IN    MEMORY    OF 
 
 William  Cullen  Bryant. 
 
 Born,    1794 -Died,    (878. 
 
FROM   THE  LIBRARY   OF 
 REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 
 
 THE   LIBRARY  OF 
 
 PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 
 
 Di^ridoa 
 Section 
 
IN    MEMORY    OF 
 
 </ 
 
 William  Cullen  Bryant. 
 
 Born,    1794 -Died,   1878. 
 
Evening  Post  Steam  Presses. 
 
Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
 
 in  2012  with  funding  from 
 
 Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 
 
 http://archive.org/details/inmwilliaOObrya 
 
/ 1  CLLtux-vvi.^  (^<m^(jUi^   ^^^-LJcuLc^t:^ 
 
THANATOPSIS. 
 
 By  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
 
 To  him  who  in  the  love  of  nature  holds 
 Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
 A  various  language;  for  his  gayer  hours 
 She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
 And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 
 Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 
 And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
 Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.    When  thoughts 
 Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
 Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
 Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
 And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
 Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart; — 
 Go  forth,  unto  the  open  sky,  and  list 
 To  nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around — 
 Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
 Comes  a  still  voice — Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
 The  all  beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
 In  all  his  course;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground. 
 Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears. 
 Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
 Thy  image.    Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
 Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again, 
 And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
 Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
 To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements. 
 To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
 And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
 Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.    The  oak 
 Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 
 
 Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
 Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thoii  wish 
 Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
 With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — with  kings, 
 The  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wise,  the  good. 
 Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
 All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.    The  hills 
 Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun, — the  vales 
 Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
 The  venerable  woods— rivers  that  move 
 In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
 
 That  make  the  meadows  green;  and  poured  round  all, 
 
 Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 
 
 Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
 
 Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.    The  golden  sun, 
 
 The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven. 
 
 Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death. 
 
 Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.    All  that  tread 
 
 The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
 
 That  slumber  in  its  bosom. — Take  the  wings 
 
 Of  morning,  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness, 
 
 Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
 
 Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 
 
 Save  his  own  dar,hings — yet  the  dead  are  there: 
 
 And  millions  in  thosa  solitudes,  since  first    ' 
 
 The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
 
 In  their  last  sleep— the  dead  reign  there  alone. 
 
 So  shalt  thou  rest,  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
 
 In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
 
 Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?    All  that  breathe 
 
 Will  share  thy  destiny.    The  gay  will  laugh 
 
 When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
 
 Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
 
 His  favorite  phantom;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
 
 Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
 
 And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
 
 Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men. 
 
 The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
 
 In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron,  and  maid, 
 
 And  the  sweet  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man — 
 
 Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side. 
 
 By  those,  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 
 
 So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
 The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
 To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
 His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
 Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
 Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
 By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave. 
 Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
 About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 
 
WILLIAM  CTJLLEK  BRYANT  died  on  Wednesday 
 June   12th,    1878,   at   twenty -five    minutes    hefore    six 
 o'cloch  in  the  morning.     The  artieles  collected  in  tliis 
 hook  were  -printed   in  the  Kew  York  EVENING  POST  on 
 and  soon  after  that  day. 
 
So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
 The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
 To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
 His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
 Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
 Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
 By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
 Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
 About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 
 
 The  ending  of  a  life  so  full  of  years,  of  obser- 
 vation and  of  experience  as  Mr.  Bryant's,  before 
 we  consider  the  special  character  and  particular 
 field  of  its  influence,  and  aside  altogether  from 
 such  considerations,  impresses  us  with  the  re- 
 markable continuance  and  scope  of  that  influence. 
 This  life  lasted  but  sixteen  years  less  than  a  cen- 
 tury. We  may  always  say  of  such  a  reach  of 
 time  that  it  is  crowded  with  events  of  high  im- 
 portance to  mankind;  but  the  events  of  the  nine- 
 teenth century,  in  their  stirring  interest,  in  the 
 rapidity  with  which  they  have  worked  out  re- 
 sults which  usually  are  remote  and  slow,  in  the 
 wonderful  advancement  of  the  race  which  they 
 have  signalized  and  effected,  are  without  a  par- 
 allel. To  say  of  a  single  life  that  it  was  contem- 
 poraneous with  all  of  these  events  is  profoundly 
 suggestive.  The  mention  of  a  few  of  them  will 
 emphasize  the  suggestion. 
 
 When  Mr.  Bryant  was  born  France  had  not 
 come  out  of  her  terrible  revolution.  He  watched 
 in  his  youth  the  career  of  the  first  Napoleon. 
 He  attained  manhood  in  the  year  of  the  battle  of 
 Waterloo.  He  studied,  coincidently  with  its 
 development,  the  growth  of  Great  Britain  after 
 that  significant  event,  in  power,  in  wealth,  in  in- 
 fluence, in  the  political  liberality  upon  which 
 these  were  founded.  He  witnessed  the  triumph 
 among  the  English  people  of  those  principles  of 
 commercial  freedom  and  of  institutional  and  ad- 
 ministrative reform  with  which  he  was  in  full 
 sympathy,  and  to  whose  advocacy  he  gave  his  ear- 
 lier and  later  energies  with  perfect  faith  in  their 
 final  victory  also  among  the  American  people. 
 
 His  life  was  co-equal  almost  with  that  of  the  re- 
 public of  the  United  States.  The  Constitution 
 w^as  born  only  a  few  years  before  himself.  The 
 struggles  of  its  youth  were  contemporaneous 
 with  those  of  his  own.  He  shared  in  the  excite- 
 ments and  discussions  which  attended  its  applica- 
 tion and  interpretation.  He  helped  to  form  the 
 public  opinion  which  supported  and  firmly  estab- 
 lished it.  He  had  written  that  which  alone  would 
 make  his  name  endure  as  long  as  the  English 
 tongue  when  the  war  of  1812  began.  He  was 
 familiar  with  the  history  while  it  was  making  of 
 the  great  parties  of  the  country.  He  announced 
 the  birth  of  some  of  them  and  he  recorded  their 
 death.  Participating  in  the  contest  of  the  Federal- 
 ists and  the  old  Republicans,  he  was  in  the  thick 
 of  the  fight  between  the  Democratic  and.  Whig 
 parties  which  succeeded.  He  was  active  and 
 indomitable  in  the  long  battle  for  the  denational- 
 izing of  slavery  and  the  nationalizing  of  freedom, 
 which  was  at  last  carried  to  a  triumphant 
 conclusion  by  the  Republican  army,  among 
 whose  generals  none  were  more  conspicuous 
 than  he.  During  the  fifty  years  and  more  of 
 his  journalistic  work  we  might  say  of  him,  in 
 respect  to  the  portentous  events  which  have 
 moulded  the  political  character  of  the  republic, 
 and  determined  its  political  destiny,  what  he 
 would  have  shrunk  from  saying  of  himself.  All 
 of  these  things  he  saw,  and  a  great  part  of  them 
 he  was.  If  we  measure  his  life  with  the  more 
 modern  history  of  letters,  its  continuance  will 
 appear  no  less  striking.  His  first  and  best 
 known  poem  was  written  two  years  before  Sir 
 Walter  Scott  began  that  series  of  novels  which 
 made  the  name  of  "Waverley"  immortal.  He 
 had  reached  middle  age  when  Dickens  and 
 Thackeray  began  to  write,  and  he  was  still  in  the 
 plenitude  of  his  intellectual  power  when  the  pen 
 dropped  forever  from  their  fingers.  It  would  be 
 easy  to  enlarge  the  list  of  contemporaneous 
 names — names  which  have  become  classical  in 
 
literature,  or  names  which  recall  brilliant  prom- 
 ises never  fulfilled  and  reputations  as  ephemeral 
 as  they  were  dazzling.  The  boundaries  of  Mr. 
 Brj-ant's  life  mark  on  the  one  side  the  first  signs 
 of  literary  life  on  this  continent,  and  on  the  other 
 side  whatever  of  worth  or  celebrity  American 
 literary  work  has  secured.  Nor  are  they  less 
 broadly  inclusive  in  respect  to  the  arts  and  sci- 
 ences. His  hand  might  have  traced,  from  day 
 to  day,  as  the  events  occurred,  the  most  remark- 
 able achievements  of  research  and  invention. 
 
 We  say,  then,  that  this  life  is  impressive,  first 
 of  all,  because  of  the  striking  way  in  which  it 
 connects  us  with  the  lives  of  past  generations. 
 It  presents  to  us  the  activities  of  the  century. 
 When  we  find  embodied  in  it  influences  as 
 marked,  as  beneficent,  as  wisely  directed  to  pure 
 and  elevated  ends,  as  they  were  long  in  their 
 continuance,  we  fairly  measure  this  remarkable 
 life.  Its  story  has  been  many  times  told;  yet, 
 seldom  is  a  story  less  necessary  to  be  told,  be- 
 cause seldom  is  a  life  more  familiar  to  the  public. 
 Quiet  in  his  tastes,  unostentatious  in  his  habits, 
 Mr.  Bryant  yet  lived  largely  in  the  general  eye, 
 because  liis  specialties  of  work  brought  him  into 
 wider  notice  than  almost  any  of  his  contempo- 
 raries. It  is  a  trite  thing  to  say  that  the  poet  of 
 a  people  is  the  intimate  of  the  people;  that  he 
 enters  into  the  innermost  sanctuaries  of  their 
 hearts  and  homes.  How  pre-eminently  Mr.  Bry- 
 ant was  the  poet  of  his  people  is  told  in  another 
 place.  The  subject  need  not  here  be  dwelt  upon. 
 It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  people  are  curious 
 concerning  these  intimates  of  theirs;  they  in- 
 quire closely  into  the  personality  of  their  poets ; 
 and  so  it  happens  often  that  the  men  who  write 
 the  songs  of  a  nation  are  better  and  more  widely 
 known  than  the  men  who  fight  its  battles,  or  the 
 men  who  make  its  laws,  or  the  men  who  admin- 
 ister its  government. 
 
