it to you. You will, I hope, look upon it
+in the light of a thing with an end to it: a merit that most of my
+writings have wanted, and are like to want." Walpole was naturally
+delighted with the poem--so delighted, in fact, that he handed it
+about from friend to friend and even made manuscript copies of it.
+This caused some embarrassment to the poet. In February, 1751, he was
+annoyed to find that the publisher of the _Magazine of Magazines_ was
+actually printing his _Elegy_ in his periodical. So Gray immediately
+wrote to Walpole: "As I am not at all disposed to be either so
+indulgent or so correspondent as they desire, I have but one bad way
+to escape the honor they would inflict upon me: and therefore am
+obliged to desire you would make Dodsley print it immediately (which
+may be done in less than a week's time) from your copy, but without my
+name, in what form is most convenient for him, but on his best paper
+and character; he must correct the press himself, and print it without
+any interval between the stanzas, because the sense is in some places
+continued without them." On the 16th of February, only five days after
+this letter was received, _An Elegy wrote in a Country Church-yard_
+appeared as a large quarto pamphlet, anonymous, price sixpence.
+
+From the very first it achieved great popularity. Magazine after
+magazine published it without giving the author any compensation.
+Gray was soon hit upon as the author. Unfortunately, the success of
+the poem gave no increased income to the poet. Dodsley, the publisher,
+is said to have made about a thousand pounds from the various poems of
+Gray, but Gray had the impractical idea that it was not dignified for
+a poet to make money from poetry.
+
+In view of this lack of compensation for his poetic writings, it is
+very gratifying to know that during the latter days of his life Gray
+enjoyed the emolument arising from his holding the chair of Modern
+Literature and Modern Languages at Cambridge. This paid him 400 pounds
+a year, and did not require much work, as the office was a sinecure.
+
+One of the biographers points out that this promotion was brought
+about inadvertently through the riotous living of Gray's great enemy,
+Lord Sandwich. Professor Lawrence Brockett, the incumbent of the chair
+of Literature at Cambridge, dined with Lord Sandwich at Hinchinbroke.
+He became so drunk that in riding home to Cambridge he fell from his
+horse and broke his neck. At once five obscure dons made brisk
+application for the vacant place, and Gray, sensitive and lacking the
+arts of the politician, did not expect the place. But the author of
+the _Elegy_ was no longer to be neglected. He soon received a letter
+highly complimenting his work and offering him the professorship. Gray
+accepted and was summoned to court to kiss the hand of the monarch,
+George III. The king made several complimentary remarks to Gray.
+Afterwards when the poet's friends asked Gray to tell them what the
+king had said he replied that the room was so hot and he so
+embarrassed that he really did not know what the king had said.
+
+    Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
+      Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
+    He gave to misery--all he had--a tear,
+      He gained from Heaven--'twas all he wished--a friend.
+
+    No farther seek his merits to disclose,
+      Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,--
+    There they alike in trembling hope repose,--
+      The bosom of his father and his God.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+COWPER AS A LETTER WRITER
+
+
+William Cowper is well known as a poet, having written one of the most
+popular hymns in the English language, and he is also one of the best
+of letter writers. It is commonly said that we have lost the gentle
+art of writing a good letter. When a man can send a postal card from
+Boston to San Francisco for one cent and one from New York to Paris
+for two cents, he is not likely to be so choice in his use of language
+as when he paid a shilling for the privilege of getting a letter. In
+the first letter which is here quoted we find Cowper writing an urgent
+invitation to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, to visit him at Olney.
+
+"And now, my dear, let me tell you once more that your kindness in
+promising us a visit has charmed us both. I shall see you again. I
+shall hear your voice. We shall take walks together. I will show you
+my prospects, the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse and its banks,
+everything that I have described. Talk not of an inn! Mention it not
+for your life! We have never had so many visitors but we could
+accommodate them all, though we have received Unwin and his wife, and
+his sister, and his son, all at once. My dear, I will not let you
+come till the end of May, or beginning of June, because before that
+time my greenhouse will not be ready to receive us, and it is the only
+pleasant room belonging to us. When the plants go out, we go in. I
+line it with mats, and spread the floor with mats; and there you shall
+sit with a bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge of
+honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine; and I will make you a bouquet of
+myrtle every day. Sooner than the time I mention the country will not
+be in complete beauty; and I will tell you what you shall find at your
+first entrance. Imprimis, as soon as you have entered the vestibule,
+if you cast a look on either side of you, you shall see on the right
+hand a box of my making. It is the box in which have been lodged all
+my hares, and in which lodges Puss (Cowper's pet hare) at present. But
+he, poor fellow, is worn out with age and promises to die before you
+can see him. On the right hand stands a cupboard, the work of the same
+author; it was once a dove-cage, but I transformed it. Opposite to you
+stands a table, which I also made. But a merciless servant having
+scrubbed it till it became paralytic, it serves no purpose now but of
+ornament, and all my clean shoes stand under it. On the left hand, at
+the farther end of this superb vestibule, you will find the door of
+the parlor, into which I will conduct you, and where I will introduce
+you to Mrs. Unwin, unless we should meet her before, and where we will
+be as happy as the day is long. Order yourself, my cousin, to the
+_Swan_ at Newport and there you shall find me ready to conduct you to
+Olney. My dear, I have told Homer what you say about casks and urns,
+and have asked him whether he is sure that it is a cask in which
+Jupiter keeps his wine. He swears that it is a cask, and that it will
+never be anything better than a cask to eternity. So if the god is
+content with it, we must even wonder at his taste, and be so
+too.--Adieu! my dearest, dearest cousin,--W.C."
+
+Cowper's letters are not interesting because they treat of the great
+men and important affairs of his day. They are interesting because he
+lived a quiet life and was able in his own way to paint a picture
+treating of the common doings of an apparently unimportant life. Here
+is a picture of an election in the country, or rather of the
+candidates' methods in the old days:
+
+"We were sitting yesterday after dinner, the two ladies and myself,
+very composedly, and without the least apprehension of any such
+intrusion, in our snug parlor, one lady knitting, the other netting,
+and the gentleman winding worsted, when, to our unspeakable surprise,
+a mob appeared before the window, a smart rap was heard at the door,
+the boys halloed, and the maid announced Mr. Grenville. Puss was
+unfortunately let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his
+good friends at his heels, was refused entrance at the grand entry,
+and referred to the back door, as the only possible way of approach.
+Candidates are creatures not very susceptible to affronts, and would
+rather, I suppose, climb in at a window than be absolutely excluded.
+In a minute the yard, the kitchen, and the parlor were filled. Mr.
+Grenville, advancing toward me, shook me by the hand with a degree of
+cordiality that was extremely seducing. As soon as he and as many more
+as could find chairs were seated, he began to open the intent of his
+visit. I told him I had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit.
+I assured him I had no influence, which he was not equally inclined to
+believe, and the less, no doubt, because Mr. Ashburner, the drapier,
+addressing himself to me at that moment, informed me that I had a
+great deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such a treasure
+without knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first assertion by saying
+that if I had any I was utterly at a loss to imagine where it could
+be, or wherein it consisted. Thus ended the conference. Mr. Grenville
+squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He
+kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a
+most loving, kissing, kind-hearted gentleman."
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+GIBBON AND HIS VISIT TO ROME
+
+
+In that celebrated literary club founded by Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua
+Reynolds were Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick, Fox, Gibbon, and Sheridan. Of
+these Gibbon is not the least distinguished. He is an illustrious
+example of what an ordinary personality can accomplish by reason of an
+extraordinary devotion to one purpose. Some few men achieve fame by
+their brilliant versatility; some, as in the case of Samuel Johnson,
+by their commanding personal force; Gibbon has won a permanent place
+in literary history by spending his life in doing one thing. That one
+thing he did so well that E.A. Freeman, one of the prominent
+historians of the nineteenth century, has truthfully said,--"He
+remains the one historian of the eighteenth century whom modern
+research has neither set aside nor threatened to set aside."
+
+In his memoirs Gibbon reveals himself as a man with little dignity or
+heroism. There is a droll story that is apt to suggest itself when one
+thinks of Gibbon. At one time, when asking a dignified lady for her
+hand in marriage, he fell upon his knees in proper lover-like manner.
+Unfortunately Gibbon was so stout that upon her refusal he found
+himself in the embarrassing need of calling in a servant to help him
+to his feet again. Memories such as these, however, cannot blind us to
+the essential worth in the character of the great historian. In the
+light of his consecration to a worthy purpose his life is not without
+its heroism. To write _The History of the Decline and Fall of the
+Roman Empire_ is a monumental achievement. To bend every energy to the
+fulfilling of a high resolve is heroic. From 1764 to 1787 his one aim
+in life was to write a scholarly history that should cover the vast
+field that he had chosen. He may lack that spiritual insight which
+enables one to estimate world movements in the upper regions of
+religion, but he did not lack unfaltering devotion to his purpose. So
+well did he do his work that his six volumes can be found in the
+library of every student of the past. The story is told of a great
+German who learned English in order to read Gibbon in the original.
+
+In the following extract from his Autobiography is found his own
+explanation of the circumstances under which he conceived his vast
+project "amid the ruins of the Capitol," in 1764:
+
+"My temper is not very susceptible of enthusiasm; and the enthusiasm
+which I do not feel, I have ever scorned to affect. But, at the
+distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express the
+strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and
+entered the eternal city. After a sleepless night, I trod, with a
+lofty step, the ruins of the Forum; each memorable spot where Romulus
+stood, or Tully spoke, or Caesar fell, was at once present to my eye;
+and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed before I could
+descend to a cool and minute investigation. My guide was Mr. Byers, a
+Scotch antiquary of experience and taste; but in the daily labor of
+eighteen weeks, the powers of attention were sometimes fatigued, till
+I was myself qualified, in a last review, to select and study the
+capital works of ancient and modern art. Six weeks were borrowed for
+my tour of Naples, the most populous of cities, relative to its size,
+whose luxurious inhabitants seem to dwell on the confines of paradise
+and hell-fire. I was presented to the boy-king by our new envoy, Sir
+William Hamilton, who, wisely diverting his correspondence from the
+Secretary of State to the Royal Society and British Museum, has
+elucidated a country of such inestimable value to the naturalist and
+antiquarian. On my return, I fondly embraced, for the last time, the
+miracles of Rome.... In my pilgrimage from Rome to Loretto I again
+crossed the Apennine; from the coast of the Adriatic I traversed a
+fruitful and populous country, which could alone disprove the paradox
+of Montesquieu, that modern Italy is a desert....
+
+"The use of foreign travel has been often debated as a general
+question; but the conclusion must be finally applied to the character
+and circumstances of each individual. With the education of boys,
+where or how they may pass over some juvenile years with the least
+mischief to themselves or others, I have no concern. But after
+supposing the previous and indispensable requisites of age, judgment,
+a competent knowledge of men and books, and a freedom from domestic
+prejudices, I will briefly describe the qualifications which I deem
+most essential to a traveler. He should be endowed with an active,
+indefatigable vigor of mind and body, which can seize every mode of
+conveyance, and support, with a careless smile, every hardship of the
+road, the weather, or the inn. The benefits of foreign travel will
+correspond with the degrees of these qualifications; but, in this
+sketch, those to whom I am known will not accuse me of framing my own
+panegyric. It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat
+musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare-footed friars
+were singing vespers in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of
+writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind."
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+BURNS FALLS IN LOVE
+
+
+When Robert Burns and his brother were working hard on the Mount
+Oliphant farm, Robert fell in love. This experience, alas, in after
+years became too frequent an occurrence to occasion much comment, for
+the ease with which the poet fell in and out of love was the chief
+fault in a faulty life. But when this episode occurred the boy was
+still an innocent country lad in his fifteenth year, a lad perhaps
+somewhat rude and clownish, at least such is an unfounded tradition.
+Out of the monotony of this life of prosaic toil and drudgery, Burns
+is lifted by the romance which fortunately he has himself described.
+
+"You know," he says, "our country custom of coupling a man and woman
+together as partners in the labors of the harvest. In my fifteenth
+summer my partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than
+myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her
+justice in that language, but you know the Scottish idiom. She was a
+bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to
+herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, which in spite of
+acid disappointment, gin-house prudence, and book-worm philosophy,
+I hold to be the first of human joys here below! How she caught the
+contagion I cannot tell.... Indeed, I did not know myself why I liked
+so much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the evening from
+our labors; why the tones of her voice made my heartstrings thrill
+like an AEolian harp; and especially why my pulse beat such a furious
+ratan when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to pick out the
+cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among her love-inspiring qualities,
+she sung sweetly; and it was her favorite reel to which I attempted
+giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to
+imagine that I could make verses like printed ones, composed by men
+who read Greek and Latin; but my girl sung a song which was said to be
+composed by a country laird's son, on one of his father's maids, with
+whom he was in love; and I saw no reason why I might not rhyme as well
+as he; for, excepting that he could shear sheep and cast peats, his
+father living in the moorlands, he had no more scholar-craft than
+myself. Thus with me began love and poetry."
+
+   [Illustration: ROBERT BURNS
+   From the portrait by Nasmyth]
+
+The song that was due to this boyish passion is called "Handsome
+Nell," and is said to be the first he wrote. It can be found in any
+complete edition of the poet's work. In after years he himself calls
+it puerile and silly, but, while lacking the exquisite perfection of
+Burns' later lyrics, it is far superior to the usual first attempts of
+poets. The last two stanzas run thus:
+
+    A gaudy dress and gentle air
+      May slightly touch the heart;
+    But it's Innocence and Modesty
+      That polishes the dart.
+
+    'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
+      'Tis this enchants my soul!
+    For absolutely in my breast
+      She reigns without control.
+
+"I composed it," says Burns, "in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and to
+this hour I never recollect it but my heart melts, my blood sallies at
+the remembrance."
+
+Poor Burns! How much happier he would have been had all his loves been
+as innocent as this first experience! In one of Tennyson's most
+vigorous passages in the _Idylls_ we read,
+
+                      ... for indeed I knew
+    Of no more subtle master under heaven
+    Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
+    Not only to keep down the base in man,
+    But teach high thoughts, and amiable words
+    And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
+    And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
+
+Perhaps, if Burns in a later love affair had been successful in his
+suit, his life and reputation would not have suffered as they have,
+for the most culpable trait in the character of the famous Scotch poet
+is the ease with which he abandoned one lover for another. He was
+forever falling in love, and there is some evidence to the effect that
+he loved two or three at the same time. There is only too much truth
+in Burns' own lines,
+
+    Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,
+    A mistress still I had aye.
+
+But perhaps all this would have been different had Ellison Begbie, the
+daughter of a small farmer, smiled favorably upon the advances of the
+young farmer from Lochlea. She is said to have been a young woman of
+great charm and liveliness of mind, though not a beauty. In after
+years Burns always spoke of her with the greatest of respect and as
+the one woman, of the many upon whom he had lavished his fickle
+affection, who most likely would have made a pleasant partner for
+life.
+
+His love affair with this young lady took place near the close of his
+twenty-second year. Her refusal seems to have had a malign influence
+upon the career of our poet. Up to this time his love affairs,
+although numerous, were innocent. As his brother Gilbert says, they
+were "governed by the strictest rules of virtue and modesty." But
+henceforth there is a change in the character of Burns. Shortly after
+the fair Ellison had turned a deaf ear to the letters and love-songs
+of the importunate wooer, Robert and his brother Gilbert went to
+Irvine, hoping that in this flax-dressing center they could increase
+their income by dressing the flax raised on their own farm. Here
+Burns, always very susceptible to new influences,--he would not be the
+poet he is had he not been keenly alive and susceptible,--fell under
+the malignant charm of a wild sailor-lad whose habits were loose and
+irregular. "He was," says Burns, "the only man I ever knew who was a
+greater fool than myself, where woman was the presiding star; but he
+spoke of lawless love with levity, which hitherto I had regarded with
+horror. _Here his friendship did me a mischief._"
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+BURNS' FIRST BOOK OF POEMS
+
+
+Burns was in trouble; he had failed as a farmer, and as a young man he
+had wounded the sensibilities of his family. It seemed best to try a
+new life in a new land, so he promised a Mr. Douglas to go to Jamaica
+and become a bookkeeper on his estate there. But where should he get
+the money to pay his passage? There were the poems lying in his
+table-drawer--might they not be published and money be raised by the
+sale? His friends encouraged him to publish them, and what is more to
+the point, they subscribed in advance for a number of the copies. John
+Wilson of Kilmarnock was to do the printing. During May, June, and
+July of 1786 the printer was doing his work. At the end of July the
+volume appeared, and soon the fame of the Ayrshire Plowman was
+established. Let us hear Burns himself give his account of the
+venture:
+
+"I gave up my part of the farm to my brother, and made what little
+preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But, before leaving my native
+country forever, I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my
+productions as impartially as was in my power; I thought they had
+merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever
+fellow, even though it should never reach my ears--a poor
+negro-driver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and gone
+to the world of spirits! I can truly say that _pauvre inconnu_ as I
+then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of my works as I have at
+this moment, when the public has decided in their favor....
+
+"I threw off about six hundred copies, of which I got subscriptions
+for about three hundred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by
+the reception I met with from the public; and besides, I pocketed, all
+expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very
+seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money,
+to procure a passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the
+price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in
+the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for
+
+    'Hungry ruin had me in the wind.'
+
+"I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all
+the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the
+merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell
+of my friends; my chest was on the way to Greenock; I had composed the
+last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, '_The gloomy night is
+gathering fast_,' when a letter from Dr. Blackwood to a friend of mine
+overthrew all my schemes, by opening up new prospects to my poetic
+ambition."
+
+The success of the first edition of his poems was so pronounced that
+Burns soon gave up the idea of going away to Jamaica. Ayrshire was
+flattered to discover that within its borders lived a genuine poet.
+Robert Heron, a young literary man living in that neighborhood, gives
+us an account of the reception of the little book of poems: "Old and
+young, high and low, grave and gay, learned or ignorant, were alike
+delighted, agitated, transported. I was at that time resident in
+Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire, and I can well remember how even
+plowboys and maidservants would have gladly bestowed the wages they
+earned most hardly, and which they wanted to purchase necessary
+clothing, if they might procure the works of Burns."
+
+When Burns wished a second edition of his poems, he had a very poor
+offer from his printer. So he went to Edinburgh to see whether he
+could not make a more advantageous bargain in the Scottish capital. He
+reached that famous city on the 28th of November, 1786. Here he was
+feted and banqueted, admired and criticised. In April, 1787, the
+second edition appeared. The volume was a handsome octavo. The
+Scottish public had subscribed very liberally, and eventually Burns
+received 500 pounds, but Creech, his publisher, was so slow in making
+payments that Burns had to wait a long time before he received his
+due.
+
+Walter Scott was among the many who met Burns during his stay in
+Edinburgh. Scott was but a boy of fifteen, but he never forgot the
+glance of approval bestowed upon him by the poet. We are especially
+fortunate in having Scott's own account of the incident: "As for
+Burns, I may truly say, '_Virgilium vidi tantum_.' I was a lad of
+fifteen when he came to Edinburgh. I saw him one day at the late
+venerable Professor Adam Fergusson's. Of course we youngsters sat
+silent, looked, and listened. The only thing I remember which was
+remarkable in Burns' manner, was the effect produced upon him by a
+print of Bunbury's, representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, his
+dog sitting in misery on one side--on the other his widow, with her
+child in her arms. These lines were written beneath:
+
+    Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,
+    Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain--
+    Bent o'er the babe, her eye dissolved in dew,
+    The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,
+    Gave the sad presage of his future years,
+    The child of misery baptized in tears.
+
+"Burns seemed much affected by the print: he actually shed tears. He
+asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself
+remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's,
+called by the unpromising title of _The Justice of Peace_. I whispered
+my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, who
+rewarded me with a look and a word, which though of mere civility, I
+then received with very great pleasure. His person was strong and
+robust; his manner rustic, not clownish; a sort of dignified plainness
+and simplicity. His countenance was more massive than it looks in any
+of the portraits. I would have taken the poet, had I not known who he
+was, for a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch school--the
+_douce gudeman_ who held his own plow. There was a strong expression
+of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments; the eye alone, I think,
+indicated the poetical character and temperament. It was large, and
+of a dark cast, which glowed (I say literally, glowed) when he spoke
+with feeling or interest. I never saw such another eye in a human
+head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time."
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE IN SCHOOL AND COLLEGE
+
+
+The following affecting narrative, written in Coleridge's person by
+the tender-hearted Elia, gives the best view possible of Coleridge's
+scanty and suffering commencement of life. At that time, it may be
+premised, the dietary of Christ's Hospital was of the lowest:
+breakfast consisting of a "quarter of penny loaf, moistened with
+attenuated small beer in wooden piggins, smacking of the pitched
+leathern jack it was poured from," and the weekly rule giving "three
+banyan-days to four meat days."
+
+"I was a poor, friendless boy; my parents, and those who should have
+cared for me, were far away. Those few acquaintances of theirs, whom
+they could reckon upon being kind to me in the great city, after a
+little forced notice, which they had the grace to take of me on my
+first arrival in town, soon grew tired of my holiday visits. They
+seemed to them to recur too often, though I thought them few enough.
+One after another they all failed me, and I felt myself alone among
+six hundred playmates. Oh the cruelty of separating a poor lad from
+his early homestead! The yearnings which I used to have towards it in
+those unfledged years!... The warm, long days of summer never return
+but they bring with them a gloom from the haunting memory of those
+_whole days' leave_, when, by some strange arrangement, we were turned
+out for the livelong day, upon our own hands, whether we had friends
+to go to or none. I remember those bathing excursions to the New River
+which Lamb recalls with so much relish, better, I think, than he
+can--for he was a home-seeking lad, and did not care much for such
+water-parties. How we would sally forth into the fields, and strip
+under the first warmth of the sun, and wanton like young dace in the
+streams, getting appetites for the noon; which those of us that were
+penniless (our scanty morning crust long since exhausted) had not the
+means of allaying--while the cattle and the birds and the fishes were
+at feed about us, and we had nothing to satisfy our cravings; the very
+beauty of the day and the exercise of the pastime, and the sense of
+liberty setting a keener edge upon them! How faint and languid,
+finally, we would return toward nightfall to our desired morsel, half
+rejoicing, half reluctant, that the hours of uneasy liberty had
+expired!
+
+"It was worse in the days of winter, to go prowling about the streets
+objectless, shivering at cold windows of printshops, to extract a
+little amusement; or haply, as a last resort, in the hope of a little
+novelty, to pay a fifty-times-repeated visit (where our individual
+faces would be as well known to the warden as those of his own
+charges) to the lions in the Tower, to whose _levee_, by courtesy
+immemorial, we had a prescriptive right of admission."
+
+This melancholy and harsh life was, however, ameliorated by some
+curious personal incidents. Once, for example, the solitary boy,
+moving along the crowded streets, fancied, in the strange vividness of
+his waking dream, that he was Leander swimming across the Hellespont.
+His hand "came in contact with a gentleman's pocket" as he pursued
+this visionary amusement, and for two or three minutes Coleridge was
+in danger of being taken into custody as a pickpocket. On finding out
+how matters really stood, however, this stranger--genial, nameless
+soul--immediately gave to the strange boy the advantage of a
+subscription to a library close by, thus setting him up, as it were,
+in life. On another occasion, one of the higher boys, a
+"deputy-Grecian," found him seated in a corner reading Virgil. "Are
+you studying your lesson?" he asked. "No, I am reading for pleasure,"
+said the boy, who was not sufficiently advanced to read Virgil in
+school. This introduced him to the favorable notice of the head-master
+Bowyer, and made of the elder scholar, Middleton by name, a steady
+friend and counselor for years. Yet at this time Coleridge was
+considered by the lower-master, under whom he was, "a dull and inept
+scholar who could not be made to repeat a single rule of syntax,
+although he would give a rule in his own way." The life, however, of
+this great school, with all its injudicious liberties and
+confinements, must have been anything but a healthy one. Starved and
+solitary, careless of play as play, and already full of that consuming
+spiritual curiosity which never left him, Coleridge's devotion to the
+indiscriminate stores of the circulating library gave the last
+aggravation to all the unwholesome particulars of his life. "Conceive
+what I must have been at fourteen," he exclaims. "I was in a continual
+low fever. My whole being was, with eyes closed to every object of
+present sense, to crumple myself up in a sunny corner and read, read,
+read; fancy myself on Robinson Crusoe's island finding a mountain of
+plum-cake, and eating a room for myself, and then eating it into the
+shapes of tables and chairs--hunger, and fancy!" ...
+
+A droll incident occurred about this period of his life, which shows
+... his absolute want of ambition. The friendless boy had made
+acquaintance with a shoemaker and his wife, who had a shop near the
+school, and who were kind to him; and thereupon he conceived the
+extraordinary idea of getting himself apprenticed to his friend, whom
+he persuaded to go to the head-master to make this wonderful proposal.
+"Od's, my life, man, what d'ye mean?" cried the master, with not
+unnatural indignation mingling with his amazement; and notwithstanding
+Coleridge's support of the application, the shoemaker was turned out
+of the place, and the would-be apprentice chosen, "against my will,"
+he says, "as one of those destined for the university." The same
+irascible yet excellent master flogged the boy severely on hearing
+that he boasted of being an infidel....
+
+His next stage in life was not a shoemaker's shop in Newgate Street,
+but Jesus College, Cambridge, which he entered in 1791 at the age of
+nineteen--the object of many high prophecies and hopes on the part of
+his school and schoolfellows, who had unanimously determined that he
+was to be great and do them honor. The first thing he did, however,
+was alas! too common an incident: he got into debt, though not, it
+would appear, for an overwhelming sum, or in any discreditable way. So
+long as his friend of Christ's Hospital, Middleton, remained in
+Cambridge, Coleridge pursued his studies with a great deal of
+regularity and in his first year won the prize for a Greek ode. But
+after awhile his industry slackened, and a kind of dreamy
+idleness--implying no languor of the soul or common reluctance to
+mental work, but rather, it would seem, a disinclination to work in
+the usual grooves, and do what was expected of him--took possession of
+the young scholar. "He was very studious, but his reading was
+desultory and capricious," writes a fellow-student. "He was ready at
+any time to shed his mind in conversation, and for the sake of this
+his rooms were a constant rendezvous of conversation-loving friends.
+What evenings I have spent in these rooms! What little suppers, or
+_sizings_, as they were called, have I enjoyed; when Aeschylus and
+Plato and Thucydides were pushed aside with a pile of lexicons and the
+like, to discuss the pamphlets of the day! Ever and anon a pamphlet
+issued from the pen of Burke. There was no need of having the book
+before us; Coleridge had read it in the morning and in the evening he
+would repeat whole pages _verbatim_."
+
+                 --Adapted from _Blackwood's Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+BYRON AS SWIMMER AND FEASTER
+
+
+In 1858 Trelawney published his _Recollections of the Last Days of
+Shelley and Byron_. In many ways this is a remarkable book. It is the
+one source of information as to the last days of Shelley; concerning
+Byron's, others have furnished material. Trelawney is suspected of
+mingling some fiction with his truth, but the general tendency
+nowadays is to place confidence in these _Recollections_. He may not
+always give us a literal report, but he has likely reproduced the
+spirit. He is much more sympathetic in his treatment of Shelley than
+he is in his account of Byron. Trelawney himself was a remarkable
+character. He lived far into the time of a new generation, dying in
+his eighty-ninth year in 1881. Mary Shelley, in a letter to Maria
+Gisborne, February, 1822, describes him as "A kind of half-Arab
+Englishman.... He is clever: for his moral qualities I am yet in the
+dark. He is a strange web which I am endeavoring to unravel."
+
+In the _Recollections_ occurs this interesting account of Byron:
+
+Byron has been accused of drinking deeply. Our universities,
+certainly, did turn out more famous drinkers than scholars. In the
+good old times, to drink lustily was the characteristic of all
+Englishmen, just as tuft-hunting is now. Eternal swilling, and the
+rank habits and braggadocio manners which it engendered, came to a
+climax in George IV's reign. Since then, excessive drinking has gone
+out of fashion, but an elaborate style of gastronomy has come in to
+fill the void; so there is not much gained. Byron used to boast of the
+quantity of wine he had drunk. He said, "We young Whigs imbibed
+claret, and so saved our constitutions: the Tories stuck to port, and
+destroyed theirs and their country's."
+
+   [Illustration: LORD BYRON
+   From the portrait by T. Phillips]
+
+He bragged, too, of his prowess in riding, boxing, fencing, and even
+walking; but to excel in these things feet are as necessary as hands. It
+was difficult to avoid smiling at his boasting and self-glorification. In
+the water a fin is better than a foot, and in that element he did well;
+he was built for floating,--with a flexible body, open chest, broad beam,
+and round limbs. If the sea was smooth and warm, he would stay in it for
+hours; but as he seldom indulged in this sport, and when he did,
+over-exerted himself, he suffered severely; which observing, and knowing
+how deeply he would be mortified at being beaten, I had the magnanimity
+when contending with him to give in.
+
+He had a misgiving in his mind that I was trifling with him; and one
+day as we were on the shore, and the _Bolivar_ at anchor, about three
+miles off, he insisted on our trying conclusions; we were to swim to
+the yacht, dine in the sea alongside of her, treading water the while,
+and then to return to the shore. It was calm and hot, and seeing he
+would not be fobbed off, we started. I reached the boat a long time
+before he did; ordered the edibles to be ready, and floated until he
+arrived. We ate our fare leisurely, from off a grating that floated
+alongside, drank a bottle of ale, and I smoked a cigar, which he tried
+to extinguish,--as he never smoked. We then put about, and struck off
+towards the shore. We had not got a hundred yards on our passage, when
+he retched violently, and, as that is often followed by cramp, I urged
+him to put his hand on my shoulder that I might tow him back to the
+schooner.
+
+"Keep off, you villain, don't touch me. I'll drown ere I give in."
+
+I answered as Iago did to Roderigo:
+
+"'A fig for drowning! drown cats and blind puppies.' I shall go on
+board and try the effects of a glass of grog to stay my stomach."
+
+"Come on," he shouted, "I am always better after vomiting."
+
+With difficulty I deluded him back; I went on board, and he sat on the
+steps of the accommodation-ladder, with his feet in the water. I
+handed him a wineglass of brandy, and screened him from the burning
+sun. He was in a sullen mood, but after a time resumed his usual tone.
+Nothing could induce him to be landed in the schooner's boat, though I
+protested I had had enough of the water.
+
+"You may do as you like," he called out, and plumped in, and we swam
+on shore.
+
+He never afterwards alluded to this event, nor to his prowess in
+swimming, to me, except in the past tense. He was ill, and kept to his
+bed for two days afterwards.
+
+To return to his drinking propensities, after this digression about
+his gymnastic prowess: I must say, that of all his vauntings, it was,
+luckily for him, the emptiest--that is, after he left England and his
+boon companions, as I know nothing of what he did there. From all that
+I heard or witnessed of his habits abroad, he was and had been
+exceedingly abstemious in eating and drinking. When alone, he drank a
+glass or two of small claret or hock, and when utterly exhausted at
+night, a single glass of grog; which when I mixed it for him I lowered
+to what sailors call "water bewitched," and he never made any remark.
+I once, to try him, omitted the alcohol; he then said, "Tre, have you
+not forgotten the creature comfort?" I then put in two spoonfuls, and
+he was satisfied. This does not look like an habitual toper. His
+English acquaintances in Italy were, he said in derision, all
+milksops. On the rare occasion of any of his former friends visiting
+him, he would urge them to have a carouse with him, but they had grown
+wiser. He used to say that little Tommy Moore was the only man he knew
+who stuck to the bottle and put him on his mettle, adding, "But he is
+a native of the damp isle, where men subsist by suction."
+
+Byron had not damaged his body by strong drinks, but his terror of
+getting fat was so great that he reduced his diet to the point of
+absolute starvation. He was of that soft, lymphatic temperament which
+it is almost impossible to keep within moderate compass, particularly
+as in his case his lameness prevented his taking exercise. When he
+added to his weight, even standing was painful, so he resolved to keep
+down to eleven stone, or shoot himself. He said everything he
+swallowed was instantly converted into tallow and deposited on his
+ribs.
+
+He was the only human being I ever met with who had sufficient
+self-restraint and resolution to resist this proneness to fatten: he
+did so, and at Genoa, where he was last weighed, he was ten stone and
+nine pounds, and looked much less. This was not from vanity about his
+personal appearance, but from a better motive; and as, like Justice
+Greedy, he was always hungry, his merit was the greater. Occasionally
+he relaxed his vigilance, when he swelled apace.
+
+I remember one of his old friends saying, "Byron, how well you are
+looking!" If he had stopped there it had been well, but when he added,
+"You are getting fat," Byron's brow reddened, and his eyes
+flashed--"Do you call getting fat looking well, as if I were a hog?"
+and, turning to me, he muttered, "The beast, I can hardly keep my
+hands off him." The man who thus offended him was the husband of the
+lady addressed as "Genevra," and the original of his "Zuleika," in the
+_Bride of Abydos_. I don't think he had much appetite for his dinner
+that day, or for many days, and never forgave the man who, so far from
+wishing to offend, intended to pay him a compliment.
+
+Byron said he had tried all sorts of experiments to stay his hunger,
+without adding to his bulk. "I swelled," he said, "at one time to
+fourteen stone, so I clapped the muzzle to my jaws, and, like the
+hibernating animals, consumed my own fat."
+
+He would exist on biscuits and soda-water for days together, then, to
+allay the eternal hunger gnawing at his vitals, he would make up a
+horrid mess of cold potatoes, rice, fish, or greens, deluged in
+vinegar, and gobble it up like a famished dog. On either of these
+unsavory dishes, with a biscuit and a glass or two of Rhine wine, he
+cared not how sour, he called feasting sumptuously. Upon my observing
+he might as well have fresh fish and vegetables, instead of stale, he
+laughed and answered:
+
+"I have an advantage over you, I have no palate; one thing is as good
+as another to me."
+
+"Nothing," I said, "disagrees with the natural man; he fasts and
+gorges, his nerves and brain don't bother him; but if you wish to
+live?--
+
+"Who wants to live?" he replied, "not I. The Byrons are a short-lived
+race on both sides, father and mother; longevity is hereditary: I am
+nearly at the end of my tether. I don't care for death a ----; it is
+her sting! I can't bear pain."
+
+His habits and want of exercise damaged him, not drink. It must be
+borne in mind, moreover, that his brain was always working at high
+pressure. The consequences resulting from his way of life were low or
+intermittent fevers; these last had fastened on him in his early
+travels in the Levant; and there is this peculiarity in malarial
+fevers, that if you have once had them, you are ever afterwards
+susceptible to a renewal of their attacks if within their reach, and
+Byron was hardly ever out of it. Venice and Ravenna are belted in with
+swamps, and fevers are rife in the autumn. By starving his body Byron
+kept his brains clear; no man had brighter eyes or a clearer voice;
+and his resolute bearing and prompt replies, when excited, gave to
+his body an appearance of muscular power that imposed on strangers. I
+never doubted, for he was indifferent to life, and prouder than
+Lucifer, that if he had drawn his sword in Greece, or elsewhere, he
+would have thrown away the scabbard.
+
+   [Illustration: PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
+   From a chalk drawing after the original painting by Miss
+   Curran]
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+SHELLEY AS A FRESHMAN
+
+
+If one were to name ten of the greatest English poets beginning with
+Chaucer and ending with Tennyson, the name of Shelley would be
+included, although he died before he was thirty years old. Hogg, a
+friend of Shelley's, has given us an interesting account of their
+meeting when both were freshmen at Oxford.
+
+"At the commencement of Michaelmas Term," writes Hogg, "that is, at
+the end of October in the year 1801, I happened one day to sit next a
+freshman at dinner; it was his first appearance in hall. His figure
+was slight, and his aspect remarkably youthful, even at our table,
+where all were very young. He seemed thoughtful and absent. He ate
+little and had no acquaintance with any one. I know not how we fell
+into conversation, for such familiarity was unusual, and, strange to
+say, much reserve prevailed in a society where there could not
+possibly be occasion for any." This conversation led into a heated
+discussion of the merits of German and Italian literature. When the
+time for leaving the dining hall had come, Hogg invited his new
+acquaintance over to his rooms. During the transit the thread of the
+argument was lost, and while Hogg was lighting the candles Shelley
+frankly said that he was not competent to argue the point, as he had
+little knowledge of either German or Italian literature. Then Hogg
+with equal ingenuousness confessed that he knew but little of Italian
+and nothing of German literature.
+
+So the talk went merrily on. Shelley said it made little difference
+whether Italian or German literature were the more worthy, for all
+literature, what was it but vain trifling? What is the study of
+language but the study of words, of phrases, of the names of things?
+How much better and wiser to study things themselves!
+
+"I inquired," says Hogg, "a little bewildered, how this was to be
+effected. He answered, 'Through the physical sciences, and especially
+through chemistry,' and raising his voice, his face flushing as he
+spoke, he discoursed, with a degree of animation that far outshone his
+zeal in defense of the Germans, of chemistry and chemical analysis."
+While this is going on Hogg studies the youthful speaker. What manner
+of man is this brilliant guest? "It was a sum of many contradictions.
+His figure was slight and fragile, and yet his bones were large and
+strong. He was tall, but he stooped so much that he seemed of low
+stature. His clothes were expensive and made after the most approved
+mode of the day; but they were tumbled, rumpled, unbrushed. His
+gestures were abrupt, and sometimes violent, occasionally even
+awkward, yet more frequently gentle and graceful. His complexion was
+delicate and almost feminine, of the purest red and white; yet he was
+tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn,
+as he said, in shooting. His features, his whole face and
+particularly his head, were, in fact, unusually small, yet the last
+appeared of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in
+fits of absence, and in the agonies (if I may use the word) of anxious
+thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with his hands, or passed his
+fingers quickly through his locks unconsciously, so that it was
+singularly wild and rough. In times when it was the mode to imitate
+stage-coachmen as closely as possible in costume, and when the hair
+was invariably cropped, like that of our soldiers, this eccentricity
+was very striking. His features were not symmetrical (the mouth,
+perhaps, excepted), yet was the effect of the whole extremely
+powerful. They breathed an animation, a fire, an enthusiasm, a vivid
+and preternatural intelligence, that I never met with in any other
+countenance. Nor was the moral expression less beautiful than the
+intellectual, for there was a softness, a delicacy, a gentleness, and
+especially (though this will surprise many) that air of profound
+religious veneration that characterizes the best works, and chiefly
+the frescoes of the great masters of Florence and Rome."
+
+The next day Hogg pays a visit to Shelley's rooms. The furniture was
+new and the walls were freshly papered, but everything in the room was
+in confusion. "Books, boots, papers, shoes, philosophical instruments,
+clothes, pistols, linen, crockery, ammunition, and phials innumerable,
+with money, stockings, prints, crucibles, bags, and boxes, were
+scattered on the floor in every place, as if the young chemist, in
+order to analyze the mystery of creation, had endeavored first to
+reconstruct the primeval chaos. The tables, and especially the carpet,
+were already stained with large spots of various hues, which
+frequently proclaimed the agency of fire. An electrical machine, an
+air pump, the galvanic trough, a solar microscope, and large glass
+jars were conspicuous amidst the mass of matter. Upon the table by his
+side were some books lying open, several letters, a bundle of new
+pens, and a bottle of japan ink, that served as an ink-stand, a piece
+of deal, lately part of the lid of a box, with many chips, and a
+handsome razor that had been used as a knife. There were bottles of
+soda-water, sugar, pieces of lemon, and the traces of an effervescent
+beverage. Two piles of books supported the tongs, and these upheld a
+small glass retort above an argand lamp. I had not been seated many
+minutes before the liquor in the vessel boiled over, adding fresh
+stains to the table, and rising in fumes with a disagreeable odor.
+Shelley snatched the glass quickly, and dashing it in pieces among
+ashes under the grate, increased the unpleasant and penetrating
+effluvium."
+
+Hogg and Shelley soon became fast friends and met every evening. "I
+was enabled," writes Hogg, "to continue my studies in the evening in
+consequence of a very remarkable peculiarity. My young and energetic
+friend was then overcome by extreme drowsiness, which speedily and
+completely vanquished him; he would sleep from two to four hours,
+often so soundly that his slumbers resembled a deep lethargy; he lay
+occasionally upon the sofa, but more commonly stretched upon the rug
+before a large fire, like a cat, and his little round head was
+exposed to such fierce heat, that I used to wonder how he was able to
+bear it. Sometimes I have interposed some shelter, but rarely with any
+permanent effect, for the sleeper usually contrived to turn himself,
+and to roll again into the spot where the fire glowed the brightest.
+His torpor was generally profound, but he would sometimes discourse
+incoherently for a long while in his sleep. At six he would suddenly
+compose himself, even in the midst of an animated narrative or of
+earnest discussion, and he would lie buried in entire forgetfulness,
+in a sweet and mighty oblivion, until ten, when he would suddenly
+start up, and rubbing his eyes with great violence, and passing his
+fingers swiftly through his long hair, would enter at once into a
+vehement argument, or begin to recite verses, either of his own
+composition or from the works of others, with a rapidity and an energy
+that were often quite painful. During the period of his occultation I
+took tea, and read or wrote without interruption. He would sometimes
+sleep for a shorter time, for about two hours, postponing for the like
+period the commencement of his retreat to the rug, and rising with
+tolerable punctuality at ten, and sometimes, though rarely, he was
+able entirely to forego the accustomed refreshment."
+
+After supper, which Shelley would take upon awaking at ten, the two
+friends would talk and read together until two o'clock.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+THE DEATH OF SHELLEY
+
+
+In the Protestant cemetery at Rome one can find in an obscure place a
+plain stone bearing record of Percy Bysshe Shelley, and these lines
+from Shakspere's Tempest:
+
+    Nothing of him that doth fade,
+    But doth suffer a sea-change
+    Into something rich and strange.
+
+And this is the story of how Shelley happens to have a memorial in the
+Roman cemetery:
+
+Shelley was a revolutionist in religion and politics, and
+revolutionists are seldom popular at home. Shelley's lyric poetry is
+unsurpassed, but his theories in some respects will never meet with
+the approval of common-sense humanity. England proved uncomfortable
+and so he left his country to live in other lands. In 1822 we find him
+with his family and a Mr. and Mrs. Williams in Casa Magni, a Roman
+villa in a cove on the bay of Spezzia. Here the poet and his friends
+became very fond of sailing in a boat which had been made for them.
+The boat, which they called the Ariel, was twenty-eight feet long and
+eight feet broad, and this with the assistance of a lad they learned
+to manage fairly well. To Shelley, whose health had been failing, the
+out-of-door life gave renewed vigor.
+
+On the eighth of July, Shelley and Williams, accompanied by a
+sailor-lad, left the harbor of Leghorn to go home to their wives, from
+whom they had been absent for several days. They had gone to Pisa to
+welcome Leigh Hunt to Italy, to meet other friends (among the number
+was Byron), and to do some business. Neither Shelley, Williams, nor
+the lad, was ever seen alive after that day. As we are indebted to
+Hogg for the best pen-pictures of the boy Shelley, so we are indebted
+to Trelawney for the best description of the closing scene. So we
+shall follow Trelawney's account in the main.
+
+Trelawney was in Leghorn and intended to accompany his friends out of
+the harbor in a separate boat, but owing to the refusal of the health
+officer of the harbor he was not allowed to go. As from his own vessel
+he watched the Ariel, containing the small party happy in the thought
+that in seven short hours they should be at home with their loved
+ones, his Genoese mate turned to him and said: "They are standing too
+much in-shore; the current will set them there." "They will soon have
+the land-breeze," replied Trelawney. "Maybe," said the mate, "she will
+soon have too much breeze; that gaff topsail is foolish in a boat with
+no deck and no sailor on board." Then he added as he pointed to the
+southwest, "Look at those black lines and dirty rags hanging on them
+out of the sky; look at the smoke on the water; the devil is brewing
+mischief."
+
+"Although the sun was obscured by mists," Trelawney writes, "it was
+oppressively sultry. There was not a breath of air in the harbor. The
+heaviness of the atmosphere and an unwonted stillness benumbed my
+senses. I went down into the cabin and sank into a slumber. I was
+roused up by a noise overhead, and went on deck. The men were getting
+up another chain-cable to let go another anchor. There was a general
+stir amongst the shipping; shifting berths, getting down yards and
+masts, veering out cables, hauling in of hawsers, letting go anchors,
+hailing from the ships and quays, boats sculling rapidly to and fro.
+It was almost dusk, although only half-past six o'clock. The sea was
+of the color and looked as solid and smooth as a sheet of lead, and
+covered with an oily scum. Gusts of wind swept over without ruffling
+it, and big drops of rain fell on its surface, rebounding, as if they
+could not penetrate it. There was a commotion in the air, made up of
+many threatening sounds, coming upon us from the sea. Fishing craft
+and coasting vessels, under bare poles, rushed by us in shoals,
+running foul of the ships in the harbor. As yet the din and hubbub was
+that made by men, but their shrill pipings were suddenly silenced by
+the crashing voice of a thunder-squall that burst right over our
+heads. For some time no other sounds were to be heard than the
+thunder, wind, and rain. When the fury of the storm, which did not
+last for more than twenty minutes, had abated and the horizon was in
+some degree cleared, I looked to sea anxiously, in the hope of
+descrying Shelley's boat amongst the many small craft scattered about.
+I watched every speck that loomed on the horizon, thinking that they
+would have borne up on their return to the port, as all the other
+boats that had gone out in the same direction had done."
+
+Then followed a period of painful suspense. Were they safe or had they
+gone down? On the third day Trelawney went to Pisa to ascertain
+whether any one had heard anything of Shelley. "I told my fears to
+Hunt," he writes, "and then went upstairs to Byron. When I told him
+his lip quivered, and his voice faltered as he questioned me."
+
+And what of the wives at Casa Magni awaiting the return of their
+husbands? Let one of the two tell the story. Mary is the wife of
+Shelley, and Jane is Mrs. Williams.
+
+"Yet I thought when he, when my Shelley returns, I shall be happy--he
+will comfort me; if my boy be ill, he will restore him and encourage
+me.... Thus a week passed. On Monday, 8th, Jane had a letter from
+Edward dated Saturday; he said that he waited at Leghorn for Shelley,
+who was at Pisa; that Shelley's return was certain; 'but,' he
+continued, 'if I should not come by Monday, I will come in a felucca,
+and you may expect me on Thursday evening at furthest.'
+
+"This was Monday, the fatal Monday, but with us it was stormy all day,
+and we did not at all suppose that they could put to sea. At twelve at
+night we had a thunder-storm. Tuesday it rained all day and was
+calm--the sky wept on their graves. On Wednesday, the wind was fair
+from Leghorn, and in the evening several feluccas arrived thence. One
+brought word they had sailed Monday, but we did not believe them.
+Thursday was another day of fair wind, and when twelve at night came,
+and we did not see the tall sails of the little boat double the
+promontory before us, we began to fear, not the truth, but some
+illness, some disagreeable news for their detention."
+
+"Jane got so uneasy that she determined to proceed the next day to
+Leghorn in a boat to see what was the matter. Friday came and with it
+a heavy sea and bad wind. Jane, however, resolved to be rowed to
+Leghorn, since no boat could sail, and busied herself in preparation.
+I wished her to wait for letters, since Friday was letter-day. She
+would not, but the sea detained her; the swell rose so that no boat
+would endure out. At twelve at noon our letters came; there was one
+from Hunt to Shelley; it said, 'Pray write to tell us how you got
+home, for they say that you had bad weather after you sailed on Monday
+and we are anxious.' The paper fell from me. I trembled all over. Jane
+read it. 'Then it is all over,' she said. 'No, my dear Jane,' I cried,
+'it is not all over, but this suspense is dreadful. Come with me--we
+will go to Leghorn, we will post, to be swift and learn our fate.'
+
+"We crossed to Lerici ... we posted to Pisa. It must have been fearful
+to see us--two poor, wild, aghast creatures, driving (like Matilda)
+towards the sea to learn if we were to be forever doomed to misery. I
+knew that Hunt was at Pisa, at Lord Byron's house, but I thought that
+Lord Byron was at Leghorn. I settled that we should drive to Casa
+Lanfranchi, that I should get out and ask the fearful question of
+Hunt, 'Do you know anything of Shelley?' On entering Pisa, the idea of
+seeing Hunt for the first time for four years under such circumstances
+and asking him such a question was so terrific to me that it was with
+difficulty that I prevented myself from going into convulsions. My
+struggles were dreadful. They knocked at the door and some one called
+out, 'Chi e?' It was the Guiccioli's maid. Lord Byron was in Pisa.
+Hunt was in bed, so I was to see Lord Byron instead of him. This was a
+great relief to me. I staggered upstairs; the Guicciola came to meet
+me smiling, while I could hardly say, 'Where is he--Sapete alcuna cosa
+di Shelley?' They knew nothing; he had left Pisa on Sunday; on Monday
+he had sailed; there had been bad weather Monday afternoon; more they
+knew not."
