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THE DEATH

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191

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POEMS OF THE WAR.

THE WASHERS OF THE SHROUD 334
Two SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF

BLONDEL
MEMORIÆ POSITUM

337
ON BOARD THE '76

339
ODE RECITED

HARVARD

AT THE
COMMEMORATION

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336

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IV. HUMOR AND SATIRE.

FITZ ADAM'S STORY .

411

THE ORIGIN OF DIDACTIC POETRY 421
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN .

422
CREDIDIMUS JOVEM REGNARE

423
TEMPORA MUTANTUR

425
IN THE HALF-WAY HOUSE

426
AT THE BURNS CENTENNIAL . 427
IN AN ALBUM

. 430
AT THE COMMENCEMENT DINNER,
1866

430
A PARABLE

432

V. EPIGRAMS.

SAYINGS

432

INSCRIPTIONS

432

A MISCONCEPTION

432

THE Boss

433

Sun-WORSHIP

433
CHANGED PERSPECTIVE

433
WITH A PAIR OF GLOVES LOST IN A
WAGER

433
SIXTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY

433
INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT

433

402

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INDEX OF FIRST LINES

INDEX OF TITLES.

485

489

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

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ABOUT half a mile from the Craigie House in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on the road leading to the old town of Watertown, is Elmwood, a spacious square house set amongst lilac and syringa bushes, and overtopped by elms. Pleasant fields are on either side, and from the windows one may look out on the Charles River winding its way among the marshes. The house itself is one of a group which before the war for independence belonged to Boston merchants and officers of the crown, most of whom refused to take the side of the revolutionary party. Tory Row was the name given to the broad winding road on which the houses stood. Large farms and gardens were attached to them, and some sign of their roomy ease still remains. The estates fell into the hands of various persons after the war, and in process of time Longfellow came to occupy and later to own Craigie House. Elmwood at that time was the property of the Reverend Charles Lowell, minister of the West Church in Boston; and when Longfellow thus became his neighbor, James Russell Lowell was a junior in Harvard College. He was born at Elmwood February 22, 1819; he died at the same place August 12, 1891.

He was named for his father's maternal grandfather, and was the youngest of a family of five, two daughters and three sons. His father at the time of Lowell's birth was thirty-seven years old and lived till 1861. His son has drawn his portrait in a letter to C. F. Briggs, written in 1844 : “He is Dr. Primrose in a comparative degree, the very simplest and charmingest of sexagenarians, and not without a great deal of the truest magnanimity.” It was characteristic of Lowell thus to find a prototype of his father in literature. The Lowells traced their descent from Percival Lowell,- -a name which survives in the family, - of Bristol, England, who settled in Newbury, Massachusetts, in 1639. The great-grandfather of James Russell Lowell was a minister in Newburyport, one of those, as Dr. Hale says, “who preached sermons when young men went out to fight the French, and preached sermons again in memory of their death, when they had been slain in battle.” The grandfather was John Lowell, a member of the Constitutional Convention of Massachusetts in 1780. It was he who introduced into the Bill of Rights a phrase from the Bill of Rights of Virginia, “All men are created free and equal," with the purpose which it effected of setting free every man then held as a slave in Massachusetts. A son of John Lowell and half-brother of the Rev. Charles Lowell was Francis Cabot Lowell, who gave a great impetus to New England manufactures, and from whom the city of Lowell took its name. Another son, and thus also an uncle of the poet, was John Lowell, Jr., whose wise and far-sighted provision gave his native city that important centre of intellectual influence, the Lowell Institute.

The mother of the poet, Mrs. Harriet Spence Lowell, a native of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, was of Scotch origin. She is described as having “a great memory, an extraordinary aptitude for language, and a passionate fondness for ancient songs and ballads.” It pleased her to fancy herself descended from the hero of one of the most famous ballads, Sir Patrick Spens. In a letter to his mother, written in 1837, Lowell says : “I am engaged in several poetical effusions, one of which I have dedicated to you, who have always been the patron and encourager of my youthful muse." The Russell in his name seems to intimate a strain of Jewish ancestry; at any rate Lowell took pride in

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the name on this account, for he was not slow to recognize the intellectual power of the Hebrew race. An older brother of the poet who outlived him a short time, was the Rev. Robert Traill Spence Lowell, who wrote some poems, a story of school-boy life, and a novel, The New Priest in Conception Bay, which contains a delightful study of a Yankee and striking sketches of life in Newfoundland, where its author was for a while a missionary. A sister, Mrs. Anna Lowell Putnam, will be remembered among older lovers of literature for a group of singularly fine and thoughtful studies under the title Records of an Obscure Life.

Not long before his death, Lowell wrote to an English friend a description of Elmwood; and as he was very fond of the house in which he lived and died, it is agreeable to read words which strove to set it before the eyes of one who had never seen it. “'T is a pleasant old house, just about twice as old as I am, four miles from Boston, in what was once the country and is now a populous suburb. But it still has some ten acres of open about it, and some fine old trees. When the worst comes to the worst (if I live so long) I shall still have four and a half acres left with the house, the rest belonging to my brothers and sisters or their heirs. It is a square house, with four rooms on a floor, like some houses of the Georgian era I have seen in English provincial towns, only they are of brick, and this is of wood. But it is solid with its heavy oaken beams, the spaces between which in the four outer walls are filled in with brick, though you must n't fancy a brick-and-timber house, for outwardly it is sheathed with wood. Inside there is much wainscot (of deal), painted white in the fashion of the time when it was built. It is very sunny, the sun rising so as to shine (at an acute angle to be sure) through the northern windows, and going round the other three sides in the course of the day. There is a pretty staircase with the quaint old twisted banisters, which they call balusters now ; but mine are banisters. My library occupies two rooms opening into each other by arches at the sides of the ample chimneys. The trees I look out on are the earliest things I remember. There you have me in my new-old quarters. But you must not cy a large house

— rooms sixteen feet square, and on the ground floor, nine high. It was large, as things went here, when it was built, and has a certain air of amplitude about it as from some inward sense of dignity.” In an earlier letter he wrote: “Here I am in my garret. I slept here when I was a little curly-headed boy, and used to see visions between me and the ceiling, and dream the so often recurring dream of having the earth put into my hand like an orange. In it I used to be shut up without a lamp, — my mother saying that none of her children should be afraid of the dark, — to hide niy head under the pillow, and then not be able to shut out the shapeless monsters that thronged around me, minted in my brain. . . . In winter my view is a wide one, taking in a part of Boston. I can see one long curve of the Charles and the wide fields between me and Cambridge, and the flat marshes beyond the river, smooth and silent with glittering snow. As the spring advances and one after another of our trees puts forth, the landscape is cut off from me piece by piece, till, by the end of May, I am closeted in a cool and rustling privacy of leaves."

Elmwood in the days of Lowell's boyhood was in a more distinctly rural neighborhood than now, and until lately had the charm of seclusion. In his papers “My Garden Acquaintance ” and “ A Good Word for Winter,” in many of his poems, such as “ An Indian-Summer Reverie,” “ To the Dandelion,” “ Under the Willows," " Al Fresco," and in many passages in his letters, he bears witness to the intimacy which he enjoyed with that phase of nature which we may call homely and friendly. He once expressed to me his delight in Poussin's landscapes, not because of their homeliness, for they have

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