 But  it  was  not  only  as  a  poet  that  Mr.  Bryant 
 dwelt  continually  in  the  eye  of  his  people.  To 
 the  gracious  gift  of  expression  in  the  liighest  of 
 the  arts,  and  to  the  retired  pursuits  of  the  stu- 
 dent and  the  sch(jlar,  he  joined  those  of  the 
 active,  working  journ.ilist.  Tiiese  occupations 
 might  at  first  seem  to  be  inconsistent;  but  they 
 were  not  actually  so  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Bryant. 
 His  poems   offer  no  hint,    suggest  no  suspicion. 
 
 of  the  capacity,  still  less  of  the  taste,  for  the 
 sharp  collisions,  the  always  beginning  and  never 
 ending  strife  and  competition  of  the  newspaper. 
 Yet  we  suspect  that,  great  as  was  his  delight  in 
 the  exjjloration  of  all  the  stores  of  ancient  and 
 modern  learning,  joyful  as  was  the  labor  with 
 which  he  committed  to  the  world  noble  thoughts 
 and  fine  fancies  in  exquisite  settings  of  verse,  he 
 found  the  liveliest  and  the  most  enduring  satis- 
 faction in  the  work  of  the  journalist.  At  all 
 events,  it  is  this  part  of  his  work  which  is  most 
 interesting  to  newspapers — which  concerns  es- 
 pecially the  newspaper  whose  honored  head  he 
 has  been  for  more  than  fifty  years,  and  which, 
 for  that  time,  has  held  a  chief  place  in  his 
 thoughts.  Mr.  Bryant  was  a  newspaper  man 
 and  something  more.  That  is  to  say,  while  he 
 had  a  relish  for  the  keen  encounters  of  daily 
 journalism  and  was  well  equipped  for  them,  while 
 he  had  a  quick  eye  for  the  present  and  passing 
 aspects  of  things  and  a  ready  hand  to  turn  them 
 to  account,  he  regarded  the  newspaper  not  mere- 
 ly as  a  vantage  ground  from  which  to  shoot  folly 
 as  it  flies — though  he  could  do  that  upon  occa- 
 sion with  incisive  and  unerring  shaft.  He  knew 
 that  in  the  columns  of  the  newspaper  could  be 
 done  much  of  the  work  which  the  statesman  does 
 in  the  legislative  hall  and  in  the  executive  coun- 
 cil chamber.  He  resolved  to  do  some  of  this 
 work ;  and  he  did  a  great  deal  of  it.  So,  in  the 
 controversies  of  the  day,  in  the  attacks  and  de- 
 fences and  criticisms  and  retorts,  which  were  even 
 more  plentiful  in  the  newspapers  of  the  past  than 
 in  those  of  the  present,  he  kept  a  serious  and  cer- 
 tain purpose  steadily  in  view.  The  daily  dis- 
 cussions— which  sometimes  are  held  to  be  valu- 
 able only  because  they  serve  to  get  to-day's  news- 
 paper out  in  readable  fasliion — were  employed  by 
 Mr.  Bryant  to  strengthen  and  support  fixed  con- 
 victions, to  bring  public  opinion  into  line  with  a 
 body  of  principles,  and  to  hold  it  there.  Accord- 
 ing to  one  theory  of  journalism,  to-day  is  the 
 whole  of  life,  and  to  let  to-morrow  take  care  of  it- 
 self is  a  part  of  newspaper  religion.  It  cannot 
 be  denied  that  the  practice  of  this  theory  is 
 effective.  To  treat  what  is  uppermost  to-day 
 simply  because  it  is  uppermost,  without  caring 
 what  may  be  uppermost  to-morrow;  to  fix  the 
 reader's  attention  to-day,  no  matter  upon  what, 
 
and  no  matter  where  his  attention  may  be  to- 
 morrow— to  do  this  certainly  is  to  make  an  en- 
 tertaining newspaper,  if  not  a  useful  one.  This 
 was  not  Mr.  Bryant's  theory.  To  him  to-day  was 
 by  no  means  the  whole  of  life,  and  he  was  not 
 disposed  to  let  to-morrow  take  care  of  itself.  On 
 the  contrary,  to-day  was  chiefly  valuable  to  him 
 so  far  as  it  provided  for  to-morrow.  That  is  to 
 sa}',  he  used  the  newspaper  conscientiously  to  ad- 
 vocate views  of  political  and  social  subjects 
 which  he  believed  to  be  correct.  He  set  before 
 himself  principles  whose  prevalence  he  regarded 
 as  beneficial  to  the  country  or  to  the  world,  and 
 his  constant  purpose  was  to  promote  their  pre- 
 valence. He  looked  upon  the  journal  which  he 
 conducted  as  a  conscientious  statesman  looks 
 upon  the  official  trust  which  has  been  com- 
 mitted to  him,  or  the  work  which  he  has 
 undertaken — not  with  a  view  to  do  what 
 is  to  be  done  to-day  in  the  easiest  or  most 
 brilliant  way,  but  so  to  do  it  that  it  may 
 tell  upon  what  is  to  be  done  to-morrow,  and  all 
 other  days,  until  the  worthiest  object  of  ambition 
 is  achieved.  This  is  the  most  useful  journalism  ; 
 and,  first  and  last,  it  is  the  most  eff'ective  and 
 influential. 
 
 Mr.  Bryant's  political  life  was  so  closely 
 associated  with  his  journalistic  life  that  they 
 must  necessarily  be  considered  together.  He 
 never  sought  public  ofiice  ;  he  repeatedly  refused 
 to  hold  it.  He  made  no  efl"ort  either  to  secure  or 
 to  use  influence  in  politics  except  through  his 
 newspaper,  and  by  his  silent,  individual  vote  at 
 the  polls.  The  same  methods  marked  his  political 
 and  his  journalistic  life.  He  could  be  a  stout 
 party  man  upon  occasion,  but  only  when  the 
 party  promoted  what  he  believed  to  be  right 
 principles.  When  the  party  with  which  he  was 
 accustomed  to  act  did  what  according  to  his 
 judgment  was  wrong,  he  would  denounce  and 
 oppose  it  as  readily  and  as  heartily  as  he  would 
 the  other  party.  He  was  as  independent  in  his 
 politics  as  he  was  in  his  newspaper.  If  he  had 
 adopted  the  cause  of  a  political  organization 
 whose  platform  embodied  what  he  believed  to  be 
 sound  doctrine,  he  would  let  the  party  go  as 
 soon  as  it  let  the  doctrine  go,  or  as  soon  as  the 
 doctrine  had  lost  its  vital  force.  Party  names 
 never  deceived   him.     He  refused  to  be    bound 
 
 merely  by  them ;  and  he  was  quick  to  detect 
 when  the  name  ceased  to  be  descriptive,  when  it 
 had  become  a  mere  skeleton  from  which  tlie 
 sinews  and  flesh  and  life-blood  had  fallen  away. 
 He  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  old  Democrats  to 
 discover  that  his  party  was  no  longer  what  its 
 name  implied;  that  calling  itself  Democratic  it 
 did  violence  to  the  very  notion  of  what  is 
 democratic,  as  he  believed,  by  upholding  and 
 defending  human  slavery.  He  was  warm  to 
 welcome  any  new  party  which  promised  to  make 
 the  really  democratic  doctrine  of  liberty  the  rule 
 of  the  nation.  So  he  was  one  of  the  first  of  the 
 original  Republicans  to  see  and  to  say,  when  the 
 war  was  over  and  slavery  was  abolished,  that 
 the  Republican  party  could  not  maintain  itself 
 upon  the  exhausted  questions  which  had  called 
 it  into  being,  and  which  it  had  discussed  at  the 
 polls  and  on  the  battlefield  with  overwhelming 
 success ;  that  it  must  prove  its  right  to  exist  by 
 keeping  abreast  of  the  times,  and  by  its  intelligent 
 treatment  of  living  subjects  of  paramount  im- 
 portance. In  a  word,  Mr.  Bryant's  course  in 
 politics  and  in  journalism  was  governed  by  a  re- 
 gard not  so  much  for  names  as  for  things ;  not  so 
 much  for  a  present  and  partisan  triumph  as  for 
 the  final  prevalence  of  the  right,  as  it  was  given 
 him  to  see  it. 
 
 Mr.  Bryant's  work  and  its  methods 
 indicate  distinctly  the  points  of  a  strong 
 and  clear  character.  With  an  abiding 
 sense  of  right,  duty  and  responsibility,  he 
 applied  the  rule  which  it  imposed  rigidly  to 
 others,  but  he  accepted  it  as  fully  for  himself. 
 Dominated  by  conviction  and  by  an 
 indomitable  will  in  carrying  out  the  purpose  to 
 which  it  directed  him,  he  was  as  severe  in 
 his  intellectual  and  moral  modes  as  in  his  lit- 
 erary taste.  But  this  severity  was  not  incon- 
 sistent with  a  simplicity  and  a  geniality  and  a 
 freshness  equally  remarkable.  His  own  stern 
 integrity  and  his  impatience  with  the  lack  of 
 integrity  in  other  persons  did  not  interfere  with  a 
 delicate  respect  for  their  rights,  but  seemed 
 rather  to  quicken  his  sensibilities.  Nor,  as  his 
 readers  well  know,  did  this  severity  check  his 
 broad  and  deep  sjnupathy  with  all  tender  im- 
 pulses and  his  warm  and  instinctive  care  for  all 
 forms  of  human  joy  and  human  suffering. 
 