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+THE SCHOOL-DAYS OF JOHN KEATS
+
+
+In the village of Enfield, in Middlesex, ten miles on the North Road
+from London, my father, John Clarke, says Charles Cowden Clarke in
+_The Gentleman's Magazine_, kept a school. The house had been built by
+a West India merchant in the latter end of the seventeenth or
+beginning of the eighteenth century. It was of the better character of
+the domestic architecture of that period, the whole front being of the
+purest red brick, wrought by means of molds into rich designs of
+flowers and pomegranates, with heads of cherubim over niches in the
+center of the building. The elegance of the design and the perfect
+finish of the structure were such as to procure its protection when a
+branch railway was brought from the Ware and Cambridge line to
+Enfield....
+
+Here it was that John Keats all but commenced, and did complete, his
+school education. He was born on the twenty-ninth of October, 1795,
+and he was one of the little fellows who had not wholly emerged from
+the child's costume upon being placed under my father's care. It will
+be readily conceived that it is difficult to recall from the "dark
+backward and abysm" of seventy-odd years the general acts of perhaps
+the youngest individual in a corporation of between seventy and
+eighty youngsters; and very little more of Keats's child-life can I
+remember than that he had a brisk, winning face, and was a favorite
+with all, particularly my mother....
+
+Keats's father was the principal servant at the Swan and Hoop
+stables--a man of so remarkably fine a common-sense, and native
+respectability, that I perfectly remember the warm terms in which his
+demeanor used to be canvassed by my parents after he had been to visit
+his boys. John was the only one resembling him in person and feature,
+with brown hair and dark hazel eyes. The father was killed by a fall
+from his horse in returning from a visit to the school. This detail may
+be deemed requisite when we see in the last memoir of the poet the
+statement that "John Keats was born on the twenty-ninth of October,
+1795, in the upper rank of the middle class." His two brothers--George,
+older, and Thomas, younger than himself--were like the mother, who was
+tall, of good figure, with large oval face and sensible deportment. The
+last of the family was a sister--Fanny, I think, much younger than
+all,--and I hope still living (in 1874)--of whom I remember, when once
+walking in the garden with her brothers, my mother speaking of her with
+much fondness for her pretty and simple manners....
+
+In the early part of his school-life John gave no extraordinary
+indications of intellectual character; but it was remembered of him
+afterwards, that there was ever present a determined and steady spirit
+in all his undertakings: I never knew it misdirected in his required
+pursuit of study. He was a most orderly scholar. The future
+ramifications of that noble genius were then closely shut in the seed,
+which was greedily drinking in the moisture which made it afterwards
+burst forth so kindly into luxuriance and beauty.
+
+My father was in the habit, at each half-year's vacation, of bestowing
+prizes upon those pupils who had performed the greatest quantity of
+voluntary work; and such was Keats's indefatigable energy for the last
+two or three successive half-years of his remaining at school, that,
+upon each occasion he took the first prize by a considerable distance.
+He was at work before the first school hour began, and that was at
+seven o'clock, almost all the intervening times of recreation were so
+devoted, and during the afternoon holidays, when all were at play, he
+would be in the school--almost the only one--at his Latin or French
+translation, and so unconscious and regardless was he of the
+consequences of so close and persevering an application that he never
+would have taken the necessary exercise had he not been sometimes
+driven out for the purpose by one of his masters.
+
+It has just been said that he was a favorite with all. Not the less
+beloved was he for having a highly pugnacious spirit, which, when
+roused, was one of the most picturesque exhibitions--off the stage--I
+ever saw. One of the transports of that marvelous actor, Edmund
+Kean--whom, by the way, he idolized--was its nearest resemblance; and
+the two were not very dissimilar in face and figure. Upon one
+occasion, when an usher, on account of some impertinent behavior, had
+boxed his brother Tom's ears, John rushed up, put himself in the
+received posture of offense, and, it was said, struck the usher--who
+could, so to say, have put him into his pocket. His passion at times
+was almost ungovernable, and his brother George, being considerably
+the taller and stronger, used frequently to hold him down by main
+force, laughing when John was in "one of his moods," and was
+endeavoring to beat him. It was all, however, a wisp-of-straw
+conflagration, for he had an intensely tender affection for his
+brothers and proved it upon the most trying occasions. He was not
+merely the "favorite of all," like a pet prize-fighter, for his
+terrier courage; but his high-mindedness, his utter unconsciousness of
+a mean motive, his placability, his generosity, wrought so general a
+feeling in his behalf, that I never heard a word of disapproval from
+any one, superior or equal, who had known him.
+
+In the latter part of the time--perhaps eighteen months--that he
+remained at school, he occupied the hours during meals in reading.
+Thus, his whole time was engrossed. He had a tolerably retentive
+memory, and the quantity that he read was surprising. He must in those
+last months have exhausted the school library, which consisted
+principally of abridgments of all the voyages and travels of any note;
+Mavor's collection, also his _Universal History_; Robertson's
+histories of Scotland, America, and Charles the Fifth; all Miss
+Edgeworth's productions, together with many other works equally well
+calculated for youth. The books, however, that were his constantly
+recurring sources of attraction were Tooke's _Pantheon_, Lempriere's
+_Classical Dictionary_, which he appeared to _learn_, and Spence's
+_Polymetis_. This was the store whence he acquired his intimacy with
+the Greek mythology; here was he "suckled in that creed outworn;" for
+his amount of classical attainment extended no farther than the
+_AEneid_, with which epic, indeed, he was so fascinated that before
+leaving school he had _voluntarily_ translated in writing a
+considerable portion. And yet I remember that at that early
+age--mayhap under fourteen--notwithstanding, and through all its
+incidental attractiveness, he hazarded the opinion to me (and the
+expression riveted my surprise), that there was feebleness in the
+structure of the work. He must have gone through all the better
+publications in the school library, for he asked me to lend him some
+of my books, and, in my "mind's eye" I now see him at supper (we had
+our meals in the school-room), sitting back on the form, from the
+table, holding the folio volume of Burnet's _History of His Own Time_
+between himself and the table, eating his meal from beyond it. This
+work, and Leigh Hunt's _Examiner_--which my father took in, and I used
+to lend to Keats--no doubt laid the foundation of his love of civil
+and religious liberty. He once told me, smiling, that one of his
+guardians, being informed what books I had lent him to read, declared
+that if he had fifty children he would not send one of them to that
+school. Bless his patriot head!
+
+When he left Enfield at fourteen years of age, he was apprenticed to
+Mr. Thomas Hammond, a medical man, residing in Church Street,
+Edmonton, and exactly two miles from Enfield. This arrangement
+evidently gave him satisfaction, and I fear it was the most placid
+period of his painful life; for now, with the exception of the duty he
+had to perform in the surgery--by no means an onerous one--his whole
+leisure hours were employed in indulging his passion for reading and
+translating. During his apprenticeship he finished the _AEneid_.
+
+The distance between our residences being so short, I gladly
+encouraged his inclination to come over when he could claim a leisure
+hour; and in consequence I saw him about five or six times a month on
+my own leisure afternoons. He rarely came empty-handed; either he had
+a book to read, or brought one to be exchanged. When the weather
+permitted, we always sat in an arbor at the end of a spacious garden,
+and--in Boswellian dialect--"we had a good talk." ...
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+THE HEROISM OF SIR WALTER SCOTT
+
+
+When Carlyle wrote and lectured on _Heroes and Hero Worship_, he would
+have made no mistake in selecting one of his contemporary countrymen
+as a fine example of the man of letters as hero. But it is one of the
+characteristics of human nature to see the heroic in the remote in
+time and place rather than in the near. Carlyle, had he closely
+examined the life of his Scotch neighbor, would have been forced to
+acknowledge that no knight battling with chivalric valor in the
+fiction of Sir Walter ever displayed more nobility of soul than that
+displayed by Walter Scott in his adversity. Critics may find flaws in
+Scott's style, but as time reveals more fully the character of the man
+they are unable to find fault with the man himself. Some years ago was
+published Scott's journal. Parts of this had been published before,
+but, owing to the nature of some of the information, much of this had
+been suppressed until sixty years after the death of the writer. To
+quote from this journal is, perhaps, the best method of giving a
+first-hand impression of the real man. He is his own revealer. Scott
+called the big book in which he from time to time records for several
+years his thoughts his "Gurnal," because his daughter Sophia had once
+spelled the word in that way. This book could be closed with a lock
+and key. On the title-page was written:
+
+    As I walked by myself,
+    I talked to myself,
+    And thus myself said to me.
+                    (Old Song.)
+
+Scott's poems and novels brought him much revenue. This he spent in
+purchasing land. He became a Scotch "laird" owning many acres, and a
+most beautiful home, Abbotsford. But unfortunately he formed a bad
+business partnership. When the firm through mismanagement and
+speculation, in which Scott had no part, went down in ruin, Scott
+found to his surprise that he owed a vast sum. In his "Gurnal" of
+September 5, 1827, he wrote: "The debts for which I am legally
+responsible, though no party to this contraction, amount to L30,000."
+But although his legal responsibility was for so great a sum, he felt
+that morally he was responsible for a far greater amount. When the
+printing house of James Ballantyne & Co., the publishing house of
+Constable, and Hunt and Robinson, failed, they failed for upwards of
+half a million pounds. Of this enormous total, Scott could be held
+morally responsible for one hundred and thirty thousand pounds.
+
+For several weeks after intimations of failure had reached Scott, he
+lived in a state of uncertainty. On the 18th of December, 1825, he
+wrote a long account in his journal. It was published lately for the
+first time, appearing in the _Quarterly Review_. What a revelation of
+the man it is!
+
+"Ballantyne called on me this morning. _Venit illa suprema dies._ My
+extremity is come. Cadell has received letters from London which all
+but positively announce the failure of Hurst and Robinson, so that
+Constable and Co. must follow, and I must go with poor James
+Ballantyne for company. I suppose it will involve my all.... I have
+been rash in anticipating funds to buy lands, but then I made from
+L5,000 to L10,000 a year, and land was my temptation. I think nobody
+can lose a penny--that is my one comfort. Men will think pride has had
+a fall. Let them indulge their own pride in thinking that my fall
+makes them higher, or seems so at least. I have the satisfaction to
+recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage to many, and that
+some at least will forgive my transient wealth on account of the
+innocence of my intentions, and my real wish to do good to the poor.
+This news will make sad hearts at Darnick, and in the cottages of
+Abbotsford, which I do not cherish the least hope of preserving. It
+has been my Delilah, and so I have often termed it; and now the
+recollection of the extensive woods I planted, and the walks I have
+formed, from which strangers must derive both the pleasure and profit,
+will excite feelings likely to sober my gayest moments. I have half
+resolved never to see the place again. How could I tread my hall with
+such a diminished crest? How live a poor indebted man where I was once
+the wealthy, and honored? My children are provided [for]; thank God
+for that! I was to have gone there in joy and prosperity to receive my
+friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish, but the
+thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved me more than
+any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things, I must
+get them kind masters; there may be yet those who loving me may love
+my dog because it has been mine. I must end this, or I shall lose the
+tone of mind with which men should meet distress. I find my dogs' feet
+on my knees. I hear them whining and seeking me everywhere--this is
+nonsense, but it is what they would do could they know how things are.
+Poor Will Laidlaw! Poor Tom Purdie! this will be news to wring your
+heart, and many a poor fellow's besides to whom my prosperity was
+daily bread."
+
+After touching on some other matters he comes back to
+Abbotsford,--"Yet to save Abbotsford I would attempt all that was
+possible. My heart clings to the place I have created. There is scarce
+a tree on it that does not owe its being to me, and the pain of
+leaving it is greater than I can bear."
+
+A Mr. Skene, in whose gardens Scott while in Edinburgh about a month
+later took a walk, has left a record of a conversation with Scott. He
+wrote immediately after the walk so as to record the conversation.
+This is what Scott said: "Do you know I experience a sort of
+determined pleasure in confronting the very worst aspect of this
+sudden reverse--in standing, as it were, in the breach that has
+overthrown my fortunes, and saying, Here I stand, at least, an honest
+man. And God knows if I have enemies, this I may at least with truth
+say, that I have never wittingly given cause of enmity in the whole
+course of my life, for even the burnings of political hate seemed to
+find nothing in my nature to feed the flame. I am not conscious of
+having borne a grudge towards any man, and at this moment of my
+overthrow, so help me God, I wish well and feel kindly to every one.
+And if I thought that any of my works contained a sentence hurtful to
+any one's feelings, I would burn it."
+
+Scott worked so assiduously that by January, 1828, he had reduced his
+debt $200,000. On the 17th of December, 1830, more than the half of
+his debt had been paid. On that day his creditors had a meeting during
+which the following resolutions were passed:
+
+"That Sir Walter Scott be requested to accept of his furniture, plate,
+linen, paintings, library, and curiosities of every description as the
+best means the creditors have of expressing their very high sense of
+his most honorable conduct, and in grateful acknowledgment for the
+unparalleled and most successful exertions he has made, and continues
+to make, for them."
+
+That the creditors of Scott would be glad to show their gratitude is
+easy to believe when one learns that while Scott was paying pound for
+pound the other members of the firm paid their creditors less than
+three shillings to the pound. That Scott did his herculean task at
+great sacrifice is known. How much of pain and worry he endured is not
+so well known. At one time he writes: "After all, I have fagged
+through six pages, and made poor Wurmser lay down his sword on the
+glacis of Mantua--and my head aches--my eyes ache--my back aches--so
+does my breast--and I am sure my heart aches--what can duty want
+more?"
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR
+
+
+Walter Savage Landor, whose course of life ran from 1775 to 1864, in
+his old age confessed, "I never did a single wise thing in the whole
+course of my existence, although I have written many which have been
+thought so." This is the exaggeration of an old man who has been
+impressed by the frailty of human endeavor. Nevertheless, Landor is a
+striking illustration of the artistic temperament. He was impractical.
+Landor could not make a good fist. Even when angry, a frame of mind in
+which he found himself very frequently, he did not clench his fists
+without leaving his thumbs in relaxation--a sure sign, it is said, of
+the lack of tenacity of purpose and tact in practical dealings. He
+would adjust his spectacles on his forehead, and then, forgetting what
+he had done, would overturn everything in his wild search for them.
+When he started out on a trip he would take the greatest pains to
+remember the key of his portmanteau, and then forget to take the
+portmanteau; and then on discovering the absence of the portmanteau he
+would launch out into the most vehement denunciation of the
+carelessness and depravity of the railroad officials, heaping
+objurgations upon them, their fathers, and their grandfathers. Then
+after he had exhausted his vocabulary of invective and eased his soul,
+the humor of the situation would appeal to him and he would begin to
+laugh, quietly at first, and then in louder and louder strains until
+his merriment seemed more formidable than his wrath.
+
+When Landor says that he never did a wise thing but has written many,
+one is led to think of his marriage. No one wrote about marriage more
+seriously than Landor, no one entered upon marriage more recklessly.
+"Death itself," he once wrote, "to the reflecting mind is less serious
+than marriage. The elder plant is cut down that the younger may have
+room to nourish; a few tears drop into the loosened soil, and buds and
+blossoms spring over it. Death is not even a blow, it is not even a
+pulsation; it is a pause. But marriage unrolls the awful lot of
+numberless generations." The man who could write thus impressively
+about marriage one spring evening at Bath attended a ball. There he
+met a beautiful young lady whom he admired. As soon as he set eyes on
+her he exclaimed, "By heaven! that's the nicest girl in the room, and
+I'll marry her." He married her and was ever after unhappy. "God
+forbid," once growled Landor, "that I should do otherwise than declare
+that she always _was_ agreeable--to every one but _me_." Landor was
+not in the habit of talking about his domestic troubles, but at one
+time when he was contrasting other and more agreeable marriages he was
+heard to say that he "unfortunately was taken by a pretty face."
+
+Kenyon related to a friend an incident of the Landor honeymoon that is
+significant. On one occasion, it seems, the newly married couple were
+sitting side by side; Landor was reading some of his own verses to his
+bride--and who could read more exquisitely?--when all at once the
+lady, releasing herself from his arm, jumped up, saying, "Oh, do stop,
+Walter, there's that dear delightful Punch performing in the street. I
+must look out of the window." Exit poetry forever.
+
+It would have been difficult for any woman to live amicably with
+Landor. In his youth he was suspended from college, and when he was a
+very old man he was fined $5,000 for writing a libelous article.
+Between these two periods his life was made up of many fits of
+passion. His rustication, or suspension from Trinity College,
+Cambridge, came about in the following manner: One evening Landor
+invited his friends to wine. His gun, powder, and shot were in the
+next room, as he had been out hunting in the morning of that day. In a
+room opposite to Landor's lived a young man whom Landor disliked. The
+two parties exchanged taunts. Finally in a spirit of bravado Landor
+took his gun and fired a shot through the closed shutters of the
+enemy. Quite naturally this bit of pleasantry was not appreciated by
+the owner of the shutters and complaint was lodged. When the
+investigation was made the president tried to be as lenient as he
+possibly could, but his conciliatory manner was stubbornly met by the
+youthful culprit. When rustication was pronounced it was hoped that
+Landor would return to the college to honor it and himself by an
+earnest devotion to his studies. But he never returned.
+
+When Landor was living in Florence the Italians thought him the
+ideally mad Englishman. He lived for a time in the Medici palace, but
+his friendly relations with the landlord, a nobleman bearing the
+distinguished name of the palace, had an abrupt termination. Landor
+imagined that the marquis had unfairly coaxed away his coachman, and
+he wrote a letter of complaint. The next day in comes the strutting
+marquis with his hat on in the presence of Mrs. Landor and some
+visitors. One of the visitors describes the scene: "He had scarcely
+advanced three steps from the door, when Landor walked up to him
+quickly and knocked his hat off, then took him by the arm and turned
+him out. You should have heard Landor's shout of laughter at his own
+anger when it was all over; inextinguishable laughter, which none of
+us could resist." This reminds one of the story Milnes told to
+Emerson, that Landor once became so enraged at his Italian cook that
+he picked him up and threw him out of the window, and then exclaimed,
+"Good God, I never thought of those violets!"
+
+Quite in strong contrast to the irascible side of his nature was his
+tender love for his children, of which he had four, the last born in
+1825. In them he took constant delight. In their games _Babbo_, as he
+was affectionately termed, was the most gleeful and frolicsome of them
+all. When he was separated from them he was in continual anxiety. On
+one of his trips he received the first childish letter from his son
+Arnold. In his reply the concluding lines reveal the intense affection
+of the father:
+
+    I shall never be quite happy until I see you again and put my
+    cheek upon your head. Tell my sweet Julia that if I see twenty
+    little girls I will not romp with any of them before I romp
+    with her, and kiss your two dear brothers for me. You must
+    always love them as much as I love you, and you must teach
+    them how to be good boys, which I cannot do so well as you
+    can. God preserve and bless you, my own Arnold. My heart beats
+    as if it would fly to you, my own fierce creature. We shall
+    very soon meet.
+
+                                        Love your,
+                                                 BABBO.
+
+In literature Landor will be remembered as the author of _Imaginary
+Conversations_, composed during his years of retirement at Florence.
+In these _Conversations_ we hear the great men and women of the past
+who converse as Landor imagined they might have talked. Landor's prose
+style is admired, because of its simplicity and classic purity. After
+the publication of the first two volumes of this work Landor was
+visited as a man of genius by Englishmen and Americans. One day Hogg,
+the friend of Shelley, was announced while Hare, a well-known
+Englishman, was sitting in the room. Landor said, as he considered the
+names of his two visitors, that he felt like La Fontaine with all the
+better company of the beasts about him. Hazlitt was one of his
+frequent visitors. One of their reported conversations is about
+Wordsworth. Upon Landor's saying that he had never seen the famous
+Lake poet, Hazlitt asked, "But you have seen a horse, I suppose?" and
+on receiving an affirmative answer, continued, "Well, sir, if you have
+seen a horse, I mean his head, sir, you may say you have seen
+Wordsworth, sir."
+
+Emerson was desirous of seeing Landor. One of the motives that led him
+to take his first trip abroad was the desire to see five distinguished
+men. These men were Coleridge, Wordsworth, Landor, DeQuincey, and
+Carlyle. "On the 15th May," writes Emerson in his _English Traits_,
+"I dined with Mr. Landor. I found him noble and courteous, living in
+a cloud of pictures at his Villa Gherardesca, a fine house commanding
+a beautiful landscape. I had inferred from his books, or magnified
+from some anecdotes, an impression of Achillean wrath,--an untamable
+petulance. I do not know whether the imputation were just or not, but
+certainly on this May day his courtesy veiled that haughty mind and he
+was the most patient and gentle of hosts."
+
+Landor used to say somewhat loftily, "I do not remember that
+resentment has ever made me commit an injustice." And in this
+connection he related to a friend an incident of his early married
+life, when he was living at Como, where he had for his next-door
+neighbor the Princess of Wales. Landor and his royal neighbor had a
+quarrel arising from trespassing by the domestics of the Princess.
+"The insolence of her domestics," said Landor, "was only equaled by
+the intolerable discourtesy of her Royal Highness when she was
+appealed to in the matter."
+
+Some years later when the Milan Commission was carrying on its
+"delicate investigation" concerning the character of the Queen, about
+whom there had been rumors detrimental to her character, Landor was
+asked to give confidential testimony against Queen Caroline. This made
+Landor indignant and he replied,--"Her Royal Highness is my enemy; she
+has deeply injured me, therefore I can say nothing against her, and I
+never will."
+
+It is significant that shortly before this application for testimony
+was made, George IV took an opportunity to ask Landor to dinner. "I
+declined the honor," said the old lion, "on the plea that I had an
+attack of quinsy. I always have quinsy when royal people ask me to
+dinner," he added, laughing immoderately.
+
+    Ah, what avails the sceptered race,
+      Ah, what the form divine!
+    What every virtue, every grace!--
+      Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
+
+    Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
+      May weep but never see,
+    A night of memories and of sighs
+      I consecrate to thee.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+LEIGH HUNT'S BUSINESS ABILITY
+
+
+Sir George Murray Smith, leading member of the famous publishing house
+of Smith, Elder and Company, was well acquainted with the leading
+literary men of England during an active career of sixty years. The
+following account of Leigh Hunt is especially entertaining:
+
+"Business was by no means Leigh Hunt's strong point. In this respect,
+but not otherwise, he may have suggested Skimpole to Charles Dickens.
+On one of my visits I found him trying to puzzle out the abstruse
+question of how he should deduct some such sum as thirteen shillings
+and ninepence from a sovereign. On another occasion I had to pay him a
+sum of money, L100 or L200, and I wrote him a check for the amount.
+'Well,' he said, 'what am I to do with this little bit of paper?' I
+told him that if he presented it at the bank they would pay him cash
+for it, but I added, 'I will save you that trouble.' I sent to the
+bank and cashed the check for him. He took the notes away carefully
+inclosed in an envelope. Two days afterward Leigh Hunt came in a state
+of great agitation to tell me that his wife had burned them. He had
+thrown the envelope, with the bank notes inside, carelessly down, and
+his wife had flung it into the fire. Leigh Hunt's agitation while on
+his way to bring this news had not prevented him from purchasing on
+the road a little statuette of Psyche which he carried, without any
+paper round it, in his hand. I told him I thought something might be
+done in the matter; I sent to the bankers and got the numbers of the
+notes, and then in company with Leigh Hunt went off to the Bank of
+England. I explained our business, and we were shown into a room where
+three old gentlemen were sitting at tables. They kept us waiting some
+time, and Leigh Hunt, who had meantime been staring all round the
+room, at last got up, walked up to one of the staid officials, and
+addressing him said in wondering tones: 'And this is the Bank of
+England! And do you sit here all day, and never see the green woods
+and the trees and flowers and the charming country?' Then in tones of
+remonstrance he demanded, 'Are you contented with such a life?' All
+this time he was holding the little naked Psyche in one hand, and with
+his long hair and flashing eyes made a surprising figure. I fancy I
+can still see the astonished faces of the three officials; they would
+have made a most delightful picture. I said, 'Come away, Mr. Hunt,
+these gentlemen are very busy.' I succeeded in carrying Leigh Hunt
+off, and, after entering into certain formalities, we were told that
+the value of the notes would be paid in twelve months. I gave Leigh
+Hunt the money at once, and he went away rejoicing."
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+DE QUINCEY RUNS AWAY
+
+
+My father died when I was about seven years old, says the author of
+the _Confessions of an Opium-Eater_, and left me to the care of four
+guardians. I was sent to various schools, great and small, and was
+very early distinguished for my classical attainments, especially for
+my knowledge of Greek. At thirteen I wrote Greek with ease, and at
+fifteen my command of that language was so great, that I not only
+composed Greek verses in lyric meters, but would converse in Greek
+fluently, and without embarrassment--an accomplishment which I have
+not since met with in any scholar of my times, and which, in my case,
+was owing to the practice of daily reading off the newspapers into the
+best Greek I could furnish _extempore_; for the necessity of
+ransacking my memory and invention for all sorts and combinations of
+periphrastic expressions, as equivalents for modern ideas, images,
+relations of things, etc., gave me a compass of diction which would
+never have been called out by a dull translation of moral essays, etc.
+"That boy," said one of my masters, pointing the attention of a
+stranger to me, "that boy could harangue an Athenian mob better than
+you or I could address an English one." He who honored me with this
+eulogy was a scholar, "and a ripe and good one," and of all my tutors,
+was the only one whom I loved or reverenced. Unfortunately for me
+(and, as I afterwards learned, to this worthy man's great
+indignation), I was transferred to the care, first of a blockhead, who
+was in a perpetual panic lest I should expose his ignorance; and,
+finally, to that of a respectable scholar, at the head of a great
+school on an ancient foundation. This man had been appointed to his
+situation by ---- College, Oxford, and was a sound, well-built
+scholar, but (like most men whom I have known from that college)
+coarse, clumsy, and inelegant. A miserable contrast he presented, in
+my eyes, to the Etonian brilliancy of my favorite master; and,
+besides, he could not disguise from my hourly notice the poverty and
+meagerness of his understanding. It is a bad thing for a boy to be,
+and know himself, far beyond his tutors, whether in knowledge or power
+of mind. This was the case, so far as regarded knowledge at least, not
+with myself only, for the two boys who jointly with myself composed
+the first form were better Grecians than the head-master, though not
+more elegant scholars.... I who had a small patrimonial property, the
+income of which was sufficient to support me at college, wished to be
+sent thither immediately. I made earnest representations on the
+subject to my guardians, but all to no purpose. One, who was more
+reasonable, and had more knowledge of the world than the rest, lived
+at a distance; two of the other three resigned all their authority
+into the hands of the fourth, and this fourth, with whom I had to
+negotiate, was a worthy man, in his way, but haughty, obstinate, and
+intolerant of all opposition to his will. After a certain number of
+letters and personal interviews, I found that I had nothing to hope
+for, not even a compromise of the matter, from my guardian:
+unconditional submission was what he demanded, and I prepared myself,
+therefore, for other measures. Summer was now coming on with hasty
+steps, and my seventeenth birthday was fast approaching, after which
+day I had sworn within myself that I would no longer be numbered among
+schoolboys. Money being what I chiefly wanted, I wrote to a woman of
+high rank, who, though young herself, had known me from a child, and
+had latterly treated me with great distinction, requesting that she
+would "lend" me five guineas. For upward of a week no answer came, and
+I was beginning to despond, when at length a servant put into my hands
+a double letter, with a coronet on the seal. The letter was kind and
+obliging; the fair writer was on the sea-coast, and in that way the
+delay had arisen; she inclosed double of what I had asked, and
+good-naturedly hinted that if I should _never_ repay her, it would not
+absolutely ruin her. Now, then, I was prepared for my scheme: ten
+guineas, added to about two that I had remaining from my pocket-money,
+seemed to me sufficient for an indefinite length of time, and at that
+happy age, if no _definite_ boundary can be assigned to one's power,
+the spirit of hope and pleasure makes it virtually infinite.
+
+It is a just remark of Dr. Johnson's (and, what cannot often be said of
+his remarks, it is a very feeling one) that we never do anything
+consciously for the last time (of things, that is, which we have long
+been in the habit of doing) without sadness of heart. This truth I felt
+deeply when I came to leave ----, a place which I did not love, and
+where I had not been happy. On the evening before I left ---- forever,
+I grieved when the ancient and lofty schoolroom resounded with the
+evening service, performed for the last time in my hearing; and at
+night, when the muster-roll of names was called over, and mine (as
+usual) was called first, I stepped forward, and passing the
+head-master, who was standing by, I bowed to him, and looked earnestly
+in his face, thinking to myself, "He is old and infirm, and in this
+world I shall not see him again." I was right; I never _did_ see him
+again, nor never shall. He looked at me complacently, smiled
+good-naturedly, returned my salutation (or rather my valediction), and
+we parted (though he knew it not) forever. I could not reverence him
+intellectually, but he had been uniformly kind to me, and had allowed
+me many indulgences, and I grieved at the thought of the mortification
+I should inflict upon him.
+
+The morning came which was to launch me into the world, and from which
+my whole succeeding life has, in many important points, taken its
+coloring. I lodged in the head-master's house, and had been allowed,
+from my first entrance, the indulgence of a private room, which I used
+both as a sleeping-room and as a study. At half after three I rose,
+and gazed with deep emotion at the ancient towers of ----, "drest in
+earliest light," and beginning to crimson with the radiant luster of a
+cloudless July morning. I was firm and immovable in my purpose, but
+yet agitated by anticipation of uncertain danger and troubles; and if
+I could have foreseen the hurricane, and perfect hail-storm of
+affliction, which soon fell upon me, well might I have been agitated.
+To this agitation the deep peace of the morning presented an affecting
+contrast, and in some degree a medicine. The silence was more profound
+than that of midnight, and to me the silence of a summer morning is
+more touching than all other silence, because, the light being broad
+and strong as that of noonday at other seasons of the year, it seems
+to differ from perfect day chiefly because man is not yet abroad, and
+thus, the peace of nature, and of the innocent creatures of God, seem
+to be secure and deep, only so long as the presence of man, and his
+restless and unquiet spirit, are not there to trouble its sanctity.
+
+I dressed myself, took my hat and gloves, and lingered a little in the
+room. For the last year and a half this room had been my "pensive
+citadel:" here I had read and studied through all the hours of the
+night, and, though true it was that, for the latter part of this time,
+I, who was framed for love and gentle affections, had lost my gayety
+and happiness, during the strife and fever of contention with my
+guardian, yet, on the other hand, as a boy so passionately fond of
+books, and dedicated to intellectual pursuits, I could not fail to
+have enjoyed many happy hours in the midst of general dejection. I
+wept as I looked round on the chair, hearth, writing-table, and other
+familiar objects, knowing too certainly that I looked upon them for
+the last time. While I write this, it is eighteen years ago, and yet,
+at this moment, I see distinctly, as if it were yesterday, the
+lineaments and expressions of the object on which I fixed my parting
+gaze: it was a picture of the lovely ----, which hung over the
+mantelpiece, the eyes and mouth of which were so beautiful, and the
+whole countenance so radiant with benignity and divine tranquillity,
+that I had a thousand times laid down my pen, or my book, to gather
+consolation from it, as a devotee from his patron saint. While I was
+yet gazing upon it, the deep tones of ---- clock proclaimed that it
+was four o'clock. I went up to the picture, kissed it, and then gently
+walked out and closed the door forever!
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+MACAULAY'S CHILDHOOD
+
+
+Macaulay is one of the brilliant lights of the first half of the last
+century. Trevelyan's _Life and Letters_ of Macaulay gives us an
+interesting glimpse of his childhood. When his parents moved from the
+heart of London into a less crowded district, Macaulay, baby though he
+was, kept the early impressions of the place.
+
+"He remembered," says his biographer, "standing up at the nursery
+window by his father's side, looking at a cloud of black smoke pouring
+out of a tall chimney. He asked if that was hell: an inquiry that was
+received with great displeasure which at the time he could not
+understand. The kindly father must have been pained almost against his
+own will at finding what feature of his stern creed it was that had
+embodied itself in so very material a shape before his little son's
+imagination. When in after days, Mrs. Macaulay was questioned as to
+how soon she began to detect in the child a promise of the future, she
+used to say that his sensibilities and affections were remarkably
+developed at an age which to her hearers appeared next to incredible.
+He would cry for joy on seeing her after a few hours' absence, and
+(till her husband put a stop to it) her power of exciting his feelings
+was often made an exhibition to her friends. She did not regard this
+precocity as a proof of cleverness, but, like a foolish young mother,
+only thought that so tender a nature was marked for early death.
+
+"The new residence was in the High Street of Clapham, a more
+commodious part of London than that which they had just left. "It was
+a roomy, comfortable dwelling, with a very small garden behind, and in
+front a very small one indeed, which has entirely disappeared beneath
+a large shop thrown out toward the roadway by the present occupier,
+who bears the name of Heywood. Here the boy passed a quiet and most
+happy childhood. From the time that he was three years old he read
+incessantly, for the most part lying on the rug before the fire, with
+his book on the floor, and a piece of bread and butter in his hand. A
+very clever woman who then lived in the house as parlor-maid told how
+he used to sit in his nankeen frock, perched on the table by her as
+she was cleaning the plate, and expounding to her out of a volume as
+big as himself. He did not care for toys, but was very fond of taking
+his walk, when he would hold forth to his companion, whether nurse or
+mother, telling interminable stories, out of his own head, or
+repeating what he had been reading in language far above his years.
+His memory retained without effort the phraseology of the book which
+he had been last engaged on, and he talked, as the maid said, 'quite
+printed words,' which produced an effect that appeared formal, and
+often, no doubt, exceedingly droll. Mrs. Hannah More was fond of
+relating how she called at Mr. Macaulay's, and was met by a fair,
+pretty, slight child, with abundance of light hair, about four years
+of age, who came to the front door to receive her, and tell her that
+his parents were out, but that if she would be good enough to come in
+he would bring her a glass of old spirits, a proposition which greatly
+startled the old lady, who had never aspired beyond cowslip-wine. When
+questioned as to what he knew about old spirits he could only say that
+Robinson Crusoe often had some. About this period his father took him
+on a visit to Lady Waldegrave at Strawberry Hill, and was much pleased
+to exhibit to his old friend the fair, bright boy, dressed in a green
+coat with red collar and cuffs, a frill at the throat, and white
+trousers. After some time had been spent among the wonders of the
+Orford Collection, of which he ever after carried a catalogue in his
+head, a servant who was waiting on the company in the great gallery
+spilled some hot coffee over his legs. The hostess was all kindness
+and compassion, and when, after a while, she asked him how he was
+feeling, the little fellow looked up in her face, and replied, 'Thank
+you, madam, the agony is abated.'
+
+"But it must not be supposed his quaint manners proceeded from
+affectation or conceit, for all testimony declares that a more simple
+and natural child never lived, or a more lively and merry one. He had
+at his command the resources of the Common; to this day the most
+unchanged spot within ten miles of St. Paul's, and which to all
+appearance will ere long hold that pleasant pre-eminence within ten
+leagues. That delightful wilderness of gorse bushes, and poplar groves
+and gravel pits, and ponds great and small, was to little Tom Macaulay
+a region of inexhaustible romance and mystery. He explored its
+recesses; he composed, and almost believed, its legends; he invented
+for its different features a nomenclature which has been faithfully
+preserved by two generations of children. A slight ridge intersected
+by deep ditches toward the west of the Common, the very existence of
+which no one above eight years old would notice, was dignified with
+the title of the Alps; while the elevated island, covered with shrubs,
+that gives a name to the Mount pond, was regarded with infinite awe,
+as being the nearest approach within the circuit of his observation to
+a conception of the majesty of Sinai. Indeed, at this period his
+infant fancy was much exercised with the threats and terrors of the
+Law. He had a little plot of ground at the back of the house, marked
+out as his own by a row of oyster shells, which a maid one day threw
+away as rubbish. He went straight to the drawing-room, where his
+mother was entertaining some visitors, walked into the circle and
+said, very solemnly, 'Cursed be Sally; for it is written, cursed be he
+that removeth his neighbor's landmark.'
+
+"When still the merest child, he was sent as a day-scholar to Mr.
+Greaves, a shrewd Yorkshireman with a turn for science, who had been
+brought originally to the neighborhood in order to educate a number of
+African youths sent over to imbibe Western civilization at the
+fountain-head. The poor fellows had found as much difficulty in
+keeping alive at Clapham as Englishmen experience at Sierra Leone;
+and, in the end, their tutor set up a school for boys of his own
+color, and one time had charge of almost the entire rising generation
+of the Common. Mrs. Macaulay explained to Tom that he must learn to
+study without the solace of bread-and-butter, to which he replied,
+'Yes, Mama, industry shall be my bread and attention my butter.' But,
+as a matter of fact, no one ever crept more unwillingly to school.
+Each several afternoon he made piteous entreaties to be excused
+returning after dinner, and was met by the unvarying formula, 'No,
+Tom, if it rains cats and dogs, you shall go.'
+
+"His reluctance to leave home had more than one side to it. Not only
+did his heart stay behind, but the regular lessons of the class took
+him away from occupations which in his eyes were infinitely more
+delightful and important; for these were probably the years of his
+greatest literary activity. As an author he never again had more
+facility, or anything like so wide a range. In September, 1808, his
+mother writes: 'My dear Tom continues to show marks of uncommon
+genius. He gets on wonderfully in all branches of his education, and
+the extent of his reading, and of the knowledge he derived from it,
+are truly astonishing in a boy not yet eight years old. He is at the
+same time as playful as a kitten. To give you some idea of the
+activity of his mind I will mention a few circumstances that may
+interest you and Colin. You will believe that to him we never appear
+to regard anything he does as anything more than a schoolboy's
+amusement. He took it into his head to write a compendium of universal
+history about a year ago, and he really contrived to give a tolerably
+connected view of the leading events from the creation to the present
+time, filling about a quire of paper. He told me one day that he had
+been writing a paper which Henry Daly was to translate into Malabar,
+to persuade the people of Travancore to embrace the Christian
+religion. On reading it, I found it to contain a very clear idea of
+the leading facts and doctrines of that religion, with some strong
+arguments for its adoption. He was so fired with reading Scott's _Lay_
+and _Marmion_, the former of which he got entirely, and the latter
+almost entirely, by heart, merely from his delight in reading them,
+that he determined on writing himself a poem in six cantos which he
+called _The Battle of Cheviot_.'"
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+MACAULAY BECOMES FAMOUS
+
+
+In 1848 Macaulay was a famous man. He had served in India and had
+written the first part of his _History of England_. In this year after
+a lapse of nine years he again keeps a diary. From this diary we quote
+extracts showing how he became famous.
+
+"Dec. 4th, 1848.--I have felt to-day somewhat anxious about the fate
+of my book. The sale has surpassed expectation: but that proves only
+that people have formed a high idea of what they are to have. The
+disappointment, if there is disappointment, will be great. All that I
+hear is laudatory. But who can trust to praise that is poured into his
+own ear? At all events, I have aimed high; I have tried to do
+something that may be remembered; I have had the year 2000, or even
+3000, often in my mind; I have sacrificed nothing to temporary
+fashions of thought and style; and if I fail, my failure will be more
+honorable than nine-tenths of the successes that I have witnessed."
+
+"Dec. 12th, 1848.--Longman called. A new edition of three thousand
+copies is preparing as fast as they can work. I have reason to be
+pleased. Of the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_ two thousand two hundred
+and fifty copies were sold in the first year; of _Marmion_ two
+thousand copies in the first month; of my book three thousand copies
+in ten days. Black says that there has been no such sale since the
+days of _Waverley_. The success is in every way complete beyond all
+hope and is the more agreeable to me because expectation had been
+wound up so high that disappointment was almost inevitable. I think,
+though with some misgivings, that the book will live."
+
+"January 11th, 1849.--I am glad to find how well my book continues to
+sell. The second edition of three thousand was out of print almost as
+soon as it appeared, and one thousand two hundred and fifty of the
+third edition are already bespoken. I hope all this will not make me a
+coxcomb. I feel no intoxicating effect; but a man may be drunk without
+knowing it. If my abilities do not fail me, I shall be a rich man, as
+rich, that is to say, as I wish to be. But that I am already, if it
+were not for my dear ones. I am content, and should have been so with
+less. On the whole, I remember no success so complete, and I remember
+all Byron's poems and all Scott's novels."
+
+"Saturday, January 27th.--Longman has written to say that only sixteen
+hundred copies are left of the third edition of five thousand, and
+that two thousand more copies must be immediately printed, still to be
+called the third edition.... Of such a run I had never dreamed. But I
+had thought that the book would have a permanent place in our
+literature, and I see no reason to alter that opinion."
+
+"February 2d.--Mahon sent me a letter from Arbuthnot, saying that the
+Duke of Wellington was enthusiastic in admiration of my book. Though I
+am almost callous to praise now, this praise made me happy for two
+minutes. A fine old fellow!"
+
+The above selections are from Macaulay's diary, as was said. Now come
+several from letters to a Mr. Ellis, to whom Macaulay sent many.
+
+                                           "March 8th, 1849.
+
+    "At last I have attained true glory. As I walked through Fleet
+    Street the day before yesterday, I saw a copy of Hume at a
+    book-seller's window with the following label: 'Only L2 2s.
+    Hume's _History of England_, in eight volumes, highly valuable
+    as an introduction to Macaulay.' I laughed so convulsively
+    that the other people who were staring at the books took me
+    for a poor demented gentleman. Alas for poor David! As for me,
+    only one height of renown remains to be attained. I am not yet
+    in Madam Tussaud's wax-works. I live, however, in hope of
+    seeing one day an advertisement of a new group of figures--Mr.
+    Macaulay, in one of his own coats, conversing with Mr. Silk
+    Buckingham in Oriental costume, and Mr. Robert Montgomery in
+    full canonicals."
+
+                                           "March 9th, 1850.
+
+    "I have seen the hippopotamus, both asleep and awake, and I
+    can assure you that, awake or asleep, he is the ugliest of the
+    works of God. But you must hear of my triumphs. Thackeray
+    swears that he was eye-witness and ear-witness of the proudest
+    event of my life. Two damsels were about to pass that doorway
+    which we, on Monday, in vain attempted to enter, when I was
+    pointed out to them. 'Mr. Macaulay,' cried the lovely pair.
+    'Is that Mr. Macaulay? Never mind the hippopotamus.' And
+    having paid a shilling to see Behemoth, they left him in the
+    very moment at which he was about to display himself to them
+    in order to see--but spare my modesty. I can wish for nothing
+    more on earth, now that Madam Tussaud, in whose Parthenon I
+    once hoped for a place, is dead."
+
+In his diary of June 30th, 1849, we find: "Today my yearly account
+with Longman is wound up. I may now say that my book has run the
+gauntlet of criticism pretty thoroughly. The most savage and dishonest
+assailant has not been able to deny me merit as a writer. All critics
+who have the least pretense to impartiality have given me praise which
+I may be glad to think that I at all deserve.... I received a note
+from Prince Albert. He wants to see me at Buckingham Palace at three
+to-morrow. I answered like a courtier; yet what am I to say to him?
+For, of course, he wants to consult me about the Cambridge
+professorship. How can I be just at once to Stephen and to Kemble?"
+
+"Saturday, July 1st--To the Palace. The Prince, to my extreme
+astonishment, offered me the professorship, and very earnestly and
+with many flattering expressions, pressed me to accept it. I was
+resolute, and gratefully and respectfully declined. I should have
+declined, indeed, if only in order to give no ground to anybody to
+accuse me of foul play, for I have had difficulty enough in steering
+my course so as to deal properly both by Stephen and Kemble, and if I
+had marched off with the prize, I could not have been astonished if
+both had entertained a very unjust suspicion of me. But, in truth, my
+temper is that of the wolf in the fable, I cannot bear the collar, and
+I have got rid of much finer and richer collars than this. It would be
+strange if, having sacrificed for liberty, a seat in the Cabinet and
+twenty-five hundred pounds a year, I should now sacrifice liberty for
+a chair at Cambridge and four hundred pounds a year. Besides, I never
+could do two things at once. If I lectured well, my _History_ must be
+given up, and to give up my _History_ would be to give up much more
+than the emoluments of the professorship--if emolument were my chief
+object, which it is not now, nor ever was. The prince, when he found
+me determined, asked me about the other candidates."
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+DICKENS WRITES THE PICKWICK PAPERS
+
+
+We are always interested in the beginnings of a successful career, for
+humanity with all its selfishness takes a generous pleasure in the
+advancement of those who have made an honest fight for fame or wealth.
+The first success of Dickens came with the publication of the
+_Pickwick Papers_, by the publication of which the publishers, it is
+said, made $100,000,--much to their astonishment.
+
+We all know the early career of the famous novelist: How he passed a
+boyhood of poverty; how he became a stenographer, a good one, for said
+a Mr. Beard, "There never was such a shorthand writer," at the time
+Dickens entered the gallery as a Parliament reporter; how he later
+became a reporter for the _Morning Chronicle_. In the December number
+of the _Old Monthly Magazine_ his first published story saw the light.
+This was in 1833, when Dickens was twenty-one. The story first went
+under the name of _A Dinner at Poplar Walk_, but it afterwards was
+changed to _Mr. Mims and his Cousin_. Then came _Sketches by Boz_ in
+1835, and in 1836 _Pickwick_ appeared in serial form, the book coming
+out a year later.
+
+An amusing and striking illustration of the widespread interest in
+the story of _Pickwick_, if we may call so rambling an account as
+_Pickwick_ a story, is related by Carlyle: "An archdeacon with his own
+venerable lips repeated to me the other night a strange profane story:
+of a solemn clergyman who had been administering ghostly consolation
+to a sick person; having finished, satisfactorily as he thought, and
+got out of the room, he heard the sick person ejaculate, 'Well, thank
+God, _Pickwick_ will be out in ten days any way!'--this is dreadful."
+
+We are always interested in knowing whether the author received
+adequate remuneration for his work. Literature is not a commercial
+venture. The man who says, "Go to, now I shall make money by my pen!"
+is not the one who achieves a masterpiece. Nevertheless we are glad to
+know that genius is rewarded. It is more comforting to learn that Pope
+received $45,000 for his translations of Homer than that Milton got
+$25 for his _Paradise Lost_; that Scott received over $40,000 for
+_Woodstock_, a novel written in three months, than that the author of
+the _Canterbury Tales_ two years before his death was obliged to
+petition the king, "for God's sake and as a work of charity," for the
+grant of a hogshead of wine yearly at the port of London.
+
+Did Dickens receive anything for his _Pickwick_? Mr. Chapman, one of
+the publishers, told Mr. Forster, the friend and biographer of
+Dickens, that there was but a verbal agreement. The publishers were to
+pay 15 guineas for each number and as there were twenty numbers it is
+not hard to estimate his receipts on such a basis. The publishers,
+however, were to add to this compensation according to the sale. Mr.
+Chapman thinks that his firm paid about 3,000 pounds for _Pickwick_,
+but Mr. Forster thinks the sum was about 2,500 pounds. While this sum
+bears but a small proportion to what Dickens would have received had
+he made a good bargain with his publishers, it is yet a large sum to
+one beginning his literary career, and must have been deeply
+appreciated by Dickens, who had been so poor that he was paid 30
+pounds in advance for the first two numbers, so that he might "go and
+get married."
+
+_Pickwick_ was soon followed by _Oliver Twist_, and then came
+_Nicholas Nickleby_, and the long series of successful novels that
+brought the author both fame and money. For when Dickens died he had a
+fortune of L93,000. Some of this was made in America, where his
+"readings" were attended by great crowds. On his second tour to
+America, after he had given thirty-seven readings, about one-half the
+entire number, he sent home a check for L10,000. Some evenings he took
+in $2,000.
+
+One reason why Dickens is a popular novelist is that he understands
+the common emotions of humanity. He may be "stagey," be lacking in
+plot, given to exaggeration, indulge in cheap pathos, but in spite of
+all these defects his abounding vitality, his sympathy with the common
+lot, his imagination, are of such transcendent power that his world of
+readers adores the name of Dickens. Dickens was a good man. While not
+closely following the forms of religion, his life was better than that
+of many who follow the letter but break the spirit. As an illustration
+of his Christian belief I quote an extract from his letter to his
+youngest son, who was about to go to Australia:
+
+                                            September, 1868.