10 
 
 This,  perhaps,  is  not  the  place  to  speak  par- 
 ticularly of  the  personal  traits  of  Mr,  Bryant 
 which  were  revealed  to  those  fortunate  ones  who 
 enjoyed  the  rare  privilege  of  close  intercourse 
 with  him.  The  time  seems  fit,  while  his  grave 
 is  still  unclosed,  only  to  express,  in  the  few  and 
 moderate  words  which  would  have  been  most 
 tasteful  to  him,  the  sense  which  no  words  could 
 adequately  express  of  the  wide  gap  in  the  world 
 immediately  about  him  which  his  departure  has 
 left.  The  hand  which  so  often  filled  this  column 
 rests  from  its  long  and  beneficent  labor.  The 
 catastrophe  is  alwaj's  familiar  yet  never  familiar. 
 Death,  no  matter  how  watched  and  expected, 
 takes  us  by   surprise  at  last.     Death,  which  has 
 
 been  waited  for  eighty-three  years,  has  come  un- 
 awares— suddenly,  yet  fittingly  and  in  a  time 
 fully  ripe.  As  the  N'ature  whose  loving  com- 
 panion and  faithful  translator  he  was  tenderly 
 led  him  to  the  close  by  a  descent  so  smooth  and 
 gradual  that  it  scarcely  was  suspected,  he  real- 
 ized with  singular  completeness  and  felicity  the 
 tranquil  consummation  promised,  in  the  words 
 with  wLich  he  himself  has  clothed  the  verse  of 
 the  Greek  poet,  to  the  wise  Ulysses : 
 
 "  So  at  the  last  thy  death  shall  come  to  thee, 
 
 and  gently  take  thee  off 
 
 In  a  serene  old  age  that  ends  among 
 A  happy  people." 
 
THE   STORY   OF    BRYANT'S    LIFE. 
 
 By  ax  Editorial  Associate, 
 
 The  American  schoolboy,  studying  the  past 
 history  of  his  country  from  a  book  and  its  cur- 
 rent history  from  the  newspapers,  is  often  struck 
 by  the  contrasts  presented  by  the  opening  and 
 the  closing  scenes  of  the  century  following  the 
 declaration  of  peace  between  the  United  Colonies 
 and  Great  Britain.  The  earlier  years  seem  to 
 his  fresh  ycung  mind  a  period  of  Arcadian  tran- 
 quility, jarred  by  none  of  the  fierce  shocks  of 
 partisan  political  warfare,  marked  by  the  reign 
 of  noble  motives  in  men's  hearts,  buoyant  with 
 the  hopes  of  youth,  and  charged  almost  to  surfeit 
 with  the  spirit  of  brotherly  love.  He  would 
 doubtless  be  astonished  could  he  look  over  our 
 shoulder  at  a  little  twelve-page  pamphlet,  print- 
 ed on  coarse  paper  and  brown  with  age,  in  which 
 a  schoolboy  like  himself,  writing  as  the  first 
 quarter  of  a  century  was  about  drawing  to  an 
 end,  has  embalmed  in  verse  his  gloomy  forebod- 
 ings of  the  future  of  the  infant  republic. 
 
 The  title-page  of  the  first  edition  of  this  work 
 reads  as  follows : 
 
 THE  EMBARGO; 
 
 Ok, 
 
 E   Times, 
 
 Sketches    of 
 
 A  SATIRE. 
 
 By  a  Youth  of  Thirteen. 
 
 Boston  : 
 
 Pkisted  for  the  Puechasers. 
 
 1808. 
 
 The  poem,  which  is  in  rhymed  pentameters 
 evidently  modelled  after  Pope's,  shows  that  hu- 
 man nature  is  very  much  alike,  the  world  over 
 and  the  ages  through,  and  that  a  popular  govern- 
 ment — place  it  in  what  era  of  the  earth's  history 
 
 you  will — is   bound   to   know  something  of  the 
 strife  of  factions.     It  begins  as  follows : 
 
 "Look  where  we  will,  and  in  whatever  land, 
 Europe's  rich  soil,  or  Afric's  barren  sand. 
 Where  the  wild  savage  hunts  his  wilder  prey. 
 Or  art  and  science  pour  their  brightest  day. 
 The  monster,  Vice,  appears  before  our  eyes. 
 In  naked  impudence,  or  gay  disguise. 
 
 "  But  quit  the  meaner  game,  indignant  Muse, 
 And  to  thy  country  turn  thy  nobler  views  ; 
 Ill-fated  clime !  condemned  to  feel  th'  extremes 
 O  a  weak  ruler's  philosophic  dreams  ; 
 Driven  headlong  on  to  ruin's  fateful  brink. 
 When  will  thy  country  feel — when  wiU  she  think ! 
 
 "Satiric  Muse,  shall  injured  Commerce  weep 
 Her  ravish'd  rights,  and  will  thy  thunders  sleep  ; 
 Dart  thy  keen  glances,  knit  thy  threat'ning  brows. 
 Call  fire  from  heaven  to  blast  thy  country's  foes. 
 Oh !  let  a  youth  thine  inspiration  learn — 
 Ohl  give  him  'words that  breathe  and  thoughts  that 
 
 burn  ! ' 
 
 "  Cm-se  of  our  nation,  source  of  countless  woes, 
 From  whose  dark  womb  unreckon'd  misery  flows  : 
 Th'  Embargo  rages,  like  a  sweeping  wind. 
 Fear  lowers  before,  and  famine  stalks  behind." 
 
 In  the  last  couplet  quoted  above  we  reach 
 the  root  of  our  young  patriot's  plaint.  The  em- 
 bargo of  1807,  laid  on  the  shipping  in  American 
 ports  at  the  instance  of  President  Jefferson  to 
 counterbalance  IS'apoleon's  Berlin  and  Milan  de- 
 crees and  the  British  orders  in  council,  had  agi- 
 tated the  country  more  than  almost  any  govern- 
 mental measure  since  the  adoption  of  the  Consti- 
 tution ;  and  the  young  poet,  whose  home  was  in 
 a  community  where  hostility  to  the  administra- 
 
12 
 
 tion  was  most  rank,  could  scarcely  have  escaped 
 infection. 
 
 After  tracing  the  evils  which  Jefferson's  policy 
 would  bring-  directly  upon 
 
 "  Commerce,  that  bears  the  trident  of  the  main. 
 And  Agkiculture,  empress  of  the  plain," 
 
 the  "  Youth  of  Thirteen"  proceeds  to  show  what 
 a  great  danger  threatens  the  republic  as  an  indi- 
 rect result: 
 
 "How  foul  a  blot  Columbia's  glory  stains! 
 How  dark  the  scene ! — infatuation  reigns ! 
 For  French  intrigue,  which  wheedles  to  devour, 
 Threatens  to  fix  us  in  Napoleon's  power  ; 
 Anon  within  th'  insatiate  vortex  whirl'd, 
 Whose  wide  periphery  involves  the  world. 
 
 "  Oh,  Heaven  defend  !  as  future  seasons  roll. 
 These  western  climes  from  Bonaparte's  control ; 
 Preserve  our  freedom,  and  our  rights  secure. 
 While  truth  subsists  and  virtue  shall  endure! 
 «  *  *  *  * 
 
 "  Columbians,  wake  I     Evade  the  deep-laid  snare ! 
 Insensate !     Shall  we  ruin  court,  and  fall. 
 Slaves  to  the  proud  autocrator  of  Gaul  ? 
 Our  laws  laid  prostrate  by  his  ruthless  hand, 
 And  independence  banished  from  our  land  !" 
 
 Further  on  he  pays   his    compliments  to  Mr. 
 JeflFerson  in  the  following  strain : 
 
 "And  thou,  the  scorn  of  every  patriot  name, 
 Thy  country's  ruin  and  her  council's  shame  ! 
 Poor  servile  thing !  derision  of  the  brave! 
 Who  erst  from  Tarleton  fled  to  Carter's  cave  ; 
 Thou,  who,  when  menac'd  by  perfidious  Gaul, 
 Didst  prostrate  to  her  whisker'd  minion  fall ; 
 And  when  our  cash  her  empty  bags  supply 'd, 
 Didst  meanly  strive  the  foul  disgrace  to  hide  ; 
 Go,  wretch,  resign  the  presidential  chair, 
 Disclose  thy  secret  measures,  foul  or  fair. 
 Go,  search  with  curious  eye  for  horned  frogs, 
 Mid  the  wild  wastes  of  Louisianian  bogs  ; 
 Or,  where  Ohio  rolls  his  turbid  stream, 
 Dig  for  huge  bones,  thy  glory  and  thy  theme. 
 Go,  scan,  Philosophist,  thy    *    *    *    charms, 
 And  sink  supinely  in  her  sable  arms  ; 
 But  quit  to  abler  hands  the  helm  of  state. 
 Nor  image  ruin  on  thy  country's  fate." 
 
 As  the  embargo  was  removed  in  1809  and  the 
 excitement  throughout  the  country  subsided,  as 
 Napoleon  did  not  reduce  the  United  States  to 
 subjection,  and  as  the  President  did  not  resign, 
 we  can  afford  to  smile  at  this  bit  of  poetic  exco- 
 riation, as  its  author  was  wont  to  in  after  years. 
 Before  laying  the  poem  aside,  liowever,  we  must 
 find  a  i)lace  for  one  more  quotation,  descriptive 
 
 of  a  phase  of  political  life  in  our  land  of  freedom 
 which  has  suffered  little  change  in  the  course  of 
 time: 
 
 "E'en  while  I  sing,  see  Faction  tu'ge  her  claim, 
 Mislead  with  falsehood,  and  with  zeal  inflame  ; 
 Lift  her  black  banner,  spread  her  empire  veide, 
 And  stalk  triumphant  with  a  Fury's  stride. 
 She  blows  her  brazen  trump,  and  at  the  sound 
 A  motley  throng,  obedient,  flock  around  ; 
 A  mist  of  changing  hue  o'er  all  she  flings. 
 And  darkness  perches  on  her  dragon  wings  I 
 
 "As  Johnson  deep,  as  Addison  refin'd, 
 And  skill'd  to  pour  conviction  o'er  the  mind, 
 Oh.might  some  patriot  rise  !  the  gloom  dispel. 
 Chase  Error's  mist,  and  break  her  magic  spell ! 
 
 "But  vain   the  wish,   for  hark!    the    murmuring 
 
 meed 
 Of  hoarse  applause  from  yonder  shed  proceed  ; 
 Enter  and  view  the  thronging  concourse  there, 
 Intent,  with  gaping  mouth  and  stupid  stare  ; 
 While,  in  the  midst,  their  supple  leader  stands. 
 Harangues  aloud,  and  flourishes  his  hands  ; 
 To  adulation  tunes  his  servile  throat, 
 And  sues,  successful,  for  each  blockhead's  vote." 
 
 This  poem  attracted  general  notice,  and  called 
 forth  even  from  the  staunchest  democrats  a  word 
 in  commendation  of  its  literary  strength.  Doubts 
 as  to  its  authorship,  however,  were  freely  ex- 
 pressed, and  a  leading  review  of  that  day  gave 
 them  written  form  in  its  columns.  A  few  months 
 later  a  second  edition  appeared,  with  the  follow- 
 ing "Advertisement"  prefixed: 
 
 "  A  doubt  having  been  intimated  in  the  Monthly 
 Anthology  of  June  last,  whether  a  youth  of  thir- 
 teen years  could  have  been  the  author  of  this 
 poem — in  justice  to  his  merits  the  friends  of  the 
 writer  feel  obliged  to  certify  the  fact  from  their 
 personal  knowledge  of  himself  and  his  family,  as 
 well  as  his  literary  improvement  and  extraor- 
 dinary talents.  Tliey  would  premise,  that  they 
 do  not  come  uncalled  before  the  public,  to  bear 
 this  testimony.  They  would  prefer  that  he  should 
 be  judged  by  his  works,  without  favor  or  affec- 
 tion. As  the  doubt  has  been  suggested,  they 
 deem  it  merely  an  act  of  justice  to  remove  it — 
 after  which  they  leave  him  a  candidate  for  favor 
 in  common  with  other  literary  adventurers. 
 They,  therefore,  assure  the  public,  that  Mr. 
 Bryant,  the  author,  is  a  native  of  Cuminington, 
 in  the  County  of  llampsliire,  and  in  the  month  of 
 November  last,  arrived  at  the  age  of  fourteen 
 years.  These  facts  can  be  authenticated  by  many 
 of  the  inhabitants  of  that  ])lace,  as  well  as  by 
 several  of  his  friends  who  give  this  notice  ;  and 
 if  it  be  deemed  worthy  of  further  inquiry,  the 
 
13 
 
 printer  is  enabled  to   disclose  their  names  and 
 places  of  residence. 
 "February,  1809." 
 
 This  edition  bears  on  its  title  page  the  full 
 name,  William  Cullen  Bryant,  which  here  makes 
 its  first  mark  upon  the  history  of  American  liter- 
 ature.    The  name,  but  not  the  genius.     Before 
 the  publication  of  "  The  Embargo,"  its  youthful 
 author  bad  contributed  poems  to  the  newspapers 
 in  1  he  neighborhood  of  his  home,  many  of  which 
 would  bear  the    test  of  criticism   to-day  as  the 
 work  of  a  much   older   writer.     Some   of  these, 
 and  also  some  verses  written  expressly  for  the 
 volume,  appear  in  company  with  "  The  Embargo" 
 in  its   second   dress.     The  list   includes    "  The 
 Spanish  Revolution,"    "  The    Contented   Plough- 
 man," and  an    "  Ode  to  Connecticut  River,"  all 
 written  in    1808;     "The    Reward    of    Literary 
 Merit,"   "  Drought,"  and  several  clever  poetical 
 "  Enigmas  "  in  imitaticm  of  the  Latin,  written  in 
 1807;  and  a  "  Translation  from  Horace"  (Lib.  I, 
 car.  XXII,),  without  date.      These  must  not  be 
 hastily  eet  down,  however,  as  the  work  of  a  pre- 
 cocious child  craving  to  see  his  name  in  print 
 and    to  hear  himself  talked  about;    in   a  very 
 modest  way  Master  Bryant  had    been   pursuing 
 his  calling  for  years,  either  anonymously  or  under 
 signaturee  not  likely  to  identity  him.     One  of  his 
 early  etiorts  we  find  in  the  Hampshire  Gazette — a 
 newspaper  published  in  Northampton,  Mass  —for 
 the  18th  of  March,  18u7,      It   is  signed  simply 
 "  C.  B.,"   but  the   editor  has  prefixed  to  it  this 
 title  find  note  in  one  :  "  A  Poem,  composed  by  a 
 lad  of  twelve  years  old,  to  be  exhibited  at  the 
 close  of  the  winter  school,  in  presence  ol  the  Mas- 
 ter, the  Minister  of  the  Parish,  and  a  number  of 
 private  gentlemen  "     We  print  the  poem  in  full  : 
 "  When  the  dire  strife  with  Britain's  pow'r  unfurled 
 War's  bloody  banners  over  half  the  world. 
 Affrighted  science  cast  a  backward  look, 
 Clapt  her  broad  pinions  and  the  states  forsook. 
 But  freedom  soon  resum'd  her  ancient  sway 
 And  rising  Learning  pour'd  imperfect  day  : 
 Columbia  saw  and  bless'd  the  glorious  light, 
 But  fate's  dark  clouds  half  hid  it  from  the  sight. 
 Now  these  dispell'd,  much  brighter  days  arise, 
 And  purer  splendors  greet  unclouded  eyes  ; 
 How  strangely  alter'd  from  our  fathers'  days, 
 These  modei-n  times,  the  subject  of  my  lays ! 
 O  !  may  some  remnant  of  their  virtue  still 
 Glow  in  our  hearts,  and  mould  our  wav'ring  will  I 
 Small  the  provision  then,  for  learning  made  ; 
 
 Few  were  the  schools  established  for  its  aid. 
 But  now  they  rise,  increasing  o'er  the  state, 
 And  smiling  Science  lifts  her  eye  sedate. 
 Thanks  to  the  master,  whose  instructions  kind, 
 By  slow  gradation  has  inform'd  the  mind  ; 
 Who  for  our  cares  was  often  forc'd  to  go 
 Through  heaps,  high-pil'd,  of  ever  drifting  snow. 
 In  fleecy  storms  and  cold  descending  rains. 
 When  chilUng  breezes  swept  across  the  plains  ; 
 Who,  though  he  gave  some  salutary  wounds, 
 Drove  not  correction  to  its  utmost  bounds. 
 Thanks  to  the  preacher  whose  discernment  true, 
 Upholds  religion  to  the  mental  view  ; 
 Unfolds  to  us  instruction's  ample  page, 
 Rich  with  the  fruits  of  every  distant  age  ; 
 Pours  simple  truths,  by  love  divine  refln'd. 
 With  force  resistless  on  the  youthful  mind. 
 Thanks  to  the  gentlemen  assembled  here. 
 To  see  what  progress  we  have  made  this  year, 
 In  learning's  paths,  our  footsteps  to  survey. 
 And  trace  our  passage  up  the  sloping  way. 
 And  thanks  to  Heaven,  the  first  and  best  of  all, 
 The  auditor  of  ev'ry  humble  caU — 
 That  (tho'  a  few  have  fall'n  behind  the  rest,) 
 So  much  improvement  has  our  studies  blest. 
 And  since  I  am  to  serious  thoughts  inclined, 
 Now  to  the  scholars  I'll  address  my  mind  ; 
 A  word  or  two,  in  which  myself  may  bear 
 If  not  a  greater,  yet  an  equal  share. 
 My  comrades !  tho'  we're  not  a  num'rous  train, 
 'Tis  doubtful  whether  we  shall  meet  again  ; 
 For  death's  cold  hand  may  aim  th'  unerring  blow, 
 And  lay,  with  heavy  stroke,  the  victim  low  ; 
 From  this  frail  state,  th'  unbody'd  soul  will  fly. 
 And  sink  to  hell,  or  soar  above  the  sky. 
 Then  let  us  tread,  as  lowly  Jesus  trod. 
 The  path  that  leads  the  sinner  to  his  God  ; 
 Keep  Heaven's  bright  mansion  ever  in  our  eyes, 
 Press  tow'rds  the  mark  and  seize  the  glorious  prize. 
 "  CuMMiNGTON,  February  19,  1807." 
 
 History  furnishes  few  parallels  to  the  case  of 
 Bryant,  the  boy  poet.  Chief  among  these  rank 
 Tasso,  who  at  nine  years  of  age  wrote  his  "  Lines" 
 to  his  mother;  Cowley,  who  at  ten  years  finished 
 his  "  Tragical  History  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe ;" 
 Pope,  who  was  twelve  years  old  when  he  finished 
 his  "  Ode  to  Solitude,"  and  Chatterton,  whose 
 "  Hymn  for  Christmas  Day"  was  ended  at  the 
 same  age,  A  well-known  man  of  letters,  writing 
 of  the  early  but  healthy  development  of  Bryant's 
 genius,  justly  says  :  "  His  first  efforts  betray  no 
 symptoms  of  a  forced,  hot-bed  culture,  but  seem 
 the  spontaneous  growth  of  a  prolific  imagination. 
 They  are  free  from  the  spasmodic  forces  which 
 indicate  a  morbid  action  of  the  intellect,  and  flow 
 in  the  polished,  graceful,  self-sustaining  tranquil 
 
14 
 
 ity  which  is  usually  the  crowning  attainment  of  a 
 large  and  felicitous  experience,"  It  is  worthy  of 
 note  in  this  connection  that,  of  the  small  circle 
 of  poets  who  are  known  to  have  begun  compos- 
 ing in  boyhood,  Br3-ant  was  the  only  one  whose 
 powers  remained  unimpaired  long  past  the  age 
 allotted  to  man  as  the  term  of  his  natural  life. 
 
 The  Anglo-Saxon  habit  of  making  much  of  the 
 home  and  its  surroundings  leads  us,  in  studying 
 the  career  of  a  noted  man,  to  inquire  what  were 
 the  associations  of  his  boyhood  ;  it  will  be  of  in- 
 terest, therefore,  to  glean  such  facts  as  we  may 
 concerning  the  household  in  the  quaint  old 
 garabrel-roofed  dwelling  in  Cummington,  Mass., 
 in  which  "William  Cullen  Bryant  first  saw  the 
 light  on  the  third  day  of  November,  1794. 
 