+
+    Never take a mean advantage of any one in any transaction, and
+    never be hard upon people who are in your power. Try to do to
+    others as you would have them do to you, and do not be
+    discouraged if they fail sometimes. It is much better for you
+    that they should fail in obeying the greatest rule laid down
+    by our Saviour than that you should. I put a New Testament
+    among your books for the very same reasons, and with the very
+    same hopes, that made me write an easy account of it for you,
+    when you were a little child. Because it is the best book that
+    ever was, or will be, known in the world; and because it
+    teaches you the best lessons by which any human creature, who
+    tries to be truthful and faithful to duty, can possibly be
+    guided.... You will remember that you have never at home been
+    harassed about religious observances, or mere formalities--I
+    have always been anxious not to weary my children with such
+    things, before they are old enough to have opinions respecting
+    them. You will therefore understand the better that I now most
+    solemnly impress upon you the truth and beauty of the
+    Christian Religion, as it came from Christ Himself, and the
+    impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but
+    heartily respect it.... Never abandon the wholesome practice
+    of saying your own private prayers, night and morning. I have
+    never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it.
+
+   [Illustration: CHARLES DICKENS]
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+CHARLES DICKENS AS READER
+
+
+My first sight of Dickens, writes Herman Merivale in a gossipy article
+in an English magazine, was characteristic enough. I was in the second
+or third row of seats with some friends, at one of his readings of
+_Oliver Twist_. As Thackeray was a gossip on the platform, so Dickens
+was an actor. Like all speakers and actors, he longed for sympathy
+somewhere; an unanswering audience kills us, on whichever side the
+fault may lie. In the days of my political measles I have harangued a
+London audience for an hour and twenty minutes when I have meant to
+speak for a quarter of an hour; and in an out-of-the-way Hampshire
+district, where I had gone on purpose to address the rurals for a set
+hour, I have sate down, covered with confusion, in ten minutes, not
+being able to hit on anything that interested them at all. I saw too
+plainly, in all their good-natured faces, that they regarded me as the
+greatest ass they had ever seen, or as an odd kind of cow gone wrong,
+and of no use to the three acres. Dickens's audience that night was
+dull, and he became so, too. I was disappointed. His characters were
+not lifelike, and his acting was not good, and got worse as he went
+on. It was the inevitable law of reaction. His audience bored him, and
+he began to bore me, amongst the rest. He was not "in touch" with us,
+that is all; and his eyes wandered as hopelessly in search of some
+sympathetic eye to catch them, as the gladiators of old, for mercy in
+the circus. Then suddenly, at one point of his reading, he had to
+introduce the passing character of a nameless individual in a London
+crowd, a choleric old gentleman who has only one short sentence to
+fire off. This he gave so spontaneously, so inimitably, that the
+puppet became an absolute reality in a second. I saw him, crowd,
+street, man, temper, and all. For I am, I may say, what is called a
+very good audience. I like what I like, and I hate what I hate; and on
+one occasion growled at the theater so audibly at what I thought some
+very bad acting that I began to hear ominous cries of "Turn him out!"
+It was the first night of one of my own plays, Dickens's electric
+flash bowled me over so completely and instantly that I broke into a
+peal of laughter, and as we sometimes do when hard hit, kept on
+laughing internally, which is half tears, and half hiccough, for some
+time afterwards. Upon my word, I am laughing now, as I recall it. It
+was so funny. The audience of course glared at me with the well-known
+look of rebuke. "How _dare_ you express your feelings out loud, and
+disturb us!"
+
+But Dickens's eye--I wasn't much more than a boy, and he didn't know
+me from Adam--went at once straight for mine. "Here's somebody who
+likes me, anyhow," it said. For the next few minutes he read at me, if
+ever man did. The sympathetic unit is everything to us. And on my
+word the result was that he so warmed to his work that he got the
+whole audience in his hand, and dispensed with me. Only once
+again--oh, how like him it was!--he fixed me with his eye just towards
+the end of the reading, and made a short but perceptible pause. I
+wondered what was coming--and soon knew. The choleric old party in the
+street had to appear for one passing instant more, and fire off one
+more passing sentence. Which he did--with the same results. Good
+heavens! what an actor Dickens was.
+
+When that reading ended--with the success which it deserved--never did
+that most expressive of all human features, the eye, thank a boy more
+expressively. Over all things cultivate sympathy. If antipathy goes
+with it, so much the better. If the magnet must attract, it likewise
+must repel. Dickens was a magnet of the magnets; but in his case I
+must confess, that when a modern specimen tells me he can't laugh at
+him, he makes me feel rather as Heine felt when somebody told him that
+he--the somebody--was an atheist; frightened.
+
+... Dickens is perhaps best described as to my immense amusement, and
+by the most delicious misprint I ever saw, I found myself once
+described in the "Visitors' List" in an English paper abroad--"Human
+Marvel, and family." It looked like some new kind of acrobat. Of
+Charles Dickens's great kindnesses to me in after days, and of some
+personal experiences of his stage passion, at the end of his life, I
+ventured to gossip with readers of the _Bar_, some months ago, in a
+paper called "With the Majority." In one sense, yes; but in
+another--in what a minority, Thackeray and he!
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+ON THE DEATH OF DICKENS
+
+
+When Charles Dickens died the English papers and magazines were filled
+with criticisms and appreciations of the great writer. It may be
+interesting to glance at a few extracts from these:
+
+From _Fraser's Magazine_.--On the eighth of June, 1870, the busiest
+brain and the busiest hand that ever guided pen over paper finished
+their appointed work, and that pen was laid aside forever. Words of
+its inditing were sure of immediately reaching and being welcomed by a
+larger number of men and women than those of any other living
+writer--perhaps of any writer who has ever lived.
+
+About six o'clock on that summer evening, having done his day's work
+with habitual assiduity, Charles Dickens sat down to dinner with some
+members of his family. He had complained of headache, but neither he
+nor any one felt the least apprehension. The pain increased, the head
+drooped forward, and he never spoke again. Breathing went on for
+four-and-twenty hours, and then there was nothing left but ... dismay
+and sorrow. When the sad news was made public it fell with the shock
+of a personal loss on the hearts of countless millions, to whom the
+name of the famous author was like that of an intimate and dear
+friend....
+
+Anthony Trollope in _St. Paul's_.--It seems to have been but the other
+day that, sitting where I now sit, in the same chair, at the same
+table, with the same familiar things around me, I wrote for the
+_Cornhill Magazine_ a few lines in remembrance of Thackeray, who had
+then been taken from us, and when those lines appeared they were
+preceded by others, very full of feeling, from his much older friend,
+Charles Dickens. Now I take up my pen again because Charles Dickens
+has also gone, and because it is not fit that this publication should
+go forth without a word spoken to his honor.
+
+It is singular that two men in age so nearly equal, in career so
+nearly allied, friends so old, and rivals so close, should each have
+left us so suddenly, without any of that notice, first doubting and
+then assured, which illness gives; so that in the case of the one as
+of the other, the tidings of death's dealings have struck us a hard
+and startling blow, inflicting not only sorrow, but for a while that
+positive, physical pain which comes from evil tidings which are
+totally unexpected. It was but a week or two since that I was
+discussing at the club that vexed question of American copyright with
+Mr. Dickens, and while differing from him somewhat, was wondering at
+the youthful vitality of the man who seemed to have done his forty
+years of work without having a trace of it left upon him to lessen his
+energy, or rob his feelings of their freshness. It was but the other
+day that he spoke at the Academy dinner, and those who heard him then
+heard him at his best; and those who did not hear him, but only read
+his words, felt how fortunate it was that there should be such a man
+to speak for literature on such an occasion. When he took farewell of
+the public as a public reader, a few months since, the public wondered
+that a man in the very prime of his capacity should retire from such a
+career. But though there was to be an end to his readings, there was
+not, therefore, to be an end of his labors. He was to resume, and did
+resume, his old work, and when the first number of _Edwin Drood's
+Mystery_ was bought up with unprecedented avidity by the lovers of
+Dickens's stories, it was feared, probably, by none but one that he
+might not live to finish his chronicle. He was a man, as we all
+thought, to live to be a hundred. He looked to be full of health, he
+walked vigorously, he stood, and spoke, and, above all, he laughed
+like a man in the full vigor of his life....
+
+He would attempt nothing--show no interest in anything--which he could
+not do, and which he did not understand. But he was not on that
+account forced to confine himself to literature. Every one knows how
+he read. Most readers of these lines, though they may never have seen
+him act,--as I never did,--still know that his acting was excellent.
+As an actor he would have been at the top of his profession. And he
+had another gift,--had it so wonderfully, that it may almost be said
+that he has left no equal behind him. He spoke so well, that a public
+dinner became a blessing instead of a curse, if he was in the
+chair,--had its compensating twenty minutes of pleasure, even if he
+were called upon to propose a toast, or to thank the company for
+drinking his health. For myself, I never could tell how far his
+speeches were ordinarily prepared:--but I can declare that I have
+heard him speak admirably when he has had to do so with no moment of
+preparation.
+
+A great man has gone from us--such a one that we may surely say of him
+that we shall not look upon his like again. As years roll on, we shall
+learn to appreciate his loss. He now rests in the spot consecrated to
+the memory of our greatest and noblest; and Englishmen would certainly
+not have been contented had he been laid elsewhere.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+
+RUSKIN'S CHILDHOOD
+
+
+We are fortunate in having Ruskin's own account of how he passed his
+childhood days. In _Praeterita_ we have his autobiography. His
+description of his early days runs as follows:
+
+"I am and my father was before me a violent Tory of the old school
+(Walter Scott's school, that is to say, and Homer's); I name these two
+out of the numberless great Tory writers, because they were my own two
+masters. I had Walter Scott's novels and the _Iliad_ (Pope's
+translation), for my only reading when I was a child, on weekdays; on
+Sunday their effect was tempered by _Robinson Crusoe_ and the
+_Pilgrim's Progress_, my mother having it deeply in her heart to make
+an evangelical clergyman of me. Fortunately, I had an aunt more
+evangelical than her mother, and my aunt gave me cold mutton for
+Sunday's dinner, which, as I much preferred it hot, greatly diminished
+the influence of the _Pilgrim's Progress_, and the end of the matter
+was, that I got all of the imaginative teachings of De Foe and Bunyan,
+and yet--am not an evangelical clergyman.
+
+"I had, however, still better teaching than theirs, and that
+compulsorily, and every day of the week.
+
+"Walter Scott and Pope's Homer were reading of my own election, but my
+mother forced me, by steady daily toil, to learn long chapters of the
+Bible by heart, as well as to read it every syllable through, aloud,
+hard names and all, from Genesis, to the Apocalypse, about once a
+year: and to that discipline--patient, accurate, and resolute--I owe,
+not only a knowledge of the book, which I find occasionally
+serviceable, but much of my general power of taking pains, and the
+best part of my taste in literature. From Walter Scott's novels I
+might easily, as I grew older, have fallen to other people's novels;
+and Pope might, perhaps, have led me to take Johnson's English, or
+Gibbon's, as types of language; but once knowing the 32d of
+Deuteronomy, or the 119th Psalm, the 15th of 1st Corinthians, the
+Sermon on the Mount, and most of the Apocalypse, every syllable by
+heart, and having always a way of thinking with; myself what words
+meant, it was not possible for me, even in the foolishest times of
+youth, to write entirely superficial or formal English, and the
+affectation of trying to write like Hooker or George Herbert was the
+most innocent I could have fallen into."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"As years went on, and I came to be four or five years old he (the
+father) could command a post-chaise and pair for two months in the
+summer, by help of which, with my mother and me, he went the round of
+his country customers (who liked to see the principal of the house,
+his own traveler); so that, at a jog-trot pace, and through the
+panoramic opening of the four windows of a post-chaise, made more
+panoramic still to me because my seat was a little bracket in front
+(for we used to hire the chaise regularly for the two months out of
+Long Acre, and so could have it bracketed and pocketed as we liked), I
+saw all the highroads, and most of the cross ones, of England and
+Wales, and great part of lowland Scotland, as far as Perth, where
+every other year we spent the whole summer; and I used to read the
+_Abbot_ at Kinross, and the _Monastery_ at Glen Farg, which I used to
+confuse with 'Glendearg,' and thought that the White Lady had as
+certainly lived by the streamlet in the glen of the Ochlis, as the
+Queen of Scots in the island of Loch Leven.
+
+"To my farther benefit, as I grew older, I thus saw nearly all the
+noblemen's houses in England, in reverent and healthy delight of
+uncovetous admiration,--perceiving, as soon as I could perceive any
+political truth at all, that it was probably much happier to live in a
+small house, and have Warwick castle to be astonished at, than to live
+in Warwick castle and have nothing to be astonished at; but that, at
+all events, it would not make Brunswick Square in the least more
+pleasantly habitable, to pull Warwick castle down."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Contented, by reason of these occasional glimpses of the rivers of
+Paradise, I lived until I was more than four years old in Hunter
+Street, Brunswick Square, the greater part of the year; for a few
+weeks in the summer breathing country air, by taking lodgings in small
+cottages (real cottages, not villas, so-called) either about
+Hampstead, or at Dulwich, at 'Mrs. Ridley's,' the last of a row in a
+lane which led out into the Dulwich fields on one side, and was itself
+full of buttercups in spring, and blackberries in autumn. But my
+chief remaining impressions of those days are attached to Hunter
+Street. My mother's general principles of first treatment were, to
+guard me with steady watchfulness from all avoidable pain or danger,
+and, for the rest, to let me amuse myself as I liked, provided I was
+neither fretful or troublesome. But the law was, that I should find my
+own amusement. No toys of any kind were at first allowed, and the pity
+of my Croydon aunt for my monastic poverty in this respect was
+boundless. On one of my birthdays, thinking to overcome my mother's
+resolution by splendor of temptation, she bought the most radiant
+Punch and Judy she could find in the Soho bazaar, as big as a real
+Punch and Judy, all dressed in scarlet and gold, and that would dance,
+tied to the leg of a chair. I must have been greatly impressed, for I
+remember well the look of the two figures, as my aunt herself
+exhibited their virtues. My mother was obliged to accept them, but
+afterward quietly told me it was not right that I should have them,
+and I never saw them again.
+
+"Nor did I painfully wish, what I was never permitted for an instant
+to hope, or even imagine, the possession of such things as one saw in
+toyshops. I had a bunch of keys to play with, as long as I was capable
+only of pleasure in what glittered and jingled, as I grew older I had
+a cart and a ball, and when I was five or six years old, two boxes of
+well-cut wooden bricks. With these modest, but I still think, entirely
+sufficient possessions, and being always summarily whipped if I cried,
+did not do as I was bid, or tumbled on the stairs, I soon attained
+serene and secure methods of life and motion, and could pass my days
+contentedly in tracing the squares and comparing the colors of my
+carpet; examining the knots in the wood of the floor or counting the
+bricks in the opposite houses; with rapturous intervals of excitement
+during the filling of the water-cart, through its leathern pipe, from
+the dripping iron post at the pavement edge; or the still more
+admirable proceedings of the turncock, when he turned and turned till
+a fountain sprang up in the middle of the street. But the carpet, and
+what patterns I could find in bed-covers, dresses, or wall papers to
+be examined, were my chief resources, and my attention to the
+particulars in these was soon so accurate, that when at three and a
+half I was taken to have my portrait painted by Mr. Northcote, I had
+not been ten minutes alone with him before I asked him why there were
+holes in his carpet."
+
+   [Illustration: ROBERT BROWNING
+   From the portrait by Field Talfourd]
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+THE MARRIAGE OF THE BROWNINGS
+
+
+When Wordsworth heard of the marriage of Robert Browning to Elizabeth
+Barrett, he is reported to have said, "So Robert Browning and Miss
+Barrett have gone off together. I hope they understand each
+other--nobody else would." When Wordsworth said this he was an old man
+and like most old men unable to appreciate the new. Compared with the
+simplicity of much of Wordsworth's poetry a poem like _A Death in the
+Desert_ might seem unintelligible; but surely the same objection
+cannot be urged against the poetry of Mrs. Browning.
+
+The marriage of Robert Browning to Miss Barrett is the one dramatic
+event in his quiet life. To one who has read his passionate and at
+times fiery, unconventional poetry, the runaway, unconventional
+marriage is not unaccountable, but altogether consistent. The manner
+of it was thus:
+
+In her youth Miss Barrett became an invalid through an injury to her
+spine, an accident occurring while she was fixing the saddle of her
+riding horse. As she grew older she was confined to her room. To move
+from a bed to a sofa seemed a perilous adventure requiring a family
+discussion. Her father was a strange unaccountable man, selfish and
+obstinate, and passionately jealous of the affection of his children.
+In the meantime Miss Barrett had written poetry that attracted the
+attention of a kindred spirit. Robert Browning in 1845 wrote to her
+saying that he had once nearly met her and that his sensations then
+were those of one who had come to the outside of a chapel of marvelous
+illumination and found the door barred against him. A little later he
+suggested that he would like to call on her. This commonplace and
+altogether natural suggestion threw the invalid into a state of
+tremulous disapproval. With robust insistence Robert replied, "If my
+truest heart's wishes avail, you shall laugh at east winds yet as I
+do." Miss Barrett replied, "There is nothing to see in me nor to hear
+in me. I never learned to talk as you do in London, although I can
+admire that brightness of carved speech in Mr. Kenyon and others. If
+my poetry is worth anything to any eye, it is the flower of me. I have
+lived most and been most happy in it, and so it has all my colors. The
+rest of me is nothing but a root fit for the ground and dark." A reply
+such as this would be construed by any gentleman as a challenge. The
+substance of Browning's reply was, "I will call at two on Tuesday."
+
+On May 20, 1845, they met. In September, 1846, Miss Barrett walked
+quietly out of her father's house, was married in a church, and
+afterwards returned to her father's house as though nothing had
+happened. Between the marriage and the elopement Robert Browning did
+not call at the Barrett house on Wimpole Street. One of his
+biographers says that this absence was due to an inability of
+Browning to ask the maid at the door for Miss Barrett when there no
+longer was a Miss Barrett whom he wished to see.
+
+In passing judgment upon the elopement of this remarkable couple one
+must remember that they were no longer giddy and rash youth. Browning
+was thirty-four and the romantic Juliet was three years older. Again
+it must be remembered that the objecting father was a most
+unreasonable and selfish man. The climax of his selfishness was
+reached when in opposition to the advice of the physicians Mr. Barrett
+refused to allow his daughter to go to Italy. "In the summer of 1846,"
+writes Mr. Chesterton, "Elizabeth Barrett was still living under the
+great family convention which provided her with nothing but an elegant
+deathbed, forbidden to move, forbidden to see proper daylight,
+forbidden to see a friend lest the shock should destroy her suddenly.
+A year or two later, in Italy, as Mrs. Browning, she was being dragged
+up hill in a wine hamper, toiling up the crests of mountains at four
+o'clock in the morning, riding for five miles on to what she calls 'an
+inaccessible volcanic ground not far from the stars.'"
+
+Miss Mitford, the literary gossip of the period, writes a letter to
+Charles Bonar, in which she gives expression to an opinion concerning
+Browning's poetry which is not dissimilar to the one we quoted from
+Wordsworth. Miss Mitford was an intimate friend of Elizabeth Barrett:
+
+"The great news of the season is the marriage of my beloved friend
+Elizabeth Barrett to Robert Browning. I have seen him once only, many
+years ago. He is, I hear from all quarters, a man of immense
+attainment and great conversational power. As a poet I think him
+overrated.... Those things on which his reputation rests, _Paracelsus_
+and _Bells and Pomegranates_, are to me as so many riddles."
+
+In a later letter she writes to the same correspondent: "I at Miss
+Barrett's wedding! Ah, dearest Mr. Bonar, it was a runaway match.
+Never was I so much astonished. He prevailed on her to meet him at
+church with only the two necessary witnesses. They went to Paris.
+There they stayed a week. Happening to meet with Mrs. Jameson, she
+joined them in their journey to Pisa; and accordingly they traveled by
+diligence, by Rhone boat,--anyhow,--to Marseilles, thence took
+shipping to Leghorn, and then settled themselves at Pisa for six
+months. She says she is very happy. God grant it continue! I felt just
+exactly as if I had heard that Dr. Chambers had given her over when I
+got the letter announcing her marriage, and found that she was about
+to cross to France. I never had an idea of her reaching Pisa alive.
+She took her own maid and her (dog) Flush. I saw Mr. Browning once.
+Many of his friends and mine, William Harness, John Kenyon, and Henry
+Chorley, speak very highly of him. I suppose he is an accomplished
+man, and if he makes his angelic wife happy, I shall of course learn
+to like him."
+
+The runaway match proved to be a most happy one. This is in disproof
+of the common thought that a poet is of so sensitive and irritable a
+disposition that no woman should expect a calm life with a poet. But
+in this case we have two distinguished poets joining hands. They
+lived in great happiness, nor was this peace and harmony purchased at
+the price of servitude and humility of the one. Each respected the
+other. Their romantic passion was based on a spiritual affinity. The
+love letters of the Brownings may have some degree of obscurity, but
+it should be said that the obscurity is one of expression, not the
+obscurity of misunderstanding in the sense in which some of the
+Carlyle letters are obscure. The list of literary men whose marriages
+have proved unhappy is not so long and distinguished as is commonly
+supposed. Milton, Landor, Coleridge, Shelley, Byron, and Ruskin are
+conspicuous examples of men who made shipwreck of marriage, but in
+contrast shine forth the names of Browning, Tennyson, Wordsworth, and
+Shakspere, for there is no evidence against the belief that
+Shakspere's marriage was a happy one; then add to these the American
+names, Longfellow, Lowell, Emerson, Hawthorne, and Holmes, and the
+list is still incomplete.
+
+In verse Mrs. Browning has most exquisitely expressed the power of
+love to transform the gloom of her sick-room into the wholesome
+sunshine of life,--
+
+    I saw in gradual vision through my tears,
+    The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
+    Those of my own life, who by turn had flung
+    A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
+    So weeping, how a mystic shape did move
+    Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
+    And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
+    "Guess now who holds thee?"--"Death!" I said. But, there,
+    The silver answer rang. "Not Death, but Love."
+
+
+
+
+XXIX
+
+ROBERT BROWNING
+
+
+Shortly after Browning's death a young man published his recollections
+of the poet in an English magazine. The extracts from that article
+will help one to appreciate the kindliness of the great poet.
+
+"My first meeting with Browning came about in this wise. I was sitting
+in the studio of a famous sculptor, who, kindly forgetful of my
+provincial rawness, was entertaining me with anecdotes of his great
+contemporaries; amongst them, Browning. To name him was to undo the
+flood-gates of my young enthusiasm. Would my sculptor friend help me
+to meet the poet, whose teaching had been my only dogma? 'Oh,' said my
+friend, 'that's easy. Write to him--he is the most amiable fellow in
+the world--and tell him about yourself, and tell him how much you want
+to know him. Say, if you like, that you are a friend of mine.' The
+advice seemed simple but useless. I felt that not even the portfolio
+of unpublished poems which the imaginative eye might have beheld
+palpable under my arm could so fortify my modesty. But my friend
+assured me that Browning would not be offended, so, after waiting some
+weeks for my crescent courage, I wrote....
+
+"I was taken up to his study and shown in. The first thing that struck
+me was that he had built up a barrier of books around his table,
+perhaps because he feared a too practical enthusiasm. Huge heaps of
+books lay on the floor, the chairs, the table, and at first I thought
+the room otherwise unoccupied. But suddenly a dapper little figure
+emerged from a huge armchair by the fire, and stepped briskly across
+the room. For a moment I was bewildered. The poet's face was familiar
+in photographs, but I had somehow imagined him a tall, gaunt man. I
+recovered myself to find him standing before me, holding both my hands
+and saying, 'Now this is really very kind of you, to come so far just
+to see an old man like me.' Then he dragged up a companion chair and
+forced me into it, standing for some moments by my side, with his hand
+on my shoulder. Then he sat down and said, 'Well, tell me all about
+yourself. Have you not brought some of your poems to show me?' Of
+course I had not. I wanted to see him and talk of his work. But for a
+while he would not let me do so. 'We'll talk about me later, if you
+like, though I'm rather tired of the subject,' he said, and proceeded
+to question me pretty closely about my aim and work. Then he sat and
+thought awhile, then came across to me and said, 'Do you know that I
+was nearly fifty before I made any money out of my writings? That's
+the truth, and you will understand my reluctance to advise any one to
+embark on such a cruel career. But--if you really mean to go in for
+it--I would do anything I could to shorten your time of waiting. So
+you must just send me some of your work, that I may give you my candid
+opinion, if you think it's worth having. And now come and see my
+books.'
+
+... "We went down to lunch, and I was introduced to the poet's sister,
+who is, I was instantly ready to aver, the most charming little lady
+in the world. I don't remember much of the talk at lunch--except that
+it turned on Ruskin and his art views, with which latter, it seemed to
+me, Browning had not much sympathy. He told me two anecdotes designed
+to prove Ruskin's technical inaccuracy; one relating to Michael
+Angelo, the other to Browning's own exquisite poem, _Andrea del
+Sarto_. 'But never mind,' said Browning, 'he writes like an angel.'
+
+"Lunch was finished, and my host apologized for having to turn me out,
+as he was obliged to attend some 'preposterous meeting,' he said. I
+was standing in the hall, saying good-by, when suddenly he turned and
+ran up-stairs. Presently he returned, bringing with him a copy of his
+wife's poems. 'Will you take this as a record of what I hope is only
+the first of many meetings?' he said. 'I can't find any of my own in
+that muddle upstairs, but I would rather you would have this than any
+of mine.' Yes, I took it, as proud as a boy could be who receives such
+an honor from his chief idol; prouder than I shall ever be again as I
+read the inscription: 'With the best wishes and regards of Robert
+Browning.' And I went away after he had made me promise--as though it
+were a thing I might be unwilling to do--to let him know when I should
+be next in town.
+
+... "I called again at the beautiful house in De Vere Gardens. The
+poet had just come in, he told me, from a meeting of the committee
+for the memorial to Matthew Arnold, and he was evidently very
+depressed by the sad thoughts which had come upon him of his 'dear old
+friend, Mat.' 'I have been thinking all the way home,' he said, 'of
+his hardships. He told me once, when I asked him why he had written no
+poetry lately, that he could not afford to do it; but that, when he
+had saved enough, he intended to give up all other work, and go back
+to poetry. I wonder if he has gone back to it _now_.' Here Browning's
+voice shook, and he was altogether more deeply moved than I had ever
+seen him. 'It's very hard, isn't it?' he went on, 'that a useless
+fellow like me should have been able to give up all his life to
+it--for, as I think I told you, my father helped me to publish my
+early books--while a splendid poet like Arnold actually could not
+afford to write the poetry we wanted of him.'
+
+... "The last visit I paid to Browning was short enough, but since it
+_was_ the last, and was marked by one of the most graceful acts ever
+done to me, I may record it as the conclusion of these memories. He
+had written inviting me to call soon, but without naming a day or
+hour. 'If I should happen to be engaged,' he had said, 'I know that
+your kindness will understand and forgive me.' So I called on the
+first morning when I was free for an hour. He came across the room
+with his accustomed heartiness of voice and hand. 'But, my dear boy,
+why did you come to-day? In ten minutes I have an important business
+appointment which I _must_ keep.' The ten minutes went all too soon,
+and I took my hat to go. He was profuse, but plainly sincere, in his
+apologies for turning me out, and made me promise to come again at a
+specified hour. I had hardly left the door, when I heard the scurry of
+footsteps and his voice calling me. I turned and saw him, hatless, at
+the foot of the steps. 'One moment,' he cried; 'I can't let you go
+till you tell me again that you are not offended, and I shan't believe
+_that_ till you promise once again to come. Now, promise'--holding
+both my hands. Of course I promised, wondering how many smaller men
+would have shown the same courtesy. For some reason on my part, which
+I now forget, that appointment was never kept, and I saw him no more.
+
+"As I stood in Poet's Corner that bitter day of last January, and saw
+him put to rest, I could not but think of him as I had seen him last,
+with the sunlight on his white hair, and I felt his warm hands, and
+heard his kindly voice saying, 'Now, promise!' and I could but think
+of that meeting as a tryst not broken, but deferred. And as I thought
+again of that life, so rich, so vivid, so complete; of that strong
+soul which looked ever forth, and saw promise of clear awaking to
+something nobler than the sweetest dream, I knew that here, at least,
+was one to whom death could do no wrong."
+
+                 --Adapted from _Littell's Living Age_.
+
+   [Illustration: ALFRED TENNYSON
+   From a photograph from life]
+
+
+
+
+XXX
+
+KNIGHT'S REMINISCENCE OF TENNYSON
+
+
+William Knight, a celebrated Scotch professor and the great expounder
+of the life and poetry of Wordsworth, in 1890 spent two days with
+Tennyson at Farringford. In an English magazine he has published his
+reminiscence of that visit. After relating the feelings of respect and
+the reverential sentiment with which he approached the place he says:
+"In the avenue leading to the house, the spreading trees just opening
+into leaf, with spring flowers around and beneath--yellow cowslips and
+blue forget-me-nots--and the song of birds in the branches overhead,
+seemed a fitting prelude to all that followed. Shortly after I was
+seated in the ante-room, the poet's son appeared, and, as his father
+was engaged, he said, 'Come and see my mother.' We went into the
+drawing-room, where the old lady was reclining on a couch. Immediately
+the lines beginning 'Such age, how beautiful' came into mind. No one
+could ever forget his first sight of Lady Tennyson, her graciousness,
+and the radiant though fragile beauty of old age. Both her eye and her
+voice had an inexpressible charm. She inquired with much interest for
+the widow of one of my colleagues at the University, who used formerly
+to live in the island, close to Farringford, and whose family were
+friends as well as near neighbors. Soon afterwards Tennyson entered,
+and almost at once proposed that we should go out of doors. After a
+short stroll on the lawn under the cedars, we went into the 'careless
+ordered garden,' walked round it, and then sat down in the small
+summer-house. It is a quaint rectangular garden, sloping to the west,
+where nature and art blend happily,--orchard trees, and old-fashioned
+flower-beds, with stately pines around, giving to it a sense of
+perfect rest. This garden is truly a 'haunt of ancient peace.' Left
+there alone with the bard for some time, I felt that I sat in the
+presence of one of the Kings of Men. His aged look impressed me. There
+was the keen eagle eye, and, although the glow of youth was gone, the
+strength of age was in its place. The lines in his face were like the
+furrows in the stem of a wrinkled oak-tree, but his whole bearing
+disclosed a latent strength and nobility, a reserve of power, combined
+with a most courteous grace of manner. I was also struck by the
+neglige air of the man, so different from that of Browning or Arnold
+or Lowell....
+
+"We talked much of the sonnet. He thought the best in the language
+were Milton's, Shakspere's, and Wordsworth's; after these three those
+by his own brother Charles. He said, 'I at least like my brother's
+next to those by the "three immortals."' ...
+
+"He had no great liking, he said, for arranging the poets in a
+hierarchy. He found so much that surpassed him in different ways in
+all the great ones; but he thought that Homer, AEschylus, Sophocles,
+Virgil, Dante, Shakspere, and Goethe,--these seven,--were the
+greatest of the great, up to the year 1800. They are not all equal in
+rank, and even in the work of that heptarchy of genius, there were
+trivial things to be found....
+
+"Just at this stage of our talk Mrs. Hallam Tennyson, Mrs. Douglas
+Freshfield, and her daughter came up the garden-walk to the
+summer-house. Miss Freshfield wore a hat on which was an artificial
+flower, a lilac-branch. It at once caught Tennyson's eye. There was a
+lilac-tree in bloom close at hand, and he said, 'What is that you are
+wearing? It's a flowery lie, it's a speaking mendacity.' He asked how
+she could wear such a thing in the month of May! We rose from the
+bower, and all went down the garden-walk to see the fig-tree at the
+foot of it, and sundry other things at the western entrance-door,
+where Miss Kate Greenaway was painting. We returned along a twisting
+alley under the rich green foliage of elms and ilexes....
+
+"Listening to the wind in the trees and the sound of running
+water--although it was the very tiniest of rillets--led us away from
+philosophy, and he talked of Sir Walter Scott, characterizing him as
+the greatest novelist of all time. He said, 'What a gift it was that
+Scotland gave to the world in him. And your Burns! He is supreme
+amongst your poets.' He praised Lockhart's _Life of Scott_, as one of
+the finest of biographies; and my happening to mention an anecdote of
+Scott from that book led to our spending the greater part of the rest
+of our walk in the telling of stories. Tennyson was an admirable
+storyteller. He asked me for some good Scotch anecdotes, and I gave
+him some, but he was able to cap each of them with a better one of
+his own--all of which he told with arch humor and simplicity.
+
+"He then told some anecdotes of a visit to Scotland. After he had left
+an inn in the island of Skye, the landlord was asked, 'Did he know who
+had been staying in his house? It was the poet Tennyson.' He replied,
+'Lor', to think o' that! and sure I thoucht he was a shentleman!' Near
+Stirling the same remark was made to the keeper of the hotel where he
+had stayed. 'Do you ken who you had wi' you t' other night?' 'Naa, but
+he was a pleesant shentleman.' 'It was Tennyson, the poet.' 'An' what
+may _he_ be?' 'Oh, he is the writer o' verses such as you see i' the
+papers.' 'Noo, to think o' that, jest a pooblic writer, an' I gied him
+ma best bedroom!' Of Mrs. Tennyson, however, the landlord remarked,
+'Oh, but _she_ was an angel!'
+
+"I have said that the conversational power of Tennyson struck me quite
+as much as his poetry had done for forty years. To explain this I must
+compare it with that of some of his contemporaries. It was not like
+the meteoric flashes and fireworks of Carlyle's talk, which sometimes
+dazzled as much as it instructed, and it had not that torrent-rush in
+which Carlyle so often indulged. It was far more restrained. It had
+neither the continuousness nor the range of Browning's many-sided
+conversation, nor did it possess the charm of the ethereal
+visionariness of Newman's. It lacked the fullness and consummate sweep
+of Mr. Buskin's talk, and it had neither the historic range and
+brilliance of Dean Stanley's, nor the fascinating subtlety--the
+elevation and the depth combined--of that of the late F.D. Maurice.
+_But_ it was clear as crystal, and calm as well as clear. It was terse
+and exact, precise and luminous. Not a word was wasted and every
+phrase was suggestive. Tennyson did not monopolize conversation. He
+wished to know what other people thought, and therefore to hear them
+state it, that he might understand their position and ideas. But in
+all his talk on great problems, he at once got to their essence,
+sounding their depths with ease, or, to change the illustration, he
+seized the kernel, and let the shell and fragments alone. There was a
+wonderful simplicity allied to his clear vision and his strength. He
+was more child-like than the majority of his contemporaries, and along
+with this there was--what I have already mentioned--_a great reserve
+of power_. His appreciation of other workers belonging to his time was
+remarkable. Neither he nor Browning disparaged their contemporaries,
+as Carlyle so often did, when he spotted their weaknesses, and put
+them in the pillory. From first to last, Tennyson seemed to look
+sympathetically on all good works, and he had a special veneration for
+the strong silent thinkers and workers.
+
+"Tennyson appreciated the work of Darwin and Spencer far more than
+Carlyle did, and many of the ideas and conclusions of modern science
+are to be found in his poetry. Nevertheless he knew the limitation of
+science, and he held that it was the noble office of poetry,
+philosophy, and religion combined to supplement and finally to
+transcend it."
+
+
+
+
+XXXI
+
+EMERSON ON CARLYLE AND TENNYSON
+
+
+On Christmas day, 1832, Emerson sailed out of Boston harbor to pay a
+visit to Europe. His health needed a change of work and scene. His
+wife had died, he had separated from his congregation, he manifestly
+was in need of some recreation, and so his friends had advised him to
+take a trip abroad. On the 2d of February he landed at Malta. From
+there he traveled through Italy and finally entered England, ready to
+make the acquaintance of English celebrities whom he had long admired.
+
+He writes in his journal: "Carlisle in Cumberland, Aug. 26. I am just
+arrived in merry Carlisle from Dumfries. A white day in my years. I
+found the youth I sought in Scotland, and good and wise and pleasant
+he seems to me, and his wife a most accomplished, agreeable woman.
+Truth and peace and faith dwell with them and beautify them. I never
+saw more amiableness than is in his countenance."
+
+This passage, of course, refers to his visit to Carlyle, to visit whom
+Emerson had driven over from Dumfries to Craigenputtock, where Carlyle
+had been living for the last five years. In this connection it is
+interesting to read what the man visited had to say about his
+visitor: "That man," Carlyle said to Lord Houghton, "came to see me. I
+don't know what brought him, and we kept him one night, and then he
+left us. I saw him go up the hill; I didn't go with him to see him
+descend. I preferred to watch him mount and vanish like an angel."
+
+   [Illustration: RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+   From a wood engraving of a life photograph]
+
+In writing of this interview, Mr. Cabot, one of the biographers of
+Emerson, says: "To Emerson the interview was a happy one, and
+gratified the chief wish he had in coming to England, though he did
+not find all that he had sought. He had been looking for a master, but
+in the deepest matters Carlyle, he found, had nothing to teach him.
+'My own feeling,' he says in a letter to Mr. Ireland a few days
+afterwards, 'was that I had met with men of far less power who had got
+greater insight into religious truth.' But he had come close to the
+affectionate nature and the nobility of soul that lay behind the cloud
+of whim and dyspepsia, and he kept to that, and for the rest, confined
+his expectations thenceforth to what Carlyle had to give. 'The
+greatest power of Carlyle,' he afterwards wrote, 'like that of Burke,
+seems to me to reside in the form. Neither of them is a poet, born to
+announce the will of the god, but each has a splendid rhetoric to
+clothe the truth.'"
+
+During this first visit Emerson dined with Lafayette and a hundred
+Americans. By the time he made his second visit Emerson was a far more
+distinguished man than during his first trip. His second visit was
+made in 1847. This time he was a lion among men. He again calls on the
+Carlyles. This time the door is opened by Jane.
+
+"They were very little changed (he writes) from their old selves of
+fourteen years ago, when I left them at Craigenputtock. 'Well,' said
+Carlyle, 'here we are, shoveled together again.' The flood-gates of
+his talk are quickly opened and the river is a great and constant
+stream. We had large communication that night until nearly one
+o'clock, and at breakfast next morning it began again. At noon or
+later we went together, Carlyle and I, to Hyde Park and the palaces,
+about two miles from here, to the National Gallery, and to the
+Strand--Carlyle melting all Westminster and London down into his talk
+and laughter as he walked. We came back to dinner at five or later,
+then Dr. Carlyle came in and spent the evening, which again was long
+by the clock, but had no other measure. Here in this house we
+breakfast about nine; Carlyle is very apt, his wife says, to sleep
+till ten or eleven, if he has no company. An immense talker he is, and
+altogether as extraordinary in his conversation as in his writing--I
+think even more so. You will never discover his real vigor and range,
+or how much more he might do than he has ever done, without seeing
+him. I find my few hours' discourse with him in Scotland, long since,
+gave me not enough knowledge of him, and I have now at last been taken
+by surprise.... Carlyle and his wife live on beautiful terms. Nothing
+could be more engaging than their ways, and in her book-case all his
+books are inscribed to her, as they came, from year to year, each with
+some significant lines."
+
+In another place he writes:
+
+"I had good talk with Carlyle last night. He says over and over for
+years, the same thing. Yet his guiding genius is his moral sense, his
+perception of the sole importance of truth and justice, and he too
+says that there is properly no religion in England. He is quite
+contemptuous about _Kunst_ (art) also, in Germans, or English, or
+Americans.... His sneers and scoffs are thrown in every direction. He
+breaks every sentence with a scoffing laugh--'windbag,' 'monkey,'
+'donkey,' 'bladder;' and let him describe whom he will, it is always
+'poor fellow.' I said 'What a fine fellow you are to bespatter the
+whole world with this oil of vitriol!' 'No man,' he replied, 'speaks
+truth to me.' I said, 'See what a crowd of friends listen to and
+admire you.' 'Yes, they come to hear me, and they read what I write;
+but not one of them has the smallest intention of doing these
+things.'"
+
+While Emerson was in London he was elected to membership in the
+Athenaeum Club, during his stay in England. Here he had the opportunity
+of meeting many famous men. He writes:
+
+"Milnes and other good men are always to be found there. Milnes is the
+most good-natured man in England, made of sugar; he is everywhere and
+knows everything. He told of Landor that one day, in a towering
+passion, he threw his cook out of the window, and then presently
+exclaimed, 'Good God, I never thought of those violets!' The last time
+he saw Landor he found him expatiating on our custom of eating in
+company, which he esteems very barbarous. He eats alone, with
+half-closed windows, because the light interferes with the taste. He
+has lately heard of some tribe in Crim Tartary who have the practice
+of eating alone, and these he extols as much superior to the
+English.... Macaulay is the king of diners-out. I do not know when I
+have seen such wonderful vivacity. He has the strength of ten men,
+immense memory, fun, fire, learning, politics, manners, and pride, and
+talks all the time in a steady torrent. You would say he was the best
+type of England."
+
+Of Tennyson he writes: "I saw Tennyson, first at the house of Coventry
+Patmore, where we dined together. I was contented with him at once. He
+is tall and scholastic looking, no dandy, but a great deal of plain
+strength about him, and though cultivated, quite unaffected. Quiet,
+sluggish sense and thought; refined, as all English are, and
+good-humored. There is in him an air of great superiority that is very
+satisfactory. He lives with his college set, ... and has the air of
+one who is accustomed to be petted and indulged by those he lives
+with. Take away Hawthorne's bashfulness, and let him talk easily and
+fast, and you would have a pretty good Tennyson. I told him that his
+friends and I were persuaded that it was important to his health to
+make an instant visit to Paris, and that I was to go on Monday if he
+was ready. He was very good-humored, and affected to think that I
+should never come back alive from France; it was death to go. But he
+had been looking for two years for somebody to go to Italy with, and
+was ready to set out at once, if I would go there.... He gave me a
+cordial invitation to his lodgings (in Buckingham Palace), where I
+promised to visit him before I went away.... I found him at home in
+his lodgings, but with him was a clergyman whose name I did not know,
+and there was no conversation. He was sure again that he was taking a
+final farewell of me, as I was going among the French bullets, but
+promised to be in the same lodgings if I should escape alive....
+Carlyle thinks him the best man in England to smoke a pipe with, and
+used to see him much; had a place in his little garden, on the wall,
+where Tennyson's pipe was laid up."
+
+
+
+
+XXXII
+
+LITERARY RECOLLECTIONS OF MAX MUELLER
+
+
+Another poet whom I knew at Oxford as an undergraduate, and whom I
+watched and admired to the end of his life, was Matthew Arnold. He was
+beautiful as a young man, strong and manly, yet full of dreams and
+schemes. His Olympian manners began even at Oxford; there was no harm
+in them, they were natural, not put on. The very sound of his voice
+and the wave of his hand were Jovelike.... Sometimes at public
+dinners, when he saw himself surrounded by his contemporaries, most of
+them judges, bishops, and ministers, he would groan over the drudgery
+he had to go through every day of his life in examining dirty
+school-boys and school-girls. But he saw the fun of it, and laughed.
+What a pity it was that his friends--and he had many--could find no
+better place for him. Most of his contemporaries rose to high position
+in Church and State, he remained to the end an examiner of elementary
+schools. Of course it may be said that like so many of his literary
+friends, he might have written novels and thus eked out a living by
+potboilers of various kinds. But there was something nobler and
+refined in him which restrained his pen from such work. Whatever he
+gave to the world was to be perfect, as perfect as he could make it,
+and he did not think that he possessed the talent for novels. His
+saying that "no Arnold can ever write a novel" is well known, but it
+has been splendidly falsified of late by his own niece. Arnold was a
+delightful man to argue with, not that he could easily be convinced
+that he was wrong, but he never lost his temper, and in the most
+patronizing way he would generally end by, "Yes, yes! my good fellow,
+you are quite right, but, you see, my view of the matter is different,
+and I have little doubt it is the true one!" This went so far that
+even the simplest facts failed to produce any impression on him....
+
+Ruskin often came to spend a few days with his old friends, and as
+uncompromising and severe as he could be when he wielded his pen, he
+was always most charming in conversation. He never, when he was with
+his friends, claimed the right of speaking with authority, even on his
+own special subjects, as he might well have done. It seemed to be his
+pen that made him say bitter things.... He was really the most
+tolerant and agreeable man in society. He could discover beauty where
+no one else saw it, and make allowance where others saw no excuse. I
+remember him as diffident as a young girl, full of questions, and
+grateful for any information. Even on art topics I have watched him
+listening almost deferentially to others who laid down the law in his
+presence. His voice was always most winning, and his language simply
+perfect. He was one of the few Englishmen I knew who, instead of
+tumbling out their sentences like so many portmanteaus, bags, tugs,
+and hat-boxes from an open railway van, seemed to take a real delight
+in building up his sentences, even in familiar conversation, so as to
+make each deliverance a work of art....
+
+And what a beautiful mind his was, and what lessons of beauty he has
+taught us all. At the same time, he could not bear anything
+unbeautiful, and anything low or ignoble in men revolted him and made
+him thoroughly unhappy. I remember once taking Emerson to lunch with
+him, in his rooms in Corpus Christi College. Emerson was an old friend
+of his, and in many respects a cognate soul. But some quite
+indifferent subject turned up, a heated discussion ensued, and Ruskin
+was so upset that he had to quit the room and leave us alone. Emerson
+was most unhappy, and did all he could to make peace, but he had to
+leave without a reconciliation....
+
+Another though less frequent visitor to Oxford was Tennyson. His first
+visit to our house was rather alarming. We lived in a small house in
+High Street, nearly opposite Magdalen College, and our establishment
+was not calculated to receive sudden guests, particularly a poet
+laureate. He stepped in one day during the long vacation, when Oxford
+was almost empty. Wishing to show the great man all civility, we asked
+him to dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. At that time
+almost all the shops were in the market, which closed at one o'clock.
+My wife, a young housekeeper, did her best for our unexpected guest.
+He was known to be a gourmand, and at dinner he was evidently put out
+by finding the sauce with the salmon was not the one he preferred. He
+was pleased, however, with the wing of a chicken, and said it was the
+only advantage he got from being a poet laureate, that he generally
+received the liver-wing of a chicken. The next morning at breakfast,
+we had rather plumed ourselves on having been able to get a dish of
+cutlets, and were not a little surprised when our guest arrived, to
+see him whip off the cover of a hot dish, and to hear the exclamation,
+"Mutton chops! the staple of every bad inn in England." However, these
+were but minor matters, though not without importance in the eyes of a
+young wife to whom Tennyson had been like one of the immortals. He was
+full of interest and inquiries about the East, more particularly about
+Indian poetry, and I believe it was then that I told him that there
+was no rhyme in Sanskrit poetry, and ventured to ask him why there
+should be in English. He was not so offended as Samuel Johnson seems
+to have been, who would probably have answered my question by "You are
+a fool, sir; use your own judgment," while Tennyson made the very
+sensible answer that rhyme assisted the memory....
+
+It was generally after dinner ... that Tennyson began to thaw, and to
+take a more active part in conversation. People who have not known him
+then, have hardly known him at all. During the day he was often very
+silent and absorbed in his own thoughts, but in the evening he took an
+active part in the conversation of his friends. His pipe was almost
+indispensable to him, and I remember one time when I and several
+friends were staying at his house, the question of tobacco turned up.
+I confessed that for years I had been a perfect slave to tobacco, so
+that I could neither read nor write a line without smoking, but that
+at last I had rebelled against the slavery, and had entirely given up
+tobacco. Some of his friends taunted Tennyson that he could never give
+up tobacco. "Anybody can do that," he said, "if he chooses to do it."
+When his friends still continued to doubt and to tease him, "Well," he
+said, "I shall give up smoking from to-night." The very same evening I
+was told that he threw his tobacco and his pipes out of the window of
+his bedroom. The next day he was most charming, though somewhat
+self-righteous. The second day he became very moody and captious, the
+third day no one knew what to do with him. But after a disturbed night
+I was told that he got out of bed in the morning, went quietly into
+the garden, picked up one of his broken pipes, stuffed it with the
+remains of the tobacco scattered about, and then having had a few
+puffs, came to breakfast, all right again.
+
+He once very kindly offered to lend me his house in the Isle of Wight.
+"But mind," he said, "you will be watched from morning till evening."
+This was, in fact, his great grievance, that he could not go out
+without being stared at. Once taking a walk with me and my wife on the
+downs behind his house, he suddenly started, left us, and ran home,
+simply because he had descried two strangers coming towards us.
+
+I was told that he once complained to the queen, and said that he
+could no longer stay in the Isle of Wight, on account of the tourists
+who came to stare at him. The queen, with a kindly irony, remarked
+that she did not suffer much from that grievance, but Tennyson not
+seeing what she meant, replied, "No, madam, and if I could clap a
+sentinel wherever I liked, I should not be troubled either."
+
+It must be confessed that people were very inconsiderate. Rows of
+tourists sat like sparrows on the paling of his garden, waiting for
+his appearance. The guides were actually paid by sight-seers,
+particularly by those from America, for showing them the great poet.