 The  founder  of  the  Bryant  family  in  this 
 country  was  Stephen  Bryant,  who  came  from 
 England  in  the  Mayflower  about  the  year  1640. 
 His  grandson  Dr.  Philip  Bryant,  who  was  born 
 in  1732,  practiced  medicine  in  North  Bridge- 
 water,  Mass. ;  he  married  Silence  Howard,  a 
 daughter  of  Dr.  Abiel  Howard,  of  West  Bridge- 
 water,  Mass.,  who  bore  him  nine  children.  One 
 son,  Peter,  born  in  1867,  succeeded  him  in  his 
 profession.  At  that  time  lived  in  Bridgewater 
 Mr.  Ebenezer  Snell,  w^hose  daughter  Sarah,  a 
 comely  maiden  with  blue  eyes  and  light-brown 
 hair,  won  the  young  doctor's  heart.  Upon  Mr, 
 Snell's  removing  his  family  and  effects  to  Cum- 
 mington, Peter  Bryant  followed  him  thither, 
 established  himself  in  practice,  and  in  1792  led 
 to  the  altar  the  bride  of  his  choice, 
 
 Dr,  Bryant  is  described  as  having  been  of 
 medium  height,  broad  shouldered,  and  with  a 
 well-knit  frame ;  he  took  great  pride  in  his  mus- 
 cular strength,  and  would  exhibit  it  by  such 
 feats  as  lifting  a  barrel  of  cider  from  the  ground 
 into  a  cart  over  the  wheel.  His  manners  were 
 uncommonly  gentle  and  reserved,  and  his  dispo- 
 sition serene,  j-et  he  was  very  fond  of  society. 
 His  election  to  the  Massachusetts  House  of  Rep- 
 resentatives for  several  terms,  and  afterward  to 
 the  State  Senate,  gave  him  a  cause  for  visiting 
 Boston  very  often,  and  associating  with  the  cul- 
 tured literary  circle  whom  he  met  there.  When 
 not  engaged  in  legislative  matters,  too,  he  would 
 make  it  a  point  to  attend  the  annual  meeting  of 
 the  Medical   Society,  which  was  held  in  Boston, 
 
 and  the  letters  written  to  his  wife  during  these 
 intervals  of  recreation  breathe  a  spirit  of  the 
 purest  enjoyment.  His  fondness  for  humorous 
 composition  of  all  sorts,  and  for  amusing  verses  in 
 particular,  was  a  marked  trait,  and  for  the  gratifi- 
 cation of  this  taste  he  was  enabled  to  draw  on  the 
 literature  of  two  languages,  having  passed  a 
 part  of  his  early  life  on  the  Isle  of  France,  acting 
 as  surgeon  of  a  merchant  ship.  In  dress  the 
 doctor  was  always  scrupulously  neat ;  he  follow- 
 ed the  Boston  fashions,  moreover,  with  enough 
 care,  even  in  his  village  home,  to  give  an  ob- 
 server the  impression  that  he  was  a  city  gentle- 
 man visiting  the  country  for  a  holiday  jaunt. 
 
 Mrs.  Bryant,  who  was  a  lineal  descendant  of 
 Miles  Standish's  lieutenant,  John  Alden,  was  a 
 woman  of  great  force  of  character,  which  mani- 
 fested itself  in  her  dignified  bearing  and  in  the 
 unpelding  quality  of  such  convictions  as  she 
 saw  fit  to  express.  Her  loathing  for  a  drunkard 
 was  equalled  only  by  her  detestation  of  a  liar. 
 In  all  her  household  management  she  displayed 
 an  energy  which  indicated  as  clearly  as  did  her 
 physical  features  the  stock  from  which  she  had 
 sprung.  Like  most  women  in  her  day,  her 
 school  education  extended  no  further  than  the 
 ordinary  English  branches,  and  all  the  knowl- 
 edge she  possessed  beyond  that  point  was  the 
 result  of  reading,  an  occupation  in  which  she 
 took  great  pleasure.  The  fruit  of  her  union 
 with  Dr.  Bryant  was  a  family  of  seven  children, 
 the  subject  of  our  sketch  being  second  in  the 
 order  of  birth. 
 
 Thus  much  for  the  home  associations  of 
 Brj-ant's  j'outh.  Of  a  part  of  these,  and  of  many 
 other  incidents  of  the  child-life  of  that  period,  he 
 has  given  us  a  charming  picture  in  an  article 
 printed  in  St.  Nicholas  for  December,  1876, 
 under  the  title,  "  The  Boys  of  My  Boyhood  :" 
 
 "  The  boys  of  the  generation  to  which  I  belonged 
 — that  is  to  say,  who  were  born  in  the  last  years 
 of  the  last  century  or  the  earliest  of  this — were 
 brouglit  up  under  a  sj'steni  of  discipline  wiiich 
 put  a  far  greater  distance  between  ])arents  and 
 tlieir  children  than  now  exists.  The  ])arents 
 seemed  to  think  this  necessary  in  order  to  secure 
 obedience.  Tiiey  M'ere  believers  in  the  old  max- 
 im that  familiarity  breeds  contempt.  My  own 
 parents  lived  in  tlie  house  with  my  grandfather 
 and  grandmotlier  on  the  mother's  side.  My  grand- 
 father was  a  disciplinarian  of  the   stricter  sort, 
 
15 
 
 and  I  can  hardly  find  words  to  express  the  awe 
 in  which  I  stood  of  him — an  awe  so  great  as 
 almost  to  prevent  anything  like  affection  on  my 
 part,  although  he  was  in  the  main  kind,  and,  cer- 
 tainly, never  thought  of  being  severe  beyond 
 what  was  necessary  to  maintain  a  proper  degree 
 of  order  in  the  family. 
 
 "  The  other  boys  in  that  part  of  the  country,  my 
 school-mates  and  play-fellows,  were  educated  on 
 the  same  system.  Yet  there  were  at  that  time 
 some  indications  that  this  very  severe  discipline 
 was  beginning  to  relax.  With  my  father  and 
 mother  I  was  on  much  easier  terms  than  with  my 
 grandfather.  if  a  favor  was  to  be  asked  of  my 
 grandfather,  it  was  asked  with  fear  and  trembling ; 
 the  request  was  postponed  to  the  last  moment, 
 and  then  made  with  hesitation  and  blushes  and  a 
 confused  utterance. 
 
 "  One  of  the  means  of  keeping  the  boys  of  that 
 generation  in  order  was  a  little  bundle  of  birchen 
 rods,  bound  together  by  a  small  cord,  and  gene- 
 rally suspended  on  a  nail  against  the  wall  in  the 
 kitchen.  This  was  esteemed  as  much  a  part  of 
 the  necessary  furniture  as  the  crane  that  hung  in 
 the  kitchen  fireplace,  or  the  shovel  and  tongs.  It 
 sometimes  happened  that  the  boy  suffered  a  fate 
 similar  to  that  of  the  eagle  in  the  fable,  wounded 
 by  an  arrow  fledged  with  a  feather  from  his  own 
 wing;  in  other  words,  the  boy  was  made  to  gath- 
 er the  twigs  intended  for  his  own  castigation. 
 »  *  *  *  * 
 
 "  The  awe  in  which  the  boys  of  that  time 
 held  their  parents  extended  to  all  elderly  per- 
 sons, toward  whom  our  behaviour  was  more  than 
 merely  respectlul,  for  we  all  observed  a  hushed 
 and  subdued  demeanor  in  their  presence.  To- 
 ward the  ministers  of  the  gospel  this  beha- 
 vior was  particularly  marked.  At  that  time, 
 every  township  in  Massachusetts,  the  State 
 in  which  I  lived,  had  its  minister,  who  was 
 settled  there  for  life,  and  when  he  once  came 
 among  his  people  was  understood  to  have  entered 
 into  a  connection  with  them  scarcely  less  lasting 
 than  the  marriage  tie.  The  community  in  which 
 he  lived  regarded  him  with  great  veneration,  and 
 the  visits  which  from  time  to  time  he  made  to  the 
 district  schools  seemed  to  the  boys  important  oc- 
 casions, for  which  special  preparation  was  made. 
 When  he  came  to  visit  the  school  which  I  attend- 
 ed, we  all  had  on  our  Sunday  clothes,  and  were 
 ready  for  him  with  a  few  answers  to  the  questions 
 in  the  '  Westminster  Catechism.'  He  heard  us 
 recite  our  lessons,  examined  us  in  the  catechism, 
 and  then  began  a  little  address,  which  I  remem- 
 ber was  the  same  on  everj^  occasion.  He  told  us 
 how  much  greater  were  the  advantages  of  educa- 
 tion which  we  enjoyed  than  those  which  had 
 fallen  to  the  lot  of  our  parents,  and  exhorted  us 
 to  make  the  best  possible  use  of  them,  both  for 
 our  own  sakes  and  that  of  our  parents,  who  were 
 ready  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  us,  even  so  far  as 
 
 to  take  the  bread  out  of  their  own  mouths  to  give 
 us.  I  remember  being  disgusted  with  this  illus- 
 tration of  parental  kindness,  which  I  was  obliged 
 to  listen  to  twice  at  least  in  every  year. 
 
 "  The  good  man  had,  perhaps,  less, reason  than 
 he  supposed  to  magnify  the  advantages  of  educa- 
 tion enjoyed  in  the  common  schools  at  that  time. 
 Reading,  spelling,  writing  and  arithmetic,  with  a 
 little  grammar  and  a  little  geography,  were  all 
 that  was  taught,  and  these  by  persons  much  less 
 qualified,  for  the  most  part,  than  those  who  now 
 give  instruction.  Those,  however,  who  wished 
 to  proceed  further  took  lessons  from  graduates  of 
 the  colleges,  who  were  then  much  more  numerous 
 in  proportion  to  the  population  than  they  now 
 
 "Drunkenness,  in  that  demure  population,  wa§ 
 not  obstreperous,  and  the  man  who  was  over- 
 taken by  it  was  generally  glad  to  slink  out  of 
 sight. 
 
 "  I  remember  an  instance  of  this  kind.  There 
 had  been  a  muster  of  a  militia  company  on  the 
 church  green  for  the  election  of  one  of  its  officers, 
 and  the  person  elected  had  treated  the  members 
 of  the  company  and  all  who  were  present  to 
 sweetened  rum  and  water,  carried  to  the  green  in 
 pailsfull,  with  a  tin  cup  to  each  pail  for  the  con- 
 venience of  drinking.  The  afternoon  was  far 
 spent,  and  I  was  going  home,  with  other  boys, 
 when  we  overtook  a  young  man  who  had  taken 
 too  much  of  the  election  todd}',  and,  in  endeavor- 
 ing to  go  quietly  home,  had  got  but  a  little  way 
 from  the  green  when  he  fell  in  a  miry  place  and 
 was  surrounded  by  three  or  four  persons,  who 
 assisted  in  getting  him  on  his  legs  again.  The 
 poor  fellow  seemed  in  great  distress,  and  his  new 
 nankeen  pantaloons,  daubed  with  the  mire  of  the 
 road,  and  his  dangling  limbs,  gave  him  a  most 
 wretched  appearance.  It  was,  I  think,  the  first 
 time  that  I  had  ever  seen  a  drunken  man.  As  I 
 approached  to  pass  him  by  some  of  the  older 
 boys  said  to  me,  "  Do  not  go  too  near  him,  for  if 
 you  smell  a  drunken  man  it  will  make  you  drunk." 
 Of  course  I  kept  at  a  good  distance,  but  not  out 
 of  hearing,  for  I  remember  hearing  him  lament 
 his  condition  in  these  words:  '  Oh  dear,  I  shall 
 die!"  *0h  dear,  I  wish  I  hadn't  drinked  any!' 
 '  Oh  dear,  Avhat  will  my  poor  Betsey  say  ? '  W  hat 
 his  poor  Betsey  said  I  never  heard,  but  I  saw  him 
 led  off  in  the  direction  of  his  home,  and  I  con- 
 tinued on  my  w^ay  with  the  other  boys,  impressed 
 with  a  salutary  horror  of  drunkenness  and  a  fear 
 of  drunken  men. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "  From  time  to  time,  the  winter  evenings,  and 
 occasionally  a  winter  afternoon,  brought  the  young 
 people  of  the  parish  together  in  attendance  upon 
 a  singing-school.  Some  person  who  possessed 
 more  than  common  power  of  voice  and  skill  in 
 modulating  it,  was  employed  to  teach  psalmody. 
 
16 
 
 and  the  boys  were  naturally  attracted  to  his  school 
 as  a  recreation.  It  olten  happened  thai  the  teacher 
 was  an  enthusiast  in  his  vocation,  and  thundered 
 forth  the  airs  set  down  in  the  music-books  with  a 
 lervor  tiiat  was  contagious.  A  fpw  ol  those  who 
 attem})led  to  learn  psalmody  were  told  that  they 
 had  no  aptitude  lor  the  art,  and  were  set  aside. 
 l)ut  that  did  not  prevent  their  attendance  as 
 hearers  of  the  others.  In  those  days  a  set  of 
 tunes  were  in  fashion  mostl}-  of  New  Eno-land 
 origin,  which  have  since  been  laid  aside  in 
 obedience  to  a  more  fastidious  taste.  They  were 
 in  quick  time,  sharply  accented,  the  words  clearly 
 articulated,  and  often  running  into  fugues  in 
 which  the  bass,  the  tenor,  and  the  treble  chased 
 each  other  from  the  middle  to  the  end  of  the 
 stanza.  I  recollect  that  some  impatience  was 
 manifested  when  slower  and  graver  airs  of  church 
 music  were  introduced  by  the  choir,  and  I  won- 
 dered why  the  words  should  not  be  sung  in 
 the  same  time  that  they  were  pronounced  in  read- 
 ing. 
 
 "The  streams  which  bickered  through  the  nar- 
 row glens  of  the  region  in  which  I  lived  were 
 much  better  stocked  with  trout  in  those  days 
 than  now,  for  the  country  had  been  newly  opened 
 to  settlement.  The  boys  all  were  anglers.  I 
 confess  to  having  felt  a  strong  interest  in  that 
 '  sport,'  as  I  no  longer  call  it,  I  have  long sitice 
 been  weaned  from  the  propensity  of  which  I 
 speak ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  instinct 
 which  inclines  so  many  to  it,  and  some  of  them 
 our  grave  divines,  is  a  remnant  of  the  original 
 wi'd  nature  of  man.  Another  'sport,'  to  Avhich 
 the  young  men  of  the  neighborhood  sometimes 
 admitted  the  elder  boys,  was  the  autunmal  squirrel 
 hunt.  The  young  men  formed  themselves  into  two 
 parties  equal  in  number,  and  fixed  a  day  for  the 
 shooting.  The  party  which  on  that  day  brought 
 down  the  greatest  number  of  squirrels  was  de- 
 clared the  victor,  and  the  contest  ended  with 
 some  sort  of  festivity  in  the  evening. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "For  the  boys  of  the  present  day  an  immense 
 number  of  books  have  been  provided,  some  of 
 them  excellent,  tome  mere  trash  or  worse,  but 
 scarce  any  are  now  read  which  are  not  of  recent 
 date.  The  question  is  often  asked.  What  books 
 had  they  to  read  sevent}-  or  eighty  years  since  V 
 They  had  books,  and  some  of  great  merit.  There 
 was  '  Sanford  and  Merton,'  and  'Little  Jack;' 
 there  was  'Robinson  Crusoe,'  with  its  varia- 
 tions ' 'J'he  Swiss  Family  Robinson'  and  'The 
 Kew  Roljinson  Crusoe;'  there  was  a  Mrs.  Trim- 
 mer's '  Knowledge  of  Nature,'  and  Berquin's 
 lively  narratives  and  sketches  translated  from 
 the  French;  there  was  'Philip  Quarll,'  and 
 Watts's  'Poems  for  Children,'  and  Bunyan's 
 '  Pil^i-im's  Progress,'  and  Mrs.  Barbauld's 
 writings,  and  thi;  'Miscellaneous  Poems'  of 
 Cowj)er.     Later   we    had  Mrs.  Edgworth's  '  Pa- 
 
 rent's Assistant'  and  '  Evenings  at  Home.'  All 
 these,  if  not  numerous,  were  at  least  often  read, 
 and  the  frecjuent  reading  of  a  few  good  books  is 
 thought  to  be  at  least  as  improving — as  useful  in 
 storing  the  mind  and  teaching  one  to  think — as 
 the  more  cursory  reading  of  many.  Of  elemen- 
 tary books  there  was  no  lack,  nor,  as  I  have 
 already  intimated,  any  scarcity  of  private  in- 
 structors, principally  clergymen,  educated  at  the 
 colleges.'" 
 
 As  a  lad,  William  Cullen  Bryant  early  dis- 
 played a  taste  for  reading  and  study.  The  strong 
 vitality  he  inherited  from  both  father  and  mother 
 made  it  possible  for  him  to  indulge  this  liking 
 Avithout  the  harm  that  might  have  followed  in 
 the  case  of  a  punier  frame ;  and  at  an  age  when 
 most  boj's  are  still  content  with  their  fairy  tales 
 he  was  drinking  in  the  grand  romances  of  anti- 
 quity from  their  original  springs,  fostering  a 
 lighter  fancy  with  the  epigrammatic  verse  of 
 Queen  Anne's  era,  and  even  turning  into  metre 
 and  rhyme  such  thouglits  as  the  beauties  of  na- 
 ture or  the  stirring  events  of  his  own  day  raised 
 in  his  mind.  The  imitation  of  Pope's  poetic 
 method  which  is  so  marked  in  some  of  these 
 youthful  compositions  may  be  accounted  for  by 
 the  influence  of  the  father's  taste  upon  the  son's. 
 To  the  fact  that  Dr.  Bryant  did  direct  his  boy's 
 attention  to  poetry  in  early  life  we  have  the  tes- 
 timony of  those  familiar  lines  in  the  "  Hymn  to 
 Death :" 
 
 ••  For  he  is  in  his  grave  who  taught  my  youth 
 The  art  of  verse,  and  in  the  bud  of  Ufe 
 Oflfered  me  the  Muses." 
 
 More  useful  yet,  however,  both  to  himself  and 
 to  the  world  which  was  afterward  to  profit 
 b}"  it,  was  another  department  of  knowledge 
 opened  to  the  lad  through  this  companionsliip. 
 Dr.  Bryant's  scientfic  attainments  were  not  lim- 
 ited to  an  acquaintance  with  the  phials  and 
 retorts  of  his  laboratory.  In  the  open  fields  he 
 was  equally  at  home ;  and  his  son,  in  twilight 
 strolls  along  the  country  roads,  and  talks  at  noon- 
 day under  the  big  trees  near  the  homestead,  drew 
 from  him  those  first  lessons  in  botany  wliich  were 
 so  expanded  by  later  research  as  to  embrace  the 
 whole  field  of  organic  but  inanimate  nature. 
 
 The  year  after  the  second  publication  of  "  The 
 Embargo,"   the    country   having    become   more 
 
17 
 
 tranquil,  Master  Bryant  contributed  to  the  Hamp- 
 shire Gazette  the  following  poem  : 
 
 THE  GENIUS  OF  COLUMBIA. 
 
 Far  in  the  regions  of  the  west, 
 
 On  throne  of  adament  upraised, 
 Bright  on  whose  polished  sides  impressed, 
 
 The  Sun's  meridian  splendors  blazed, 
 
 Columbia's  Genius  sat  and  eyed 
 
 The  eastern  despot's  dire  career  ; 
 And  thus  with  independent  pride, 
 
 She  spoke  and  bade  the  nations  hear. 
 
 "  Go,  favored  son  of  glory,  go  1 
 
 "  Thy  dark  aspiring  aims  pursue  ! 
 "  The  blast  of  domination  blow, 
 
 "  Earth's  wide  extended  regions  through  ! 
 