+Nay, they went so far as to dress up a sailor to look like Tennyson,
+and the result was that, after their trick had been found out, the
+tourists would walk up to Tennyson and ask him, "Now, are you the real
+Tennyson?" This, no doubt, was very annoying, and later on Lord
+Tennyson was driven to pay a large sum for some useless downs near his
+house, simply in order to escape from the attentions of admiring
+travelers.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+THE EARLY EDUCATION OF JOHN STUART MILL
+
+
+At an age when most children are playing with a Noah's Ark or a doll,
+John Stuart Mill was initiated into the mysteries of the Greek
+language. "I have no remembrance of the time when I began to learn
+Greek," writes Mill, "I have been told that it was when I was three
+years old." Latin was not begun until his eighth year. By that time he
+had read in Greek,--AEsop, the Anabasis, the whole of Herodotus, the
+Cyropaedia, the Memorabilia, parts of Diogenes Laertius, and of Lucian,
+Isocrates; also six dialogues of Plato. An equipment like this
+suggests the satiric lines of Hudibras:
+
+    Besides, 'tis known he could speak Greek
+    As naturally as pigs squeak.
+
+In considering the difficulties that this child--shall we say
+babe?--had to overcome one must remember that the aids to learning
+Greek were not then what they are now. In 1820 the Greek lexicon was a
+ponderous thing, almost as big and heavy as the infant student
+himself. Worse than this, the definitions were not in English, but in
+Greek and Latin, and as the boy had not yet learned Latin he had to
+ask his father for the meaning of every new word. The immense task
+placed thus upon the child makes one feel indignant and wish that some
+organization for the prevention of cruelty to infants had interfered
+with the ambition of the learned father. But we must admire the
+patience of the father, however we may question his good sense. "What
+he himself was willing to undergo for the sake of my instruction,"
+says the son in describing his father's teaching, "may be judged from
+the fact, that I went through the whole process of preparing my Greek
+lessons in the same room and at the same table at which he was
+writing.... I was forced to have recourse to him for the meaning of
+every word which I did not know. This incessant interruption, he, one
+of the most impatient of men, submitted to, and wrote under that
+interruption several volumes of his History and all else that he had
+to write during those years."
+
+But this does not tell the whole story. Fearing that the Greek might
+be too heavy and concentrated a food for the tender intellect of his
+child, the considerate father added a diet of English history and
+biography. The boy carefully studied and made notes upon Robertson,
+Hume, Gibbon, Watson, Hooke, Langhorne's _Plutarch_, Burnet's _History
+of His Own Time_, Millar's _Historical View of the English
+Government_, Mosheim's _Ecclesiastical History_. In biography and
+travel he read the life of Knox, the histories of the Quakers,
+Beaver's _Africa_, Collin's _New South Wales_, Anson's _Voyages_, and
+Hawkesworth's _Voyages Round the World_. "Of children's books, any
+more than of playthings, I had scarcely any, except an occasional
+gift from a relation or acquaintance.... It was no part, however, of
+my father's system to exclude books of amusement, though he allowed
+them very sparingly. Of such books he possessed at that time next to
+none, but he borrowed several for me; those which I remember are the
+_Arabian Nights_, Cazotte's _Arabian Tales_, _Don Quixote_, Miss
+Edgeworth's _Popular Tales_, and a book of some reputation in its day,
+Brooke's _Fool of Quality_."
+
+All this, it is to be remembered, was done by a boy who was not beyond
+his eighth year. In his eighth year he began Latin, not only as a
+learner but as a teacher. It was his duty to teach the younger
+children of the family what he had learned. This practice he does not
+recommend. "The teaching, I am sure, is very inefficient as teaching,
+and I well know that the relation between teacher and taught is not a
+good moral discipline to either." By the time this prodigy of
+intellect and industry reached the age of fourteen he had studied the
+following formidable list: Virgil, Horace, Phaedrus, Livy, Sallust,
+the Metamorphoses, Terence, Cicero, Homer, Thucydides, the Hellenica,
+Demosthenes, AEschines, Lysias, Theocritus, Anacreon, Aristotle's
+Rhetoric; Euclid, Algebra, the higher mathematics, Joyce's Scientific
+Dialogues, and various treatises on Chemistry; and in addition to all
+this he had read parts of other Greek and Latin authors, and much of
+English poetry and history.
+
+A boy with so heavy a burden of learning is very prone to an equal
+amount of self-conceit. But the father tried to overcome this danger
+by holding up a very high standard of comparison,--"not what other
+people did, but what a man could and ought to do." He succeeded so
+well that the boy was not aware that his attainments were
+extraordinary. "I neither estimated myself highly nor lowly; I did not
+estimate myself at all. If I thought anything about myself, it was
+that I was rather backward in my studies, since I always found myself
+so, in comparison of what my father expected of me." To this assertion
+Mr. Mill very candidly adds: "I assert this with confidence, though it
+was not the impression of various persons who saw me in my childhood.
+They, as I have since found, thought me greatly and disagreeably
+self-conceited; probably because I was disputatious, and did not
+scruple to give direct contradictions to things which I heard said."
+
+A boy who is kept at his studies as assiduously as was young Mill has
+little time for play or association with other boys. This lack of
+contact with companions is a grave defect in the education of Mill. "I
+constantly remained long," writes Mill, "and in a less degree have
+always remained, inexpert in anything requiring manual dexterity; my
+mind, as well as my hands, did its work very lamely when it was
+applied, or ought to have been applied, to the practical details
+which, as they are the chief interest of life to the majority of men,
+are also the things in which whatever mental capacity they have,
+chiefly shows itself."
+
+On the whole we feel that the childhood of Mill could hardly have been
+a happy one. The joy of physical achievement, the free-hearted
+abandonment of the young barbarian at his play, the power to do as
+well as to know--these are the birthright of every child. But while we
+may pity him for his lack of these joys, we dare not forget that to
+have lived the life or done the work of John Stuart Mill is no small
+thing. And perhaps this life could not have been lived had his
+education been other than it was.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV
+
+CARLYLE GOES TO THE UNIVERSITY
+
+
+One of the most tender pictures in the history of English literature
+is that of Carlyle as he starts for his University career. Just a boy,
+a child not yet fourteen! It is early morning in November at
+Ecclefechan--and Edinburgh with its famous University is a hundred
+miles away. The father and mother have risen early to get Thomas
+ready--not for the cab to take him to the "purple luxury and plush
+repose" of the Pullman on the Limited Express. No, Tom is going to
+walk,--his only companion a boy two or three years older. These
+rugged, poor, and godly parents had long discussed the sending of
+Tommy to the great University. James Bell, one of the wise men of the
+community, had said: "Educate a boy, and he grows up to despise his
+ignorant parents," but they knew that depended on the boy. "Thou hast
+not done so; God be thanked," said James Carlyle to his son in after
+years.
+
+But let us come back to our picture. In our mind's eye we see the
+Scotch lad starting out on his hundred-mile trip in the mist of a
+foggy November morning. Almost three-score years after, Carlyle
+himself beautifully describes the event: "How strangely vivid, how
+remote and wonderful, tinged with the views of far-off love and
+sadness, is that journey to me now after fifty-seven years of time! My
+mother and father walking with me in the dark frosty November morning
+through the village to set us on our way; my dear and loving mother,
+her tremulous affection, etc."
+
+That's the picture of an unknown boy going to the University to become
+what every pious Scotch mother wants her boy to be--a minister of the
+gospel.
+
+Here is another picture, taken about sixty years later. In a somewhat
+plainly furnished room in a house on a quiet street in Chelsea, a part
+of London, an old man "worn, and tired, and bent, with deep-lined
+features, a firm under-jaw, tufted gray hair, and tufted gray and
+white beard, and sunken and unutterably sad eyes, is returning from
+the fireplace, where with trembling fingers he had been lighting his
+long clay pipe, and now he resumes his place at a reading desk." Let
+us enter this room with Theodore L. Cuyler, who in his _Recollections
+of a Long Life_ tells us: "Thirty years afterwards, in June, 1872, I
+felt an irrepressible desire to see the grand old man once more, and I
+accordingly addressed him a note, requesting him the favor of a few
+minutes' interview.... After we had waited some time, a feeble,
+stooping figure, attired in a long blue flannel gown, moved slowly
+into the room. His gray hair was unkempt, his blue eyes were still
+keen and piercing, and a bright hectic spot of red appeared on each of
+his hollow cheeks. His hands were tremulous and his voice deep and
+husky. After a few personal inquiries the old man broke out into a
+most extraordinary and characteristic harangue on the wretched
+degeneracy of these evil days. The prophet Jeremiah was cheerfulness
+itself in comparison with him.... Most of his extraordinary harangue
+was like an eruption of Vesuvius, but the laugh he occasionally gave
+showed that he was talking about as much for his own amusement as for
+ours."
+
+Between these two pictures,--the one showing us the boy trudging away
+in the mist of the November morning, the other revealing an old man
+whose home in Chelsea had become the Mecca of the lovers of English
+literature,--what has occurred?
+
+The young boy has finished his studies at the University; has
+concluded not to enter the ministry; has studied law; served as tutor;
+translated a masterpiece of German into English, and finally dedicated
+his powers to becoming a notability in English literature: wrote
+_Sartor Resartus_, the _History of the French Revolution_, a _Life of
+Cromwell_, a _Life of Frederick the Great_, and has become
+world-renowned as one of the great figures of the Nineteenth Century.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV
+
+CARLYLE AND HIS WIFE
+
+
+In 1826 occurred what Saintsbury calls the most important event in the
+life of Carlyle,--his marriage with Jane Welsh, a young woman who
+traced her ancestry back to John Knox, the rugged Scotch reformer.
+Jane was a keen, active, high-strung, sensitive soul. There has arisen
+a formidable mass of literature discussing the relationship between
+Thomas and Jane. Were they happy or were they miserable?
+
+Jane Welsh was a Scotch lady whose family was socially superior to
+that of Carlyle's. Her father had been a physician, while Carlyle's
+was but a rude stone-mason,--and yet a great man. It is said she
+married Thomas because she was ambitious and wanted to be the wife of
+a famous man, and she had discovered in the unknown Thomas the marks
+of genius. In after years she is reported to have said: "I married for
+ambition. Carlyle had exceeded all that my wildest hopes ever imagined
+for him; _and I am miserable_."
+
+Jeannie had what she had bargained for and yet she was unhappy,--why?
+
+Carlyle was a big-hearted, hard-working, gruff, but kind-hearted
+individual. I have not a doubt that he loved his Jeannie. But he took
+no pains to show his love in those tender though trivial devotions
+that mean so much to the sensitive wife.
+
+During the first few years of their married life, they lived in a
+lonely place and had but a scant income. We have a very interesting
+picture of their life at Craigenputtock. Thomas could not eat bakers'
+bread, so Jeannie baked. The one servant they had was not competent.
+It may have been this same servant that was responsible for Thomas'
+finding, altogether unexpectedly, of course, a dead mouse at the
+bottom of his dish of oatmeal. As to the bread-baking Jean has given
+us a very graphic account:
+
+"Further we were very poor, and further and worst, being an only
+child, and brought up to 'great prospects,' I was sublimely ignorant
+of every branch of useful knowledge, though a capital Latin scholar,
+and very fair mathematician! It behooved me in these astonishing
+circumstances to learn to sew! Husbands, I was shocked to find, wore
+their stockings into holes, and were always losing buttons, and I was
+expected 'to look to all that;' also it behooved me to learn to
+_cook_! no capable servant choosing to live at such an out-of-the-way
+place, and my husband having bad digestion, which complicated my
+difficulties dreadfully. The bread, above all, bought at Dumfries,
+'soured on his stomach' (Oh heaven!), and it was plainly my duty as a
+Christian wife to bake at home. So I sent for Cobbett's _Cottage
+Economy_, and fell to work at a loaf of bread. But knowing nothing
+about the process of fermentation or the heat of ovens, it came to
+pass that my loaf got put into the oven at the time that myself ought
+to have been put into bed; and I remained the only person not asleep
+in a house in the middle of a desert. One o'clock struck, and then
+two, and then three, and still I was sitting there in an immense
+solitude, my whole body aching with weariness, my heart aching with a
+sense of forlornness and _degradation_. That I who had been so petted
+at home, whose comfort had been studied by everybody in the house, and
+who had never been required to _do_ anything, but _cultivate my mind_,
+should have to pass all those hours of the night in watching _a loaf
+of bread_, which mightn't turn out bread after all! Such thoughts
+maddened me, till I laid down my head on the table and sobbed aloud.
+It was then that somehow the idea of Benvenuto Cellini sitting up all
+night watching his Perseus in the furnace came into my head, and
+suddenly I asked myself: 'After all, in the sight of the Upper Powers,
+what is the mighty difference between a statue of Perseus and a loaf
+of bread, so that each be the thing that one's hand has found to do?'
+... If he had been a woman living at Craigenputtock, with a dyspeptic
+husband, sixteen miles from a baker, and he a bad one, all these same
+qualities would have come out more fitly in a _good_ loaf of bread.
+
+"I cannot express what consolation this germ of an idea spread over my
+uncongenial life during the years we lived at that savage place, where
+my two immediate predecessors had gone _mad_, and the third had taken
+to drink."
+
+While enjoying the description which Mrs. Carlyle has painted in such
+an entertaining manner, it is well to observe that she does not blame
+her husband. She seems to be writing the account while she is silently
+laughing at the absurd preparation her life had had for the duties of
+the wife of a poor man. But Mr. T.P. O'Connor, who writes in 1895, is
+outspoken:
+
+"I do not want to speak disrespectfully of poor Carlyle, but in spirit
+it is somewhat hard to keep one's hand off him, as we reconstruct
+those scenes in the gaunt house at Craigenputtock. There is a little
+detail in one scene which adds a deeper horror. I have said that Mrs.
+Carlyle had to scrub the floors, and as she scrubbed them Carlyle
+would look on smoking--drawing in from tobacco pleasant
+comfortableness and easy dreams--while his poor drudge panted and
+sighed over the hard work, which she had never done before. Do you not
+feel that you would like to break the pipe in his mouth, and shake him
+off the chair, and pitch him on to the floor, to take a share of the
+physical burden which his shoulders were so much more able to bear?"
+
+Another anecdote is that at a dinner while Carlyle was monopolizing
+the conversation, talking as only he could talk, he, the irritable,
+turned upon his wife with "Jeanie, don't breathe so hard!" And still
+again, we hear it said that Tennyson once remarked it was well the
+Carlyles had married each other for if each had married another there
+would have been _four_ instead of _two_ unhappy people. But I think
+the truer remark was made when Tennyson said to his son, Hallam: "Mr.
+and Mrs. Carlyle on the whole enjoy life together, or else they would
+not have chaffed one another so heartily."
+
+The _Century_ of some years ago contained this witty skit from the pen
+of Bessie Chandler:
+
+            And I sit here, thinking, thinking,
+            How your life was one long winking
+    At Thomas' faults and failings, and his undue share of bile!
+            Won't you own, dear, just between us,
+            That this living with a genius
+    Isn't, after all, so pleasant,--is it, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle?
+
+However, with all that may be said to the contrary, I do not think we
+dare say that the marriage of Thomas and Jeannie was an unhappy one.
+After reading fifteen hundred pages of biography and hundreds of
+letters passing to and fro, I am of the belief of Mr. Tennyson, that
+on the whole their union was a happy one.
+
+Shortly after Carlyle had been elected Rector of the University of
+Edinburgh, Jean died suddenly. While out driving one afternoon by Hyde
+Park, she jumped out to pick up her little dog, over whose foot a
+carriage had passed. She was never again seen alive. In her carriage
+she was found dead with her hands folded on her lap. When Carlyle
+heard of it he was away at Scotsbrig. Later in describing his feelings
+he wrote: "It had a kind of _stunning_ effect on me. Not for above two
+days could I estimate the immeasurable depth of it, or the infinite
+sorrow which had peeled my life all bare, and a moment shattered my
+poor world to universal ruin." And Froude tells us that in Carlyle's
+old age--he lived to be eighty-five--he often broke forth in these
+passionate words of Burns:
+
+    Had we never loved sae kindly,
+    Had we never loved sae blindly,
+    Never met and never parted,
+    We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
+
+   [Illustration: THOMAS CARLYLE
+   From a photograph from life]
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+CARLYLE AS LECTURER
+
+
+In 1834, the year of the death of Coleridge, we find Carlyle, like
+many another Scotchman, leaving Scotland to enter the great Babylon,
+London. The previous six years he had passed with his wife at
+Craigenputtock. He was almost forty years of age. His wife had great
+confidence in his ability, which up to this time the world had not
+recognized. So she urged him to struggle for influence and power in
+the great heart of the modern world. Number 5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, is
+the house they selected. There for the remaining forty-seven years of
+his life he worked and loved and stormed. Their neighborhood was one
+famous in association with the names of many _literati_. Near by
+Smollett wrote _Count Fathom_; in the same locality More had
+entertained the great scholar, Erasmus; there too had once lived
+Bolingbroke, and earlier, the Count de Grammont; and last but not
+least the author of Abou Ben Adhem, Leigh Hunt.
+
+When Emerson once suggested to Carlyle that he come over to America to
+lecture, Carlyle took kindly to the idea. He kept it in mind as a
+possibility for years, but he never carried it into effect. But he did
+lecture in London. His literary work was not bringing him the money
+he needed. His friends were struck with his ability. Why should he not
+lecture? This, if well managed, would bring him immediate
+remuneration. His friends set diligently to work, issued a prospectus,
+tickets at a guinea a course, and invited persons of influence to
+attend. Spedding wrote this letter to Monckton Milnes:
+
+"I take the opportunity of writing to make you know, if you do not
+know already, that Carlyle lectures on German literature next month;
+the particulars you will find in the inclosed syllabus, which, if it
+should convey as much knowledge to you as it does ignorance to me,
+will be edifying. Of course, you will be here to attend the said
+lectures, but I want you to come up a little before they begin, that
+you may assist in procuring the attendance of others. The list of
+subscribers is at present not large, and you are just the man to make
+it grow. As it is Carlyle's first essay in this kind, it is important
+that there should be a respectable number of hearers. Some name of
+decided piety is, I believe, rather wanted. Learning, taste, and
+nobility are represented by Hallam, Rogers, and Lord Lansdowne. H.
+Taylor has provided a large proportion of family, wit, and beauty, and
+I have assisted them to a little Apostlehood. We want your name to
+represent the great body of Tories, Roman Catholics, High Churchmen,
+metaphysicians, poets, and Savage Landor. Come!"
+
+Carlyle was busy with his _French Revolution_ and so did not make as
+careful preparation as he might have made. Yet he was so full of his
+subject that if he could overcome the difficulties of public
+speaking, he was bound to be interesting. As the day approached both
+he and his wife grew nervous. For diversion he drew up a humorous
+ending: "Good Christians, it has become entirely impossible for me to
+talk to you about German or any literature or terrestrial thing; one
+request only I have to make, that you would be kind enough to cover me
+under a tub for the next six weeks and to go your ways with all my
+blessing." This fortunately he did not need to use. Mrs. Carlyle
+worried lest he would be late, but by dint of close attention she felt
+she could have him "at the place of execution" at the appointed hour.
+How to get him to stop at "four precisely" was another problem. One
+humorous suggestion was that a lighted cigar might be laid on the
+table before him when the clock struck the hour.
+
+"May the First, 1837," says Professor MacMechan, "was a notable day.
+In the afternoon, Carlyle lectured at Almack's, and in the evening
+Macready produced young Mr. Browning's _Strafford_, for the first
+time, at Covent Garden. Hallam, of the _Middle Ages_,--'a broad, old,
+positive man, with laughing eyes,'--was chairman and brought the
+lecturer face to face with his first audience, the two hundred holders
+of guinea tickets. It was made up of the elements referred to in
+Spedding's letter. Learning, taste, nobility, family, wit, and beauty
+were all represented in that assembly; 'composed of mere quality and
+notabilities,' says Carlyle. It is easy to figure the scene; the men
+all clean-shaven, in the clumsy coats, high collars, and enormous
+neck-cloths of the period, the ladies, and there were naturally more
+ladies than men, following the vagaries of fashion in 'bishop' sleeves
+and the 'pretty church-and-state bonnets,' that seemed to Hunt at
+times, 'to think through all their ribbons.' We call that kind of
+bonnet 'coal-scuttle' now, but Maclise's portrait of Lady Morgan
+trying hers on before a glass justifies Hunt's epithet. The lecturer
+was the lean, wiry type of Scot, within an inch of six feet. In face,
+he was not the bearded, broken-down Carlyle of the Fry photograph, but
+the younger Carlyle of the Emerson portrait. Clean-shaven, as was then
+the fashion, the determination of the lower jaw lying bare, the thick
+black hair brushed carelessly and coming down on the bony, jutting
+forehead, violet-blue eyes, deep-set, and alert, the whole face shows
+the Scot and the peasant in every line. It was a striking face, the
+union of black hair, blue eyes, and, usually, ruddy color on the high
+cheek bones, 'as if painted ... at the plow's tail,' Lady Eastlake
+remarked, and she was an artist. Harriet Martineau remarks that he was
+as 'yellow as a guinea,' but this would be due to some temporary
+gastric disturbance. He was very nervous, as was most natural, and
+stood with downcast eyes, his fingers picking at the desk before him.
+
+At the beginning his speech was broken, and his throat was dry, drink
+as he would; but his desperate determination not to break down carried
+him through. The society people were 'very humane' to him, and the
+lecturer had a message for them; his matter was new, his manner was
+interesting; he knew his subject. The rugged Scottish accent came like
+a welcome draught of caller air from the moorlands of Galloway, to
+the dwellers in London drawing-rooms, and 'they were not a little
+astonished when the wild Annandale voice grew high and earnest.'"
+
+From this first venture which was so successful--he cleared one
+hundred and thirty-five guineas after all the expenses had been
+paid--Carlyle was induced to give other series in the next few years.
+One of the most popular books by Carlyle is _Heroes and Hero Worship_;
+this first was given in a course of lectures. When "The Hero as Man of
+Letters" was given, Caroline Fox, an ardent admirer of the Scot, was
+in attendance. She has left a vivid description of the man: "Carlyle
+soon appeared, and looked as if he felt a well-dressed London audience
+scarcely the arena for him to figure in as a popular lecturer. He is a
+tall, robust-looking man; rugged simplicity and indomitable strength
+are in his face, and such a glow of genius in it--not always
+smoldering there, but flashing from his beautiful gray eyes, from the
+remoteness of their deep setting under that massive brow. His manner
+is very quiet, but he speaks as one tremendously convinced of what he
+utters, and who had much, very much, in him that was quite
+unutterable, quite unfit to be uttered to the uninitiated ear; and
+when the Englishman's sense of beauty or truth exhibited itself in
+vociferous cheers, he would impatiently, almost contemptuously, wave
+his hand, as if that were not the kind of homage which truth demanded.
+He began in a rather low and nervous voice, with a broad Scotch
+accent, but it soon grew firm, and shrank not abashed from its great
+task."
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII
+
+CARLYLE ON WORDSWORTH AND BROWNING
+
+
+On our first day's journey, wrote Mr. Duffy in the _Contemporary
+Review_, the casual mention of Edmund Burke induced me to ask Carlyle
+who was the best talker he had met among notable people in London.
+
+He said that when he met Wordsworth first he had been assured that he
+talked better than any man in England. It was his habit to talk
+whatever was in his mind at the time, with total indifference to the
+impression it produced on his hearers. On this occasion he kept
+discoursing how far you could get carried out of London on this side
+and on that for sixpence. One was disappointed,--perhaps,--but, after
+all, this was the only healthy way of talking, to say what is actually
+in your mind, and let sane creatures who listen to make what they can
+of it. Whether they understood or not, Wordsworth maintained a stern
+composure, and went his way, content that the world went quite another
+road. When he knew him better, he found that no man gave you so
+faithful and vivid a picture of any person or thing which he had seen
+with his own eyes.
+
+I inquired if Wordsworth came up to this description he had heard of
+him as the best talker in England.
+
+"Well," he replied, "it was true you could get more meaning out of
+what Wordsworth had to say than from anybody else. Leigh Hunt would
+emit more pretty, pleasant, ingenious flashes in an hour than
+Wordsworth in a day. But in the end you would find, if well
+considered, that you had been drinking perfumed water in one case, and
+in the other you got the sense of a deep, earnest man, who had thought
+silently and painfully on many things. There was one exception to your
+satisfaction with the man. When he spoke of poetry he harangued about
+meters, cadences, rhythms, and so forth, and one could not be at the
+pains of listening to him. But on all other subjects he had more sense
+in him of a sound and instructive sort than any other literary man in
+England."
+
+I suggested that Wordsworth might naturally like to speak of the
+instrumental part of his art, and consider what he had to say very
+instructive, as by modifying the instrument, he had wrought a
+revolution in English poetry. He taught it to speak in unsophisticated
+language and of the humbler and more familiar interests of life.
+
+Carlyle said, "No, not so; all he had got to say in that way was like
+a few driblets from the great ocean of German speculation on kindred
+subjects by Goethe and others. Coleridge, who had been in Germany,
+brought it over with him, and they translated Teutonic thought into a
+poor, disjointed, whitey-brown sort of English, and that was nearly
+all. But Wordsworth, after all, was the man of most practical mind of
+any of the persons connected with literature whom he had encountered;
+though his pastoral pipings were far from being of the importance his
+admirers imagined. He was essentially a cold, hard, silent, practical
+man, who, if he had not fallen into poetry, would have done effectual
+work of some sort in the world. This was the impression one got of him
+as he looked out of his stern blue eyes, superior to men and
+circumstances."
+
+I said I had expected to hear of a man of softer mood, more
+sympathetic and less taciturn.
+
+Carlyle said, "No, not at all; he was a man quite other than that; a
+man of an immense head and great jaws like a crocodile's, cast in a
+mold designed for prodigious work."
+
+"I begged him," continued Mr. Duffy, in writing of conversations with
+Carlyle, "to tell me something of the author of a serial I had come
+across lately, called _Bells and Pomegranates_, printed in painfully
+small type, on inferior paper, but in which I took great delight.
+There were ballads to make the heart beat fast, and one little
+tragedy, _The Blot in the 'Scutcheon_, which, though not over-disposed
+to what he called sentimentality, I could not read without tears. The
+heroine's excuse for the sin which left a blot in a 'scutcheon
+stainless for a thousand years, was, in the circumstances of the case,
+as touching a line as I could recall in English poetry:
+
+    I had no mother, and we were so young."
+
+He said Robert Browning had a powerful intellect, and among the men
+engaged in literature in England just now was one of the few from whom
+it was possible to expect something. He was somewhat uncertain about
+his career, and he himself (Carlyle) had perhaps contributed to the
+trouble by assuring him that poetry was no longer a field where any
+true or worthy success could be won or deserved. If a man had anything
+to say entitled to the attention of rational creatures, all mortals
+would come to recognize after a little that there was a more effectual
+way of saying it than in metrical numbers. Poetry used to be regarded
+as the natural, and even the essential language of feeling, but it was
+not at all so; there was not a sentiment in the gamut of human passion
+which could not be adequately expressed in prose.
+
+Browning's earliest works had been loudly applauded by undiscerning
+people, but he was now heartily ashamed of them, and hoped in the end
+to do something altogether different from _Sordello_ and _Paracelsus_.
+He had strong ambition and great confidence in himself, and was
+considering his future course just now. When he first met young
+Browning, he was a youth living with his parents, people of
+respectable position among the Dissenters, but not wealthy neither,
+and the little room in which he kept his books was in that sort of
+trim that showed that he was the apple of their eyes. He was about six
+and thirty at present, and a little time before had married Miss
+Barrett. She had long been confined to a sofa by a spinal disease, and
+seemed destined to end there very speedily, but the ending was to be
+quite otherwise, as it proved. Browning made his way to her in a
+strange manner, and they fell mutually in love. She rose up from her
+sick-bed with recovered strength and agility, and was now, it was
+understood, tolerably well. They married and were living together in
+Italy, like the hero and heroine of a mediaeval romance.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII
+
+THE AUTHOR OF "JANE EYRE"
+
+
+Charlotte Bronte was born in Yorkshire in 1816. A generation ago
+everybody was reading and talking about _Jane Eyre_, her most popular
+novel. The life of the author was not a happy one. She was compelled
+to teach for a living, and her position as governess was at times
+humiliating to her proud spirit. Her two sisters, whom she tenderly
+loved, died young; her brother was no credit to the family, and the
+life surrounding the parsonage--she was the daughter of a
+clergyman--was not particularly cheery, yet her many trials but
+enriched a rare and beautiful character.
+
+While living at the parsonage she would occasionally receive a box of
+books from her publisher. The following letter is self-explanatory:
+
+"Do not ask me to mention what books I should like to read. Half the
+pleasure of receiving a parcel from Cornhill consists in having its
+contents chosen for us. We like to discover, too, by the leaves cut
+here and there that the ground has been traveled before us. I took up
+Leigh Hunt's book, _The Town_, with the impression that it would be
+interesting only to Londoners, and I was surprised, ere I had read
+many pages, to find myself enchained by his pleasant, graceful, easy
+style, varied knowledge, just views, and kindly spirit. There is
+something peculiarly anti-melancholic in Leigh Hunt's writings, and
+yet they are never boisterous--they resemble sunshine, being at once
+bright and tranquil.
+
+I like Carlyle better and better. His style I do _not_ like, nor do I
+always concur in his opinions, nor quite fall in with his
+hero-worship; but there is a manly love of truth, an honest
+recognition and fearless vindication of intrinsic greatness, of
+intellectual and moral worth considered apart from birth, rank, or
+wealth, which commands my sincere admiration. Carlyle would never do
+for a contributor to the _Quarterly_. I have not read his _French
+Revolution_. Carlyle is a great man, but I always wish he would write
+plain English. Emerson's _Essays_ I read with much interest and often
+with admiration, but they are of mixed gold and clay,--deep,
+invigorating truth, dreary and depressing fallacy, seem to me combined
+therein.
+
+Scott's _Suggestions on Female Education_ I read with unalloyed
+pleasure; it is justly, clearly, and felicitously expressed. The girls
+of this generation have great advantages--it seems to me that they
+receive much encouragement in the acquisition of knowledge and the
+cultivation of their minds. In these days women may be thoughtful and
+well read, without being stigmatized as "blues" or pedants.
+
+I have lately been reading _Modern Painters_, and have derived from
+the work much genuine pleasure, and I hope, some edification; at any
+rate it has made me feel how ignorant I had previously been on the
+subjects which it treats. Hitherto I have only had instinct to guide
+me in judging of art; I feel now as if I had been walking
+blindfold--this book seems to give me eyes. I _do_ wish I had pictures
+within reach by which to test the new sense. Who can read these
+glowing descriptions of Turner's works without longing to see them!
+However eloquent and convincing the language in which another's
+opinion is placed before you, you still wish to judge for yourself. I
+like this author's style much; there is both energy and beauty in it.
+I like himself too, because he is such a hearty admirer. He does not
+give half measure of praise or veneration. He eulogizes, he reverences
+with his whole soul. One can sympathize with that sort of devout,
+serious admiration (for he is no rhapsodist), one can respect it. Yet,
+possibly, many people would laugh at it. I am truly obliged to Mr.
+Smith for giving me this book, not often having met with one that has
+pleased me more.
+
+I congratulate you on the approaching publication of Mr. Ruskin's new
+work. If the _Seven Lamps of Architecture_ resemble their predecessor,
+_Modern Painters_, they will be no lamps at all, but a new
+constellation--seven bright stars, for whose rising the reading world
+ought to be anxiously agaze.
+
+I am beginning to read Eckermann's _Goethe_--it promised to be a most
+interesting work. Honest, simple, single-minded Eckermann! Great,
+powerful, giant-souled, but also profoundly egotistical old Johann
+Wolfgang von Goethe! He _was_ a mighty egotist. He thought no more of
+swallowing up poor Eckermann's existence in his own, than the whale
+thought of swallowing Jonah.
+
+The worst of reading graphic accounts of such men, of seeing graphic
+pictures of the scenes, the society in which they moved, is that it
+excites a too tormenting longing to look on the reality; but does such
+reality now exist? Amidst all the troubled waters of European society,
+does such a vast, strong, selfish old leviathan now roll ponderous? I
+suppose not.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I often wish to say something on the "condition-of-women" question,
+but it is one on which so much cant has been talked, that one feels a
+sort of reluctance to approach it. I have always been accustomed to
+think that the necessity of earning one's living is not, in itself, an
+evil; though I feel it may become a heavy evil if health fails, if
+employment lacks, if the demand upon our efforts, made by the weakness
+of others dependent upon us becomes greater than our strength. Both
+sons and daughters should early be inured to habits of independence
+and industry.
+
+A governess' lot is frequently, indeed, bitter, but its results are
+precious. The mind, feelings, and temper are subjected to a discipline
+equally painful and priceless. I have known many who were unhappy as
+governesses, but scarcely one who, having undergone the ordeal, was
+not ultimately strengthened and improved--made more enduring for her
+own afflictions, more considerate for the afflictions of others. The
+great curse of a single female life is its dependency; daughters, as
+well as sons, should aim at making their way through life. Teachers
+may be hard-worked, ill-paid, and despised; but the girl who stays at
+home _doing nothing_ is worse off than the worse-paid drudge of a
+school; the listlessness of idleness will infallibly degrade her
+nature.
+
+Lonely as I am, how should I be if Providence had never given me
+courage to adopt a career, perseverance to plead through two long
+weary years with publishers till they admitted me? How should I be,
+with youth passed, sisters lost, a resident in a moorland parish where
+there is not a single resident family? In that case I should have no
+world at all. The raven weary of surveying the deluge, and with no ark
+to return to, would be my type.
+
+As it is, something like a hope and motive sustain me still. I wish
+every woman in England had also a hope and a motive. Alas! I fear
+there are many old maids who have neither.
+
+                 --Adapted from _Littell's Living Age_.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX
+
+THACKERAY IN AMERICA
+
+
+Thackeray, like many other Englishmen of note, came to America to
+lecture in order to make money. He had delivered lectures in London
+and in other towns in England on the _English Humorists_. Why not use
+his popularity in America as a means of acquiring a little fortune for
+the sake of his wife and two girls. "I must and will go," he wrote to
+his eldest daughter, "not because I like it, but because it is right I
+should secure some money against my death for your mother and you two
+girls. And I think, if I have luck, I may secure nearly a third of the
+sum that I think I ought to leave behind me by a six months' tour in
+the States."
+
+Let us, in order to get a first-hand impression, read from letters
+that he wrote from America:
+
+"The passage is nothing, now it is over; I am rather ashamed of gloom
+and disquietude about such a trifling journey. I have made scores of
+new acquaintances and lighted on my feet as usual. I didn't expect to
+like people as I do, but am agreeably disappointed and find many most
+pleasant companions, natural and good; natural and well read and well
+bred too, and I suppose am none the worse pleased because everybody
+has read all my books and praises my lectures (I preach in a
+Unitarian Church, and the parson comes to hear me. His name is Mr.
+Bellows, it isn't a pretty name), and there are 2,000 people nearly
+who come, and the lectures are so well liked that it is probable I
+shall do them over again. So really there is a chance of making a
+pretty little sum of money for old age, imbecility, and those young
+ladies afterwards.... Broadway is miles upon miles long, a rush of
+life such as I have never seen; not so full as the Strand, but so
+rapid. The houses are always being torn down and built up again, the
+railroad cars drive slap into the midst of the city. There are
+barricades and scaffoldings banging everywhere. I have not been into a
+house, except the fat country one, but something new is being done to
+it, and the hammerings are clattering in the passage, or a wall or
+steps are down, or the family is going to move. Nobody is quiet here,
+nor am I. The rush and restlessness please me, and I like, for a
+little, the dash of the stream. I am not received as a god, which I
+like too. There is one paper which goes on every morning saying I am a
+snob, and I don't say no. Six people were reading it at breakfast this
+morning, and the man opposite me this morning popped it under the
+table-cloth. But the other papers roar with approbation."
+
+In this letter, of which we have read a fragment, Mr. Thackeray
+inclosed a clipping from the New York _Evening Post_. This is what the
+newspaper had to say: "The building was crowded.... Every one who saw
+Mr. Thackeray last evening for the first time seemed to have had
+their impressions of his appearance and manner of speech corrected.
+Few expected to see so large a man; he is gigantic; six feet four at
+least; few expected to see so old a person; his hair appears to have
+kept silvery record over fifty years; and then there was a notion in
+the minds of many that there must be something dashing and 'fast' in
+his appearance, whereas his costume was perfectly plain; the
+expression of his face grave and earnest; his address perfectly
+unaffected, and such as we might expect to meet with, in a well-bred
+man somewhat advanced in years. His elocution also surprised those who
+had derived their impressions from the English journals. His voice is
+a superb tenor, and possesses that pathetic tremble which is so
+effective in what is called emotive eloquence, while his delivery was
+as well suited to the communication he had to make as could well have
+been imagined.
+
+"His enunciation is perfect. Every word he uttered might have been
+heard in the remotest quarters of the room, yet he scarcely lifted his
+voice above a colloquial tone. The most striking feature in his whole
+manner was the utter absence of affectation of any kind. He did not
+permit himself to appear conscious that he was an object of peculiar
+interest in the audience, neither was he guilty of the greater error
+of not appearing to care whether they were interested in him or not.
+In other words, he inspired his audience with a respect for him, as a
+man proportioned to the admiration, which his books have inspired for
+him as an author."
+
+From Philadelphia Thackeray writes: "Oh, I am tired of shaking hands
+with people, and acting the lion business night after night.
+Everybody is introduced and shakes hands. I know thousands of
+colonels, professors, editors, and what not, and walk the streets
+guiltily, knowing that I don't know 'em, and trembling lest the man
+opposite to me is one of my friends of the day before. I believe I am
+popular, except at Boston among the newspaper men who fired into me,
+but a great favorite with the _monde_ there and elsewhere. Here in
+Philadelphia it is all praise and kindness. Do you know there are
+500,000 people in Philadelphia? I daresay you had no idea thereof, and
+smile at the idea of there being a _monde_ here and at Boston and New
+York.... I am writing this with a new gold pen, in such a fine gold
+case. An old gentleman gave it to me yesterday, a white-headed old
+philosopher and political economist, there's something simple in the
+way these kind folks regard a man; they read our books as if we were
+Fielding, and so forth. The other night men were talking of Dickens
+and Bulwer as if they were equal to Shakespeare, and I was pleased to
+find myself pleased at hearing them praised. The prettiest girl in
+Philadelphia, poor soul, has read _Vanity Fair_ twelve times. I paid
+her a great big compliment yesterday, about her good looks of course,
+and she turned round delighted to her friend and said, '_Ai most
+tallut_,' that is something like the pronunciation."
+
+In another letter: "Now I have seen three great cities, Boston, New
+York, Philadelphia, I think I like them all mighty well. They seem to
+me not so civilized as our London, but more so than Manchester and
+Liverpool. At Boston is very good literate company indeed; it is like
+Edinburgh for that,--a vast amount of toryism and donnishness
+everywhere. That of New York the simplest and least pretentious; it
+suffices that a man should keep fine house, give parties, and have a
+daughter, to get all the world to him."
+
+
+
+
+XL
+
+GEORGE ELIOT BECOMES A WRITER OF FICTION
+
+
+As one is ready to call Elizabeth Barrett the greatest poetess of the
+nineteenth century, so there is little hesitation in pronouncing
+George Eliot the foremost of the many women who have written fiction.
+The literary critics sometimes dispute her supremacy by urging the
+claims of Jane Austen, who is said to have Shaksperean power in the
+delineation of character. But the name of Jane Austen is unknown to
+the general public. For every reader of _Pride and Prejudice_ there
+are a score of readers of _Adam Bede_.
+
+George Eliot is the pseudonym of Mary Ann Evans. She took the name of
+_George_ because it was the first name of Mr. Lewes, and Eliot "was a
+good, mouth-filling, easily pronounced word."
+
+George Eliot was almost thirty-seven years old before she began to
+write fiction; in this respect reminding us of Scott, who had first
+achieved fame as a poet before he began in his maturity to write
+fiction. We are happy in having from the pen of George Eliot herself
+the account of how she began to write fiction:
+
+"September, 1856, made a new era in my life, for it was then I began
+to write fiction. It had always been a vague dream of mine that some
+time or other I might write a novel; and my shadowy conception of what
+the novel was to be, varied, of course, from one epoch of my life to
+another. But I never went further toward the actual writing of the
+novel than an introductory chapter describing a Staffordshire village
+and the life of the neighboring farm-houses; and as the years passed
+on I lost any hope that I should ever be able to write a novel."
+
+Mr. Lewes encouraged George Eliot by admiring her introductory
+chapter. He first read it when they were together in Germany. When
+they had returned to England and she was more successful in her essay
+writing than he had expected, he continued to urge her to try to write
+a story. "He began to say very positively, 'You must try and write a
+story,' and when we were at Tenby he urged me to begin at once. I
+deferred it, however, after my usual fashion with work that does not
+present itself as an absolute duty. But one morning, as I was thinking
+what should be the subject of my first story, my thoughts merged
+themselves into a dreamy doze, and I imagined myself writing a story,
+of which the title was _The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton_.
+I was soon wide awake again and told G. (Mr. Lewes). He said 'Oh, what
+a capital title!' and from that time I had settled in my mind that
+this should be my first story. George used to say, 'It may be a
+failure--it may be that you are unable to write fiction. Or, perhaps,
+it may be just good enough to warrant your trying again.' Again, 'You
+may write a _chef-d'oeuvre_ at once--there's no telling.' But his
+prevalent impression was, that though I could hardly write a _poor_
+novel, my effort would want the highest quality of fiction--dramatic
+presentation. He used to say, 'You have wit, description, and
+philosophy--those go a good way towards the production of a novel. It
+is worth while for you to try the experiment.'"
+
+When she had finished the first part of _Amos Barton_, Mr. Lewes was
+no longer skeptical about her ability to write dialogue. The next
+question was whether she had the power of pathos. This was to be
+determined by the way in which the death of Milly was to be treated.
+"One night G. went to town on purpose to leave me a quiet evening for
+writing it. I wrote the chapter from the news brought by the shepherd
+to Mrs. Hackit, to the moment when Amos is dragged from the bedside,
+and I read it to G. when he came home. We both cried over it, and then
+he came up to me and kissed me, saying, 'I think your pathos is better
+than your fun.'"
+
+The first part of _Amos Barton_ appeared in the January number of
+_Blackwood_. The publisher paid the author fifty guineas. Afterwards,
+when the series of stories dealing with clerical life was published in
+book form, she was paid L120; later, when the publishing firm decided
+to issue a thousand copies instead of seven hundred and fifty, L60 was
+added to the original sum. George Eliot expressed herself as sensitive
+to the merits of checks for fifty guineas, but the success of her
+later writings was so pronounced that a check for fifty guineas would
+have made little impression, except a feeling of disdain.
+
+_Amos Barton_ was followed by _Mr. Gilfil's Love Story_, and _Janet's
+Repentance_. The three comprise _Scenes from Clerical Life_. The
+stories are based upon events which happened in the early life of the
+writer when she lived in Warwickshire. The village of Milby is really
+Nuneaton. When the villagers and country people read the _Scenes from
+Clerical Life_ there was great excitement. Who could this _George
+Eliot_ be? Some one who had lived among them and heard all the gossip
+of the neighborhood. But they could not recall any man with enough
+literary ability to do what had been done. Finally they did remember
+that a man, Liggins by name, had written poetry. The poetry was rather
+weak stuff, but perhaps his strength lay in fiction. Liggins was
+flattered by the suspicions of his neighbors. His own doubt was
+gradually changed to belief. Yes, he was the author of this new
+fiction, because every one said he was. The voice of the people is the
+voice of God. He was invited to write for a theological magazine.
+Finally George Eliot was obliged to reveal her identity when the
+public was about to subscribe a sum of money for the pseudo-literary
+Liggins who was so fastidious as to refuse money for the product of
+his genius. Here ends the career of Liggins, the liar.
+
+One reason the villagers had for believing one of their own number was
+the author was based on the conversations in the _Scenes from Clerical
+Life_. Not only were they true to life, but they were conversations
+that had actually taken place. How did George Eliot hear them? Had she
+loitered in the public room of the village tavern? Mr. C.S. Olcott
+writes in the _Outlook_,--"The real conversations which were so
+cleverly reported were actually heard by Robert Evans, the father of
+George Eliot, who doubtless often visited the Bull in company with his
+neighbors. He repeated them to his wife, not realizing that the little
+daughter who listened so attentively was gifted with a marvelous
+memory, or that she possessed a genius that could transform a simple
+tale into a novel of dramatic power. Mary Ann Evans had moved to
+Coventry sixteen years before, and was therefore scarcely known in
+Nuneaton at the time the stories appeared. She then had no literary
+fame, and was no more likely to be thought of in this connection than
+any one of a hundred other school-girls."
+
+In her journal she records on October 22, 1857,--"Began my new novel,
+_Adam Bede_." For it her publishers offered her L800 for the copyright
+for four years; later they added L400, and still later Blackwoods,
+finding a ready sale for their numerous editions, proposed to pay L800
+above the original price. And for the appearance of _Romola_ in the
+_Cornhill Magazine_, Mr. George Smith offered L10,000, but L7000 was
+accepted. For _Middlemarch_, which appeared in separate publication,
+that is, independent of a magazine, she received a still larger
+amount. Middlemarch is considered by many critics her best work. It
+was very popular from the first. In a letter to John Blackwood,
+November, 1873, George Eliot writes,--"I had a letter from Mr.
+Bancroft (the American ambassador at Berlin) the other day, in which
+he says that everybody in Berlin reads _Middlemarch_. He had to buy
+two copies for his house, and he found the rector of the university, a
+stupendous mathematician, occupied with it in the solid part of the
+day."
+
+The public may prefer _Adam Bede_ or _Middlemarch_ but it is reported
+that George Eliot herself preferred _Silas Marner_. This is the report
+of Justin McCarthy, who was a frequent visitor on Sunday afternoons at
+the Priory, the home of George Eliot, where many distinguished
+visitors, such as Herbert Spencer, Tyndall, and Huxley, loved to
+gather. "There is a legend," writes Mr. McCarthy, "that George Eliot
+never liked to talk about her novels. I can only say that she started
+the subject with me one day. It was, to be sure, about a picture some
+painter had sent her, representing a scene in _Silas Marner_, and she
+called my attention to it, and said that of all her novels _Silas
+Marner_ was her favorite. I ventured to disagree with her, and to say
+that the _Mill on the Floss_ was my favorite. She entered into the
+discussion quite genially, just as if she were talking of the works of
+some stranger, which I think is the very perfection of the manner
+authors ought to adopt in talking about their books."
+
+
+
+
+XLI
+
+THE AUTHOR OF "ALICE IN WONDERLAND"
+
+
+It is said that when Victoria, late queen of England, had read _Alice
+in Wonderland_ she was so pleased that she asked for more of the
+author's books. They brought her a treatise on logarithms by the Rev.
+C.L. Dodgson. Lewis Carroll and the Rev. C.L. Dodgson were one and the
+same person, although they were two dissimilar characters. The one was
+a popular author of nonsense that delighted children by the hundreds
+of thousands and the other was a scholarly mathematician.
+
+C.L. Dodgson came of good Northern-England stock. His father,
+grandfather, and great-grandfather were clergymen--a contradiction,
+says his biographer, Mr. Collingwood, of the scandalous theory that
+three generations of parsons end in a fool. As a boy he kept all sorts
+of odd and unlikely pets. From Rugby he entered Oxford. In 1856 he was
+made college lecturer in mathematics, a position which he filled for a
+quarter of a century. That he had thoughts of lighter material than
+mathematics is evidenced by a short poem that appeared about this time
+in a college paper called _College Rhymes_. Two of the stanzas run
+like this:
+
+    She has the bear's ethereal grace
+      The bland hyena's laugh,
+    The footsteps of the elephant,
+      The neck of the giraffe;
+
+    I love her still, believe me,
+      Though my heart its passion hides,
+    She is all my fancy painted her,
+      But oh! how much besides.
+
+The year 1862 saw the beginning of the world-famous _Alice_. He told
+the story to Dean Liddell's three daughters. "Alice," the second of
+the three (now Mrs. Reginald Hargreaves) thus tells the story:
+
+"I believe the beginning of _Alice_ was told one summer afternoon when
+the sun was so burning that we had landed in the meadows down the
+river, deserting the boat to take refuge in the only bit of shade to
+be found, and which was under a new-made hay-rick. Here from all three
+came the old petition of 'Tell us a story,' and so began the ever
+delightful tale. Sometimes to tease us--and perhaps being really
+tired--Mr. Dodgson would stop suddenly and say, 'And that's all till
+next time.' 'Oh! but it is next time,' would be the exclamation from
+all three; and after some persuasion the story would start afresh.
+Another day perhaps the story would begin in the boat, and Mr.
+Dodgson, in the midst of telling a thrilling adventure, would pretend
+to fall fast asleep, to our great dismay." ...