 "  Though  Aiistria  twice  subjected,  own 
 "  The  thunders  of  thy  conquering  hand, 
 
 "  And  tyi'anny  erect  her  throne, 
 "  In  hapless  Sweden's  fallen  land ! 
 
 "  Yet  know,  a  nation  lives,  whose  soul 
 
 "  Regards  thee  with  disdainful  eye; 
 "  Undaunted  scorns  thy  proud  control, 
 
 "And  dares  thy  swarming  hordes  defy; 
 
 "  Unshaken  as  their  native  rocks, 
 
 "  Its  hardy  sons  heroic  rise; 
 "  Prepared  to  meet  thy  fiercest  shocks, 
 
 "  Protected  by  the  favoring  skies. 
 
 •'  Their  fertile  plains  and  woody  hills, 
 "  Are  fanned  by  freedom's  purest  gales ! 
 
 '•  And  her  celestial  presence  fills 
 "  The  deepening  glens  and  spacious  vales." 
 
 She  speaks ;  through  all  her  listening  bands 
 
 A  loud  applauding  murmur  flies ; 
 Fresh  valor  nerves  their  willing  hands. 
 
 And  lights  with  joy  their  glowing  eyes! 
 
 Then  should  Napoleon's  haughty  pride 
 Wake  on  our  shores  the  fierce  aff'ray ; 
 
 Grim  terror  lowering  at  his  side. 
 Attendant  on  his  furious  way ! 
 
 With  quick  repulse,  his  baffled  band 
 Would  seek  the  friendly  shore  in  vain. 
 
 Bright  justice  hft  her  red  right  hand. 
 And  crush  them  on  the  fatal  plain. 
 
 Cummington,  January  8,  1810. 
 
 W.  C.  B. 
 
 This  was  followed,  two  years  later,  by  another 
 patriotic  effusion.  In  introducing  it,  the  editor 
 of  the  Gazette  remarks  that  it  is  "  from  the  pen 
 of  Mr.  William  C.  Bryant,  son  of  Doctor  Bryant, 
 of  Cummington" — a  note  of  identification  that 
 calls  up  a  smile,  now  that  Doctor  Bryant,  rather 
 
 than  his  son,  shines  by  reflected  light.     Follow- 
 ing is  the  poem : 
 
 AN  ODE 
 
 For  the  Fourth  of  July,  1812. 
 Tune,    "  Ye  Gentlemen  of  England,  &c." 
 
 The  Birth  Day  of  our  nation 
 
 Once  more  we  greet  with  smiles; 
 Nor  falls  as  yet  our  hapless  land, 
 
 A  prey  to  foreign  wiles. 
 Yet  still  increasing  dangers  wake, 
 
 The  Statesman's  pious  fear; 
 The  whirling  vortex  of  our  fate 
 
 Sweeps  near,  and  still  more  near; 
 The  dreadtul  warning,  whispered  long 
 
 In  louder  tones  we  hear. 
 
 Far  on  a  rock  of  ocean, 
 
 A  generous  Eagle  sleeps ; 
 The  winds  are  mustering  all  their  rage, 
 
 To  whelm  him  in  the  deeps. 
 Above,  around,  the  blackening  cloiids 
 
 Their  gathering  volumes  pour; 
 Collected  thunders,  o'er  his  head 
 
 Await  the  sign  to  roar. 
 Oh  !  wake  him  from  that  fated  sleep 
 
 Above  the  storm  to  soar. 
 
 Lo,  where  our  ardent  rulers 
 
 For  fierce  assault  prepare ; 
 While  eager  "Ate"  waits  their  beck 
 
 To  "  sUp  the  dogs  of  war." 
 In  vain  against  the  dire  design, 
 
 Exclaims  the  indignant  land; 
 The  unbidden  blade  they  haste  to  bare, 
 
 And  light  the  unhallowed  brand. 
 Proceed !  another  year  shall  wrest 
 
 The  sceptre  fi-om  your  hand ! 
 
 Should  Justice  call  to  battle 
 
 The  applauding  shout  we'd  raise  ; 
 A  million  swords  would  leave  their  sheaths, 
 
 A  miUion  bayonets  blaze. 
 The  stern  resolve,  the  courage  high, 
 
 The  mind  untam'd  by  ill. 
 The  fires  that  warmed  our  Leader's  breast 
 
 His  followers'  bosoms  fiU. 
 Our  Fathers  bore  the  shock  of  war. 
 
 Their  Sons  can  bear  it  still. 
 
 The  same  ennobling  spirit 
 
 That  kindles  valor's  flame, 
 That  nerves  us  to  a  war  of  right. 
 
 Forbids  a  war  of  shame; 
 For  not  in  Conquest's  impious  train 
 
 Shall  Freedom's  children  stand  ; 
 Nor  shall,  in  guilty  fray,  be  raised 
 
 The  high-souled  warrior's  hand  ; 
 Nor  shall  the  Patriot  draw  his  sword 
 
 At  Gallia's  proud  command. 
 
18 
 
 No !  by  our  Father's  Ashes, 
 
 And  by  their  sacred  cause, 
 The  Gaul  shall  never  call  us  slaves, 
 
 Shall  never  give  us  laws  ; 
 Even  let  him  from  a  swarming  fleet 
 
 Debark  his  veteran  host, 
 
 A   LIVING  WALL   OF  PATRIOT   HEARTS 
 
 Shall  fence  the  frowning  coast — 
 A  bolder  race  than  generous  Spain, 
 A  better  cause  we  boast. 
 
 Insulted  Sons  of  Freedom  ! 
 
 Who  fear  all  succor  past, 
 Who  celebrate — a  solemn  train — 
 
 This  day— perhaps  the  last. 
 Though  shut  from  hope  the  Peasant  mourns, 
 
 The  ruined  Tradesman  weeps  ; 
 Though  scowls  oppression  round  our  shores. 
 
 And  danger  stalks  the  deeps, 
 Yet  one  there  is  to  mark  our  wrongs. 
 
 The  God  that  never  sleeps. 
 
 Ye  need  no  loud  monition 
 
 To  warn  you  to  the  strife, 
 To  fire  you  in  the  eternal  cause 
 
 Of  Liberty  and  Life  ; 
 For,  dark  in  each  indignant  eye. 
 
 The  Muse  can  well  explore 
 The  firm  resolve,  which  proudly  tells 
 
 That  faction's  reign  is  o'er. 
 Which  tells— the  Man  that  gives  us  laws 
 
 Shall  give  us  laws  no  more! 
 
 One  more  poem  appeared  in  the  Hampshire 
 Gazette  before  Bryant  reached  years  of  maturity, 
 and  we  print  it,  as  we  have  printed  its  predeces- 
 sors,  for  the  purpose,  first,  of  tracing  the  devel- 
 opment of  the  poet's  genius  and  the  increase  of 
 his  technical  skill ;  and  second,  of  presenting  to 
 the  public  some  works  of  his  that  have  never 
 before  been  collected,  and  that  will  be  cherished 
 for  their  author's  sake  as  tenderly  as  the  fruits 
 of  his  later  and  better  thought.  It  may  be  of 
 interest,  moreover,  to  note  in  this  connection  the 
 fact  that  the  lines  which  follow  were  composed 
 at  least  a  year  and  a  half  after  the  first  draft  of 
 the  world-renowned  "  Thanatopsis "  had  been 
 laid  away  in  his  portfolio  for  revision  and  cor- 
 rection : 
 
 ODE 
 
 FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY,  1814. 
 By  Wm.  C.  Bryant. 
 
 Amidst  the  storms  that  shake  the  land. 
 
 The  din  of  party  fray. 
 And  woes  of  guilty  war,  we  meet 
 
 l"©  hymn  this  sacred  day. 
 For  all  that  breathes  of  ancient  worth 
 
 Our  lingering  hope  reveres  ; 
 Each  print  of  freedom's  sacred  steps. 
 Each  trace  of  happier  years. 
 
 Our  skies  have  glowed  with  burning  towns, 
 
 Our  snows  have  blushed  with  gore, 
 And  fresh  is  many  a  nameless  grave. 
 
 By  Erie's  weeping  shore. 
 In  sadness  let  the  anthem  flow,— 
 
 But  tell  the  men  of  strif  f\. 
 On  their  own  heads  shall  rest  the  guilt 
 
 Of  all  this  waste  of  Ufe. 
 
 But  raise,  to  swell  the  general  song. 
 
 Our  notes  of  holiest  sound  ; 
 And  bless  the  hands  which  rent  the  chain 
 
 The  struggling  world  that  bound. 
 Lo  !  Europe  wakes  the  sleep  of  death — 
 
 Her  pristine  glories  warm ! 
 The  soul  of  ancient  freedom  comes 
 
 And  fills  her  mighty  form  I 
 
 Well  have  ye  fought,  ye  friends  of  man. 
 
 Well  was  your  valor  shown ; 
 The  grateful  nations  breathe  from  war,— 
 
 The  tyrant  lies  o'erthrown. 
 Well  might  ye  tempt  the  dangerous  fray, 
 
 Well  dare  the  desperate  deed: 
 Ye  knew  how  just  your  cause — ye  knew 
 
 The  voice  that  bade  ye  bleed. 
 
 To  thee  the  mighty  plan  we  owe 
 
 To  bid  the  world  be  freej 
 The  thanks  of  nations,  Queen  of  Isles ! 
 
 Are  poured  to  heaven  and  thee. 
 Yes! — hadst  not  thou,  with  fearless  arm, 
 
 Stayed  the  descending  scourge; 
 These  strains,  that  chant  a  nation's  birth. 
 
 Had  haply  hymned  its  dirge. 
 
 But  where  was  raised  our  country's  hand 
 
 Amidst  that  dreadful  strife  ? 
 Where  was  her  voice,  when  Hope  grew  faint. 
 
 And  freedom  fought  for  life  ? 
 Oh  !  bitter  are  the  tears  we  shed, 
 
 Columbia!  o'er  thy  shame ! 
 A  stain  the  deluge  could  not  cleanse 
 
 For  ever  blots  thy  fame. 
 