+
+"Many of Lewis Carroll's friendships with children began in a railway
+carriage. Once when he was traveling, a lady, whose little daughter
+had been reading _Alice_, startled him by exclaiming: 'Isn't it sad
+about poor Mr. Lewis Carroll? He's gone mad, you know.... I have it
+on the best authority.'"
+
+Lewis Carroll, or rather Mr. Dodgson, did not wish his acquaintances
+to speak of him as the author of _Alice_. In his every-day work he
+wanted to be known as the serious mathematician. He was conservative
+in his ideas and did not look with favor upon the movement to
+overthrow Euclid. In 1870 he published a book entitled _Euclid and his
+Modern Rivals_. The London _Spectator_ speaks of this as probably the
+most humorous contribution ever devoted to the subject of mathematics.
+In an academical discussion held at Oxford he once published three
+rules to be followed in debate. This is one of the three: "Let it be
+granted that any one may speak at any length on a subject at any
+distance from that subject."
+
+
+
+
+XLII
+
+ABOUT DARWIN
+
+
+When a prominent literary journal at the close of the last century
+asked a number of distinguished Americans and Englishmen to name the
+ten most influential books of the century, it was interesting to note
+that Darwin's _Origin of Species_ received more frequent mention than
+any other book. Five years after Charles Darwin had been buried (he
+was laid to rest in Westminster Abbey in 1882), his son published the
+_Life and Letters of Darwin_, which included an autobiographical
+chapter. From this work we can gather enough to show some aspects of
+this remarkable man.
+
+Men of genius are often in childhood very imaginative. It is sometimes
+pretty difficult to distinguish between playful imagination and lying.
+Let us give Darwin the benefit of the doubt in this instance:
+
+"One little event during this year (1817) has fixed itself very firmly
+in my mind, and I hope that it has done so from my conscience having
+been afterwards sorely troubled by it; it is curious as showing that
+apparently I was interested at this early age in the variability of
+plants! I told another little boy (I believe it was Leighton, who
+afterwards became a well-known lichenologist and botanist), that I
+could produce variously colored polyanthuses and primroses by watering
+them with certain colored fluids, which was of course a monstrous
+fable, and had never been tried by me."
+
+Darwin's school experiences were not always profitable. He says:
+
+"I had many friends, and got together a good collection of old verses,
+which by patching together, sometimes aided by other boys, I could
+work into any subject. Much attention was paid to learning by heart
+the lessons of the previous day. This I could effect with great
+facility, learning forty or fifty lines of Virgil or Homer whilst I
+was in morning chapel. But this exercise was utterly useless, for
+every verse was forgotten in forty-eight hours. I was not idle, and
+with the exception of versification, generally worked conscientiously
+at my classics, not using cribs. The sole pleasure I ever received
+from such studies, was from some of the odes of Horace, which I
+admired greatly."
+
+Of his years at Cambridge he writes:
+
+"During the three years which I spent at Cambridge my time was wasted,
+as far as the academical studies were concerned, as completely as at
+Edinburgh and at school. I attempted mathematics, and even went,
+during the summer of 1828, with a private tutor (a very dull man) to
+Barmouth, but I got on very slowly. The work was repugnant to me
+chiefly from my not being able to see any meaning in the very early
+steps in algebra. This impatience was very foolish, and in after years
+I have deeply regretted that I did not proceed far enough at least to
+understand something of the great leading principles of mathematics,
+for men thus endowed seem to have an extra sense.... In order to pass
+the B.A. examination, it was also necessary to get up Paley's
+_Evidences of Christianity_, and his _Moral Philosophy_. This was done
+in a thorough manner, and I am convinced that I could have written out
+the whole of the _Evidences_ with perfect correctness, but not of
+course in the clear language of Paley. The logic of this book and, as
+I may add, of his _Natural Theology_, gave me as much delight as did
+Euclid. The careful study of these works, without attempting to learn
+any part by rote, was the only part of the academical course which, as
+I then felt and as I still believe, was of the least use to me in the
+education of my mind. I did not at that time trouble myself about
+Paley's premises, and taking these on trust I was charmed and
+convinced by the long line of argumentation."
+
+One of the great opportunities of Darwin's life came to him when, some
+time after he had finished his course at Cambridge, he was offered a
+place as naturalist on the _Beagle_, a ship sent by the English
+government on a survey. At first Darwin thought he could not go
+because his father was opposed to the plan. Finally the father said he
+would consent if any man of common sense should advise his son to go.
+This common sense man "was found in the person of his uncle, a Josiah
+Wedgwood, who advised the father to permit his son to go. The voyage
+has been described by Darwin, and thousands have been interested and
+profited by the reading. Some of the letters that he wrote to his
+friends during his trip are also very interesting. Here is one he
+sent to his cousin, Fox:
+
+"My mind has been, since leaving England, in a perfect _hurricane_ of
+delight and astonishment, and to this hour scarcely a minute has
+passed in idleness.... Geology carries the day; it is like the
+pleasure of gambling. Speculating, on first arrival, what the rocks
+may be, I often mentally cry out, three to one tertiary against
+primitive; but the latter has hitherto won all the bets.... My life,
+when at sea, is so quiet, that to a person who can employ himself,
+nothing can be pleasanter; the beauty of the sky and brilliancy of the
+ocean together make a picture. But when on shore, and wandering in the
+sublime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than Claude ever
+imagined, I enjoy a delight which none but those who have experienced
+it can understand. If it is to be done, it must be by studying
+Humboldt. At our ancient snug breakfasts, at Cambridge, I little
+thought that the wide Atlantic would ever separate us; but it is a
+rare privilege that with the body, the feelings and memory are not
+divided. On the contrary, the pleasantest scenes of my life, many of
+which have been at Cambridge, rise from the contrast of the present
+the more vividly in my imagination."
+
+From Valparaiso, after he had been two years on the voyage, he writes
+to a friend:
+
+"That this voyage must come to a conclusion my reason tells me,
+otherwise I see no end to it. It is impossible not bitterly to regret
+the friends and other sources of pleasure one leaves behind in
+England; in place of it there is much solid enjoyment, some present,
+but more in anticipation, when the ideas gained during the voyage can
+be compared with fresh ones. I find in Geology a never-failing
+interest, as it has been remarked, it creates the same grand ideas
+respecting the world which astronomy does for the universe. We have
+seen much fine scenery; that of the tropics in its glory and
+luxuriance exceeds even the language of Humboldt to describe. A
+Persian writer could alone do justice to it, and if he succeeded he
+would in England be called the 'Grandfather of all liars.'"
+
+No one can read the life of Darwin without feeling great respect for
+his perseverance. His faithful devotion to his work can teach us all a
+useful lesson. Says his son:
+
+"No one except my mother, knows the full amount of suffering he
+endured, or the full amount of his wonderful patience. For all the
+latter years of his life she never left him for a night, and her days
+were so planned that all his resting hours might be shared with her.
+She shielded him from every possible annoyance, and omitted nothing
+that might save him trouble, or prevent his becoming overtired, or
+that might alleviate the many discomforts of his ill-health. I
+hesitate to speak thus freely of a thing so sacred as the life-long
+devotion which prompted this constant and tender care. But it is, I
+repeat, a principal feature of his life, that for nearly forty years
+he never knew one day of the health of ordinary men, and that thus his
+life was one long struggle against the weariness and strain of
+sickness. And this cannot be told without speaking of the one
+condition which enabled him to bear the strain and fight out the
+struggle to the end."
+
+That Darwin himself appreciated the goodness of his wife can be seen
+from the following tribute which has appeared in _More Letters of
+Charles Darwin_. It does not appear in the _Autobiography_ because
+Mrs. Darwin was living at the time of its publication. Where in all
+literature can a more tender and beautiful appreciation be found?--
+
+"You all know your mother, and what a good mother she has been to all
+of you. She has been my greatest blessing, and I can declare that in
+my whole life I have never heard her utter one word I would rather
+have been unsaid. She has never failed in kindest sympathy towards me,
+and has borne with the utmost patience my frequent complaints of
+ill-health and discomfort. I do not believe she has ever missed an
+opportunity of doing a kind action to any one near her. I marvel at my
+good fortune that she, so infinitely my superior in every single moral
+quality, consented to be my wife. She has been my wise adviser and
+cheerful comforter throughout life, which without her would have been
+during a very long period a miserable one from ill-health. She has
+earned the love of every soul near her."
+
+
+
+
+XLIII
+
+ANECDOTES OF HUXLEY
+
+
+Huxley was more than one of the greatest scientists of the last
+century; he was a man of literary ability. By his popular lectures and
+clear expositions he probably did more than any other man of the
+century to popularize the many and important discoveries of the
+scientific world. At first there was much opposition to him, owing to
+a lack of information on the part of the public as to the import of
+the doctrine of evolution. Ex-President Gilman of Johns Hopkins
+University tells what a storm of protest was raised in America when
+Huxley was invited to deliver the opening address at the founding of
+the new university. Huxley is not even now regarded as an orthodox
+man, but much of the former prejudice has given way.
+
+John Fiske, who in so many ways can be regarded as the American
+Huxley, has published a magazine article giving his impressions of
+Huxley. In this article he gives two versions of a famous Huxley
+anecdote. Here is one:
+
+"It was at the meeting of the British Association at Oxford in 1860,
+soon after the publication of Darwin's epoch-making book, and while
+people in general were wagging their heads at it, that the subject
+came up before a hostile and fashionable audience. Samuel Wilberforce,
+the plausible and self-complacent Bishop of Oxford, commonly known as
+'Soapy Sam,' launched out in a rash speech, conspicuous for its
+ignorant mis-statements, and highly seasoned with appeals to the
+prejudices of the audience, upon whose lack of intelligence the
+speaker relied. Near him sat Huxley, already known as a man of
+science, and known to look favorably upon Darwinism, but more or less
+youthful withal, only five-and-thirty, so that the bishop anticipated
+sport in badgering him. At the close of his speech he suddenly turned
+upon Huxley and begged to be informed if the learned gentleman was
+really willing to be regarded as the descendant of a monkey. Eager
+self-confidence had blinded the bishop to the tactical blunder in thus
+inviting a retort. Huxley was instantly upon his feet with a speech
+demolishing the bishop's card house of mistakes; and at the close he
+observed that since a question of personal preferences had been very
+improperly brought into a discussion of a scientific theory, he felt
+free to confess that if the alternatives were descent, on the one hand
+from a respectable monkey, or on the other from a bishop of the
+English church who would stoop to such misrepresentations and sophisms
+as the audience had lately listened to, he would declare in favor of
+the monkey!... It is curious to read that in the ensuing buzz of
+excitement a lady fainted, and had to be carried from the room; but
+the audience were in general quite alive to the bishop's blunder in
+manners and tactics, and, with the genuine English love of fair play,
+they loudly applauded Huxley. From that time forth it was recognized
+that he was not the sort of man to be browbeaten. As for Bishop
+Wilberforce, he carried with him from the affray no bitterness, but
+was always afterwards most courteous to his castigator."
+
+Huxley was a great reader of history, poetry, metaphysics, and
+fiction, but this is not what made him a great scientist. Original men
+make books, they do not need to read them. Yet Huxley loved to read.
+He even in his old age studied Greek to read Aristotle and the New
+Testament in the original. But Huxley loved things even more than
+books. He had little respect for mere bookish knowledge. "A rash
+clergyman once, without further equipment in natural science than
+desultory reading, attacked the Darwinian theory in some sundry
+magazine articles, in which he made himself uncommonly merry at
+Huxley's expense. This was intended to draw the great man's fire, and
+as the batteries remained silent the author proceeded to write to
+Huxley, calling his attention to the articles, and at the same time,
+with mock modesty, asking advice as to the further study of these deep
+questions. Huxley's answer was brief and to the point: 'Take a
+cockroach and dissect it.'"
+
+Huxley was fond of children and their ways. His son, Leonard, tells us
+that Julian, the grandchild of Huxley was a child made up of a
+combination of cherub and pickle. Huxley had been in his garden
+watering with a hose. The little four-year-old was with him. Huxley
+came in and said: "I like that chap! I like the way he looks you
+straight in the face and disobeys you. I told him not to go on the
+wet grass again. He just looked up boldly straight at me, as much as
+to say, 'What do _you_ mean by ordering me about?' and deliberately
+walked on to the grass." In the spring the approval was not so
+decided. "I like that chap; he looks you straight in the face. But
+there's a falling off in one respect since last August--he now does
+what he is told."
+
+When Julian, the grandchild, was learning to read and write, he became
+interested in _Water-Babies_, a story that has delighted so many
+children. In it he found a reference to his grandfather as one who
+knew much about water-babies. So he wrote to his grandfather:
+
+    Dear Grandpater, have you seen a water baby? Did you put it in
+    a bottle? Did it wonder if it could get out? Can I see it some
+    day?
+                                  Your loving
+                                               JULIAN.
+
+This is the answer to the letter:
+
+                                             March 24, 1892.
+    MY DEAR JULIAN:
+
+    I never could make out about that water-baby. I have seen
+    babies in water and babies in bottles; but the baby in the
+    water was not in the bottle and the baby in the bottle was not
+    in the water.
+                             Ever your loving
+                                           GRANDPATER.
+
+Huxley was also fond of cats and dogs and pets of all kind. His son
+tells us that once he found his father in an uncomfortable seat, while
+the cat had the best chair. He defended himself by saying that he
+could not turn the beast away. In 1893 a man, who was writing on the
+_Pets of Celebrities_, wrote to him for information concerning his
+personal likings. Huxley sent him this letter:
+
+    A long series of cats has reigned over my household for the
+    last forty years or thereabouts; but I am sorry to say that I
+    have no pictorial or other record of their physical and moral
+    excellencies.
+
+    The present occupant of the throne is a large young gray
+    tabby, Oliver by name. Not that in any sense he is a
+    protector, for I doubt whether he has the heart to kill a
+    mouse. However, I saw him catch and eat the first butterfly of
+    the season, and trust that the germ of courage thus manifest
+    may develop, with age, into efficient mousing.
+
+    As to sagacity, I should say that his judgment respecting the
+    warmest place and the softest cushion in the room is
+    infallible, his punctuality at meal-time is admirable, and his
+    pertinacity in jumping on people's shoulders till they give
+    him some of the best of what is going indicates great
+    firmness.
+
+
+
+
+XLIV
+
+STEVENSON AT VAILIMA
+
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson, the writer of _Treasure Island_ and many other
+exciting romances, was an exile from home during the last few years of
+his life. The state of his health demanded a sunny clime and so he was
+forced to live in Samoa, a group of islands in the South Pacific.
+About three miles behind Apia, on a slight plateau seven hundred feet
+above the level of the sea, he cleared the forest and made a house. "I
+have chosen the land to be my land, the people to be my people, to
+live and die with," said Stevenson in his speech to the Samoan chiefs.
+Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, his step-son, thus describes their abode:
+
+"Unbroken forest covered Vailima when first we saw it; not the forest
+of the temperate zone with its varied glades and open spaces, but the
+thick tangle of the tropics, dense, dark, and cold in even the hottest
+day, where one must walk cutlass in hand to slash the lianas and the
+red-edged stinging leaves of a certain tree that continually bar one's
+path. The murmur of streams and cascades fell sometimes upon our ears
+as we wandered in the deep shade, and mingled with the cooing of wild
+doves and the mysterious, haunting sound of a native woodpecker at
+work. Our Chinaman, who was with us on our first survey, busied
+himself with taking samples of the soil, and grew almost incoherent
+with the richness of what he called the 'dirty.' We, for our part,
+were no less enchanted with what we saw, and could realize, as we
+forced our way through the thickets and skirted the deep ravines, what
+a noble labor lay before our axes, what exquisite views and glorious
+gardens could be carved out of the broken mountain side and the sullen
+forest."
+
+As Stevenson was afraid that villas might be made to intervene between
+him and the sea, he bought much land that his view might be forever
+unobstructed. He entered into the work of clearing the forest with
+vigorous delight. For months he lived in pioneer confusion. Gangs of
+native workmen worked from morning to night.
+
+"The new house was built," says Mr. Osbourne; "I arrived from England
+with the furniture, the library, and other effects of our old home;
+the phase of hard work and short commons passed gradually away, and a
+form of hollow comfort dawned upon us. I say hollow comfort, for
+though we began to accumulate cows, horses, and the general apparatus
+of civilized life, the question of service became a vexing one. An
+expensive German cooked our meals and quarreled with the white
+house-maid; the white overseer said 'that manual labor was the one
+thing that never agreed with him,' and that it was an unwholesome
+thing for a man to be awakened in the early morning, 'for one ought to
+wake up natural-like,' he explained. The white carter 'couldn't bear
+with niggers,' and though he did his work well and faithfully, he
+helped to demoralize the place and loosen discipline. Everything was
+at sixes and sevens, when, on the occasion of Mrs. Stevenson's going
+to Fiji for a few months' rest, my sister and I took charge of
+affairs. The expensive German was bidden to depart; Mr. Stevenson
+discharged the carter; the white overseer (who was tied to us by
+contract) was bought off in cold coin, to sleep out his 'natural
+sleep' under a kindlier star and to engage himself (presumably) in
+intellectual labors elsewhere. There are two sides to 'white
+slavery'--that cherished expression of the labor agitator--and with
+the departure of our tyrants we began again to raise our diminished
+heads. My sister and I threw ourselves into the kitchen, and took up
+the labor of cooking with zeal and determination; the domestic
+boundaries proved too narrow for our new-found energies, and we
+overflowed into the province of entertainment, with decorated menus,
+silver plate and finger-bowls! The aristocracy of Apia was pressed to
+lunch with us, to commend our independence and to eat our biscuits. It
+was a French Revolution in miniature; we danced the carmagnole in the
+kitchen and were prepared to conquer the Samoan social world. One
+morning, before the ardor and zest of it all had time to be dulled by
+custom, I happened to discover a young and very handsome Samoan on our
+back veranda. He was quite a dandified youngster, with a red flower
+behind his ear and his hair limed in the latest fashion. I liked his
+open, attractive face and his unembarrassed manner, and inquired what
+propitious fate had brought him to sit upon our ice-chest and radiate
+good nature on our back porch. It seemed that Simele, the overseer,
+owed him two Chile dollars, and that he was here, bland, friendly, but
+insistent, to collect the debt in person. That Simele would not be
+back for hours in no way daunted him, and he seemed prepared to swing
+his brown legs and show his white teeth for a whole eternity.
+
+"'Chief,' I said, a sudden thought striking me, 'you are he that I
+have been looking for so long. You are going to stay in Vailima and be
+our cook!'
+
+"'But I don't know how to cook,' he replied.
+
+"'That is no matter,' I said. 'Two months ago I was as you; to-day I
+am a splendid cook. I will teach you my skill.'
+
+"'But I don't want to learn,' he said, and brought back the
+conversation to Chile dollars.
+
+"'There is no good making excuses,' I said. 'This is a psychological
+moment in the history of Vailima. You are the Man of Destiny.'
+
+"'But I haven't my box,' he expostulated.
+
+"'I will send for it,' I returned. 'I would not lose you for twenty
+boxes. If you need clothes, why there stands my own chest; flowers
+grow in profusion and the oil-bottle rests never empty beside my
+humble bed; and in the hot hours of the afternoon there is the
+beautifulest pool where one can bathe and wash one's lovely hair.
+Moreover, so generous are the regulations of Tusitala's (Stevenson's)
+government that his children receive weekly large sums of money, and
+they are allowed on Sundays to call their friends to this elegant
+house and entertain them with salt beef and biscuit.'
+
+"Thus was Taalolo introduced into the Vailima kitchen, never to leave
+it for four years save when the war-drum called him to the front with
+a six-shooter and a 'death-tooth'--the Samoan war-cutlass or
+head-knife. He became in time not only an admirable chef, but the
+nucleus of the whole native establishment and the loyalest of our
+whole Samoan family. His coming was the turning-point in the history
+of the house. We had achieved independence of our white masters, and
+their discontented white faces had disappeared one by one. Honest
+brown ones now took their places and we gained more than good servants
+by the change."
+
+The following incident illustrates the high regard in which Stevenson
+was held by the native Samoans. When Mataafa, a claimant for the
+throne of Upolo, was imprisoned by the European powers, Stevenson
+visited him in prison and gave him tobacco and other gifts to cheer
+the disconsolate chief. He also visited other prisoners who had sided
+in the affairs of Mataafa. When they were released they wished to show
+their gratitude in some tangible way. So they built a fine wide road
+to the home of the famous writer, a work which they disliked but which
+their love for Stevenson enabled them to accomplish. They called it
+"The Road of the Loving-Heart." Once when his favorite body-servant,
+Sosimo, had anticipated some of his master's wants and Stevenson had
+complimented him with, "Great is the wisdom!" "Nay," replied Sosimo
+with truer insight, "Great is the Love!"
+
+Stevenson's manner of life at Vailima was somewhat like this: At six
+o'clock or earlier he arose and began the day's work. By dawn the
+rest of the household were up, and at about eight his wife's daughter
+began to take his dictation, working from then until noon. The
+afternoons were usually spent in some form of recreation--riding was a
+favorite pastime. He was fond of strolling through the tropical
+forest, and of taking part in any of the numerous outdoor sports.
+However, when he was in the height of literary inspiration, he stayed
+at his desk all day long.
+
+On Sunday evening the household was always called together for
+prayers; a chapter was read from the Samoan Bible, Samoan hymns were
+sung and one of Stevenson's own beautiful prayers, one usually written
+for the occasion, was read, concluding with the Lord's Prayer in the
+tongue of the natives. In the dominant note of these prayers, the call
+for courage and cheerfulness, one can hear the cry of the dying
+Stevenson's need: "The day returns and brings us the petty round of
+irritating concerns and duties. Help us to play the man, help us to
+perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound
+with industry.... Give us health, food, bright weather, and light
+hearts.... As the sun lightens the world, so let our loving-kindness
+make bright the house of our habitation."
+
+Stevenson died as he wished--in the midst of his work. After a day
+spent in writing his _Weir of Hermiston_, a day full of life and
+gayety, he suddenly fainted and died a short time afterwards. In the
+prayer offered the evening before had been this sentence,--"When the
+day returns, return to us our sun and comforter, and call us up with
+morning faces and with morning hearts, eager to be happy, if
+happiness shall be our portion--and if the day be marked for sorrow,
+strong to endure it."
+
+On the following morning a group of powerful Samoans bore the coffin
+upon their shoulders to the summit of Mount Vaea, where it was the
+wish of Mr. Stevenson that he should rest. One of the inscriptions
+upon the tomb is his own noble _Requiem_:
+
+    Under the wide and starry sky
+    Dig the grave and let me lie;
+    Glad did I live and gladly die,
+      And I laid me down with a will.
+
+    This be the verse you grave for me:
+    Here he lies where he longed to be;
+    Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
+      And the hunter home from the hill.
+
+
+
+
+XLV
+
+KIPLING IN INDIA
+
+
+In four lines of oft-quoted poetry Pope has declared that with words
+the same rule holds that applies to fashion,--"Alike fantastic if too
+new or old." Fashion changes, not only the fashions of millinery but
+of literature also. When the world is tired of the brilliant wit of
+Byron, it turns in relief to the contemplative verse of Wordsworth;
+when Longfellow and Tennyson have had their artistic day and a
+thousand imitators have produced romantic poetry, because
+
+    Most can raise the flowers now
+    For all have got the seed,--
+
+then this same world turns with delight to the robust poetry of
+Kipling. He has brought a new dish to the banquet of life, or at least
+a new flavor has been given to the old.
+
+Kipling is a man's poet, robust and virile. As a preface to one of his
+stories he wrote:
+
+    Go stalk the red deer o'er the heather,
+    Ride, follow the fox, if you can!
+    But for pleasure and profit together
+    Allow me the hunting of man;--
+
+and this joy in the hunting of man is what has made Kipling so
+acceptable to men. Kipling has the defects of his virtues. There is a
+certain brutality in his point of view. His beautiful _Recessional_ is
+not the greater part of Kipling. His voice "is still for war." His
+critics charge him with "Jingoism." One of the most brilliant parodies
+of recent times is Watson's
+
+    Best by remembering God, say some,
+      We keep our high imperial lot--
+    Fortune, I think, has mainly come
+      When we forgot, when we forgot!
+
+The greater influence of Kipling, both in his prose and poetry, is
+contrary to the humanitarian spirit of the age. Le Gallienne has
+said,--"As a writer Mr. Kipling is a delight; as an influence a
+danger."
+
+Mr. Kipling sprang into public notice because he had genius and
+because he had a new world to reveal to a jaded public. Mr. E. Kay
+Robinson was a friend and associate of Kipling when both were in the
+land of mysteries, India. Mr. Robinson went to India in 1884 and soon
+began to write verses over the signature of "K.R." Kipling was writing
+ballads under the initials "R.K." The similarity of the signatures
+attracted Kipling and he wrote to Robinson. They were afterwards
+associated in newspaper work and became close friends. Robinson has
+written about Kipling in India:
+
+"My first sight of Kipling was at an uninteresting stage, when he was
+a short, square, dark youth, who unfortunately wore spectacles instead
+of eyeglasses and had an unlucky eye for color in the selection of his
+clothes. He had a weakness apparently for brown cloth with just that
+suggestion of ruddiness or purple in it which makes some browns so
+curiously conspicuous. The charm of his manner, however, made you
+forget what he looked like in half a minute....
+
+"Among Kipling's early journalistic experiences was his involuntary
+assumption 'for this occasion only' of the role of the fighting
+editor. He was essentially a man of peace, and would always prefer
+making an angry man laugh to fighting with him; but one day there
+called at the office a very furious photographer. What the paper may
+have said about him or his photographs has been forgotten, but never
+will those who witnessed it forget the rough-and-tumble all over the
+floor in which he and Kipling indulged. The libel, or whatever it was,
+which had infuriated the photographer was not Kipling's work, but the
+quarrel was forced upon him, and although he was handicapped by his
+spectacles and smaller stature he made a very fine draw of it, and
+then the photographer--who, it may be remarked, was very drunk--was
+ejected. And Kipling wiped his glasses and buttoned his collar.
+
+"That trick of wiping his spectacles is one which Kipling indulged
+more frequently than any man I have ever met, for the simple reason
+that he was always laughing; and when you laugh till you nearly cry
+your spectacles get misty. Kipling, shaking all over with laughter,
+and wiping his spectacles at the same time with his handkerchief, is
+the picture which always comes to mind as most characteristic of him
+in the old days."
+
+With regard to Kipling's minute and exact knowledge of details Mr.
+Robinson has this to say:
+
+"To learn to write as soldiers think, he spent long hours loafing with
+the genuine article. He watched them at work and at play and at prayer
+from the points of view of all his confidants--the combatant officer,
+the doctor, the chaplain, the drill sergeant, and the private himself.
+With the navy, with every branch of sport, and with natural history,
+he has never wearied in seeking to learn all that man may learn at
+first-hand, or the very best second-hand, at any rate.... But most
+wonderful was his insight into the strangely mixed manners of life and
+thought of the natives of India. He knew them all through their
+horizontal divisions of rank and their vertical sections of caste;
+their ramifications of race and blood; their antagonisms and blendings
+of creed; their hereditary strains of calling or handicraft. Show him
+a native, and he would tell you his rank, caste, race, origin,
+habitat, creed, and calling. He would speak to the man in his own
+fashion, using familiar, homely figures, which brightened the other's
+surprised eyes with recognition of brotherhood and opened a straight
+way into his confidence. In two minutes the man--perhaps a wild hawk
+from the Afghan hills--would be pouring out into the ear of this
+sahib, with heaven-sent knowledge and sympathy, the weird tale of the
+blood feud and litigation, the border fray, and the usurer's iniquity,
+which had driven him so far afield as Lahore from Bajaur. To Kipling
+even the most suspected and suspicious of classes, the religious
+mendicants, would open their mouths freely.
+
+"By the road thick with the dust of camels and thousands of cattle and
+goats, which winds from Lahore Fort to the River Ravi, there are
+walled caravanserais the distant smell of which more than suffices for
+most of the Europeans who pass, but sitting with the travelers in the
+reeking inside Kipling heard weird tales and gathered much knowledge.
+Under a spreading peepul tree overhanging a well by the same road
+squatted daily a ring of almost naked fakirs, smeared with ashes, who
+scowled at the European driving by; but for Kipling there was, when he
+wished it, an opening in the squatting circle and much to be learned
+from the unsavory talkers. That is how Kipling's finished
+word-pictures take the lifelike aspect of instantaneous photographs."
+
+
+
+
+XLVI
+
+BENJAMIN FRANKLIN RUNS AWAY
+
+
+Benjamin Franklin had so many strong qualities, was eminent in so many
+lines of endeavor, that we do not always include him among the
+literary men of America. However, his _Autobiography_ is a
+masterpiece. In sincerity and simplicity it is unsurpassed. This is
+all the more remarkable because it was written at a time when ornate
+writing was the fashion. A man's style is the outgrowth of his nature,
+and it is a striking comment upon the robust quality of Franklin's
+mind that his style has the simplicity of the Bible, or _Pilgrim's
+Progress_.
+
+The following account, taken from his _Autobiography_, begins just
+after he has landed in New York, a boy of seventeen who has run away
+from home because he felt that his brother was not treating him
+fairly:
+
+My inclinations for the sea were by this time worn out, or I might now
+have gratified them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a
+pretty good workman, I offered my service to the printer in the place,
+old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first printer in
+Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel of George
+Keith. He could give me no employment, having little to do and help
+enough already; but, says he, "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost
+his principal hand, Aquilla Rose, by death; if you go thither I
+believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was a hundred miles farther;
+I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things
+to follow me round by sea.
+
+   [Illustration: BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
+   From a portrait by Duplessis]
+
+In crossing the bay we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to
+pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long
+Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell
+overboard. When he was sinking, I reached through the water to his
+shock pate, and drew him up so that we got him in again. His ducking
+sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his
+pocket a book, which he desired I would dry for him. It proved to be
+my old favorite author, Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_, in Dutch,
+finely printed on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better than I
+had ever seen it wear in its own language. I have since found that it
+has been translated into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose
+it has been more generally than any other book, except, perhaps, the
+Bible. Honest John was the first that I know of who mixed narration
+and dialogue; a method of writing very engaging to the reader, who in
+the most interesting parts finds himself, as it were, brought into the
+company and present at the discourse. Defoe in his _Crusoe_, his _Moll
+Flanders_, _Religious Courtship_, _Family Instructor_, and other
+pieces, has imitated it with success, and Richardson has done the same
+in his _Pamela_, etc.
+
+When we drew near the island we found it was at a place where there
+could be no landing, there being a great surf on the stony beach. So
+we dropped anchor, and swung round toward the shore. Some people came
+down to the water edge and hallooed to us, as we did to them; but the
+wind was so high and the surf so loud that we could not hear so as to
+understand each other. There were canoes on the shore, and we made
+signs, and hallooed that they should fetch us, but they either did not
+understand us or thought it impracticable, so they went away, and
+night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait till the wind should
+abate. In the meantime, the boatman and I concluded to sleep if we
+could, and so crowded into the scuttle with the Dutchman, who was
+still wet, and the spray beating over the head of our boat leaked
+through to us, so that we were almost as wet as he. In this manner we
+lay all night, with very little rest; but the wind abating the next
+day, we made a shift to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty
+hours on the water, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of
+filthy rum, the water we sailed on being salt.
+
+In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went in to bed; but,
+having read somewhere that cold water, drunk plentifully, was good for
+a fever, I followed the prescription, sweat plentifully most of the
+night, my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, I
+proceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington,
+where I was told I should find boats that would carry me the rest of
+the way to Philadelphia.
+
+It rained very hard all the day. I was thoroughly soaked, and by noon
+a good deal tired, so I stopped at a poor inn, where I stayed all
+night, beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so
+miserable a figure, too, that I found, by the questions asked me, I
+was suspected to be some runaway servant and in danger of being taken
+up on that suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got in
+the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington, kept
+by one Dr. Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I took
+some refreshment, and finding I had read a little, became very
+sociable and friendly. Our acquaintance continued as long as he lived.
+He had been, I imagine, an itinerant doctor, for there was no town in
+England, or country in Europe, of which he could not give a very
+particular account. He had some letters, and was ingenious, but much
+of an unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after, to
+travesty the Bible in doggerel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil. By
+this means he set many of the facts in a very ridiculous light, and
+might have hurt weak minds if his work had been published; but it
+never was.
+
+At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reached
+Burlington, but had the mortification to find that the regular boats
+were gone a little before my coming, and no other expected to go
+before Tuesday, this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old
+woman in the town of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the
+water, and asked her advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till
+a passage by water should offer; and, being tired with my foot
+traveling, I accepted the invitation. She, understanding I was a
+printer, would have had me stay at that town and follow my business,
+being ignorant of the stock necessary to begin with. She was very
+hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox cheek with great good will,
+accepting only of a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself fixed
+till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the evening by the side
+of the river, a boat came by, which I found was going toward
+Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in, and, as
+there was no wind, we rowed all the way, and about midnight, not
+having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident we must
+have passed it, and would row no farther. The others knew not where we
+were, so we put toward the shore, got into a creek, and landed near an
+old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire, the night being
+cold, in October, and there we remained till daylight. Then one of the
+company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little above
+Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek, and
+arrived there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, and
+landed at the Market Street wharf.
+
+I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and
+shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your
+mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since
+made there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come
+round by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out
+with shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul, nor where to look for
+lodging. I was fatigued with traveling, rowing, and want of rest; I
+was very hungry, and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch
+dollar and about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people
+of the boat for my passage, who at first refused it, on account of my
+rowing; but I insisted on their taking it, a man being sometimes more
+generous when he has but a little money than when he has plenty,
+perhaps through fear of being thought to have but little.
+
+Then I walked up the street, gazing about, till near the market house
+I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and,
+inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he
+directed me to, in Second Street, and asked for biscuit, intending
+such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in
+Philadelphia. Then I asked for a threepenny loaf, and was told they
+had none such. So not considering or knowing the difference of money
+and the greater cheapness, nor the names of his bread, I bade him give
+me threepenny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great
+puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having
+no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and
+eating the other. Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth
+Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when
+she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly
+did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went
+down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut Street, eating my roll all the
+way, and, coming round, found myself again on Market Street wharf,
+near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river
+water; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a
+woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and
+were waiting to go farther.
+
+Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
+many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way. I
+joined them, and was thereby led into the great meetinghouse of the
+Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
+round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor
+and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and
+continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to
+rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in,
+in Philadelphia.
+
+Walking down again toward the river, and looking in the faces of
+people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I liked, and,
+accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get
+lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here,"
+says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a
+reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me I'll show thee a better."
+He brought me to the Crooked Billet, in Water Street. Here I got a
+dinner, and while I was eating it several sly questions were asked me,
+as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance that I might
+be some runaway.
+
+After dinner my sleepiness returned, and, being shown to a bed, I lay
+down without undressing and slept till six in the evening, was called
+to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next
+morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could, and went to Andrew
+Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man, his father,
+whom I had seen in New York, and who, traveling on horseback, had got
+to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received
+me civilly, and gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present
+want a hand, being lately supplied with one; but there was another
+printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ
+me; if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would
+give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business should
+offer.
+
+
+
+
+XLVII
+
+WASHINGTON IRVING
+
+
+Washington Irving may be called the father of American literature. It
+is true he is not the first writer who flourished on American soil,
+but in point of accomplishment he is the first literary man to impress
+himself upon the readers of the two continents. And what a sweet,
+beautiful soul he is! The only rival he has is Franklin, and Franklin
+is not a literary man, though he produced a literary masterpiece in
+his _Autobiography_. The test of a great piece of literature is, In a
+hundred years can it be bought in a new edition for ten cents? The New
+Testament can be bought for ten cents, so can the _Autobiography_, and
+the _Sketch Book_. These emerge from the sea of mediocrity of early
+American life. They abide while the works of the Michael Wigglesworths
+and Anne Bradstreets can be found only in the collections of the
+fortunate book-lover.
+
+The early settlers believed in the virtue of large families. It is
+well, for otherwise Franklin and Irving would have been lost to
+American life. Franklin was the youngest son in a family of seventeen
+children, there were two girls younger (Benjamin was the eighth child
+of the second wife), and Irving was the eighth son and last child in
+a family of eleven children. It is not hard to account for Irving's
+first name. Nowadays when you meet a boy named Dewey or Garfield it is
+not difficult to guess the boy's age. Irving was born in 1783; the air
+was laden with the praises of the great American leader. "Washington's
+work is ended," said the mother, "and the child shall be named after
+him." Several years after this when Washington, as President, was in
+New York, Lizzie, the Scotch servant of the Irving family, followed
+the great man into a shop and said, "Please, your honor, here's a
+bairn was named after you." Washington placed his hand on the lad's
+head and gave him a fatherly blessing.
+
+Like Lowell and Bryant, Irving was first devoted to the law, but his
+devotion was not of the quality that consumes. He soon strayed into
+pleasanter paths. In January, 1807, appeared the first number of
+_Salmagundi_, a humorous periodical which caused a great deal of
+curiosity as to the authors, whose witty articles appeared
+anonymously. Two years later came the droll _History of New York by
+Diedrich Knickerbocker_, a book in which according to Scott were to be
+seen traces of the wit of Swift. Scott said that he used to read it
+aloud to his wife and guests until "our sides were absolutely sore
+with laughing."
+
+Before this work had appeared, Irving lost in three consecutive years
+three persons who would have rejoiced the most in his success,--his
+father, "the tenderest and best of sisters, a woman of whom a brother
+might be proud," and his sweetheart, Matilda Hoffman. She was a rare
+and beautiful maiden who had kindled in the heart of Irving a passion
+which survived her death until he himself passed away an old man. When
+he died his friends found her miniature and a lock of fair hair,
+together with the part of a manuscript written for a lady who had
+asked Irving why he had never married. Describing Miss Hoffman he
+says:
+
+"The more I saw her, the more I had reason to admire her. Her mind
+seemed to unfold itself leaf by leaf, and every time to discover new
+sweetness. Nobody knew her so well as I, for she was generally
+silent.... Never did I meet with more intuitive rectitude of mind,
+more delicacy, more exquisite propriety in word, thought, and action
+than in this young creature. Her brilliant little sister used to say
+that 'people began by admiring her, but ended by loving Matilda.' For
+my part I idolized her." Irving then continues by giving a long
+account of his efforts to succeed in his literary and legal work with
+a view of earning a place in life so as to enable him to marry. "In
+the midst of this struggle and anxiety she fell into a consumption. I
+cannot tell you what I suffered.... I saw her fade rapidly away,
+beautiful, and more beautiful, and more angelic to the very last. I
+was often by her bedside, and when her mind wandered she would talk to
+me with a sweet, natural, and affecting eloquence that was
+overpowering. I saw more of the beauty of her mind in that delirious
+state than I ever had before.... I was by her when she died, and was
+the last she ever looked upon.... She was but seventeen."
+
+So poignant was the grief of Irving that for thirty years after her
+death he did not like any one to mention her name to him. One day he
+was visiting her father when one of her nieces, taking some music from
+a drawer, brought with it a piece of embroidery. "Washington," said
+Mr. Hoffman, "this was poor Matilda's work." The effect was
+instantaneous. The light-hearted conversationalist of a moment before
+became silent and soon left the house. When in _Bracebridge Hall_ he
+writes,--"I have loved as I never again shall love in this world--I
+have been loved as I shall never again be loved,"--is he not thinking
+of the fair Matilda? And in a note-book we find,--"She died in the
+beauty of her youth, and in my memory she will ever be young and
+beautiful."
+
+In May, 1815, Irving went abroad for the second time. His purpose was
+to stay a few months; he remained seventeen years. The first sight
+that greeted the newly arrived American in Liverpool was the
+mail-coach bringing the news of the battle of Waterloo. Irving's
+sympathies were with Napoleon. "In spite of all his misdeeds he is a
+noble fellow, and I am confident will eclipse in the eyes of posterity
+all the crowned wiseacres that have crushed him by their overwhelming
+confederacy." In the year 1818 the Irving brothers went into
+bankruptcy. Washington's interest in the business was that of a
+younger brother who had little responsibility. But of late years he
+had been much harassed by the accumulating troubles. With the end of
+the business anxieties he turns to literature with a whole-souled
+devotion. His home friends tried to secure for him the position of
+Secretary of the Legation in London; his brother William wrote that
+Commodore Decatur was keeping open for his acceptance the office of
+Chief Clerk in the Navy Department; but Irving turned the offers
+aside. Irving is usually imaged as a sunshiny, genial, easy-going
+gentleman into whose blood little of the iron of firmness had been
+infused. The fact that he not only refused these offers but also
+rejected offers from Scott and Murray shows that he had will enough to
+keep to the bent of his genius at a time when he needed money and
+influence. Murray offered him a salary of L1000 a year to be the
+editor of a periodical.
+
+The first number of the _Sketch Book_ appeared in May, 1819, and
+consisted mainly in point of merit of two papers, _The Wife_ and _Rip
+Van Winkle_. The series was finished in 1820. The work was highly
+successful in America, and Irving was deeply moved by the cordial
+expressions of praise that reached him. His manly nature is revealed
+in a letter to a friend in which he says,--"I hope you will not
+attribute all this sensibility to the kind reception I have met to an
+author's vanity. I am sure it proceeds from very different sources.
+Vanity could not bring the tears into my eyes as they have been
+brought by the kindness of my countrymen. I have felt cast down,
+blighted, and broken-spirited, and these sudden rays of sunshine
+agitate me more than they revive me. I hope--I hope I may yet do
+something more worthy of the appreciation lavished on me."
+
+Irving had not intended to publish the _Sketch Book_ in England, but
+owing to reprints by others he was obliged to take the matter in his
+own hands. Murray refused to undertake the work. Then Irving became
+his own publisher. But the work sold so well that Murray bought the
+copyright for two hundred pounds.
+
+In 1826 we find Irving in Spain. To the American reader the name of
+Spain is forever associated with that of Irving, for _The Alhambra_,
+_The Conquest of Granada_, and _The Life of Columbus_ are the rich
+evidences of his absorption of the spirit of Spain. The _Life of
+Columbus_ was written with great care. Irving wanted to produce
+something that would do credit to the scholarship of his loved
+America. Murray paid about fifteen thousand dollars for the English
+copyright. For the _Conquest of Granada_ he received ten thousand
+dollars, and for _The Alhambra_ a Mr. Bentley paid five thousand.
+
+While Irving was in Madrid one of his most welcome visitors was
+Longfellow, then a young man of twenty, fresh from college. Writing to
+his father Longfellow says,--"Mr. Rich's family is very agreeable, and
+Washington Irving always makes one there in the evening. This is
+altogether delightful, for he is one of those men who put you at ease
+with them in a moment. He makes no ceremony whatever with one, and of
+course is a very fine man in society, all mirth and good humor. He has
+a most beautiful countenance, and a very intellectual one, but he has
+some halting and hesitating in his conversation, and says very
+pleasant, agreeable things in a husky, weak, peculiar voice. He has a
+dark complexion, dark hair, whiskers already a little gray. This is a
+very offhand portrait of so illustrious a man."
+
+It is interesting to compare this sketch with one that Longfellow drew
+from memory many years later,--"I had the pleasure of meeting Mr.
+Irving in Spain, and found the author, whom I had loved, repeated in
+the man. The same playful humor, the same touches of sentiment, the
+same poetic atmosphere; and what I admired still more, the entire
+absence of all literary jealousy, of all that mean avarice of fame
+which counts what is given to another as so much taken from one's
+self.... Passing his house at the early hour of six one summer
+morning, I saw his study window already wide open. On my mentioning it
+to him afterwards he said, 'Yes, I am always at work by six.' Since
+then I have often remembered that sunny morning and that open window,
+so suggestive of his sunny temperament and his open heart, and equally
+so of his patient and persistent toil."
+
+Irving's career is usually looked upon as ideal. In many ways it was
+singularly blessed. Friends, influence, fame, and wealth were his.
+When an American publisher undertook the issuing of a new edition of
+Irving's works in 1848, there was much uncertainty as to the success
+of the venture, but the author received eighty-eight thousand dollars
+from 1848 to 1859. He also had the satisfaction of working to the
+last, although the last year was one of suffering. "I am rather
+fatigued, my dear, by my night's rest," he replied to the anxious
+inquiry of a niece. He had been hard at work upon his _Life of
+Washington_, and he sometimes feared he might have overtaxed his
+brain. "I do not fear death," he said, "but I would like to go down
+with all sails set."
+
+This modest prayer was granted. To the day of his death he was able to
+receive visitors, talk intelligently, read for his own pleasure, and
+take short drives. The day before he died he attended church, and on
+coming home he remarked that he must "get a dispensation to allow
+whist on Sunday evenings," because he dreaded the long, lonely nights.
+On Monday he went to bed, and as he turned to arrange the pillows he
+gave a slight exclamation and instantly expired.
+
+By his mother's side they laid him, in a cemetery overlooking the
+Hudson and the valley of Sleepy Hollow, a region made forever famous
+by the genial pen of Irving. "I could not but remember his last words
+to me," writes a friend who made a pilgrimage to the spot on the day
+of the funeral, "when his book was finished and his health was
+failing: 'I am getting ready to go. I am shutting up my doors and
+windows.' And I could not but feel that they were all open now, and
+bright with the light of eternal morning."
+
+
+
+
+XLVIII
+
+COOPER AND "THE SPY"
+
+
+James Fenimore Cooper is one of the most interesting characters in the
+history of American authorship. Irving, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell,
+Holmes, and Hawthorne early in life showed their literary bent, and
+lived academic and peaceful careers. They were also popular. Cooper
+was thirty years old before he thought of writing, and his life was
+embittered by the consciousness that he was the target of the most
+bitter criticism, both at home and abroad. Yet not one of the
+distinguished authors I have named is more widely known to-day than
+Cooper. Matthew Arnold has said somewhere that an author's place in
+the future is to be determined by his contemporaneous ranking in
+foreign lands. If that is true the names of Mark Twain, Cooper, Walt
+Whitman, and Poe will rank high in the annals of posterity, for their
+European fame is said to be the most general of any of the American
+writers.
+
+There is an appealing fascination about the boyhood days of Cooper.
+When James was a babe of fourteen months his father moved to the
+headwaters of the Susquehanna. The family consisted of fifteen
+persons; James, the future novelist, was the eleventh of twelve
+children. Their home was in the midst of the forest. Near by was the
+charming lake, Otsego. The father owned several thousand acres, and
+was, probably, the most prominent man in that sparsely-settled region.
+What boy would want a finer opportunity to indulge all the wild
+propensities that lurk in the untamed heart of every healthy
+youngster? To roam in the untracked forest, to sail the lake, to hunt,
+to fish, to dream of the great unknown world lying just beyond the
+sun-tipped trees,--what can the schools give in exchange for this? Is
+it surprising that the wholesomeness of the forest and the charm and
+freshness of God's out-of-doors found their way into the man's novels,
+when so many delightful boyhood experiences must have found their way
+into the boy's heart?
+
+As I said, Cooper was thirty years old before he began to write. He
+had studied under an Episcopal rector, and was intending to enter the
+junior class at Yale; the rector died and Cooper entered the second
+term of the freshman class; for some frolic in which he was engaged he
+was dismissed; he then entered the navy, where he gathered valuable
+experience which he worked afterwards into literature; he married;
+resigned, and lived the quiet life of a country gentleman. One day he
+threw down an English novel he had been reading and said to his wife,
+"I believe I could write a better story myself." Now this is a feeling
+that many of us have had, but few of us are put to the test. Cooper's
+wife fortunately told him to make the trial. He did so, and
+_Precaution_ was the result. This was published in 1820. As a novel
+it is a failure; as a literary document it is highly interesting.
+_Precaution_ is a story of English life. Why should Cooper write of
+American life when all Americans seemed to consider American life dull
+and prosaic? Politically we were free; intellectually we were slaves.
+The English lark sang in American poetry and English lords talked in
+American novels. It was not until 1837 that Emerson gave that famous
+address, _The American Scholar_, an event which Lowell calls "without
+any former parallel in our literary annals," and which Holmes declared
+to be "our intellectual Declaration of Independence."
+
+_Precaution_ has been called a failure, but it was not so much of a
+failure that Cooper's friends discouraged him from trying again. No,
+it was a first attempt and gave promise of something better. Why not
+write about American scenes and events? The very neighborhood in which
+he lived had been the scene of many stirring adventures during the
+Revolutionary conflict. "Years before, while at the residence of John
+Jay, his host had given him, one summer afternoon, the account of a
+spy that had been in his service during the war. The coolness,
+shrewdness, fearlessness, but above all the unselfish patriotism of
+the man had profoundly impressed the Revolutionary leader who had
+employed him. The story made an equally deep impression upon Cooper at
+the time. He now resolved to take it as the foundation of the tale he
+had been persuaded to write."
+
+Near the close of 1821 _The Spy_ appeared. In March of the following
+year a third edition was on the market. The work soon appeared in
+England, published by Miller, the same publisher that had first
+ventured to bring Irving's _Sketch Book_ before the English public. In
+England the book was at once successful. This meant much to the
+American estimate of the author's ability, for American critics were
+afraid to praise a work that had not yet been applauded by England. In
+this same year, 1822, a French translation appeared. In France the
+work was enthusiastically received. This was the first of many
+translations into many European languages. Its influence in teaching
+patriotism cannot be estimated, nor can its value as an effective
+retort to the sneer "Who reads an American book?" ever be overlooked.
+
+About the early life of Cooper there are unfortunately but few
+anecdotes. One reason for this lack of _personalia_ about a man who
+had a most vigorous personality is due to his dying request. He
+enjoined upon his family that they permit no authorized biography to
+appear. Because of this we have lost much that would be valuable in
+estimating the character of Cooper. There is a story that when he was
+a young man he engaged in a foot-race for a prize of a basket of
+fruit. "While Cooper and his competitor were preparing to start, a
+little girl stood by full of eagerness for the exciting event. Cooper
+quickly turned and picked her up in his arms. 'I'll carry her and beat
+you!' he exclaimed, and away they went, Cooper with his laughing
+burden, the other runner untrammeled. It is almost needless to add
+that Cooper won the race, else why should the story have been
+preserved?" One cannot help speculating about the size of the girl and
+the speed of the rival runner, if this story is true.
+
+A more satisfying story is that told of Cooper's meeting with Scott.
+In 1826 Cooper went to Europe. With a family of ten persons he moved
+about for seven years. Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, and
+England were visited. When in Paris the two romancers met.
+
+"Est ce Monsieur Cooper que j'ai l'honneur de voir?"
+
+"Monsieur je m'appelle Cooper."
+
+"Eh bien, donc, je suis Walter Scott."
+
+After a minute or two of French Sir Walter suddenly recollected
+himself and said: "Well, here have I been _parley vooing_ to you in a
+way to surprise you, no doubt, but these Frenchmen have got my tongue
+so set to their lingo that I have half forgotten my own language."
+
+I have said that Cooper was not popular. This is not putting it strong
+enough. He was more than unpopular; he was hated by his neighbors, and
+slandered by the press at home and abroad. This lamentable condition
+of affairs was not due to any despicable qualities in the man, for
+Cooper was a kind father, an affectionate husband, a good citizen, and
+an honest, truth-loving man. These seem admirable qualities. Of few of
+us can much higher praise be spoken. Why then did the citizens of
+Cooper's home village hold a mass meeting and pass resolutions to the
+effect that Cooper had rendered "himself odious to a greater portion
+of the citizens of this community," and why should _Fraser's
+Magazine_, three thousand miles away, call Cooper "a liar, a bilious
+braggart, a full jackass, an insect, a grub, and a reptile"?
+
+The cause is not far to seek. Cooper was the most disputatious man in
+the history of American literature. Cooper used to tell the story of
+the man who in an argument was met with: "Why it is as plain as that
+two and two make four." "But I deny that too," was the retort, "for
+two and two make twenty two." Cooper was himself that sort of a man.
+He always had a quarrel on his hands. The more pugnacious a man is,
+the more militant he will find society. He instituted libel suits
+against the most prominent editors in the country, among them Horace
+Greeley and Thurlow Weed. And what is more to the point,--he won his
+cases. But this did not make him any more popular with the press. When
+we remember that Billingsgate was an important part of the literary
+equipment of the critic of Cooper's time, we need not be surprised
+that Cooper's pugnacity evoked such sweet disinterestedness as Park
+Benjamin indulged in when he called Cooper "a superlative dolt, and a
+common mark of scorn and contempt of every well-informed American."
+
+In addition to this denunciation of Cooper as a man, there have in
+recent years arisen severe criticisms on Cooper as a writer. "There
+are nineteen rules," writes Mark Twain, "governing literary art in the
+domain of romantic fiction--some say twenty-two. In _Deerslayer_
+Cooper violated eighteen of them." And then Mark Twain gives us the
+detailed specifications. It is very cleverly put, this criticism of
+Mark Twain's. But the astounding fact remains that the one rule Cooper
+did not violate seems to secure him a place in the Pantheon of
+authors. Along with Poe, and Whitman, and Mark himself, Cooper is
+found in various editions on the shelves of the bookdealers and in the
+libraries of the book-lovers from the Thames to the Volga. If Cooper
+had observed only one or two more of the rules of literary art, where
+would he stand? One is reminded of the Dutchman who was told that this
+clock would run eight days without winding. "Ach, Himmel, what would
+she do if she was woundt?"
+
+The one literary sin that Cooper does not commit is dulness. He is
+interesting. Of course there are some of Cooper's works that no one
+cares to read now. But he is to be judged by his best, not by his
+worst. Balzac is something of a novelist himself, and has a right to
+be heard. "If Cooper," says Balzac in a passage quoted by every writer
+who touches upon Cooper, "had succeeded in the painting of character
+to the same extent that he did in the painting of the phenomena of
+nature, he would have uttered the last word of our art." This is no
+mean praise. Cooper is read because he is interesting. He shall
+continue to be read for another reason. He is wholesome and vigorous.
+The air we breathe is the air of the pine forest and the salt sea.
+Youth is forever attracted by the mystery and adventure of primitive
+life. As America becomes more and more densely settled the imagination
+will turn back to the early times when the bear and the deer, the
+settler and Indian were tracking the trail through the forest and
+along the shore. For this reason Cooper is likely to remain an abiding
+force in American literature.
+
+
+
+
+XLIX
+
+JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY AND BISMARCK
+
+
+John Lothrop Motley, the American historian, a writer who in his _The
+Rise of the Dutch Republic_ produced a history as fascinating as a
+romance and a work that was immediately in Europe translated into
+three different languages, was, after graduation from Harvard, a
+student at Goettingen. Here he studied German so well that in after
+years he was asked by the emperor of Austria whether he were not a
+German. Here too he became acquainted with Bismarck.
+
+That they were great friends is evident from letters by Bismarck
+himself. "I never pass by old Logier's House, in the
+Friedrichstrasse--wrote Bismarck in 1863--without looking up at the
+windows that used to be ornamented by a pair of red slippers sustained
+on the wall by the feet of a gentleman sitting in the Yankee way, his
+head below and out of sight. I then gratify my memory with remembrance
+of 'good old colony times when we were roguish chaps.'" And here is
+another part of a letter which illustrates that even dignitaries like
+to unbend and become like boys again. This letter was written by the
+minister of foreign affairs to the minister of the United States at the
+court of Vienna:
+
+                                      Berlin, May 23d, 1864.
+
+    Jack my Dear,-- ... what do you do that you never write a line
+    to me? I am working from morn to night like a nigger, and you
+    have nothing to do at all--you might as well tip me a line as
+    well as looking at your feet tilted against the wall of God
+    knows what a dreary color. I cannot entertain a regular
+    correspondence; it happens to me that during five days I do
+    not find a quarter of an hour for a walk; but you, lazy old
+    chap, what keeps you from thinking of your old friends? When
+    just going to bed in this moment my eye met with yours on your
+    portrait, and I curtailed the sweet restorer, sleep, in order
+    to remind you of Auld Lang Syne. Why do you never come to
+    Berlin? It is not a quarter of an American's holiday from
+    Vienna, and my wife and me should be so happy to see you once
+    more in this sullen life. When can you come, and when will
+    you? I swear that I will make out the time to look with you on
+    old Logier's quarters, ... and at Gerolt's, where they once
+    would not allow you to put your slender legs upon a chair. Let
+    politics be hanged and come to see me. I promise that the
+    Union Jack shall wave over our house, and conversation and the
+    best old hock shall pour damnation upon the rebels. Do not
+    forget old friends, neither their wives, as mine wishes nearly
+    as ardently as myself to see you, or at least to see as
+    quickly as possible a word of your handwriting.
+
+    Sei gut und komm oder schreibe.
+                                             Dein,
+                                                V. BISMARCK.
+
+In a letter to Oliver Wendell Holmes in 1878, Bismarck in answer to an
+inquiry tells how the two became friends.
+
+"I met Motley at Goettingen in 1832, I am not sure if at the beginning
+of the Easter term or Michaelmas term. He kept company with German
+students, though more addicted to study than we members of the
+fighting clubs. Although not having mastered yet the German language
+he exercised a marked attraction by a conversation sparkling with wit,
+humor, and originality. In autumn of 1833, having both of us emigrated
+from Goettingen to Berlin for the prosecution of our studies, we
+became fellow lodgers in the house No. 161 Friedrichstrasse. There we
+lived in the closest intimacy, sharing meals and outdoor exercise.
+Motley by that time had arrived at talking fluently: he occupied
+himself not only in translating Goethe's poem, _Faust_, but tried his
+hand even in composing German verses. Enthusiastic admirer of
+Shakspere, Byron, Goethe, he used to spice his conversation abundantly
+with quotations from these his favorite authors. A pertinacious
+arguer, so much so that sometimes he watched my awakening in order to
+continue a discussion on some topic of science, poetry, or practical
+life cut short by the chime of the small hours, he never lost his mild
+and amiable temper.... The most striking feature of his handsome and
+delicate appearance was uncommonly large and beautiful eyes. He never
+entered a drawing-room without exciting the curiosity and sympathy of
+the ladies."
+
+While the sheets of Motley's history were passing through the press in
+1856, he paid a visit to Bismarck at Frankfort:
+
+"When I called," says Motley, "Bismarck was at dinner, so I left my
+card, and said I would come back in half an hour. As soon as my card
+had been carried to him (as I learned afterwards) he sent a servant
+after me to the hotel, but I had gone another way. When I came back I
+was received with open arms. I can't express to you how cordially he
+received me. If I had been his brother, instead of an old friend, he
+could not have shown more warmth and affectionate delight in seeing
+me. I find I like him better even than I thought I did, and you know
+how high an opinion I always expressed of his talents and
+disposition. He is a man of very noble character, and of very great
+powers of mind. The prominent place which he now occupies as a
+statesman sought _him_. He did not seek it or any other office. The
+stand which he took in the Assembly from conviction, on the occasion
+of the outbreak of 1848, marked him at once to all parties as one of
+the leading characters of Prussia....
+
+"In the summer of 1851, he told me that the minister, Manteuffel,
+asked him one day abruptly, if he would accept the post of ambassador
+at Frankfort, to which (although the proposition was as unexpected a
+one to him as if I should hear by the next mail that I had been chosen
+governor of Massachusetts) he answered after a moment's deliberation,
+yes, without another word. The king, the same day, sent for him, and
+asked him if he would accept the place, to which he made the same
+brief answer, 'Ja.' His majesty expressed a little surprise that he
+made no inquiries or conditions, when Bismarck replied that anything
+which the king felt strong enough to propose to him, he felt strong
+enough to accept. I only write these details that you may have an idea
+of the man. Strict integrity and courage of character, a high sense of
+honor, a firm religious belief, united with remarkable talents, make
+up necessarily a combination which cannot be found any day in any
+court; and I have no doubt that he is destined to be prime minister,
+unless his obstinate truthfulness, which is apt to be a
+stumbling-block for politicians, stands in his way....
+
+"Well, he accepted the post and wrote to his wife next day, who was
+preparing for a summer's residence in a small house they had taken on
+the sea-coast, that he could not come because he was already
+established in Frankfort as minister. The result, he said, was three
+days of tears on her part. He had previously been leading the life of
+a plain country squire with a moderate income, had never held any
+position in the government or in diplomacy, and had hardly ever been
+to court."
+
+
+
+
+L
+
+THE YOUTH OF GEORGE TICKNOR
+
+
+George Ticknor was born in 1791. His father, he says, fitted him for
+college. He never went to a regular school. President Wheelock,
+Professor Woodward, and others connected with Dartmouth College, who
+were in the habit of making his father's house their home in the long
+winter vacations, took much notice of him; and the professor, after
+examining him in Cicero _Orations_ and the Greek Testament, gave him a
+certificate of admission before he was ten years old. "Of course," he
+adds, "I knew very little, and the whole thing was a form, perhaps a
+farce. There was no thought of my going to college then, and I did not
+go till I was fourteen, but I was twice examined at the college (where
+I went with my father and mother every summer) for advanced standing,
+and was finally admitted as a junior, and went to reside there from
+Commencement, August, 1805." He learned very little at college. "The
+instructors generally were not as good teachers as my father had been,
+and I knew it." He consequently took no great interest in study,
+although he liked reading Horace, and had mathematics enough to enjoy
+calculating the great eclipse of 1806, and making a projection of it
+which turned out nearly right. To supply the deficiency in classical
+acquirements with which he left college, he was placed under Dr. John
+Gardiner, of Trinity Church, who was reputed a good scholar, having
+been bred in the mother country under Dr. Parr.
+
+"I prepared at home what he prescribed, and the rest of my time
+occupied myself according to my tastes. I read with him parts of Livy,
+the _Annals_ of Tacitus, the whole of Juvenal and Persius, the
+_Satires_ of Horace, and portions of other Latin classics which I do
+not remember. I wrote Latin prose and verse. In Greek I read some
+books of the _Odyssey_, I don't remember how many; the _Alcestis_; and
+two or three other plays of Euripides; the _Prometheus Vinctus_ of
+AEschylus; portions of Herodotus, and parts of Thucydides,--of which
+last I only remember how I was tormented by the account of the plague
+at Athens. This was the work of between two and three years."
+
+After a year's experience in law, he decides to give up his profession
+and goes to Europe in order to study at Goettingen. On reaching
+Liverpool his first introduction is to Roscoe, and then on his way to
+London he stops at Hatton to visit Dr. Parr, who astonished him not a
+little by observing, "Sir, I would not think I had done my duty if I
+went to bed any night without praying for the success of Napoleon
+Bonaparte."
+
+In London Mr. Ticknor formed a friendship with Lord Byron; two men
+more unlike in every respect can hardly be conceived of, and it is
+amusing to think of Byron impressing his visitor as being "simple and
+unaffected," or of his speaking "of his early follies with
+sincerity," and of his own works "with modesty." It is amusing, too,
+to hear that as Lady Byron is going out for a drive, "Lord Byron's
+manner to her was affectionate; he followed her to the door, and shook
+hands with her, as if he were not to see her for a month." The
+following curious anecdote shows that Byron was no less unpatriotic in
+his views than Dr. Parr himself. Mr. Ticknor is calling upon him, and
+Byron is praising Scott as the first man of his time, and saying of
+Gifford that no one could have a better disposition, when,--
+
+"Sir James Bland Burgess, who had something to do in negotiating Jay's
+Treaty, came suddenly into the room, and said abruptly, 'My lord, my
+lord, a great battle has been fought in the Low Countries, and
+Bonaparte is entirely defeated.' 'But is it true?' said Lord Byron, 'is
+it true?' 'Yes, my lord, it is certainly true; and an aid-de-camp
+arrived in town last night, he has been in Downing Street this morning,
+and I have just seen him as he was going to Lady Wellington's. He says
+he thinks Bonaparte is in full retreat towards Paris.' After a moment's
+pause, Lord Byron replied, 'I am sorry for it;' and then, after another
+slight pause, he added, 'I didn't know but I might live to see Lord
+Castlereagh's head on a pole. But I suppose I sha'n't now.' And this
+was the first impression produced on his imperious nature by the news
+of the battle of Waterloo."
+
+But Byron is not Mr. Ticknor's only London friend, for we read of a
+breakfast with Sir Humphry Davy, a "genuine bookseller's dinner" with
+Murray, and a visit to the author of _Gertrude of Wyoming_.
+
+Goettingen, however, is the object of his journey, and at Goettingen
+he remains for the next year and a half. If he does not learn to scorn
+the delights of society, he has at least the resolution to live the
+laborious days of the earnest student. He studies five languages, and
+works twelve hours in the twenty-four. Greek, German, theology, and
+natural history seem chiefly to claim his attention, but he is also
+busy with French, Italian, and Latin, and manages at the same time to
+keep up his English reading. He is much amused with the German
+professors, and describes them with no little humor. There is
+Michaelis, who asks one of his scholars for some silver shoe-buckles,
+in lieu of a fee. There is Schultze, who "looks as if he had fasted
+six months on Greek prosody and the Pindaric meters." There is
+Blumenbach, who has a sharp discussion at a dinner-table, and next day
+sends down three huge quartos all marked to show his authorities and
+justify his statements.
+
+Here is another interesting anecdote given in Ticknor's _Memoirs_:
+
+"When I was in Goettingen, in 1816, I saw Wolf, the most distinguished
+Greek scholar of the time. He could also lecture extemporaneously in
+Latin. He was curious about this country, and questioned me about our
+scholars and the amount of our scholarship. I told him what I
+could,--amongst other things, of a fashionable, dashing preacher of
+New York having told me that he took great pleasure in reading the
+choruses of AEschylus, and that he read them without a dictionary! I
+was walking with Wolf at the time, and, on hearing this, he stopped,
+squared round, and said, 'He told you that, did he?' 'Yes,' I
+answered. 'Very well; the next time you hear him say it, do you tell
+him he lies, and that I say so.'"
+
+During a six weeks' vacation there is a pleasant tour through Germany,
+and at Weimar Mr. Ticknor makes the acquaintance of Goethe, who talked
+about Byron, and "his great knowledge of human nature."
+
+And now in the November of 1816, there comes an intimation that
+Harvard College wishes to recall Mr. Ticknor to his old home, and give
+him the professorship of French and Spanish literature. It was a
+matter of difficulty for him to make a final decision, and a year
+passes before he determined to accept the charge, and a year and a
+half more before he enters upon its duties.
+
+Meanwhile he leaves Goettingen, visits Paris, Geneva, and Rome, and
+then goes on to Spain.... When in Spain, Mr. Ticknor is busy learning
+Spanish and collecting Spanish books, and here he lays the groundwork
+for that special literary distinction for which he is now so widely
+known.--Adapted from the _Athenaeum_ and _Quarterly Review_.
+
+
+
+
+LI
+
+FITZ-GREENE HALLECK
+
+
+Fitz-Greene Halleck died at a ripe old age in 1867. On the evening of
+February 2d, 1869, Bryant delivered an address on the life and
+writings of Halleck. The address was given before the New York
+Historical Society and was printed the next day in the _New York
+Evening Post_. Here is an interesting extract from the address:
+
+"When 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 subsequent 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
+had 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 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. He had a
+tenacious verbal memory, and having composed his poems without
+committing them to paper, he revised them in the same manner,
+murmuring them to himself in his solitary moments, recovering the
+enthusiasm with which they were first received, and in this state
+heightening the beauty of the thought or of the expression. I remember
+that once in crossing Washington Park I saw Halleck before me and
+quickened my pace to overtake him. As I drew near I heard him crooning
+to himself what seemed to be lines of verse, and as he threw back his
+hands in walking I perceived that they quivered with the feeling of
+the passage he was reciting. I instantly checked my pace and fell
+back, out of reverence for the mood of inspiration which seemed to be
+upon him, and fearful lest I should intercept the birth of a poem
+destined to be the delight of thousands of readers.
+
+"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
+he wrought up his verses to that transparent clearness of expression
+which causes the thought to be seen through them without any
+interposing dimness, so that the thought and the phrase seem one, and
+the thought enters the mind like a beam of light. I suppose that
+Halleck's time being taken up by the tasks of his vocation, he
+naturally lost by degrees the habit of composing in this manner, and
+that he found it so necessary to the perfection of what he wrote that
+he adopted no other in its place.
+
+"Whatever was the reason that Halleck ceased so early to write, let us
+congratulate ourselves that he wrote at all. Great authors often
+overlay and almost smother their own fame by the voluminousness of
+their writings. So great is their multitude, and so rich is the
+literature of our language, that for frequent readings we are obliged
+to content ourselves with mere selections from the works of best and
+most beloved of our poets, even those who have not written much. It is
+only a few of their works that dwell and live in the general mind.
+Gray, for example, wrote little, and of that little one short poem,
+his _Elegy_, can be fairly said to survive in the public admiration,
+and that poem I have sometimes heard called the most popular in our
+language."
+
+
+
+
+LII
+
+THE AUTHOR OF THANATOPSIS
+
+
+Thanatopsis may be said to be the most remarkable poem written by an
+American youth. "The unfailing wonder of it is," writes an American
+critic in a magazine article, "that a boy of seventeen could have
+written it; not merely that he could have made verse of such
+structural beauty and dignity, but that the thoughts of which it is
+compacted could have been a boy's thoughts. The poem seems to have
+been written while he was at his father's house in Cummington, in the
+summer of 1811, before he had definitely begun the study of law. Fond
+as he had been of showing his earlier effusions to his father and
+others, the consciousness of having done something different and
+greater must have come upon him at this time, for it was only by
+accident, six years after the writing of _Thanatopsis_, that his
+father chanced to find it and the poem now called _An Inscription Upon
+the Entrance to a Wood_, among some papers in a desk the boy had used
+while at home. Dr. Bryant read them with amazement and delight,
+hurried at once to the house of a neighbor, a lady of whose sympathy
+he felt sure, thrust them into her hands, and, with the tears running
+down his cheeks, said, 'Read them; they are Cullen's.'
+
+   [Illustration: WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
+   From a photograph from life]
+
+"Now it had happened only a short time before, that Dr. Bryant had
+been asked in Boston to urge his son to contribute to the newly
+established _North American Review_, and had written him a letter on
+the editor's behalf. Here was the opportunity of a proud father.
+Without telling his son of his discovery or his purpose, he left the
+poems one day, together with some translations from _Horace_ by the
+same hand, at the office of _The North American_. The little package
+was addressed to his editorial friend, Mr. Willard Phillips, of whom
+tradition tells us that as soon as he read the poems he betook himself
+in hot haste to Cambridge to display his treasures to his associates,
+Richard H. Dana and Edward T. Channing. 'Ah, Phillips,' said Dana,
+when he had heard the poems read, 'you have been imposed upon. No one
+on this side of the Atlantic is capable of writing such verse.' But
+Phillips, believing Dr. Bryant to be responsible for it, declared that
+he knew the writer, and that Dana could see him at once if he would go
+to the State House in Boston. Accordingly the young men posted into
+town, and Dana, unconvinced after looking long and carefully at Dr.
+Bryant in his seat in the Senate, said, 'It is a good head, but I do
+not see _Thanatopsis_ in it.'"
+
+Bryant is never thought of as a humorist, and his poetry is devoid of
+playfulness. But in this letter to his mother, in which he announces
+his marriage with Frances Fairchild, we have evidence that Bryant had
+a strong sense of humor.
+
+    DEAR MOTHER: I hasten to send you the melancholy intelligence
+    of what has lately happened to me.
+
+    Early on the evening of the eleventh day of the present month
+    I was at a neighboring house in this village. Several people
+    of both sexes were assembled in one of the apartments, and
+    three or four others, with myself, were in another. At last
+    came in a little elderly gentleman, pale, thin, with a solemn
+    countenance, pleuritic voice, hooked nose, and hollow eyes. It
+    was not long before we were summoned to attend in the
+    apartment where he and the rest of the company were gathered.
+    We went in and took our seats; the little elderly gentleman
+    with the hooked nose prayed, and we all stood up. When he had
+    finished most of us sat down. The gentleman with the hooked
+    nose then muttered certain cabalistic expressions, which I was
+    too much frightened to remember, but I recollect that at the
+    conclusion I was given to understand that I was married to a
+    young lady by the name of Frances Fairchild, whom I perceived
+    standing by my side, and I hope in the course of few months to
+    have the pleasure of introducing to you as your daughter-in-law,
+    which is a matter of some interest to the poor girl, who has
+    neither father or mother in the world.
+
+Next to _Thanatopsis_ the most widely-known and admired of Bryant's
+work is _To a Waterfowl_. There are two very interesting stories
+pertaining to this much quoted poem, one relating to the origin of the
+poem, the other recording its effect on two fastidious young
+Englishmen, Hartley Coleridge and Matthew Arnold.
+
+Bryant was a young man with no assurance as to what the future might
+have in store for him. He was journeying over the hills to Plainfield
+to see whether there might possibly be an opening for a young lawyer.
+It was the 15th of December, 1816, and we can imagine that the gloom
+of the gathering twilight helped to deepen the youth's despondency.
+But before the glimmering light of evening had given place entirely to
+the dark of night, the sky was transfigured with the bright rays of
+the setting sun. The New England sky was flooded for a moment with
+seas of chrysolite and opal. While young Bryant stopped to enjoy the
+brilliant scene, a solitary bird made its way across the sky. He
+watched it until it was lost in the distant horizon, and then went on
+with new courage as he thought the thoughts so beautifully expressed
+in the poem which he wrote after he reached the house where he was to
+stay for the night.
+
+The incident in regard to Matthew Arnold is related by Godwin in a
+letter to Bigelow:
+
+"Once when the late Matthew Arnold, with his family, was visiting the
+ever-hospitable country home of Mr. Charles Butler, I happened to
+spend an evening there. In the course of it Mr. Arnold took up a
+volume of Mr. Bryant's poems from the table and turning to me said,
+'This is the American poet, _facile princeps_'; and after a pause, he
+continued: 'When I first heard of him, Hartley Coleridge (we were both
+lads then) came into my father's house one afternoon considerably
+excited and exclaimed, 'Matt, do you want to hear the best short poem
+in the English language?' 'Faith, Hartley, I do,' was my reply. He
+then read a poem _To a Waterfowl_ in his best manner. And he was a
+good reader. As soon as he had done he asked, 'What do you think of
+that?' 'I am not sure but you are right, Hartley, is it your
+father's?' was my reply. 'No,' he rejoined, 'father has written
+nothing like that.' Some days after he might be heard muttering to
+himself,
+
+    The desert and illimitable air,
+    Lone wandering but not lost."
+
+
+
+
+LIII
+
+CURTIS AND HAWTHORNE AT THE BROOK FARM
+
+
+The social experiment known as the Brook Farm enterprise is one of the
+most interesting episodes in American literature. Mrs. Ora G. Sedgwick
+is one of the many writers who have written about the place and its
+inhabitants. She went there in June, 1841, and lived for some time at
+the Hive, the principal community edifice. She was then but a girl of
+sixteen, but the impressions on her youthful mind were strong enough
+to enable her recently to describe her life there. As to Curtis she
+has this to say:
+
+"The arrival of George William Curtis, then a youth of eighteen, and
+his brother Burrill, two years his senior, was a noteworthy event in
+the annals of Brook Farm, at least in the estimation of the younger
+members. I shall never forget the flutter of excitement caused by Mr.
+Ripley's announcing their expected coming in these words: 'Now we're
+going to have two young Greek gods among us.' ... On a bright morning
+in May, 1842, soon after Mr. Ripley's announcement, as I was coming
+down from the Eyrie to the Hive, I saw Charles A. Dana with two
+strange young men approaching my 'magic gate' from the direction of
+the Hive. Arriving at the gate before me, Mr. Dana threw it open with
+the flourish peculiar to his manner, and stood holding it back. His
+companions stood beside him, and all three waited for me to pass
+through. I saw at a glance that these must be 'the two young Greek
+gods.' They stood disclosed, not like Virgil's Venus, by their step,
+but by their beauty and bearing. Burrill Curtis was at that time the
+more beautiful. He had a Greek face, of great purity of expression,
+and curling hair. George too was very handsome--not so remarkably as
+in later life, but already with a man's virile expression.
+
+"About George William Curtis there was a peculiar personal elegance
+and an air of great deference in listening to one whom he admired or
+looked up to. There was a certain remoteness (at times almost
+amounting to indifference) about him, but he was always courteous. His
+friends were all older than himself, and he appeared much older in
+manners and conversation than he was in years; more like a man of
+twenty-five than a youth of eighteen."
+
+Mrs. Sedgwick also gives us a charming glimpse at the great American
+novelist, Hawthorne:
+
+"I do not recollect Hawthorne's talking much at the table. Indeed, he
+was a very taciturn man. One day, tired of seeing him sitting
+immovable on the sofa in the hall, as I was learning some verses to
+recite at the evening class for recitation formed by Charles A. Dana,
+I daringly took my book, pushed it into his hands, and said, 'Will you
+hear my poetry, Mr. Hawthorne?' He gave me a sidelong glance from his
+very shy eyes, took the book, and most kindly heard me. After that he
+was on the sofa every week to hear me recite.
+
+"One evening he was alone in the hall, sitting on a chair at the
+farther end, when my room mate, Ellen Slade, and myself were going
+upstairs. She whispered to me, 'Let's throw the sofa pillows at Mr.
+Hawthorne.' Reaching over the bannisters, we each took a cushion and
+threw it. Quick as a flash he put out his hand, seized a broom that
+was hanging near him, warded off our cushions, and threw them back
+with sure aim. As fast as we could throw them at him he returned them
+with effect, hitting us every time, while we could hit only the broom.
+He must have been very quick in his movements. Through it all not a
+word was spoken. We laughed and laughed, and his eyes shone and
+twinkled like stars. Wonderful eyes they were, and when anything witty
+was said I always looked quickly at Mr. Hawthorne; for his dark eyes
+lighted up as if flames were suddenly kindled behind them, and then
+the smile came down to his lips and over his grave face.
+
+"My memories of Mr. Hawthorne are among the pleasantest of my Brook
+Farm recollections. His manners to children were charming and kind. I
+saw him one day walking, as was his custom, with his hands behind his
+back, head bent forward, the two little Bancrofts and other children
+following him with pleased faces, and stooping every now and then with
+broad smiles, after which they would rise and run on again behind him.
+Puzzled at these maneuvers, I watched closely, and found that
+although he hardly moved a muscle except to walk, yet from time to
+time he dropped a penny, for which the children scrambled."
+
+
+
+
+LIV
+
+HAWTHORNE AND THE SCARLET LETTER
+
+
+On June 8, 1849, Hawthorne walked out of the Salem Custom House--a man
+without a job. Taylor's Whig administration had come in, so our
+Democratic friend, Mr. Hawthorne, walked out. The job he left was not
+in our modern eyes a very lucrative one, it was worth $1,200 a year
+and Hawthorne had had it for three years. But he went out "mad," for
+he knew he had not meddled in politics and he thought that as an
+author--even if he was the "most obscure man of letters in
+America"--he was entitled to some consideration.
+
+And then there were the wife and children! As he walked home to tell
+them the doleful news, he was much depressed by thoughts of them. He
+had paid his old debts; but he had saved nothing. He seemed to lack
+money, friends, and influence. He had written to a friend in
+Boston,--"I shall not stand upon my dignity; that must take care of
+itself.... Do not think anything too humble to be mentioned to me. The
+intelligence has just reached me, and Sophia has not yet heard it. She
+will bear it like a woman,--that is to say better than a man." What a
+noble tribute to woman's fortitude! Hawthorne's belief in the
+sustaining love of his wife reminds us of a tradition which says that
+he never read a letter from his wife without first washing his hands.
+To him the act was sacred, and like a priest of old before handling
+the symbols of love he performed the rites of purification.
+
+His son tells us how the wife met the news with which he greeted her
+on his arrival at home, "that he had left his head behind." She
+exclaimed, "Oh, then you can write your book!" And when he with the
+prudence of a practical man wanted to know where the bread and rice
+were to come from while he was writing the book, she like all good
+wives--of olden times, at least--brought forth a "pile of gold" which
+she had saved from the household weekly expenses. When the pile of
+gold had been subjected to mathematical accuracy it dwindled to $150,
+but it was enough to tide over immediate wants.
+
+It was in the early winter that James T. Fields, the publisher who
+plays such a prominent part in the early history of American
+literature, descended upon the quiet Salem household like the
+"godmother in a fairy story." Fields has told the story of his visit:
+"I found him alone in a chamber over the sitting-room of the dwelling;
+and as the day was cold, he was hovering near a stove. We fell into
+talk about his future prospects, and he was, as I feared I should find
+him, in a very desponding mood. 'Now,' said I, 'is the time for you to
+publish, for I know during these years in Salem you must have got
+something ready for the press.' 'Nonsense,' said he, 'what heart had I
+to write anything, when my publishers have been so many years trying
+to sell a small edition of the _Twice-told Tales_.' I still pressed
+upon him the good chances he would have now with something new. 'Who
+would risk publishing a book for me, the most unpopular writer in
+America?' 'I would,' said I, 'and would start with an edition of 2,000
+copies of anything you would write.' 'What madness!' he exclaimed.
+'Your friendship for me gets the better of your judgment.' 'No, no!'
+he continued, 'I have no money to indemnify a publisher's losses on my
+account.' I looked at my watch, and found that the train would be soon
+starting for Boston, and I knew that there was not much time to lose
+in trying to discover what had been his literary work during these
+last few years in Salem. I remember that I pressed him to reveal to me
+what he had been writing. He shook his head and gave me to understand
+that he had produced nothing. At that moment I caught sight of a
+bureau or set of drawers near where we were sitting; and immediately
+it occurred to me that hidden in that article of furniture was a story
+or stories by the author of _Twice-told Tales_; and I became so
+positive of it that I charged him vehemently with the fact. He seemed
+surprised, I thought, but shook his head again; and I rose to take my
+leave, begging him not to come into the cold entry, saying I would
+come back and see him again in a few days. I was hurrying down the
+stairs when he called after me from the chamber, asking me to stop a
+moment. Then quickly stepping into the entry with a roll of MS. in his
+hands, he said: 'How in heaven's name did you know this thing was
+there? As you found me out, take what was written, and tell me, after
+you get home and have time to read it, if it is good for anything. It
+is either very good or very bad--I don't know which!' On my way to
+Boston I read the germ of _The Scarlet Letter_."
+
+Hawthorne's original plan was to write a number of stories, of which
+this particular one was to be the longest. He was going to call his
+book of tales, _Old-Time Legends: together with Sketches, Experimental
+and Ideal_,--a title which Woodberry calls "ghostly with the
+transcendental nonage of his genius." Fields urged that the tale be
+made longer and fuller and that it be published by itself. So the
+original plan was changed, as was also the title. This was wise, for
+the cumbersome original title would have killed any book, but the
+present title is nothing short of a stroke of genius.
+
+About this time Hawthorne's friends, under the leading of Hillard,
+sent a kind letter and a considerable sum of money. Hawthorne
+replied,--"I read your letter in the vestibule of the Post Office; and
+it drew--what my troubles never have--the water to my eyes; so that I
+was glad of the sharply-cold west wind that blew into them as I came
+homeward, and gave them an excuse for being red and bleared." After
+saying it was sweet to be remembered, but bitter to need their aid, he
+concludes,--"The money, dear Hillard, will smooth my path for a long
+time to come. The only way in which a man can retain his self-respect,
+while availing himself of the generosity of his friends, is by making
+it an incitement to his utmost exertion, so that he may not need their
+help again. I shall look upon it so--nor will shun any drudgery that
+my hand shall find to do, if thereby I may win bread."
+
+Four days after this letter was written, on February 3, 1850, he
+finished _The Scarlet Letter_. He writes to a friend saying he read
+the last scene to his wife, or rather tried to read it, "for my voice
+swelled and heaved, as if I were tossed up and down on an ocean as it
+subsides after a storm." Mrs. Hawthorne told a friend that her husband
+seemed depressed all during that winter. "There was a knot in his
+forehead all the time," said his wife. One day he told her he had a
+story that he wished to read to her. He read part of the work one
+evening. The next evening he continued. His wife followed the story
+with intense interest. Her excitement arose until when he was reading
+near the end of the book, where Arthur and Hester and the child meet
+in the forest, Mrs. Hawthorne sank from her low stool to the floor and
+said she could endure no more. Hawthorne stopped and said in
+wonder,--"Do you really feel it so much? Then there must be something
+in it."
+
+Mrs. Hawthorne relates that on the day after the MS. was delivered to
+Fields, this publisher returned and when admitted to the house caught
+up her boy in his arms and said,--"You splendid little fellow, do you
+know what a father you have?" Then he ran upstairs to talk to
+Hawthorne, calling to her as he went that he had sat up all night to
+read the story. Soon her husband came down and walked about the room
+with a new light in his eyes.
+
+Early in April the book was issued in an edition of 5,000 copies; this
+was soon exhausted, and Hawthorne was well started on that career of
+literary fame which led Mr. Hamilton W. Mabie, a hundred years after
+the birth of Hawthorne, to call him "the foremost literary artist of
+America."
+
+_The Scarlet Letter_, as Hawthorne himself tells us, is a story of
+"human frailty and sorrow." It is the story of one who has brooded
+long and faithfully upon the problem of evil. In it we read that man
+is the master of his fate. The great difference between ancient and
+modern literature is this: the old dramatists seem to believe that
+somewhere there is a power above and beyond the control of man, a
+blind, unreasoning force that seems to play with man as the football
+of chance. Whatever may be done by man will prove unavailing if Fate
+or Destiny has decreed otherwise. Out of such a philosophy of life
+comes the story of OEdipus. The modern conception is that expressed by
+Shakspere:
+
+    The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
+    But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
+
+Still later Henley in his one great poem has expressed the thought
+with vigor,--
+
+    Out of the night that covers me,
+    Black as the pit from pole to pole,
+    I thank whatever gods there be
+    For my unconquerable soul!
+
+With unfaltering aim Hawthorne shows that each character works out its
+own destiny. That man is helpless, the sport of gods, the football of
+Fate, is disproved by the patient transformation in the character of
+Hester.
+
+Some one has well characterized _The Scarlet Letter_ as "a drama of
+the spirit." It is a story such as only one who had brooded deeply on
+the problem of evil could write. Hawthorne was a "solitary brooder
+upon life." Every one who knew him testified to this impression. When
+William Dean Howells, a young man from Ohio, knocked at the door of
+the Wayside Cottage, a letter of introduction in his hand, and a
+feeling of hero-worship in his heart, he was ushered into the presence
+of the great romancer, who advanced "carrying his head with a heavy
+forward droop" and with pondering pace. His look was "somber and
+brooding--the look of a man who had dealt faithfully and therefore
+sorrowfully with that problem of evil which forever attracted and
+forever evaded Hawthorne."
+
+Hawthorne impressed all who met him with his reserve and shyness. Many
+stories are told to illustrate this quality. Hawthorne was once a
+visitor at a club where a number of literary men had gathered. The
+taciturnity of Hawthorne was more impressive than the loquacity of the
+witty Holmes. After Hawthorne had left Emerson said, "Hawthorne rides
+his dark horse well." George William Curtis relates this anecdote:
+
+"...I recall the silent and preternatural vigor with which, on one
+occasion, he wielded his paddle to counteract the bad rowing of a
+friend who conscientiously considered it his duty to do something and
+not let Hawthorne work alone, but who with every stroke neutralized
+all Hawthorne's efforts. I suppose he would have struggled until he
+fell senseless rather than to ask his friend to desist. His principle
+seemed to be, if a man cannot understand without talking to him, it
+is quite useless to talk, because it is immaterial whether such a man
+understands or not."
+
+Hawthorne's father was a man of the sea, a man of few words, and it is
+sometimes said that the romancer inherited his shy and reserved
+disposition from his father. But his mother was not behind the father
+in reserve. After her husband's death she shut herself up in
+Hindoo-like seclusion and lived the life of a hermit for more than
+forty years.
+
+Hawthorne gives us an interesting account of his boyhood in an
+autobiographical note to his friend Stoddard. "When I was eight or
+nine years old, my mother, with her three children, took up her
+residence on the banks of the Sebago Lake, in Maine, where the family
+owned a large tract of land; and here I ran quite wild ... fishing all
+day long, or shooting with an old fowling-piece; but reading a good
+deal too, on the rainy days, especially in _Shakspere_ and _The
+Pilgrim's Progress_."
+
+More pertinent as to his habits of loneliness is the following account
+of how he lived for nine or ten years after his graduation from
+Bowdoin. "I had always," he writes, "a natural tendency (it appears to
+have been on the paternal side) toward seclusion; and this I now
+indulged to the utmost, so that, for months together, I scarcely held
+human intercourse outside of my own family, seldom going out except at
+twilight, or only to take the nearest way to the most convenient
+solitude, which was oftenest the seashore.... Having spent so much of
+my boyhood and youth from my native place, I had very few
+acquaintances in Salem, and during the nine or ten years that I spent
+there, in this solitary way, I doubt whether so much as twenty people
+in the town were aware of my existence."
+
+Such was the solitariness of the youthful Hawthorne. Is it surprising
+that in the fiction of the mature man there should be a pervading
+sense of remoteness, of silences that fascinate, of mysteries that
+charm?
+
+
+
+
+LV
+
+MAX MUeLLER'S RECOLLECTIONS OF EMERSON, LOWELL, AND HOLMES
+
+
+Living at Oxford, writes Max Mueller, I have had the good fortune of
+receiving visits from Emerson, Dr. Wendell Holmes, and Lowell, to
+speak of the brightest stars only. Each of them stayed at our house
+for several days, so that I could take them in at leisure, while
+others had to be taken at one gulp, often between one train and the
+next. Oxford has a great attraction for all Americans, and it is a
+pleasure to see how completely they feel at home in the memories of
+the place. The days when Emerson, Wendell Holmes, and Lowell were
+staying with us, the breakfasts and luncheons, the teas and dinners,
+and the delightful walks through college halls, chapels and gardens
+are possessions forever....
+
+I do not wonder that philosophers by profession had nothing to say to
+his (Emerson's) essays because they did not seem to advance their
+favorite inquiries beyond the point they had reached before. But there
+were many people, particularly in America, to whom these rhapsodies
+did more good than any learned disquisitions or carefully arranged
+sermons. There is in them what attracts us so much in the ancients,
+freshness, directness, self-confidence, unswerving loyalty to truth,
+as far as they could see it. He had no one to fear, no one to please.
+Socrates or Plato, if suddenly brought to life in America, might have
+spoken like Emerson, and the effect produced by Emerson was certainly
+like that produced by Socrates in olden times.
+
+What Emerson's personal charm must have been in earlier life we can
+only conjecture from the rapturous praises bestowed on him by his
+friends, even during his lifetime.... And his influence was not
+confined to the American mind. I have watched it growing in England. I
+can still remember the time when even experienced judges spoke of his
+essays as mere declamations, as poetical rhapsodies, as poor
+imitations of Carlyle. Then gradually one man after another found
+something in Emerson which was not to be found in Carlyle,
+particularly his loving heart, his tolerant spirit, his comprehensive
+sympathy with all that was or was meant to be good and true, even
+though to his own mind it was neither the one nor the other....
+
+Another eminent American who often honored my quiet home at Oxford was
+James Russell Lowell, for a long time United States minister in
+England. He was a professor and at the same time a politician and a
+man of the world. Few essays are so brimful of interesting facts and
+original reflections as his essays entitled _Among my Books_.
+
+Lowell's conversation was inexhaustible, his information astonishing.
+Pleasant as he was, even as an antagonist, he would occasionally lose
+his temper and use very emphatic language. I was once sitting next to
+him when I heard him stagger his neighbor, a young lady, by bursting
+out with, "But, madam, I do not accept your major premise!" Poor
+thing, she evidently was not accustomed to such language, and not
+acquainted with that terrible term. She collapsed, evidently quite at
+a loss as to what gift on her part Mr. Lowell declined to accept.
+
+Sometimes even the most harmless remark about America would call forth
+very sharp replies from him. Everybody knows that the salaries paid by
+America to her diplomatic staff are insufficient, and no one knew it
+better than he himself. But when the remark was made in his presence
+that the United States treated their diplomatic representatives
+stingily, he fired up, and discoursed most eloquently on the
+advantages of high thoughts and humble living....
+
+I lost the pleasure of shaking hands with Longfellow during his stay
+in England. Though I have been more of a fixture at Oxford than most
+professors, I was away during the vacation when he paid his visit to
+our university, and thus lost seeing a poet to whom I felt strongly
+attracted, not only by the general spirit of his poetry, which was
+steeped in German thought, but as the translator of several of my
+father's poems.
+
+I was more fortunate with Dr. Wendell Holmes. His arrival in England
+had been proclaimed beforehand, and one naturally remained at home in
+order to be allowed to receive him. His hundred days in England were
+one uninterrupted triumphal progress. When he arrived at Liverpool he
+found about three hundred invitations waiting for him. Though he was
+accompanied by a most active and efficient daughter, he had at once to
+engage a secretary to answer this deluge of letters. And though he
+was past eighty, he never spared himself, and was always ready to see
+and to be seen. He was not only an old, but a ripe and mellow man.
+There was no subject on which one could touch which was not familiar
+to the autocrat of the breakfast table. His thoughts and his words
+were ready, and one felt that it was not for the first time that the
+subject had been carefully thought out and talked out by him. That he
+should have been able to stand all the fatigue of the journey and the
+constant claims on his ready wit seemed to me marvelous. I had the
+pleasure of showing him the old buildings of Oxford. He seemed to know
+them all, and had something to ask and say about every one. When we
+came to Magdalen College, he wanted to see and to measure the elms. He
+was very proud of some elms in America, and he had actually brought
+some string with which he had measured the largest tree he knew in his
+own country. He proceeded to measure one of our finest elms in
+Magdalen College, and when he found that it was larger than his
+American giant, he stood before it admiring it, without a single word
+of envy or disappointment.
+
+I had, however, a great fright while he was staying at our house. He
+had evidently done too much, and after our first dinner party he had
+feverish shivering fits, and the doctor whom I sent for declared at
+once that he must keep perfectly quiet in bed, and attend no more
+parties of any kind. This was a great disappointment to myself and to
+a great many of my friends. But at his time of life the doctor's
+warning could not be disregarded, and I had, at all events, the
+satisfaction of sending him off to Cambridge safe and sound. I had
+him several days quite to myself, and there were few subjects which we
+did not discuss. We mostly agreed, but even where we did not, it was a
+real pleasure to differ from him. We discussed the greatest and the
+smallest questions, and on every one he had some wise and telling
+remarks to pour out. I remember one conversation while we were sitting
+at an old wainscoted room at All Souls', ornamented with the arms of
+former fellows. It had been at first the library of the college, then
+one of the fellows' rooms, and lastly a lecture room. We were deep in
+the old question of the true relation between the divine and human in
+man, and here again, as on all other questions, everything seemed to
+be clear and evident to his mind. Perhaps I ought not to repeat what
+he said to me when we parted: "I have had much talk with people in
+England; with you I have had a real conversation." We understood each
+other and wondered how it was that men so often misunderstood one
+another. I told him that it was the badness of our language, he
+thought it was the badness of our tempers. Perhaps we were both right.
+With him again good-by was good-by for life, and at such moments one
+wonders indeed how kindred souls became separated, and one feels
+startled and repelled at the thought that, such as they were on earth,
+they can never meet again. And yet there is continuity in the world,
+there is no flaw, no break anywhere, and what has been will surely be
+again, though how it will be we cannot know, and if only we trust in
+the wisdom that pervades the whole universe, we need not know.
+
+
+
+
+LVI
+
+HOWELLS CALLS ON EMERSON, AND DESCRIBES LONGFELLOW
+
+
+In 1860 William Dean Howells, now one of the foremost literary
+influences in the English-speaking world, was a young man writing for
+the _Ohio State Journal_ of Columbus. Several of his poems had been
+kindly received and published by the _Atlantic Monthly_, so that the
+young lady from New England who screamed with surprise at seeing the
+_Atlantic_ on a western table and cried, "Why, have you got the
+_Atlantic Monthly out here_?" could be met with, "There are several
+contributors to the _Atlantic_ in Columbus." The several were Howells
+and J.J. Piatt. But to be an accepted contributor to the _Atlantic_
+was not enough. Howells must see the literary celebrities of New
+England. Emerson and Bayard Taylor he had seen and heard in Columbus,
+but Longfellow, Hawthorne, Lowell, Holmes, and Whittier were the
+literary saints at whose shrine he wished to burn the sacred incense
+of his adoring soul.
+
+From Hawthorne he received a card introducing him to Emerson. Emerson
+was then about sixty, although nothing about him suggested an old man.
+After some conversation on general topics, Emerson began to talk of
+Hawthorne, praising Hawthorne's fine personal qualities. "But his
+last book," he added, reflectively, "is mere mush." This criticism
+related to the _Marble Faun_. Of course, such a comment shocked
+Howells, whose sense of literary values was much keener than
+Emerson's. "Emerson had, in fact," writes Howells, "a defective sense
+as to specific pieces of literature; he praised extravagantly, and in
+the wrong place, especially among the new things, and he failed to see
+the worth of much that was fine and precious beside the line of his
+fancy."
+
+Then Emerson made some inquiry about a Michigan young man who had been
+sending some of his poetry to Emerson. Howells was embarrassed to be
+obliged to say that he knew nothing of the Michigan poet. Later
+Emerson asked whether he had become acquainted with the poems of Mr.
+William Henry Channing. Howells replied that he knew them only through
+the criticism of Poe.
+
+"Whose criticisms?" asked Emerson.
+
+"Poe's," replied Howells.
+
+"Oh," Emerson cried after a thoughtful moment, "you mean _the jingle
+man_!"
+
+This was a moment of confusion and embarrassment for Howells. Had the
+vituperative pen of Poe ever thrown off more stinging criticism than
+that? "_The jingle man!_"
+
+Emerson turned the conversation to Howells himself and asked him what
+he had written for the _Atlantic_. Howells replied, and Emerson took
+down the bound volumes and carefully affixed Howells' initials to the
+poems. "He followed me to the door, still speaking of poetry, and as
+he took a kindly enough leave of me, he said one might very well give
+a pleasant hour to it now and then." This was a shock to Howells. "A
+pleasant hour!" Howells was intending to consecrate all time and
+eternity to it, and here is the Sage of Concord coolly speaking of
+poetry as though it were some trifling diversion, like billiards or
+whist.
+
+Later in life when Howells resided in Cambridge he had abundant
+opportunity to become acquainted with Longfellow, whom in _Literary
+Friends and Acquaintance_ he calls the "White Mr. Longfellow."
+
+"He was the most perfectly modest man I ever saw, ever imagined, but
+he had a gentle dignity which I do not believe any one, the coarsest,
+the obtusest, could trespass upon. In the years when I began to know
+him, his long hair and the beautiful beard which mixed with it were of
+iron-gray, which I saw blanch to a perfect silver, while that pearly
+tone of his complexion, which Appleton so admired, lost itself in the
+wanness of age and pain. When he walked, he had a kind of spring in
+his gait, as if now and again a buoyant thought lifted him from the
+ground. It was fine to meet him coming down a Cambridge street; you
+felt that the encounter made you a part of literary history, and set
+you apart with him for the moment from the poor and mean. When he
+appeared in Harvard Square, he beatified if not beautified the ugliest
+and vulgarest looking spot on the planet outside of New York. You
+could meet him sometimes at the market, if you were of the same
+provision-man as he, for Longfellow remained as constant to his
+tradespeople as to any other friends. He rather liked to bring his
+proofs back to the printer himself, and we often found ourselves
+together at the University Press, where _The Atlantic Monthly_ used to
+be printed. But outside of his own house Longfellow seemed to want a
+fit atmosphere, and I love best to think of him in his study, where he
+wrought at his lovely art with a serenity expressed in his smooth,
+regular, and scrupulously perfect handwriting. It was quite vertical,
+and rounded, with a slope neither to the right nor left, and at the
+time I knew him first, he was fond of using a soft pencil on printing
+paper, though commonly he wrote with a quill. Each letter was distinct
+in shape, and between the verses was always the exact space of half an
+inch. I have a good many of his poems written in this fashion, but
+whether they were the first drafts or not I cannot say; very likely
+not. Towards the last he no longer sent the poems to the magazines in
+his own hand, but they were always signed in autograph.
+
+"I once asked him if he were not a great deal interrupted, and he
+said, with a faint sigh, Not more than was good for him, he fancied;
+if it were not for the interruptions, he might overwork. He was not a
+friend to stated exercise, I believe, nor fond of walking, as Lowell
+was; he had not, indeed, the childish associations of the younger poet
+with the Cambridge neighborhoods; and I never saw him walking for
+pleasure except on the east veranda of his house, though I was told he
+loved walking in his youth. In this and in some other things
+Longfellow was more European than American, more Latin than Saxon. He
+once said quaintly that one got a great deal of exercise in putting on
+and off one's overcoat and overshoes....
+
+"He was patient, as I said of all things, and gentle beyond all mere
+gentlemanliness. But it would have been a great mistake to mistake his
+mildness for softness. It was most manly and firm, and of course, it
+was braced with the New England conscience he was born to. If he did
+not find it well to assert himself, he was prompt in behalf of his
+friends, and one of the fine things told of him was his resenting some
+things said of Sumner at a dinner in Boston during the old pro-slavery
+times; he said to the gentlemen present that Sumner was his friend,
+and he must leave their company if they continued to assail him.
+
+"But he spoke almost as rarely of his friends as of himself. He liked
+the large, impersonal topics which could be dealt with, on their human
+side, and involved characters rather than individuals. This was rather
+strange in Cambridge, where we were apt to take our instances from our
+environments. It was not the only thing he was strange in there; he
+was not to that manner born; he lacked the final intimacies which can
+come only of birth and lifelong association, and which make the men of
+the Boston breed seem exclusive when they least feel so; he was
+Longfellow to the friends who were James, and Charles, and Wendell to
+one another. He and Hawthorne were classmates at college, but I never
+heard him mention Hawthorne; I never heard him mention Whittier or
+Emerson. I think his reticence about his contemporaries was largely
+due to his reluctance from criticism: he was the finest artist of
+them all, and if he praised he must have praised with the reservations
+of an honest man. Of younger writers he was willing enough to speak.
+No new contributor made his mark in the magazine unnoted by him, and
+sometimes I showed him verse in manuscript which gave me peculiar
+pleasure. I remember his liking for the first piece that Mr. Maurice
+Thompson sent me, and how he tasted the fresh flavor of it and inhaled
+its wild new fragrance."
+
+
+
+
+LVII
+
+LONGFELLOW, THE UNIVERSAL POET
+
+
+We have passed the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Longfellow,
+and he still remains the favorite American poet. Not that Longfellow
+is one of the great world poets; Longfellow himself would have been
+offended with that eulogistic extravagance which would place him among
+the few immortals. He is not a Homer, nor a Dante, nor a Shakspere.
+No, he is not even a Wordsworth in philosophic insight into nature,
+nor a Shelley in power to snatch the soul into the starry empyrean,
+nor a Tennyson in variety and passion, nor a Milton in grandeur of
+poetic expression. He is--only Longfellow. But that means he has his
+own peculiar charm. It is idle to detract from the fame of one man
+because he is not some one else. Roast beef may be more nutritious
+than strawberries, but that is no criticism upon the flavor of the
+strawberry. Longfellow is not Milton, but then neither is Milton
+Longfellow:
+
+    If I cannot carry forests on my back
+    Neither can you crack a nut.
+
+Of late years the critics have been finding fault with Longfellow.
+They have said that really Longfellow is no poet. Frederic Harrison
+calls Evangeline "goody, goody dribble!" and Quiller-Couch in his
+anthology gives three pages to Longfellow and seven to Wilfred Scawen
+Blunt--but who is Blunt? When I was in Berlin I found in a German
+history of English and American Literature one-half a page devoted to
+Longfellow and ten pages to Poe. Perhaps some of this criticism is but
+the natural reaction following the extreme praise that ensued after
+the death of Longfellow in 1882.
+
+   [Illustration: HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
+   From a wood engraving of a life photograph]
+
+But Longfellow is surviving all derogatory criticism. He is still the
+poet with the universal appeal. It is altogether probable that he is
+more widely read to-day than any other American poet. Even foreigners
+still express their affection for this poet of the domestic
+affections. In 1907 Sir Henry Mortimer Durand, the English Ambassador
+to the United States, made an address in which he made graceful
+acknowledgement of his debt to this American poet:
+
+"I owe much of the pleasure of my life to American writers of every
+shade of thought.... But I owe to one American writer much more than
+pleasure. Tastes differ and fashions change, and I am told that the
+poetry of Longfellow is not read as it used to be. Men in my own
+country have asked me whether the rivers of Damascus were not better
+than all the waters of Israel, whether Shakspere, and Milton, and
+Shelley, and Keats were not enough for me, that I need go to
+Longfellow. And Americans have seemed surprised that I did not speak
+rather of Lowell and Bryant and others. Far be it from me to say a
+word against any of them. I have loved them all from my youth up,
+every one of them in his own way, and Shakspere as the master and
+compendium of them all. No one, I suppose, would place Longfellow as a
+poet quite on the same level with some of them. But the fact remains
+that, for one reason or another, perhaps in part from early
+associations, Longfellow has always spoken to my heart. Many a time,
+in lands far away from the land he loved so well, I have sought for
+sympathy in happiness and in sorrow--
+
+    Not from the grand old masters,
+      Not from the bards sublime,
+    Whose distant footsteps echo
+      Through the corridors of time--
+
+but from that pure and gentle and untroubled spirit."
+
+Professor E.A. Grosvenor, of Amherst, years ago published an article
+on Longfellow that was widely copied. It is an interesting account of
+a conversation in 1879 on board the Messageries steamer _Donai_, bound
+from Constantinople to Marseilles. On board many nationalities were
+represented. The story is a fine illustration of the wide-spread
+popularity of the American poet.
+
+"One evening, as we were quitting the Straits of Bonifacio, some one
+remarked at dinner that, though Victor Hugo was born in Paris, the
+earliest impressions of his life were received in Corsica, close to
+which we were passing. Ten or twelve of us lingered after the meal was
+finished to talk of the great French poet. One of the party spoke of
+him as embodying, more than any other writer, the humanistic
+tendencies of the nineteenth century and as the exponent of what is
+best in humanity.
+
+"We had been talking in French, when the Russian lady exclaimed in
+English to the gentleman who had last spoken, 'How can you, an
+American, give to him the place that is occupied by your own
+Longfellow? Longfellow is the universal poet. He is better known, too,
+among foreigners than any one except their own poets! Then she
+commenced repeating in rich, mellow tones:
+
+    I stood on the bridge at midnight,
+      As the clocks were striking the hour,
+    And the moon rose over the city
+      Behind the dark church tower.
+
+I recall how her voice trembled over the words:
+
+    And the burden laid upon me
+      Seemed greater than I could bear.
+
+and how it swelled out in the concluding lines:
+
+    As the symbol of love in Heaven,
+      And its wavering image here.
+
+It was dramatic and never to be forgotten. Then she added, 'I long to
+visit Boston that I may stand on the Bridge.'
+
+"In the company was an English captain returning from the Zulu war. He
+was the son of that member of Parliament' who had been the chief
+supporter of the claimant in the famous Tichborne case, and who had
+poured out his money like water in behalf of the man whom he
+considered cruelly wronged. The captain was a typical British soldier,
+with every characteristic of his class. Joining our steamer at Genoa,
+he had so far talked only of the Zulus and, with bitter indignation,
+of the manner in which the Prince Imperial had been deserted by
+British soldiers to be slain by savages. As soon as the Russian lady
+had concluded he said: 'I can give you something better than that,'
+and began in a voice like a trumpet:
+
+    Tell me not in mournful numbers
+      Life is but an empty dream.
+
+His recitation of the entire poem was marked by the common English
+upheaval and down-letting of the voice in each line; but it was
+evident that he loved what he was repeating.
+
+"Then a tall, lank, gray-haired Scotchman, who knew no French, who had
+hardly mingled with the other passengers, and who seemed always
+communing with himself, suddenly commenced:
+
+    There is no flock, however watched and tended,
+      But one dead lamb is there.
+
+He repeated only a few stanzas, but could apparently have given the
+whole poem, had he wished.
+
+"For myself, I know that my contribution was _My Lost Youth_,
+beginning
+
+    Often I think of the beautiful town,
+      That is seated by the sea;
+    Often in thought go up and down
+    The pleasant streets of that dear old town
+      And my youth comes back to me.
+
+Never did the distance from an early home seem so great to one, New
+England born, as in that strange company, gathered from many lands,
+each with words upon the lip which the American had first heard in
+childhood.
+
+"A handsome, olive-cheeked young man, a Greek from Manchester,
+educated and living in England, said, 'How do you like this?' Then he
+began to sing:
+
+      Stars of the summer night,
+        Far in yon azure deeps,
+    Hide, hide your golden light!
+            She sleeps!
+          My lady sleeps!
+              Sleeps!
+
+So he rendered the whole of that exquisite serenade--dear to American
+college students--with a freedom and a fire which hinted that he had
+sung it at least once before on some more appropriate occasion.
+Perhaps to some dark-eyed maiden of that elegant Greek colony of
+Manchester it had come as a revelation, and perhaps she had first
+heard it sung in front of her father's mansion and had looked down,
+appreciative but unseen, from above.
+
+"The captain of the _Donai_ was not her regular commander, but an
+officer of the national French navy, who was in charge only for a few
+voyages. A thorough Frenchman, no one would have accused him of
+knowing a word of any tongue, save his own. Versatile, overflowing
+with wit and _bons mots_, it must have wearied him to be silent so
+long. To our astonishment, in accents so Gallic that one discerned
+with difficulty that he was attempting English, he intoned:
+
+    Zee seds of neet fair valeeng fast,
+    Ven t'rough an Alpeen veelage past
+    A yout, who bore meed snow and eece
+    A bannair veed dees strange deveece
+                Excelsiorr!
+
+"'_Eh, voila_,' he exclaimed with satisfaction, '_J'ai appris cela a
+l'ecole. C'est tout l'anglais que je sais._'
+
+"'_Mais, commandant_,' said the Russian lady, '_ce n'est pas l'anglais
+du tout ce que vous venez de dire la._'
+
+"'_Ah, oui, madame, ca vient de votre Longfellow._'
+
+"None of the other passengers contributed, but already six
+nationalities had spoken--Scotch, Russian, Greek, French, English, and
+American. As we arose from the table and went up on deck to watch the
+lights glimmering in Napoleon's birthplace, Ajaccio, the Russian lady
+said: 'Do you suppose there is any other poet of any country, living
+or dead, from whom so many of us could have quoted? Not one. Not even
+Shakspere or Victor Hugo or Homer.'"
+
+
+
+
+LVIII
+
+HENRY DAVID THOREAU
+
+
+During his lifetime Thoreau published but two books,--_Walden_, and
+the _Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers_,--and these had but
+limited sale while the author was living. Over seven hundred copies of
+the _Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers_ were returned, to
+Thoreau by his publisher. Thoreau must have had a helpful sense of
+humor, for after lugging the burden upstairs he complacently
+remarks,--"I have now a library of nearly nine hundred volumes, over
+seven hundred of which I wrote myself." In recent times a costly
+edition of all Thoreau's writings has been published. He is one of the
+rare spirits whose fame increases with the years. But of all his
+voluminous writings _Walden_, so it seems to me, is the most readable,
+the freshest, the most stimulating. Higginson says that it is,
+perhaps, the only book yet written in America that can bear an annual
+reading.
+
+_Walden_ is a record of Thoreau's sojourn for about two years in the
+woods by Walden Pond. He went about two miles from his mother's door,
+built a little house or hut, and there lived, reading his favorite
+books, philosophizing, studying nature, and to a great extent
+avoiding society. Some people have condemned him as selfish, others
+have defended him. His best defense is his work. If anything so fresh
+and readable as _Walden_ be the result, we might be willing to deny
+ourselves the society of some of our urban friends, without charging
+them with selfishness. Thoreau is sometimes called a "wild man"; in a
+sense, he is untamed. He himself confessed,--"There is in my nature,
+methinks, a singular yearning toward all wildness." Yet he was a true
+lover of men. He hated slavery and went to jail rather than pay his
+taxes, because he disbelieved in supporting a government that upheld
+slavery. When his friend, the philosophic Emerson, peered into the
+prison cell and said,--"Henry, why are you here?" the quick retort
+was,--"Why are you not here?"
+
+It must be remembered that Thoreau lived in a time of social
+experiment. Hawthorne had thrown in his lot for a brief time with the
+Brook Farm idealists. Why should not Thoreau make an experiment of his
+own? Why not live the simple life before Wagner wrote about it? He was
+tired of the conventionalities of society, of the incessant
+interruptions to steady thought. Society is naught but a conspiracy to
+compel imitation. "The head monkey of Paris puts on a traveler's cap,
+and all the monkeys in America do the same." So Thoreau moves out into
+the woods by the side of Walden Pond. Before he can live there he must
+build his house:
+
+"Near the end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe and went down to the
+woods by Walden Pond, nearest to where I intended to build my house,
+and began to cut down some tall arrowy pines, still in their youth,
+for timber. It is difficult to begin without borrowing, but perhaps it
+is the most generous course thus to permit your fellow-men to have an
+interest in your enterprise. The owner of the axe as he released his
+hold on it, said that it was the apple of his eye; but I returned it
+sharper than I received it."
+
+His house, when finished, was ten feet wide and fifteen long. The
+exact cost was twenty-eight dollars, twelve and one-half cents. In
+_Walden_ he gives an itemized account of the cost. And then he adds,
+with a twinkle of his eye, I think,--"I intend to build me a house
+which will surpass any on the main street in Concord in grandeur and
+luxury, as soon as it pleases me as much and will cost me no more than
+my present one."
+
+Thoreau also finds some satisfaction that his house cost him less than
+the year's rent of a college room at Harvard; for there the mere rent
+of a student's room, "which is only a little larger than my own, is
+thirty dollars each year, though the corporation had the advantage of
+building thirty-two side by side and under one roof."
+
+In this book he gives a very interesting account of what his food cost
+him during the eight months from July 4 to March 1. Here is his list:
+
+  Rice                                $1.73-1/2
+  Molasses                             1.73
+  Rye meal                             1.04-3/4
+  Indian meal                           .99-3/4
+  Pork                                  .22
+  Flour                                 .88
+  Sugar                                 .80
+  Lard                                  .65
+  Apples                                .25
+  Dried apple                           .22
+  Sweet potatoes                        .10
+  One pumpkin                           .06
+  One watermelon                        .02
+  Salt                                  .03
+
+"Yes," says he, "I did eat $8.74, all told; but I should not thus
+unblushingly publish my guilt, if I did not know that most of my
+readers were equally guilty with myself, and that their deeds would
+look no better in print." In this connection one may call to mind a
+reported saying of Mrs. Emerson's to the effect that Henry never got
+very far away from the sound of the dinner horn. It is not hard to
+imagine that the hospitable Emerson often invited the kindred-spirited
+Thoreau into his house for a warm and abundant dinner. Another writer
+recently has advanced also this thought: Thoreau was not so much of a
+selfish hermit as it might appear. He went into the woods to make his
+house or hut a station on the underground railroad. If this be true, a
+new and different light is thrown upon Thoreau's conduct.
+
+Thoreau was a great lover of nature and the things of nature loved
+him. Dr. Channing gives us this glimpse of the man:
+
+"Thoreau named all the birds without a gun, a weapon he never used in
+mature years. He neither killed nor imprisoned any animal, unless
+driven by acute needs. He brought home a flying squirrel, to study its
+mode of flight, but quickly carried it back to the wood. He possessed
+true instincts of topography, and could conceal choice things in the
+bush and find them again.... If Thoreau needed a box in his walk, he
+would strip a piece of birch bark off the tree, fold it, when cut
+straightly, together, and put his tender lichen or brittle creature
+therein."
+
+Emerson supplements this picture with the following account of a visit
+he once made to Walden:
+
+"The naturalist waded into the pool for the water plants, and his
+strong legs were no insignificant part of his armor. On this day he
+looked for the menyanthes and detected it across the wide pool; and,
+on examination of the floret, declared that it had been in flower five
+days. He drew out of his breast-pocket a diary, and read the names of
+all the plants that should bloom that day, whereof he kept account as
+a banker does when his notes are due.... He could pace rods more
+accurately than another man could measure them with rod and chain. He
+could find his way in the woods at night better by his feet than by
+his eyes. He knew every track in the snow and on the ground, and what
+creature had taken the path in the snow before him."
+
+Thoreau could write the most beautiful descriptions when he was so
+inclined. Here is an exquisite description of a snowstorm.
+
+"Did you ever admire the steady, silent, windless fall of the snow, in
+some lead-colored sky, silent save the little ticking of the flakes as
+they touched the twigs? It is chased silver, molded over the pines and
+oak leaves. Soft shades hang like curtains along the closely-draped
+wood-paths. Frozen apples become little cider-vats. The old crooked
+apple-trees, frozen stiff in the pale, shivering sunlight, that
+appears to be dying of consumption, gleam forth like the heroes of one
+of Dante's cold hells; we would mind any change in the mercury of the
+dream. The snow crunches under the feet; the chopper's axe rings
+funereally through the tragic air. At early morn the frost on
+button-bushes and willows was silvery and every stem and minutest twig
+and filamentary weed came up a silver thing, while the cottage smoke
+rose salmon-colored into that oblique day. At the base of ditches were
+shooting crystals, like the blades of an ivory-handled penknife, the
+rosettes and favors fretted of silver on the flat ice. The little
+cascades in the brook were ornamented with transparent shields, and
+long candelabrums and spermaceti-colored fools'-caps and plated
+jellies and white globes, with the black water whirling along
+transparently underneath. The sun comes out, and all at a glance,
+rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds start into intense life on
+the angles of the snow crystals."
+
+
+
+
+LIX
+
+THE LAST DAYS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
+
+
+There has been great difference of opinion concerning the genius of
+Poe. His life also has been the subject of much controversy. By some
+Poe is painted as a fiend incarnate, by others as a man more sinned
+against than sinning. When Howells visited Emerson he was surprised to
+hear the Concord Sage refer to Poe as the "jingle man," but then
+Emerson himself had been treated rather contemptuously by Poe, and
+that, together with Emerson's lack of appreciation of melody, may
+account for the "jingle man" expression.
+
+It is not strange that Poe has been the subject of bitter criticism.
+He himself was bitter and unjust in his criticisms of others. He once
+wrote: "Bryant is not _all_ a fool. Mr. Willis is not _quite_ an ass.
+Mr. Longfellow _will_ steal, but, perhaps, he cannot help it." The man
+who will write like that must expect similar vituperation in return.
+To have friends, a man must be friendly. Poe was lacking in those warm
+human sympathies that attract our fellow-men. The human touch lacking
+in his art is also lacking in his life. "Except the wife who idolized
+him," writes Mr. Woodberry in his excellent Life of Poe, "and the
+mother who cared for him, no one touched his heart in the years of his
+manhood, and at no time was love so strong in him as to rule his life;
+as he was self-indulgent, he was self-absorbed, and outside of his
+family no kind act, no noble affection, no generous sacrifice is
+recorded of him."
+
+In _Scribner's Magazine_, 1878, Mrs. Susan T. Weiss in writing of the
+_Last Days of Edgar Allan Poe_, one of the most accurate accounts of
+this period of the poet's life, gives us a more pleasing impression.
+We quote the following extracts:
+
+It was a day or two after his arrival that Poe, accompanied by his
+sister, called on us.... The remembrance of that first meeting with
+the poet is still as vividly impressed upon my mind as though it had
+been but yesterday. A shy and dreamy girl, scarcely more than a child,
+I had all my life taken an interest in those strange stories and poems
+of Edgar Poe; and now, with my old childish impression of their author
+scarcely worn off, I regarded the meeting with an eager, yet shrinking
+anticipation. As I entered the parlor, Poe was seated near the window,
+quietly conversing. His attitude was easy and graceful, with one arm
+lightly resting on the back of his chair. His dark curling hair was
+thrown back from his broad forehead--a style in which he habitually
+wore it. At sight of him, the impression produced upon me was of a
+refined, highbred, and chivalrous gentleman. I use this word
+"chivalrous" as exactly descriptive of something in his whole
+_personnel_, distinct from either polish or high-breeding, and which,
+though instantly apparent, was yet an effect too subtle to be
+described. He rose on my entrance, and, other visitors being present,
+stood with one hand on the back of his chair, awaiting my greeting. So
+dignified was his manner, so reserved his expression, that I
+experienced an involuntary recoil, until I turned to him and saw his
+eyes suddenly brighten as I offered my hand; a barrier seemed to melt
+between us, and I felt that we were no longer strangers....
+
+While upon this subject, I venture, though with great hesitation, to
+say a word in relation to Poe's own marriage with his cousin, Virginia
+Clemm. I am aware that there exists with the public but one view of
+this union, and that so lovely and touching in itself, that to mar the
+picture with even a shadow inspires almost a feeling of remorse. Yet
+since in the biography of a distinguished man of genius truth is above
+all things desirable, and since in this instance the facts do not
+redound to the discredit of any party concerned, I may be allowed to
+state what I have been assured is truth.
+
+Poets are proverbial for uncongenial marriages, and to this Poe can
+scarcely be classed as an exception. From the time when as a youth of
+nineteen he became a tutor to his sweet and gentle little cousin of
+six years old, he loved her with the protective tenderness of an elder
+brother. As years passed he became the subject of successive fancies
+or passions for various charming women; but she gradually budding into
+early womanhood experienced but one attachment--an absorbing devotion
+to her handsome, talented, and fascinating cousin. So intense was this
+passion that her health and spirits became seriously affected, and
+her mother, aroused to painful solicitude, spoke to Edgar about it.
+This was just as he was preparing to leave her house, which had been
+for some years his home, and enter the world of business. The idea of
+this separation was insupportable to Virginia. The result was that
+Poe, at that time a young man of twenty-eight, married his little,
+penniless, and delicate child-cousin of fourteen or fifteen, and thus
+unselfishly secured her own and her mother's happiness. In his wife he
+had ever the most tender and devoted of companions; but it was his own
+declaration that he ever missed in her a certain intellectual and
+spiritual sympathy necessary to perfect happiness in such an union....
+He was never a deliberately unkind husband, and toward the close of
+Mrs. Poe's life he was assiduous in his tender care and attention. Yet
+his own declaration to an intimate friend of his youth was that his
+marriage "had not been a congenial one;" and I repeatedly heard the
+match ascribed to Mrs. Clemm, by those who were well acquainted with
+the family and the circumstances. In thus alluding to a subject so
+delicate, I have not lightly done so, or unadvisedly made a statement
+which seems refuted by the testimony of so many who have written of
+the "passionate idolatry" with which the poet regarded his wife. I
+have heard the subject often and freely discussed by Poe's most
+intimate friends, including his sisters, and upon this authority I
+speak. Lovely in person, sweet and gentle in disposition, his young
+wife deserved, doubtless, all the love that it was in his nature to
+bestow. Of his unvarying filial affection for Mrs. Clemm, and of her
+almost angelic devotion to himself and his interests, there can be no
+question.
+
+Once in discussing _The Raven_, Poe observed that he had never heard
+it correctly delivered by even the best readers--that is, not as he
+desired that it should be read. That evening, a number of visitors
+being present, he was requested to recite the poem, and complied. His
+impressive delivery held the company spell-bound, but in the midst of
+it, I, happening to glance toward the open window above the level roof
+of the greenhouse, beheld a group of sable faces the whites of whose
+eyes shone in strong relief against the surrounding darkness. These
+were a number of our family servants, who having heard much talk about
+"Mr. Poe, the poet," and having but an imperfect idea of what a poet
+was, had requested permission of my brother to witness the recital. As
+the speaker became more impassioned and excited, more conspicuous grew
+the circle of white eyes, until when at length he turned suddenly
+toward the window, and, extending his arm, cried, with awful
+vehemence, "Get thee back into the tempest, and the night's Plutonian
+shore!" there was a sudden disappearance of the sable visages, a
+scuttling of feet, and the gallery audience was gone. Ludicrous as was
+the incident, the final touch was given when at that moment Miss Poe,
+who was an extraordinary character in her way, sleepily entered the
+room, and with a dull and drowsy deliberation seated herself on her
+brother's knee. He had subsided from his excitement into a gloomy
+despair, and now, fixing his eyes upon his sister, he concluded:
+
+    And the raven never flitting, still is sitting, _still_ is sitting,
+    On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door;
+    And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming--
+
+The effect was irresistible; and as the final "nevermore" was solemnly
+uttered the half-suppressed titter of two very young persons in a
+corner was responded to by a general laugh. Poe remarked quietly that
+on his next delivery of a public lecture "he would take Rose along, to
+act the part of the raven, in which she seemed born to excel." ...
+
+It is with feelings of deep sadness, even after the lapse of so many
+years, that I approach the close of these reminiscences.
+
+Poe one day told me that it was necessary that he should go to New
+York. He must make certain preparations for establishing his magazine,
+the _Stylus_, but he should in less than two weeks return to Richmond,
+where he proposed henceforth to reside. He looked forward to this
+arrangement with great pleasure. "I mean to turn over a new leaf; I
+shall begin to lead a new life," he said, confidently. He had often
+spoken to me of his books,--"few, but _recherche_,"--and he now
+proposed to send certain of these by express, for my perusal. "You
+must annotate them extensively," he said. "A book wherein the minds of
+the author and the reader are thus brought in contact is to me a
+hundredfold increased in interest. It is like flint and steel." One of
+the books which he desired me to read was Mrs. Browning's poems, and
+another one of Hawthorne's works. I remember his saying of the latter
+that he was "indisputably the best prose writer in America;" that
+"Irving and the rest were mere commonplace beside him;" and that
+"there was more inspiration of true genius in Hawthorne's prose than
+in all Longfellow's poetry." This may serve to give an idea of his own
+opinion of what constitutes genius, though some of Longfellow's poems
+he pronounced "perfect of their kind."
+
+The evening of the day previous to that appointed for his departure
+from Richmond, Poe spent at my mother's. He declined to enter the
+parlors, where a number of visitors were assembled, saying he
+preferred the more quiet sitting-room; and here I had a long and
+almost uninterrupted conversation with him. He spoke of his future,
+seeming to anticipate it with an eager delight, like that of youth. He
+declared that the last few weeks in the society of his old and new
+friends had been the happiest that he had known for many years, and
+that when he again left New York he should there leave behind all the
+trouble and vexation of his past life....
+
+In speaking of his own writings Poe expressed his conviction that he
+had written his best poems, but that in prose he might yet surpass
+what he had already accomplished....
+
+He was the last of the party to leave the house. We were standing on
+the portico, and after going a few steps he paused, turned, and again
+lifted his hat, in a last adieu. At the moment, a brilliant meteor
+appeared in the sky directly over his head, and vanished in the east.
+We commented laughingly upon the incident; but I remembered it sadly
+afterward.
+
+That night he spent at Duncan's lodge; and as his friend said, sat
+late at his window, meditatively smoking, and seemingly disinclined
+for conversation. On the following morning he went into the city,
+accompanied by his friends Dr. Gibbon Carter and Dr. Mackenzie. The
+day was passed with them and others of his intimate friends. Late in
+the evening he entered the office of Dr. John Carter, and spent an
+hour in looking over the day's papers; then taking Dr. Carter's cane
+he went out, remarking that he would step across to Saddler's (a
+fashionable restaurant) and get supper. From the circumstance of his
+taking the cane, leaving his own in its place, it is probable that he
+had intended to return; but at the restaurant he met with some
+acquaintances who detained him until late, and then accompanied him to
+the Baltimore boat. According to their account he was quite sober and
+cheerful to the last, remarking, as he took leave of them, that he
+would soon be in Richmond again.
+
+... Three days after, a friend came to me with the day's issue of the
+_Richmond Dispatch_. Without a word she pointed to a particular
+paragraph, where I read,--"Death of Edgar A. Poe, in Baltimore."
+
+Poe had made himself popular in Richmond, people had become interested
+in him, and his death cast a universal gloom over the city. His old
+friends, and even those more recently formed, and whom he had
+strangely attached to himself, deeply regretted him. Mr. Sully came to
+consult with me about a picture of _The Raven_ which he intended to
+make; and in the course of the conversation expressed himself in
+regard to his lost friend with a warmth of feeling and appreciation
+not usual to him. The two had been schoolmates; and the artist said:
+"Poe was one of the most warm-hearted and generous of men. In his
+youth and prosperity, when admired and looked up to by all his
+companions, he invariably stood by me and took my part. I was a dull
+boy at learning, and Edgar never grudged time or pains in assisting
+me." In further speaking, he said, with a decision and earnestness
+which impressed me, "It was Mr. Allan's cruelty in casting him upon
+the world, a beggar, which ruined Poe. Some who had envied him took
+advantage of his change of fortune to slight and insult him. He was
+sensitive and proud, and felt the change keenly. It was this which
+embittered him. By nature no person was less inclined to reserve or
+bitterness, and as a boy he was frank and generous to a fault." In
+speaking of his poems, Mr. Sully remarked: "He has an eye for
+dramatic, but not for scenic or artistic effect. Except in _The
+Raven_, I can nowhere in his poems find a subject for a picture."
+
+In closing these reminiscences, I may be allowed to make a few remarks
+founded upon my actual personal knowledge of Poe, in at least the
+phase of character in which he appeared to me. What he may have been
+to his ordinary associates, or to the world at large, I do not know;
+and in the picture presented to us by Dr. Griswold,--half maniac, half
+demon,--I confess, I cannot recognize a trait of the gentle, grateful,
+warm-hearted man whom I saw amid his friends,--his careworn face all
+aglow with generous feeling in the kindness and appreciation to which
+he was so little accustomed. His faults were sufficiently apparent;
+but for these a more than ordinary allowance should be made, in
+consideration of the unfavorable influences surrounding him from his
+very birth. He was ever the sport of an adverse fortune. Born in
+penury, reared in affluence, treated at one time with pernicious
+indulgence and then literally turned into the streets, a beggar and an
+outcast, deserted by those who had formerly courted him, maliciously
+calumniated, smarting always under a sense of wrong and
+injustice,--what wonder that his bright, warm, and naturally generous
+and genial nature should have become embittered? What wonder that his
+keenly sensitive and susceptible poetic temperament should have become
+jarred, out of tune, and into harsh discord with himself and mankind?
+Let the just and the generous pause before they judge; and upon their
+lips the breath of condemnation will soften into a sigh of sympathy
+and regret.
+
+
+
+
+LX
+
+ARTEMUS WARD
+
+
+Poor Artemus! says Haweis in his lecture on the American humorist, I
+shall not see his like again, as he appeared for a few short weeks
+before an English audience at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly.
+
+Sometimes, as to looks, profoundly dejected, at others shy or
+reproachful; nervously anxious to please (apparently), yet with a
+certain twinkle at the back of his eye which convinced you of his
+perfect _sang froid_, and one thing always--full, unescapably full, of
+fun....
+
+When Artemus arrived here in 1866 he was a dying man.
+
+I can see him now, as he came on the narrow platform in front of his
+inferior panorama, and stole a glance at the densely packed room and
+then at his panorama.
+
+His tall, gaunt, though slender figure, his curly light hair and large
+aquiline nose, which always reminded me of a macaw; his thin face
+flushed with consumption, his little cough, which seemed to shake him
+to pieces, and which he said "was wearing him out," at which we all
+laughed irresistibly, and then felt ashamed of ourselves, as well we
+might; but he himself seemed to enjoy his cough. It was all part of
+that odd, topsy-turvy mind in which everything appeared most natural
+upside down!
+
+On first entering he would seem profoundly unconscious that anything
+was expected of him, but after looking at the audience, then at his
+own clothes, and then apologetically at his panorama, he began to
+explain its merits.
+
+The fact is Artemus intended having the finest scenes that could be
+painted, but he gave that up on account of the expense, and then
+determined to get the worst as the next best thing for his purpose.
+
+When anything very bad came up he would pause and gaze admiringly at
+the canvas, and then look round a little reproachfully at the company.
+
+"This picture," he would say, "is a great work of art; it is an oil
+painting done in petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was the last
+thing they did before dying. They did this, and then they expired. I
+wish you were nearer to it so you could see it better. I wish I could
+take it to your residences and let you see it by daylight. Some of the
+greatest artists in London come here every morning before daylight
+with lanterns to look at it. They say they never saw anything like it
+before, and they hope they never shall again!"
+
+Certain curious brown splotches appearing in the foreground, Artemus
+pointed gravely to them, and said:
+
+"These are intended for horses; I know they are, because the artist
+told me so. After two years, he came to me one morning and said, 'Mr.
+Ward, I cannot conceal it from you any longer; they are horses.'"
+
+Apropos of nothing he observed:
+
+"I really don't care for money; I only travel around to show my
+clothes."
+
+This was a favorite joke of his. He would look with a piteous
+expression of discomfort and almost misery at his black trousers and
+swallowtail coat, a costume in which he said he was always most
+wretched.
+
+"These clothes I have on," he continued, "were a great success in
+America." And then quite irrelevantly and rather hastily, "How often
+do large fortunes ruin young men! I should like to be ruined, but I
+can get on very well as I am!"
+
+So the lecture dribbled on with little fragments of impertinent
+biography, mere pegs for slender witticisms like this:
+
+"When quite a child I used to draw on wood. I drew a small cartload of
+raw material over a wooden bridge, the people of the village noticed
+me, I drew their attention, they said I had a future before me; up to
+that time I had an idea it was behind me."
+
+Or this:
+
+"I became a man. I have always been mixed up with art. I have an uncle
+who takes photographs, and I have a servant who takes anything he can
+set his hands on."
+
+With one more example from his life among the Mormons, which, perhaps,
+though brief, includes a greater variety of wit and humor than any
+single passage I could select, I must conclude my memorial glimpses of
+this incomparable and lamented humorist.
+
+"I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon of me while I
+was in Utah.
+
+"It was leap year when I was there, and seventeen young widows--the
+wives of a deceased Mormon (he died by request)--offered me their
+hearts and hands. I called upon them one day, and taking their soft,
+white hands in mine--which made eighteen hands altogether--I found
+them in tears. And I said 'Why is this thus?--what is the reason of
+this thusness?'
+
+"They hove a sigh--seventeen sighs of different size. They said--
+
+"'Oh, soon thou wilt be gonested away!'
+
+"I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I usually
+wentested. They said--'Doth not like us?'
+
+"I said, 'I doth, I doth!' I also said, 'I hope your intentions are
+honorable, as I am a lone child and my parents are far, far away!'
+
+"They then said, 'Wilt not marry us?'
+
+"I said, 'Oh no, it cannot was.'
+
+"Again they asked me to marry them, and again I declined. When they
+cried--
+
+"'Oh, cruel man: this is too much--oh, too much!'
+
+"I told them it was on account of the muchness that I declined."
+
+
+
+
+LXI
+
+EDMUND GOSSE VISITS WHITTIER
+
+
+In December of 1884, Mr. Edmund Gosse, one of the most distinguished
+of English critics, visited Whittier at a house called Oak Knoll, in
+Massachusetts, where he was then staying with friends. We quote brief
+extracts from a report of that visit as published in _Good Words_, an
+English magazine:
+
+"Doubtless in leafy season Oak Knoll may have its charms, but it was
+distinctly sinister that December morning. We rang, and after a long
+pause the front door opened slightly, and a very unprepossessing dog
+emerged, and shut the door (if I may say so) behind him. We were face
+to face with this animal, which presented none of the features
+identified in one's mind with the idea of Mr. Whittier. It sniffed
+unpleasantly, but we spoke to it most blandly and it became assured
+that we were not tramps. The dog sat down, and looked at us; we had
+nowhere to sit down, but we looked at the dog. Then, after many
+blandishments, but feeling very uncomfortable, I ventured to hold the
+dog in conversation while I rang again. After another pause the door
+was slightly opened, and a voice of no agreeable timbre asked what we
+wanted. We explained, across the dog, that we had come by appointment
+to see Mr. Whittier. The door was closed a second time, and, if our
+carriage had still been waiting, we should certainly have driven back
+to Danvers. But at length a hard-featured woman grudgingly admitted
+us, and showed us, growling as she did it, into a parlor.
+
+"Our troubles were then over, for Mr. Whittier, himself appeared, with
+all that report had ever told of a gentle sweetness and dignified
+cordial courtesy. He was then seventy-seven years old, and, although
+he spoke of age and feebleness, he showed few signs of either; he was,
+in fact, to live eight years more. Perhaps because the room was low,
+he seemed surprisingly tall; he must, in fact, have been a little less
+than six feet high. The peculiarity of his face rested in the
+extraordinary large and luminous black eyes, set in black eyebrows,
+and fringed with thick black eye-lashes curiously curved inward....
+
+"His generosity to those much younger and less gifted than himself is
+well known, and I shall not dwell on the good-natured things which he
+proceeded to say to his English visitor. He made no profession, at any
+time, of being a critic, and his formula was that such and such verse
+or prose had given him pleasure--'I am grateful to thee for all that
+enjoyment' was his charming way of being kind.... He spoke with great
+emotion of Emerson--'the noblest human being I have known,' and of
+Longfellow, 'perhaps the sweetest. But you will see Holmes,' he added.
+I said that it was my great privilege to be seeing Dr. Holmes every
+day, and that the night before he had sent all sorts of affectionate
+messages by me to Mr. Whittier. The latter expressed great curiosity
+to see Holmes's short _Life of Emerson_ which, in fact, was published
+five or six days later.... Mr. Whittier greatly surprised me by
+confessing that he was quite color-blind. He exemplified his condition
+by saying that if I came to Amesbury I should be scandalized by one of
+his carpets. It appeared that he was never permitted, by the guardian
+goddess of his hearth, to go 'shopping' for himself, but that once,
+being in Boston, and needing a carpet, he had ventured to go to a
+store and buy what he thought to be a very nice, quiet article,
+precisely suited to adorn a Quaker home. When it arrived at Amesbury
+there was a universal shout of horror, for what had struck Mr.
+Whittier as a particularly soft combination of browns and grays
+proved, to normal eyes, to be a loud pattern of bright red roses on a
+field of the crudest cabbage-green."
+
+
+
+
+LXII
+
+PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF WHITTIER
+
+
+In the _New England Magazine_ Charlotte Forten Grimke writes
+entertainingly of Whittier. From this article we are permitted to
+quote the following extracts:
+
+"And so it happened that, one lovely summer day, my friend and I found
+ourselves on the train, rapidly whirling eastward, through the
+pleasant old town of Newburyport, across the 'shining Merrimac,' on
+our way to the poet's home in Amesbury. Arriving at the station, we
+found Mr. Whittier awaiting us, and a walk of a few minutes brought us
+to his house on Friend Street. Amesbury, a busy manufacturing town,
+pleasantly situated on the Merrimac, impressed me at first as hardly
+retired enough for a poet's home; for fresh in my recollection were
+Longfellow's historic house, guarded by stately poplars, standing back
+from the quiet Cambridge street, and Lowell's old mansion, completely
+buried in its noble elms; and each of these had quite realized my
+ideal of the home of a poet. But the little house looked very quiet
+and homelike; and when we entered it and received the warm welcome of
+the poet's sister, we felt, as all felt who entered that hospitable
+door, the very spirit of peace descending upon us. The house was
+then white (it was afterwards painted a pale yellow), with green
+blinds, and a little vine-wreathed piazza on one side, upon which
+opened the glass door of 'the garden room,' the poet's favorite
+sitting-room and study. The windows of this room looked out upon a
+pleasant, old-fashioned garden. The walls on both sides of the
+fireplace were covered with books. The other walls were hung with
+pictures, among which we noticed 'The Barefoot Boy,' a painting of Mr.
+Whittier's birthplace in Haverhill, a copy of that lovely picture,
+'The Motherless,' under which were written some exquisite lines by
+Mrs. Stowe, and a beautiful little sea-view, painted by a friend of
+the poet. Vases of fresh, bright flowers stood upon the mantelpiece.
+After we had rested we went into the little parlor, where hung the
+portrait of the loved and cherished mother, who some years before had
+passed away to the 'Better Land.' Hers was one of those sweet, aged
+faces which one often sees among the Friends,--full of repose,
+breathing a benediction upon all around. There were other pictures and
+books, and upon a table in the corner stood Rogers' 'Wounded Scout.'
+
+   [Illustration: JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
+   From a photograph]
+
+"At the head of the staircase hung a great cluster of pansies, purple
+and white and gold. Mr. Whittier called our attention to their
+wonderful resemblance to human faces,--a resemblance which we so often
+see in pansies, and which was brought out with really startling
+distinctness in this picture.
+
+"In the cool, pleasant chamber assigned to us, pervaded by an air of
+Quaker serenity and purity, was a large painting of the poet in his
+youth. This was the realization of my girlish dreams. There were the
+clustering curls, the brilliant dark eyes, the firm, resolute mouth.
+He looked like a youthful Bayard, 'without fear and without reproach,'
+ready to throw himself unflinchingly into the most stirring scenes of
+the battle of life.
+
+"We were at once greatly interested in Miss Whittier, and impressed by
+the simplicity and kindness of her manner. We saw the soul's beauty
+shining in her soft, dark eyes, and in the smile which, like her
+brother's, was very winning, and we felt it in the music, of her
+gentle voice and the warm pressure of her hand. There was a refreshing
+atmosphere of unworldliness about her. She had rarely been away from
+her home, and although her brother's fame obliged her to receive many
+strangers, she had never, as she told us, been able to overcome a
+shyness of disposition, except in the case of a very few friends. She
+was naturally witty and original, and when she did shake off her
+shyness, had a childlike way of saying bright things which was very
+charming. She and her brother had lived together, alone since their
+mother's death, and in their mutual devotion have been well compared
+to Charles Lamb and his sister.
+
+"We spent a delightful evening in the garden-room in quiet, cheerful
+talk. In society Mr. Whittier had the reputation of being very shy,
+and he was so among strangers; but at times, in the companionship of
+his friends, no one could be more genial. He had even a boyish
+frankness of manner, a natural love of fun, a keen appreciation of the
+humorous, which the sorrows and poor health of many years failed to
+subdue. That night he talked to us freely of his childhood, of the
+life on the old farm in Haverhill, which he has so vividly described
+in _Snow-Bound_, and showed us a venerable book, _Davideis_, being a
+history of David written in rhyme, the quaintest and most amusing
+rhyme, by Thomas Ellwood, a friend of Milton. It was the first book of
+'poetry,' he told us, that he read when a boy. He entertained us with
+stories of people who came to see him. He had many very interesting
+and charming visitors, of course, but there were also many exceedingly
+queer ones, and these, he said with a queer smile, generally 'brought
+their carpet bags!' He said he was thankful to live in such a place as
+Amesbury, where people did not speak to him about his poems, nor think
+of him as a poet. Sometimes he had amused himself by tracking the most
+persistent of the lion-hunters, and found that the same individuals
+went to Emerson and Longfellow and other authors, and made precisely
+the same speeches. Emerson was not much annoyed by them; he enjoyed
+studying character in all its phases.
+
+"Begging letters and begging visits were also very frequent, and his
+sister told us that her brother had frequently been victimized in his
+desire to help those whose pitiful stories he believed. One day he
+received a letter from a man in a neighboring town, asking him for a
+loan of ten dollars, and assuring him that he should blow his brains
+out if Mr. Whittier did not send him the money. The tone of the letter
+made him doubt the sincerity of the writer, and he did not send the
+money, comforting himself, he said, with the thought that the man
+really had no brains to blow out. 'I must confess, however,' he
+added, 'I looked rather anxiously at the newspapers for the next few
+days, but seeing no news of a suicide in the neighboring town, I was
+relieved.'
+
+"His sister once told us of an incident which occurred during the war,
+which pleased them very much. One night, at a late hour, the door-bell
+rang, and her brother, on answering it, found a young man in an
+officer's uniform standing at the door. 'Is this Mr. Whittier?' he
+asked. 'Yes.' 'Well, sir,' was the quick reply, 'I only wanted to have
+the pleasure of shaking hands with you.' And with that he seized the
+poet's hand, shook it warmly, and rushed away, before Mr. Whittier had
+recovered from his surprise.
+
+"In subsequent visits to Mr. Whittier, he was sometimes induced to
+talk about his poems, although that was a subject on which he rarely
+spoke. On my friend's once warmly praising _Maud Muller_, he said
+decidedly that he did not like the poem, because it was too sad; it
+ministered to the spirit of unrest and dissatisfaction which was only
+too prevalent. With _My Psalm_ he felt much better satisfied, because
+it was more hopeful. His favorite poets were Wordsworth and Burns. He
+once showed us an autograph letter of Burns, which he prized very
+highly, and a number of beautiful photographs of Scotch scenery, the
+gift of a sturdy old Scotchman, a neighbor of his and also an ardent,
+admirer of Burns.
+
+"Our conversation occasionally touched on the subject of marriage, and
+I remember his asking us if we could imagine why there should be so
+much unhappiness among married people, even among those who seemed to
+have everything calculated to make them happy, and who really loved
+each other. He said he had pondered over the subject a good deal, and
+had finally concluded that it was because they saw too much of each
+other. He did not believe it was well for any two human beings to have
+too much of each other's society. We told him that, being a
+much-to-be-commiserated bachelor, he was not competent authority on
+that subject.
+
+"Among the most intimate of his friends were Mr. and Mrs. James T.
+Fields, Colonel Higginson, Charles Sumner, and Bayard Taylor. To the
+two latter, and also to Emerson, he has alluded very beautifully in
+one of his most characteristic poems, _The Last Walk in Autumn_.
+
+"On visiting the poet after my return from the South, for a vacation,
+I found a new inmate of the house, a gray and scarlet parrot, named
+Charlie, a great pet of the poet and his sister, and far-famed for his
+wit and wisdom. He could say many things with great distinctness, and
+although at first refusing rather spitefully to make my acquaintance,
+when I invited him to come into the kitchen and get his supper he at
+once hopped upon my hand and behaved in the most amicable manner. It
+was very comical to see him dance to a tune of Mr. Whittier's
+whistling. His master told us that he would climb toilsomely up the
+spout, pausing at every step or two to say, in a tone of the deepest
+self-pity, 'Poor Charlie!' and when he reached the roof screaming
+impertinently at the passers-by. The Irish children said that he
+called them 'Paddies,' and threatened him with dire vengeance. Mr.
+Whittier said he did not know; he 'could believe anything of that
+bird.' Charlie's favorite amusement was shaking the unripe pears from
+the trees in the garden; and when he saw Miss Whittier approaching, he
+would steal away with drooping head, like a child caught in a naughty
+action. This gifted bird afterwards died, and was much missed by the
+poet, who alluded to him in the poem entitled _The Common Question_.
+
+"Mr. Whittier showed me a couple of stuffed birds which had been sent
+to him by the Emperor of Brazil, after reading his _Cry of a Lost
+Soul_, in allusion to the bird in South American forests which has so
+intensely mournful a note that the Indians give it a name which
+signifies a lost soul. The first birds which were sent did not reach
+him, and the Emperor on hearing it sent two more. The bird is larger
+than a mocking bird, and has sober gray plumage, very unlike the
+bright-hued creatures usually seen in tropical forests.
+
+"The Emperor was a warm admirer of Mr. Whittier, and one of the first
+persons for whom he inquired on reaching Boston was the poet. There
+was some delay about their meeting and Dom Pedro became very
+impatient. At last they met in a house in Boston. Dom Pedro expressed
+great delight at meeting the poet, and talked with him a long time,
+paying very little attention to any one else. On leaving, he asked Mr.
+Whittier to accompany him downstairs, and before entering his carriage
+threw his arms around the astonished poet and embraced him warmly.
+
+"Rare and beautiful were the qualities which met in Mr. Whittier: a
+singularly unworldly and sweet disposition, and unwavering love of
+truth and justice, a keen sense of humor, the highest type of
+courage, and a firm faith in God's goodness, which no amount of
+suffering ever shook. For years he was an invalid, a martyr to severe
+headaches. He once told me that he had not for a long time written
+anything without suffering. The nearest and dearest of his earthly
+ties had been severed by death. But he never rebelled. His life
+exemplified the spirit of resignation which is breathed throughout so
+many of his poems.
+
+    All as God wills, who wisely heeds
+      To give or to withhold,
+    And knoweth more of all my needs
+      Than all my prayers have told.
+
+"My husband and I made our last visit to him two years ago, at Oak
+Knoll. He gave us his customary warm greeting and, although in
+extremely feeble health, was as sweet and genial in spirit and as
+entertaining in conversation as ever. He took us into his cosey little
+library, and talked about his books and pictures and old friends, and
+promised to send us his latest photograph,--which he afterwards did.
+Fearing to weary him, we stayed but a short time. So frail he looked,
+that in parting from him our hearts were saddened by the thought that
+we might not look upon that dear face again. And so it proved. I shall
+ever remember him as I saw him then, in his beautiful country home,
+surrounded by devoted friends, awaiting calmly the summons to enter
+into rest--in that serene and lovely old age which comes only to those
+gifted ones whose lives are the embodiment of all that is noblest and
+best and sweetest in their poetry.
+
+"Farewell, beloved, revered friend! Thou art gone to join the loved
+ones who beckoned to thee from those blessed shores of Peace. To thee,
+how great the gain! To us, how infinite the loss! But thy influence
+shall remain with us. Still shalt thou
+
+                          ... be to other souls
+    The cup of strength in some great agony,
+    Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
+    Beget the smiles that have no cruelty--
+    Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
+    And in diffusion ever more intense.
+
+
+
+
+LXIII
+
+HENRY WARD BEECHER
+
+
+It would be no compliment to call Henry Ward Beecher the American
+Spurgeon. He may be that, but he is more. If we can imagine Mr.
+Spurgeon and Mr. John Bright with a cautious touch of Professor
+Maurice and a strong tincture of the late F.W. Robertson--if, I say,
+it is possible to imagine such a compound being brought up in New
+England and at last securely fixed in a New York pulpit, we shall get
+a product not unlike Henry Ward Beecher....
+
+Mr. Beecher was brought up in the country. His novel, _Norwood_--not
+very readable, by the way, although full of charming passages--abounds
+in woods and streams, hills and dales, and flowers. "The willows," he
+tells us somewhere, "had thrown off their silky catkins, and were in
+leaf; the elm was covered with chocolate-colored blossoms, the soft
+maple drew bees to its crimson tassels." Would that all preachers and
+writers used no more offensive and superfluous flowers of speech than
+such as these....
+
+When he wants to illustrate the comfort of a powerful, unseen, though
+protective love, he tells us how, as a boy, he woke up one midsummer
+night and listened, with a sense of half-uneasy awe, to the wild cry
+of the marsh birds, whilst the moonlight streamed full into his room;
+and then, as he grew more and more disturbed, he suddenly heard his
+father clear his throat "a-hem," in the next room, and instantly that
+familiar sound restored his equanimity. The illustration is simple,
+but it hits the mark and goes home. His affectionate tributes to his
+father and mother are constantly breaking forth in spite of himself.
+"I thank God," he says, "for two things. First, that I was born and
+bred in the country, of parents that gave me a sound constitution and
+a noble example. I never can pay back what I got from my parents. Next
+I am thankful that I was brought up in circumstances where I never
+became acquainted with wickedness." How delightful it is to think of a
+man who, without a taint of conscious insincerity, but simply out of
+the fulness of his heart, can get up before four thousand people, and
+say:
+
+"I never was sullied in act, nor in thought when I was young. I grew
+up as pure as a woman. And I cannot express to God the thanks which I
+owe to my mother, and to my father, and to the great household of
+sisters and brothers among whom I lived. And the secondary knowledge
+of those wicked things which I have gained in later life in a
+professional way, I gained under such guards that it was not harmful
+to me." ...
+
+He has a wonderful way of importing his leisure hours into the pulpit,
+and making the great cooped-up multitude feel something of the joy and
+freshness of his own exhilaration. One golden day above others seems
+to have dwelt in his mind. He refers to it again and again.
+
+"When I walked one day on the top of Mt. Washington--glorious day of
+memory! Such another day I think I shall not experience till I stand
+on the battlements of the New Jerusalem--how I was discharged of all
+imperfections; the wide far-spreading country which lay beneath me in
+beauteous light, how heavenly it looked, and I communed with God. I
+had sweet tokens that he loved me. My very being rose right up into
+his nature. I walked with him, and the cities far and near of New
+York, and all the cities and villages which lay between it and me,
+with their thunder, the wrangling of human passions below me, were to
+me as if they were not."
+
+Some of his sermons are full of vacation-rambles. He passes through
+woods and gardens and plucks flowers and fragrant leaves, which will
+all have to do service in Brooklyn Church; he watches the crowded
+flight of pigeons from the treetops, and thinks of men's riches that
+so make themselves wings and fly away. As he scales the mountains and
+sees the summer storms sweep through the valleys beneath him, he
+thinks of the storms in the human heart--"many, many storms there are
+that lie low and hug the ground, and the way to escape them is to go
+up the mountain sides and get higher than they are."
+
+Mr. Beecher's travels in Europe were not thrown away upon his ardent
+and artistic temperament. He has stood before the great pictures to
+some purpose, and has not failed to read their open secret.
+
+"Have you ever stood in Dresden to watch that matchless picture of
+Raphael's, the 'Madonna di San Siste'? Engravings of it are all
+through the world; but no engraving has ever reproduced the mother's
+face. The Infant Christ that she holds is far more nearly represented
+than the mother. In her face there is a mist. It is wonder, it is
+love, it is adoration, it is awe--it is all these mingled, as if she
+held in her hands her babe, and yet it was God! That picture means
+nothing to me as it does to the Roman Church; but it means everything
+to me, because I believe that every mother should love the God that is
+in her child, and that every mother's heart should be watching to
+discern and see in the child, which is more than flesh and blood,
+something that takes hold of immortality and glory."
+
+             --Selected from the _Contemporary Review_.
+
+
+
+
+LXIV
+
+THE LONDON "TIMES" ON LOWELL
+
+
+The London _Times_, sometimes nicknamed the _Thunderer_, was for many
+years the most influential paper in the world. Emerson in his _English
+Traits_ says, "No power in England is more felt, more feared, or more
+obeyed." In view of the high position of this paper it is a matter of
+interest to our American students of literature to read what this
+paper had to say on the death of Lowell.
+
+Here follows the larger part of the editorial from the _Times_:
+
+The death of Mr. Lowell will probably be more keenly and widely felt
+in England than would be that of any other American, or, indeed, of
+any other man who was not a fellow-countryman of our own. To very many
+in England it will be counted as a grave personal loss; and thousands
+more will miss in him one whom through his writings they had admired,
+felt with, laughed with, as with a friend. For a long time past, in
+fact ever since he quitted the Legation, his long annual visits to
+London have been regarded by a wide circle as one of the events of the
+year, and he himself as one of the most valued guests. We had hoped
+that this last June would again see him in his old London haunts,
+bright, genial, interesting as ever; but a cruel fate decided that
+this was not to be, and neither the Old World nor the New should know
+him more. Never a strong man, he has succumbed, at a ripe age, it is
+true, but prematurely, as all will think who knew how fresh his
+intelligence and his sympathies were to the last. With him there
+passes away one of the very few Americans who were the equals of any
+son of the Old World--of any Frenchman or any Englishman--in that
+indefinable mixture of qualities, which we sum up for want of a better
+word, under the name of culture. How did he arrive at it? The answer
+is, by natural gifts, by constant play of mind with mind in talk, and
+by reading. On those who casually met Mr. Lowell in society, he
+certainly did not make the impression of a book-worm, or of a man to
+whom books were indispensable; but none the less is it true that
+whenever official business was not too heavy, he invariably read for a
+_minimum_ of four hours a day. This did not include the time that he
+gave to ephemeral literature; it was the time that he spent in the
+serious reading of books, generally old books. How many of us, not
+professed students, can show a record as good, or half as good? He
+read quickly, too, in various languages, his favorites being the
+English of the Elizabethans, Spanish, old French, and modern French.
+His excellent memory and wonderful assimilative power built up this
+reading into the mental endowments that all the world admired.
+
+When Mr. Lowell came to England as the representative of the United
+States under the last Republican administration, London felt a
+sympathetic curiosity as to the author of the famous _Biglow Papers_
+and of so much excellent prose criticism. In a very short time the
+feeling warmed into admiration and friendship. The official world
+spoke well of the way in which the new minister performed his
+duties--generally not very heavy, but always demanding tact and
+prudence--of his position as minister. Menacing sounds, indeed, began
+to be heard from across the ocean, when the Irish Fenians, who control
+so much of the press of the United States, began to raise the cry that
+Mr. Lowell sacrificed the interests of their dynamitard friends to a
+brutal British government; but, as the Washington officials took no
+notice, nobody here paid much attention to the matter. In social life,
+the new minister began to be a power. He went everywhere--to the
+houses of the great, to the houses of the men of letters, and to
+places where such people most do congregate. His talk was excellent
+give-and-take. He was neither a professional anecdotist, like another
+famous American talker, Mr. Chauncey Depew, nor a man on the watch for
+something to disagree with, like Mr. Blaine, nor even, as was his
+admirable successor, Mr. Phelps, a man of long silences broken by
+flashes of humor. Mr. Lowell seemed to know everything and have his
+knowledge always to hand; he was quick in repartee; he mixed anecdote
+with reflection in the happiest manner; he laughed at others' jests,
+and they laughed at his. Still, one had to be a little careful with
+him, for there were points on which he was extremely sensitive.
+Nobody, for example, must talk in his presence of _Americanisms_, or
+hint that the standard of language and literature observed in America
+showed any deflection from the best standard of the race....
+
+On one occasion Mr. Lowell was sorely tempted to make his permanent
+home here. Just about the time of his ceasing to be minister, he was
+seriously sounded as to his willingness to be nominated to the new
+post of professor of English language and literature at Oxford. Had he
+consented to stand, not even a board determined to sink literature in
+philology could have passed over his claims. But he declined, for two
+reasons. There were claims of family, over in Massachusetts, and,
+greatly as he loved the mental atmosphere of England, he thought it
+his duty not to accept a definitely English post. And the sense of
+duty is strong in that old Puritan stock from which he sprang.
+
+... But the distinguishing feature of Mr. Lowell was his adding to
+these high literary gifts the strong practical side which made of him
+a social power and a diplomatist. Naturally, such a man made a mark by
+his speeches, and happy was the audience, at the unveiling of a
+monument or at a literary dinner, that had the privilege of listening
+to Mr. Lowell. Seldom in England, where this kind of speaking is not
+cultivated as an art, have we witnessed such a perfect union of
+self-possession, sense, and salt. The speech on Henry Fielding, the
+speech in which he compared the sound of London to "the roaring loom
+of time," the address on Democracy--to mention but a few--will not be
+easily forgotten. Nor will those who had the privilege of experiencing
+it, in however slight a degree, forget the sweet affectionateness
+which, in spite of an occasional irritability and over-sensitiveness,
+was at the root of Mr. Lowell's character. Corrupt politicians
+disliked him and feared the barbed arrows of his indignant wit; but he
+goes to the grave mourned by all that is best in America, and he takes
+with him the heart-felt regard as well as the admiration, of this
+elder branch of our common English race.
+
+
+
+
+LXV
+
+THE WRITING OF "AMERICA"
+
+
+The Rev. Dr. Samuel F. Smith, author of _America_, died in Boston in
+1895. On April 3, of the same year, he had received a grand public
+testimonial in Music Hall in recognition of his authorship of
+_America_. In the souvenir of that occasion Dr. Smith tells how he
+came to write the poem that made him famous.
+
+"In the year 1831 William C. Woodbridge, of New York, a noted
+educator, was deputed to visit Germany and inspect the system of the
+public schools, that if he should find in them any features of
+interest unknown to our public schools here they might be adopted in
+the schools of the United States. He found that in the German schools
+much attention was given to music; he also found many books containing
+music and songs for children. Returning home, he brought several of
+these music-books, and placed them in the hands of Mr. Lowell Mason,
+then a noted composer, organist, and choir leader. Having himself no
+knowledge of the German language he brought them to me at Andover,
+where I was then studying theology, requesting me, as I should find
+time, to furnish him translations of the German words, or to write
+new hymns and songs adapted to the German music.
+
+"On a dismal day in February, 1832, looking over one of these books,
+my attention was drawn to a tune which attracted me by its simple and
+natural movement and its fitness for children's choirs. Glancing at
+the German words at the foot of the page, I saw that they were
+patriotic, and I was instantly inspired to write a patriotic hymn of
+my own.
+
+"Seizing a scrap of waste paper, I began to write, and in half an hour
+I think the words stood upon it substantially as they are sung to-day.
+I did not know at the time that the tune was the British _God Save the
+King_. I do not share the regrets of those who deem it an evil that
+the national tune of Britain and America is the same. On the contrary,
+I deem it a new and beautiful tie of union between the mother and the
+daughter, one furnishing the music (if, indeed, it is really English),
+and the other the words.
+
+"I did not propose to write a national hymn. I did not think that I
+had done so. I laid the song aside, and nearly forgot that I had made
+it. Some weeks later I sent it to Mr. Mason, and on the following
+Fourth of July, much to my surprise, he brought it out at a children's
+celebration in the Park Street Church, in Boston, where it was first
+sung in public."
+
+
+
+
+LXVI
+
+ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS AND HER FIRST STORY
+
+
+Some years ago the author of _Gates Ajar_ told in an American magazine
+how she began her literary career. From this account we quote:
+
+"The town of Lawrence was three miles and a half from Andover. Up to
+the year 1860 we had considered Lawrence chiefly in the light of a
+place to drive to.... Upon the map of our young fancy the great mills
+were sketched in lightly; we looked up from the restaurant ice-cream
+to see the hands pour out for dinner, a dark and restless, but a
+patient, throng, used in those days, to standing eleven hours and
+quarter--women and girls--at their looms, six days of the week, and
+making no audible complaints; for socialism had not reached Lawrence,
+and anarchy was content to bray in distant parts of the geography at
+which the factory people had not arrived when they left school....
+
+"...One January evening, we were forced to think about the mills with
+curdling horror that no one living in that locality when the tragedy
+happened will forget.
+
+"At five o'clock the Pemberton Mills, all hands being at the time on
+duty, without a tremor of warning, sank to the ground.
+
+"At the erection of the factory a pillar with a defective core had
+passed careless inspectors. In technical language the core had
+'floated' an eighth of an inch from its position. The weak spot in the
+too thin wall of the pillar had bided its time, and yielded. The roof,
+the walls, the machinery fell upon seven hundred and fifty living men
+and women, and buried them. Most of these were rescued, but
+eighty-eight were killed. As the night came on, those watchers on
+Andover Hill who could not join the rescuing parties, saw a strange
+and fearful light at the north.
+
+"Where we were used to watching the beautiful belt of the lighted
+mills blaze--a zone of laughing fire from east to west, upon the
+horizon bar--a red and awful glare went up. The mill had taken fire. A
+lantern, overturned in the hands of a man who was groping to save an
+imprisoned life, had flashed to the cotton, or the wool, or the oil
+with which the ruins were saturated. One of the historic
+conflagrations of New England resulted.
+
+"With blanching cheeks we listened to the whispers that told us how the
+mill-girls, caught in the ruins beyond hope of escape, began to sing.
+They were used to singing, poor things, at their looms--mill-girls
+always are--and their young souls took courage from the familiar sound
+of one another's voices. They sang the hymns and songs which they had
+learned in the schools and churches. No classical strains, no 'music
+for music's sake,' ascended from that furnace; no ditty of love or
+frolic, but the plain, religious outcries of the people: _Heaven is my
+Home_, _Jesus, Lover of my Soul_, and _Shall we Gather at the River?_
+Voice after voice dropped. The fire raced on. A few brave girls still
+sang:
+
+    Shall we gather at the river,
+    There to walk and worship ever?
+
+"But the startled Merrimac rolled by, red as blood beneath the glare
+of the burning mills, and it was left to the fire and the river to
+finish the chorus.
+
+"At the time this tragedy occurred, I felt my share of its horror,
+like other people; but no more than that. My brother, being of the
+privileged sex, was sent over to see the scene, but I was not allowed
+to go.
+
+"Years after, I cannot say just how many, the half-effaced negative
+came back to form under the chemical of some new perception of the
+significance of human tragedy.
+
+"It occurred to me to use the event as the basis of a story. To this
+end I set forth to study the subject. I had heard nothing in those
+days about 'material,' and conscience in the use of it, and little
+enough about art. We did not talk about realism then. Of critical
+phraseology I knew nothing, and of critical standards only what I had
+observed by reading the best fiction. Poor novels and stories I did
+not read. I do not remember being forbidden them; but, by that
+parental art finer than denial, they were absent from my convenience.
+
+"It needed no instruction in the canons of art, however, to teach me
+that to do a good thing, one must work hard for it. So I gave the best
+part of a month to the study of the Pemberton Mill tragedy, driving to
+Lawrence, and investigating every possible avenue of information left
+at that too long remove of time which might give the data. I visited
+the rebuilt mills, and studied the machinery. I consulted engineers
+and officials and physicians, newspaper men, and persons who had been
+in the mill at the time of its fall. I scoured the files of old local
+papers, and from these I took certain portions of names, actually
+involved in the catastrophe, though, of course, fictitiously used.
+When there was nothing left for me to learn on the subject, I came
+home and wrote a little story called "The Tenth of January,' and sent
+it to the _Atlantic Monthly_, where it appeared in due time.
+
+"This story is of more interest to its author than it can possibly be
+now to any reader, because it distinctly marked for me the first
+recognition which I received from literary people."
+
+
+
+
+LXVII
+
+SIDNEY LANIER
+
+
+Next to Poe, Sidney Lanier ranks as the foremost of the poets of the
+South. In character Lanier is one of the rarest and purest of souls.
+His life was so chaste, his ideals so high, his devotion to his art so
+unselfish that he has been called "the Sir Galahad among American
+poets." Dr. Gilman, who in his capacity as president of Johns Hopkins
+University had frequent opportunities to observe Lanier, who was an
+instructor in this institution, has made the following comment,--"The
+appearance of Lanier was striking. There was nothing eccentric or odd
+about him, but his words, manners, ways of speech, were distinguished.
+I have heard a lady say that if he took his place in a crowded
+horse-car, an exhilarating atmosphere seemed to be introduced by his
+breezy ways."
+
+He was born in Georgia in 1842. After graduation from a small college
+in his native state and then serving as tutor for a short time, he
+entered the Confederate army. During his war experiences, whether in
+the field or in prison, he studied poetry and played the flute. These
+two arts were his passions for life. While yet in his college days he
+had acquired a fine reputation as a flute-player. At eighteen he was
+said to be the best flute-player in Georgia. One of his college
+friends at the time made record of his admiration in writing,--"Tutor
+Lanier is the finest flute-player you or I ever saw. It is perfectly
+splendid--his playing. He is far-famed for it. His flute cost fifty
+dollars, and he runs the notes as easily as any one on the piano."
+
+The passionate love of his sensitive soul is revealed in this poetic
+description of a visit to the opera:
+
+"I have just come in from the _Tempest_ at the Grand Opera House ...
+and my heart is so full.... In one interlude between the scenes we had
+a violin solo, adagio, with soft accompaniment by orchestra. As the
+fair tender notes came, they opened like flower-buds expanding into
+flowers under the sweet rain of the accompaniment. Kind heavens! My
+head fell on the seat in front, I was weighed down with great loves
+and great ideas and divine inflowings and devout outflowings, and as
+each note grew and budded, and became a bud again and died into a
+fresh birth in the next bud tone, I also lived these flower-tone
+lives, and grew and expanded, and folded back and died and was born
+again, and partook of the unfathomable mysteries of flowers and
+tones." And at another time he writes in the same vein,--"'Twas
+opening night of Theodore Thomas' orchestra at Central Park Garden,
+and I could not resist the temptation to go and bathe in the sweet
+amber seas of this fine orchestra, and so I went, and tugged me
+through a vast crowd, and, after standing some while, found a seat,
+and the baton waved, and I plunged into the sea, and lay and floated.
+Ah! the dear flutes and oboes and horns drifted me hither and thither,
+and the great violins and small violins swayed me upon waves, and
+overflowed me with strong lavations, and sprinkled glistening foam in
+my face, and in among the clarinetti, as among waving water-lilies
+with plexile stems, pushed my easy way, and so, even lying in the
+music waters, I floated and flowed, my soul utterly bent and
+prostrate." Who has ever written more expressively of that ecstasy
+that lays hold of the sensuous soul of the lover of fine music?
+
+Lanier is one of the heroic souls of song. Like Stevenson he was
+cheery enough to jest about his poverty. His contest with the demon of
+Want seems to have been fiercer even than was the warfare waged by the
+gay romancer. Lanier wishes to meet Charlotte Cushman, but he is not
+sure that he can; he must sell a poem or two to get the price of a
+suitable new dress coat. "Alas," he writes to the lady herself, in
+that gay spirit of humor which is the strong defense of some sensitive
+souls, "with what unspeakable care I would have brushed this present
+garment of mine in days gone by, if I had dreamed that the time would
+come when so great a thing as a visit to _you_ might hang upon the
+little length of its nap! Behold, it is not only in man's breast that
+pathos lies, and the very coat lapel that covers it may be a tragedy."
+
+The poetic temperament is commonly supposed to be at variance with
+domestic tranquillity. The domestic life of Lanier is a contradiction
+to that popular belief. He ends one of his letters to his wife with
+this petition,--"Let us lead them (the children) to love everything
+in the world, above the world, and under the world adequately; that is
+the sum and substance of a perfect life. And so God's divine rest be
+upon every head under the roof that covers thine this night, prayeth
+thy husband."
+
+In his letter to Gibson Peacock, January 6, 1878, we have a charming
+picture of the delight of a man who has at last found a place to nest
+his family, after some years of forlorn wanderings and uncertainties:
+
+"...I have also moved my family into our new home, have had a
+Christmas tree for the youngsters, have looked up a cheap school for
+Harry and Sidney, have discharged my daily duties as first flute of
+the Peabody Orchestra, have written a couple of poems and part of an
+essay on Beethoven and Bismarck, have accomplished at least a hundred
+thousand miscellaneous nothings.... We are in a state of supreme
+content with our new home; it really seems to me as incredible that
+myriads of people have been living in their own homes heretofore; as
+to the young couple with a first baby it seems impossible that a great
+many other couples have had similar prodigies. Good heavens! how I
+wish that the whole world had a home.
+
+"I confess that I am a little nervous about the gas bills, which must
+come in, in the course of time; and there are the water rates, and
+several sorts of imposts and taxes; but then the dignity of being
+liable to such things is a very supporting consideration. No man is a
+Bohemian who has to pay a water tax and a street tax. Every day when I
+sit down in my dining-room--_my_ dining-room! I find the wish growing
+stronger that each poor soul in Baltimore, whether saint or sinner,
+could come and dine with me. How I would carve out the merry-thoughts
+for the old hags! How I would stuff the big wan-eyed rascals till
+their rags ripped again! There was a knight of old times who built the
+dining-hall of his castle across the highway, so that every wayfarer
+must perforce pass through; there the traveler, rich or poor, found
+always a trencher and wherewithal to fill it. Three times a day in my
+own chair at my own table, do I envy that knight and wish that I might
+do as he did."
+
+
+
+
+LXVIII
+
+THE STORY OF MARK TWAIN'S DEBTS
+
+
+The story of "Mark Twain's Debts" is told in _The Bookman_ by
+Frederick A. King. We are permitted to tell the story in Mr. King's
+own words:
+
+An anecdote is recorded of Mark Twain and General Grant, who, in
+company with William D. Howells, once sat together at luncheon, spread
+in the General's private office in the purlieus of Wall Street, in the
+days when war and statesmanship had been laid aside, and the hero of
+battles and civic life was endeavoring to retrieve his scattered
+fortunes by a trial of business.
+
+"Why don't you write your memoirs?" asked Mark Twain, mindful of how
+much there was to record, and how eager would be the readers of such a
+work.
+
+But the General with characteristic modesty demurred, and the point
+was not pressed. This was several years before the failure of the firm
+of Ward and Grant, which swept away the General's private fortune,
+leaving him an old man, broken in health, and filled with anxiety
+about the provision for his family after he should be gone.
+
+When the evil days at last came, some memory of the suggestion
+dropped by his friend, the humorist--who could be immensely serious,
+too, when need be--may have led to the task that, in added contention
+with pain and suffering, constituted the last battle that the General
+should fight.
+
+Whatever the influence moving General Grant to the final decision to
+compose his memoirs, it happened, to his great fortune, that Mark
+Twain again called, and found that the work he had long ago suggested
+was at last in progress; but also that the inexperienced writer,
+modestly underestimating the commercial value of his forthcoming work,
+was about to sign away the putative profits. Fifty thousand dollars
+offered for his copyright seemed a generous sum to the unliterary
+General Grant, and it took the vehement persuasion of one who was
+himself a publisher to convince him that his prospective publishers
+would not hesitate at quadrupling that sum rather than lose the chance
+of publishing the book.
+
+When the conjecture was proven true, the General with characteristic
+generosity, withdrew the contract from his prospective publishers and
+placed it in the hands of the firm that Mark Twain headed. All the
+provisions were amply fulfilled; for when Mark Twain paid his last
+visit to the stricken author at the place of sojourn on Mount
+McGregor, he brought to the now speechless sufferer the smile of
+happiness and satisfaction by saying: "General, there is in the bank
+now royalties on advanced sales aggregating nearly $300,000. It is at
+Mrs. Grant's order."
+
+The anecdote is given at this length because, taken in connection
+with subsequent events dealing with General Grant's benefactor, it
+points a forceful illustration of the irony of fortune. There came a
+day when the very instrument by which Mark Twain was enabled to
+provide a peaceful close to the life of a brave warrior, and to
+guarantee affluence for his family, delivered himself a stroke that
+dissipated his own fortune at a time when age is supposed to have
+absorbed the vigor for a new grapple with destinies.
+
+In 1884 the publishing firm of C.L. Webster and Company was organized
+to publish the works of Mark Twain. Of this firm Mark Twain was
+president; but he took little active part in the management of its
+affairs. Able to conceive in broad outlines successful policies, he
+was singularly deficient in the power to handle the details of their
+execution. On April 18, 1894, the firm whose business enterprises had
+always figured in large sums through the immense popularity of the
+author-publisher's own works, the _Memoirs of General Grant_, and the
+_Life of Pope Leo_, made an assignment for the benefit of its
+creditors. The bankrupt firm acknowledged liabilities approximating
+$80,000. What in the ordinary view of commercial affairs would have
+furnished but one item in the list of failures which record the
+misfortunes of ninety per cent who engage in business, became in this
+instance a notable case through the eminence of the chief actor.
+
+What might he have done?
+
+The law could lay claim upon his personal assets. To surrender these
+possessions proved no act of self-sacrifice, considering his wife's
+fortune, upon which the law had no claim. His wife, however, joined
+him in the act of renunciation, and they stood together penniless.
+Beyond this point there could be no legal, and, to many minds, no
+moral responsibility for the debts of his firm. One can speculate upon
+the force of the temptation to take advantage of the position. Mark
+Twain was sixty years old, and ill at that. Having sacrificed all he
+possessed to meet the demands of his creditors, he might justly claim
+the benefit of what remained of capacity for wealth-producing labor.
+His own words in reply to a slander which insinuated that he had set
+to work again for his own benefit are splendid for inspiration and
+honesty:
+
+"The law recognizes no mortgage on a man's brain, and a merchant who
+has given up all he has may take advantage of the laws of insolvency,
+and start free again for himself; but I am not a business man, and
+honor is a harder master than the law. It cannot compromise for less
+than a hundred cents on the dollar."
+
+... The great parallel case to the one here under examination is that
+of Sir Walter Scott, who lost his all through the failure of his
+printers, the Ballantynes, and between January, 1826, and January,
+1828, earned for his creditors nearly L40,000. In the early stages of
+this trial he suffered acutely from the attitude of his friends, and
+he records in his diary how some would smile as if to say: "Think
+nothing about it, my lad; it is quite out of our thoughts;" how others
+adopted an affected gravity "such as one sees and despises at a
+funeral," while the best bred "just shook hands and went on."
+
+How the world treated Mark Twain we learn from the speech at the
+banquet given by the Lotus Club on his return from his arduous journey
+around the world: "There were ninety-six creditors in all, and not by
+a finger's weight did ninety-five out of the ninety-six add to the
+burden of that time."
+
+"'Don't you worry, and don't you hurry,' was what they said." With the
+courage of a man buffeted, but not beaten, he gathered himself up for
+"one more last try for fortune and fair fame." In the latter part of
+1895 he started out on a tour of the English-speaking countries of the
+world to give lectures and readings from his own works.
+
+There were misgivings, of course, as to the success of the venture.
+Here was a field not absolutely untried, but not hitherto cultivated
+to the point of assured success. In 1873 he had made a lecture tour in
+England and in 1885 had given platform readings in company with George
+W. Cable. But age had sapped the zest for public appearance, and he
+was skeptical of his power to move people with interest in his books.
+Moreover, there was a further thing to be considered, a possible
+impediment to success among the English colonies which he proposed to
+visit. His popularity with Englishmen had never been great, owing to
+the liberties he had taken with that nation's people in _Innocents
+Abroad_.
+
+The latter apprehension was the more remote, however, for, starting
+from New York, he had a continent to traverse before embarking for the
+shores that held for him an uncertain welcome. To test his ability to
+interest an audience, to "try it on the dog," as they say in
+theatrical parlance, he subjected himself to the severest test
+possible, crossed to Randall's Island and read before a company of
+boys. Unsophisticated by the lecturer's reputation as a humorist, the
+boys proved to be the organs of sincerest testimony to the permanence
+of the old power to amuse, and the first public appearance in
+Cleveland, Ohio, was undertaken with fewer misgivings.
+
+From Vancouver, Mark Twain sailed for Sidney and gave readings before
+the English-speaking communities of Australia; then continued on to
+Tasmania, New Zealand, Ceylon, India and South Africa.
+
+His fears as to his welcome among Englishmen were proved to be
+groundless. In Australia, great as was his success as a lecturer, his
+personal success outweighed even that, and the market on his books was
+exhausted. We cannot follow him on this trip of mingled arduous labor
+and personal satisfaction. The humorous reactions of his homely vision
+upon the quaint, the bizarre, the pretentious, aspects of life in
+remote parts of the world may be read in his own record of this
+journey, _Following the Equator_. There are few things to record of
+this great effort to pay his debts.
+
+In India he was taken ill, but the disease was not severe. In June,
+1897, when he had circled the globe and had settled for a time in
+London, cablegrams came from that city announcing his mental and
+physical collapse. The English-speaking world was stricken with
+sympathy, and the New York _Herald_ at once began a subscription fund
+for his relief. The report was contradicted at once, but admiration
+for the author's strenuous effort seemed to grow, and the _Herald_
+fund was assuming generous proportions when the following
+characteristic message declining to accept the relief came from the
+proposed beneficiary:
+
+    I was glad when you instituted that movement, for I was tired
+    of the fact and worry of debt, but I recognized that it is not
+    permissible for a man whose case is not hopeless to shift his
+    burden to other men's shoulders.
+
+In November of the same year a report was circulated that he was out
+of debt, but from Vienna, whither he had gone to live, came a laconic
+cablegram nailing the optimistic impeachment:
+
+    Lie. Wrote no such letters. Still deeply in debt.
+
+Nearly half of the original indebtedness needed to be paid, and here,
+with scarcely an opposing voice in judgment, he might have waived the
+claim upon himself for his firm's responsibilities, but he avowed that
+he would pay dollar for dollar.
+
+The time of accomplishment was not long in coming. When the
+undertaking was begun, it was with the resolution to clear up the debt
+in three years. Allowing for the unexpected, it was feared it would
+take four, then at the age of sixty-four a new start in life would be
+open to the author, who might point to a considerable occupancy of
+space on library shelves and regard a life work accomplished. It took
+but two years and a half to pay the debt. He began the effort the
+latter part of 1895 and finished it in the early part of 1898.
+
+His return to America and his home in 1900 was, in the unromantic
+procedure of our self-conscious days, of the nature of a triumph. He
+was formally welcomed by the Lotus Club, and, of course, as delicately
+as might be, he was praised for his honesty. His reply to compliment
+was a generous recognition of social virtue, which renders easier such
+an effort as he made.
+
+Said he:
+
+    Your president has referred to certain burdens which I was
+    weighted with. I am glad he did, as it gives me an opportunity
+    which I wanted. To speak of those debts--you all knew what he
+    meant when he referred to it, and to the poor bankrupt firm of
+    C.L. Webster and Company. No one has said a word about those
+    creditors. There were ninety-six creditors in all, and not by
+    a finger's weight did ninety-five out of the ninety-six add to
+    the burden of that time. They treated me well; they treated me
+    handsomely. I never knew I owed them anything; not a sign came
+    from them.
+
+The story is one of simple elements, and suits the prosaic character
+of our age. It does not match Sir Walter's for romance. There was no
+such brain-racking work; no forcing of the phantasmal multitude of the
+poet's brain to dance to pay the expenses of the funeral; no mediaeval
+castle to sacrifice; no tragic failure of the ultimate goal. What
+there is of real romance seems obscured by the facts of more or less
+safe speculation upon assured futures. It was a safe business venture.
+
+The hero was not unworthy of the praises which his peers at the Lotus
+dinner were glad to lavish. Said St. Clair McKelway:
+
+"He has enough excess and versatility to be a genius. He has enough
+quality and quantity of virtues to be a saint. But he has honorably
+transmuted his genius into work, whereby it has been brought into
+relations with literature and with life. And he has preferred warm
+fellowship to cool perfection, so that sinners love him and saints are
+content to wait for him."
+
+
+
+
+LXIX
+
+HAMLIN GARLAND'S LITERARY BEGINNING
+
+
+Hamlin Garland is one of the writers whose name suggests the great
+Northwest. He was born in Wisconsin in 1860, went to Iowa and later to
+Dakota, striving at an early age to wrest a living from the soil. At
+ten years of age he plowed seventy acres of land. His vivid
+descriptions of Western farm-life are not the results of reading and
+casual observation, supplemented by a vivid imagination; they are the
+products of actual experiences.
+
+In a personal interview with Mr. Garland, Frank G. Carpenter gives us
+the following interesting particulars:
+
+"The conversation here turned to Mr. Garland's literary work, and he
+told me how he was first led to write by reading Hawthorne's _Mosses
+from an Old Manse_. This book so delighted him that he wanted to write
+essays like it for a living, and he practised at this during the
+intervals of his school-teaching and studying for years. It was not
+until he was older that he attempted fiction or poetry. The story of
+his first published article is a curious one. Said he:
+
+"'My first literary success was a poem which I wrote for _Harper's
+Weekly_, entitled 'Lost in the Norther.' It was a poem describing a
+blizzard and the feelings of a man lost in it. I received twenty-five
+dollars for it.'
+
+"'That must have been a good deal of money to you then, Mr. Garland?'
+
+"'It was,' was the reply. 'It was my first money in literature, and I
+spent it upon my father and mother. I paid five dollars for a copy of
+Grant's _Memoirs_, which I sent father, and with the remaining twenty
+dollars I bought a silk dress for my mother. It was the first silk
+dress she had ever had.'
+
+"'When did you write your first fiction?'
+
+"'My mother got half of the money I received for that,' replied Mr.
+Garland, 'as it was due to her that I wrote it. I had been studying in
+Boston for several years, when I went out to Dakota to visit my
+parents. The night after I arrived I was talking with mother about old
+times and old friends. She told me how one family had gone back to New
+York for a visit, and had returned very happy, in getting back to
+their Western home. As she told the story, the pathos of it struck me.
+I went into another room and began to write. The story was one of the
+best chapters of my book _Main-Traveled Roads_. I read it to mother,
+and she liked it, and upon telling her that I thought it was worth at
+least seventy-five dollars, she replied: "Well, if that is so, I think
+you ought to _divvy_ with me, for I gave you the story." "I will,"
+said I, and so, when I got my seventy-five dollars, I sent her a check
+for thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents. I got many other good
+suggestions during that trip to Dakota. I wrote poems and stories.
+Some of the stories were published in _The Century_, and I remember
+that I received six hundred dollars within two weeks from its editors.
+It was perhaps a year later before I published my first book. It had a
+good sale, and I have been writing from that day to this.'
+
+"Hamlin Garland spends a part of every year in the West. He has bought
+the old home place where he was born in Wisconsin, and he has there a
+little farm of four acres, upon which he raises asparagus,
+strawberries, onions, and bushels of other things. His mother lives
+with him. During my talk with him the other night he said: 'I like the
+West and the Western people. I have been brought up with them, and I
+expect to devote my life to writing about them. I spend a portion of
+each summer on the Rocky Mountains, camping out. I like to go where I
+can sleep in the open air and have elbow-room away from the crowded
+city.'"
+
+
+
+
+LXX
+
+STEPHEN CRANE: A "WONDERFUL BOY"
+
+
+In 1900, Stephen Crane, while yet barely thirty, died. His early
+passing away was widely regarded as a loss to American literature. In
+England he was especially admired as a vigorous writer. His _The Red
+Badge of Courage_ won him wide recognition as a keen analyst. Old
+soldiers who read the story could not believe that it was written by a
+boy who was born after the war had ended. By many critics his stories
+of boyhood are considered the writings that shall be longest
+remembered. Shortly before his death Mr. Crane wrote the following
+letter to the editor of a Rochester daily:
+
+"My father was a Methodist minister, author of numerous works of
+theology, and an editor of various periodicals of the church. He was a
+graduate of Princeton, and he was a great, fine, simple mind. As for
+myself, I went to Lafayette College, but did not graduate. I found
+mining-engineering not at all to my taste. I preferred base-ball.
+Later I attended Syracuse University, where I attempted to study
+literature, but found base-ball again much more to my taste. My first
+work in fiction was for the New York _Tribune_, when I was eighteen
+years old. During this time, one story of the series went into the
+_Cosmopolitan_. At the age of twenty I wrote my first novel--_Maggie_.
+It never really got on the market, but it made for me the friendship
+of William Dean Howells and Hamlin Garland, and since that time I have
+never been conscious for an instant that those friendships have at all
+diminished. After completing _Maggie_, I wrote mainly for the New York
+_Press_ and for _The Arena_. In the latter part of my twenty-first
+year I began _The Red Badge of Courage_, and completed it early in my
+twenty-second year. The year following I wrote the poems contained in
+the volume known as _The Black Riders_. On the first day of last
+November I was precisely twenty-nine years old and had finished my
+fifth novel, _Active Service_. I have only one pride, and that is that
+the English edition of _The Red Badge of Courage_ has been received
+with great praise by the English reviewers. I am proud of this simply
+because the remoter people would seem more just and harder to win."
+
+In another letter to the same editor he writes about his literary
+sincerity:
+
+"The one thing that deeply pleases me is the fact that men of sense
+invariably believe me to be sincere. I know that my work does not
+amount to a string of dried beans--I always calmly admit it--but I
+also know that I do the best that is in me without regard to praise or
+blame. When I was the mark for every humorist in the country, I went
+ahead; and now when I am the mark for only fifty per cent of the
+humorists of the country, I go ahead; for I understand that a man is
+born into the world with his own pair of eyes, and he is not at all
+responsible for his vision--he is merely responsible for his quality
+of personal honesty. To keep close to this personal honesty is my
+supreme ambition."
+
+
+
+
+LXXI
+
+EUGENE FIELD
+
+
+The general public will always remember Eugene Field as the author of
+_Little Boy Blue_, the many friends of Field, in addition to their
+memory of him as the charming poet of childhood, will always think of
+him as the irrepressible prince of merry-makers. To perpetrate a joke
+Field spared neither labor nor his friends. Many of his pranks were
+mere whimsicalities, innocent pleasantries that hurt no one. He would
+spend three hours in illustrating a letter to a friend, filling the
+letter with gossipy trivialities and using six different kinds of ink
+to make it look grotesque.
+
+During the last years of Field's too brief life he was importuned so
+frequently for the facts concerning his career that he printed a brief
+biography or _Auto-Analysis_, as he called it. This contains a
+generous portion of fiction mingled with some fact. He begins his
+autobiography with:
+
+"I was born in St. Louis, Mo., September 3, 1850.... Upon the death of
+my mother (1856), I was put in the care of my (paternal) cousin, Miss
+Mary Field French, at Amherst, Mass.
+
+"In 1865 I entered the private school of Rev. James Tufts, Monson,
+Mass., and there fitted for Williams College, which institution I
+entered as a freshman in 1868. Upon my father's death, in 1869, I
+entered the sophomore class of Knox College, Galesburg, Ill., my
+guardian, John W. Burgess, now of Columbia College, being then a
+professor in that institution. But in 1870 I went to Columbia, Mo.,
+and entered the State University there, and completed my junior year
+with my brother. In 1872 I visited Europe, spending six months and my
+patrimony in France, Italy, Ireland, and Italy. In May, 1873, I became
+a reporter on the St. Louis _Evening Journal_. In October of that year
+I married Miss Julia Sutherland Comstock (born in Chenango Co., N.Y.),
+of St. Joseph, Mo., at that time a girl of sixteen. We have had eight
+children--three daughters and five sons."
+
+This is not all of the autobiography. There are about a thousand words
+more. The reason Field attended three collegiate institutions is that
+his mischievous pranks made him _persona non grata_ to the college
+authorities. In after years the old historian of Knox College wrote:
+"He was prolific of harmless pranks and his school life was a big
+joke."
+
+The gay irresponsibility of Field is early illustrated in the reckless
+manner in which he spent "six months and his patrimony" in Europe. In
+1872 Field received $8,000, the first portion of his patrimony. He
+proposed to a young friend, Comstock, the brother of Julia, whom he
+later married, that they go to Europe. Field offered to bear all the
+expenses of the trip. They went and for six months they had a glorious
+time. Soon the money was gone; he telegraphed for more; was obliged
+to sell the odd curios he had gathered to pay his way home. This
+expenditure of his money in a trip abroad is not so unprofitable a
+venture as it appears. The elder Field had left a fortune valued at
+$60,000; Eugene's share was to be about $25,000. In two years he spent
+about $20,000. His brother Roswell, more prudent, lived for several
+years on his share but finally, owing to the depreciation of real
+estate values, saw his fortune dwindle away. He is said to have envied
+the shrewdness of Eugene in spending his money when he had it.
+
+Field had the highest respect for womankind. In his _Auto-Analysis_ he
+writes: "I am fond of companionship of women, and I have no
+unconquerable prejudice against feminine beauty. I recall with pride
+that in twenty-two years of active journalism I have always written in
+reverential praise of womankind." This respect for womankind, however,
+did not prevent him from playing pranks upon his wife. On their
+wedding journey he delighted to tease his young Julia by ordering at
+Delmonico's "boiled pig's feet a la St. Jo." A few years later a
+quartet was accustomed to meet at Eugene's home. Field did not sing
+with the quartet but as a fifth member acted as reader or reciter in
+their little entertainments. Eugene delighted to tease his wife by
+walking into the parlor when the quartet was practicing at his home
+and saying: "Well, boys, let us take off our coats and take it easy;
+it's too hot." When this was done, Eugene would blaze forth in the
+brilliancy of a red flannel undershirt, with white cuffs and collar
+pinned to his shirt.
+
+When Carl Schurz was making his senatorial campaign in Missouri, Field
+was sent with the party to report the meetings. Field, although
+greatly admiring Schurz, took great delight in misreporting Schurz,
+whose only comment would be: "Field, why will you lie so
+outrageously?" One evening when a group of German serenaders had
+assembled in front of the hotel to do honor to Schurz, Field rushed
+out and pretending to be Schurz, addressed them in broken English. At
+another time, at a political meeting, Field suddenly stepped out to
+the front and began:
+
+"Ladies and Shentlemen: I haf such a pad colt dot et vas not bossible
+for me to make you a speedg to-night, but I haf die bleasure to
+introduce to you my brilliant chournalistic friendt Euchene Fielt, who
+will spoke you in my blace."
+
+While in Denver Field worked upon the _Tribune_. Over his desk
+hung,--"This is my busy day," and on the wall,--"God bless our
+proofreader, He can't call for him too soon." In his office he kept an
+old bottomless black-walnut chair. Across its yawning chasm he would
+carelessly thrown old newspapers. As it was the only unoccupied chair
+in the room, the casual visitor would drop unsuspectingly into the
+trap. The angry subscriber who had come to wreak vengeance upon the
+writer of irritating personalities could not withstand the apparently
+sincere apologies which Field lavished upon his victim. It was so
+humiliating to a man of Field's sensibilities to be obliged to receive
+such important visitors in an office whose very furniture indicated
+the poverty of the newspaper.
+
+In 1883 Field moved to Chicago, where the rest of his life was
+passed. Mr. Stone, one of the proprietors of _The News_, had gone to
+Denver to have a personal interview with Field, whose work had
+attracted attention in the newspaper world. Field stipulated that he
+was to have a column a day for his own use. The Chicago public soon
+was attracted by the brilliant versatility of the writer of "Sharps
+and Flats," the title of the column written by Field.
+
+Some months after Field had moved to Chicago he concluded that the
+general public ought to know that he had arrived. It was a cold
+morning in December. "So he arrayed himself in a long linen duster,
+buttoned up from knees to collar, put an old straw hat on his head,
+and taking a shabby book under one arm and a palm-leaf fan in his
+hand, he marched all the way down Clark Street, past the City Hall, to
+the office. Everywhere along the route he was greeted with jeers or
+pitying words, as his appearance excited the mirth or commiseration of
+the passers-by. When he reached the entrance to the _Daily News_
+office he was followed by a motley crowd of noisy urchins whom he
+dismissed with a grimace and the cabalistic gesture with which
+Nicholas Koorn perplexed and repulsed Antony Van Corlear from the
+battlement of the fortress of Rensellaerstein. Then closing the door
+in their astonished faces, he mounted the two flights of stairs to the
+editorial rooms, where he recounted, with the glee of the boy he was
+in such things, the success of his joke."
+
+Field had execrable taste in dress and he knew it. Consequently he
+enjoyed presenting neckties to his friends. His biographer, Slason
+Thompson, who worked in the same newspaper office, separated only by a
+low thin partition, relates that in the afternoon about two o'clock
+Field would stick his head above the partition and say,--"Come along,
+Nompy, and I'll buy you a new necktie," and when Thompson would
+decline the offer, Field would mildly respond, "Very well, if you
+won't let me buy you a necktie, you must buy me a lunch," and off to
+the coffee-house they would march, where the bill would be paid by
+Thompson, for Field was indeed through life the gay knight he styled
+himself, _sans peur and sans monnaie_.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                   |
+    |                                                           |
+    | Page   x: Thackery replaced with Thackeray                |
+    | Page  10: 'he became actor' replaced with                 |
+    |           'he became an actor'                            |
+    | Page 350: conconstituted replaced with constituted        |
+    |                                                           |
+    +-----------------------------------------------------------+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories of Authors, British and
+American, by Edwin Watts Chubb
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