 Nor  to  avenge  a  nation's  wrongs 
 
 Does  power  demand  our  aid  ; 
 The  sword  is  bared— but  angry  Heaven 
 
 Frowns  on  the  accursed  blade. 
 The  men  who  snatched  it  from  the  sheath, 
 
 A  fearful  curse  withstands  ; 
 The  blood  of  innocence  is  red 
 
 Upon  their  guilty  hands. 
 
 Still,  to  defend  our  country's  shores, 
 
 We  hasten  to  the  field, 
 And  should  the  foe  invade — our  ranks 
 
 May  fall,  but  never  yield. 
 
19 
 
 The  day,  that  sees  the  victory  their's, 
 
 Shall  look  on  many  a  grave : 
 Our  veteran  fathers  taught  their  sons 
 
 To  guard  the  soil  they  gave. 
 
 Come  to  thine  anciept  haunts,  and  bring 
 
 Thy  train  of  happy  years, 
 Oh,  Peace  !  the  sunshine  of  thy  smile 
 
 Shall  dry  a  nation's  tears  ! 
 From  hill,  and  plain,  and  ocean's  verge. 
 
 White  with  the  unwonted  sail, 
 Shall  burst  a  boundless  shout  of  joy, 
 
 Thy  reign  renewed,  to  hail ! 
 
 During  the  period  covered  by  tlie  three  poems 
 last  in  order  we  have  the  briefest  possible  record 
 of  Bryant's  life  and  occupations.  We  know,  how- 
 ever, that  he  left  school  and  entered  Williams 
 College,  in  Williamstown,  Mass.,  in  1810.  Noth- 
 ing in  his  career  as  a  student  seems  to  have 
 marked  him  as  a  man  destined  to  be  famous  in 
 after  years,  although  he  was  distinguished  for 
 aptness  and  industry  in  the  departments  of  clas- 
 sical learning  and  in  polite  literature  generally. 
 He  did  not  finish  the  prescribed  course,  but  took 
 an  honorable  dismissal  in  1812,  and  began  the 
 study  of  the  law.  Three  years  later  he  was  admit- 
 ted to  the  bar,  and  opened  an  office  in  Plainfield, 
 Mass.  This  situation  proving  too  retired,  he  re- 
 moved to  Great  Barrington,  and  after  an  interval 
 of  pretty  active  practice,  Avas  made  a  Justice  of 
 the  Peace.  His  earliest  official  act,  outside  of  the 
 routine  duties  of  the  court,  was  the  marriage  of 
 Major  Robbins,  a  well-known  citizen  of  Great 
 Barrington,  to  Miss  Tobey.  Both  bride  and  groom 
 were  members  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church, 
 and  entertained  pronounced  views  respecting  the 
 character  of  the  marital  contract ;  and,  there  be- 
 ing no  clergyman  of  their  own  denomination 
 within  reach,  they  preferred  a  purely  civil  cere- 
 mony to  the  intervention  of  a  dissenting  minister. 
 The  circumstances  of  the  wedding  were  related 
 to  the  writer  of  this  article  by  Major  Robbins  in 
 1877,  with  as  much  distinctness  as  if  it  had  oc- 
 curred but  yesterday ;  both  the  male  members 
 of  the  essential  trio  having  at  that  time  passed 
 the  allotted  age  of  man  by  more  than  a  half- 
 score  of  years,  in  excellent  health  and  in  full  pos- 
 session of  their  mental  faculties. 
 
 While  living  in  Great  Barrington,  Mr.  Bryant 
 was  himself  married  to  Miss  Frances  Fairchild  of 
 that  village,  a  woman  who  possessed  to  an  un- 
 
 common degree  the  finer  graces  of  her  sex.  Their 
 union,  which  lasted  for  nearly  half  a  century,  was 
 attended  with  all  the  happiness  that  flows  from 
 temperaments  differing  enough  to  supplement 
 each  other,  congeniality  of  tastes,  chivalrous  de- 
 votion on  the  one  side  and  generous  appreciation 
 on  the  other ;  and  the  death  of  his  wife,  in  the 
 summer  of  1866,  dealt  Mr.  Bryant  a  blow  from 
 which  he  never  recovered. 
 
 A  tradition  exists  in  connection  with  his  mar- 
 riage which  exemplifies  m  an  amusing  manner 
 the  poet's  extreme  modesty.  It  seems  that  he 
 was  then  acting  as  village  clerk,  one  of  the  duties 
 of  the  post  being  the  "  reading  of  the  banns''  in 
 church  for  three  successive  Sundays  when  a  wed- 
 ding was  to  take  place  among  the  congregation. 
 Unable  to  bring  his  courage  to  the  point  of  facing 
 his  fellow-worshippers  with  the  announcement  of 
 his  approaching  nuptials,  Mr.  Bryant  wrote  out 
 the  necessary  notice  in  due  form,  and  pinned  it 
 on  the  church  door  instead.  Thus  the  story  runs. 
 How  much  of  it  is  strictly  true  we  have  no  means 
 of  determining;  it  answers  the  purpose,  never- 
 theless, of  illustrating  a  fact  which  those  who 
 knew  its  subject  best  wall  vouch  for,  namely,  that 
 the  impassive  exterior  which  misled  many  ob- 
 servers to  believe  the  heart  beneath  it  cold,  was 
 only  the  result  of  an  unconquerable  diffidence. 
 
 Letters  written  by  Catherine  Sedgwick  give 
 us  a  pen  portrait  of  the  young  lawyer  and 
 amateur  poet  of  that  period.  One  is  dated  at 
 Stockbridge  on  the  17th  of  May,  1820:  "I 
 wish,"  says  Miss  Sedgwick,  "  you  would  give 
 my  best  regards  to  Mr.  Sewall,  and  tell  him  that 
 I  have  had  great  success  in  my  agency.  I  sent 
 for  Mr.  Bryant  last  week,  and  he  called  to  see 
 me  on  his  return  from  court.  I  told  him  Mr. 
 Sewall  had  commissioned  me  to  request  some 
 contributions  from  him  to  a  collection  of  hymns, 
 and  he  said,  without  any  hesitation,  that  he  was 
 obliged  to  Mr.  Sewall,  and  would  with  great 
 pleasure  comply  with  his  request.  He  has  a 
 charming  countenance,  and  modest  but  not  bash- 
 ful manners.  I  made  him  promise  to  come 
 and  see  us  shortly.  He  seemed  gratified; 
 and  if  Mr.  Sewall  has  reason  to  be  obliged 
 to  me  (which  I  certainly  think  he  has)  I  am 
 doubly  obliged  by  an  opportunity  of  secur- 
 ing the  acquaintance  of  so  interesting  a  man," 
 
20 
 
 "  We  liave  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,"  she 
 writes  again  from  New  York  about  two  years 
 afterward,  "  from  a  glimpse  of  Bryant.  I  never 
 saw  him  so  happy,  nor  half  so  agreeable.  I 
 think  he  is  very  much  animated  with  his  pros- 
 pects. Heaven  grant  that  they  may  be  more 
 than  realized.  I  sometimes  feel  some  misgivings 
 about  it ;  but  1  think  it  is  impossible  that,  in  the 
 increasing  demand  for  native  literature,  a  man  of 
 his  resources,  who  has  justly  the  ^rs^  reputation, 
 should  not  be  able  to  command  a  competency. 
 He  has  good  sense,  too,  good  judgment  and  mod. 
 eration.  *  *  *  He  seems  so  modest  that 
 every  one  seems  eager  to  prove  to  him  tlie  merit 
 of  which  he  appears  unconscious.  I  wish  you 
 had  seen  him  last  evening.  Mrs.  Nicholas  was 
 here,  and  half  a  dozen  gentlemen.  She  was  am- 
 bitious to  recite  before  Bryant,  She  was  very 
 becomingly  dressed  for  the  grand  ball  to  which 
 she  was  going,  and,  wrought  up  to  her  highest 
 pitch  of  excitement,  she  recited  her  favorite 
 pieces  better  than  I  ever  heard  her,  and  con- 
 cluded the  whole,  without  request  or  any  note  of 
 preparation,  by  '  The  Water-fowl '  and  '  Thana- 
 topsis.'  Bryant's  face  '  brightened  all  over,'  was 
 one  gleam  of  light,  and,  I  am  certain,  at  the 
 moment  he  felt  the  ecstasy  of  a  poet.'' 
 
 We  must  once  more  go  back  a  little,  in  order 
 to  bring  down  all  the  threads  of  our  narrative  to 
 the  point  where  they  unite  at  the  entrance  of 
 their  hero  upon  his  pubbc  career  as  a  man  of  let- 
 ters. In  1812,  while  still  a  student  at  Williams 
 College,  Bryant  devised  the  poetic  scheme  which 
 later  took  the  form  of  "  Thanatopsis,"  and  spread 
 his  fame  throughout  the  world.  Local  tradition 
 represents  him  as  actually  composing  the  poem 
 while  seated  on  a  rock  in  a  lovely  ravine  known 
 as  Floras  Glen,  on  the  outskirts  of  Williamstown, 
 There  is  reason  to  suspect  that  much  of  this  story 
 is  apocryphal,  and  the  fact  that  the  rock  is  still 
 pointed  out  to  visitors  by  way  of  proof  weighs 
 but  little  in  the  balance  of  belief.  It  is  true,  how- 
 ever, that  the  poem  owes  its  inception  to  the  in- 
 fluences of  that  beautiful  spot  upon  the  mind  of  a 
 youth  peculiarly  susceptible  to  impressions  from 
 Nature  in  her  nobler  moods.  For  nearly  four 
 years  the  work  lay  in  its  author's  portfolio,  un- 
 touched save  for  purposes  of  occasional  correc- 
 tion ;  then  it  was  sent  to  the  North  American  Re- 
 
 view with  80  modest  a  note  of  introduction  that 
 its  authorship  was  left  in  considerable  doubt. 
 
 The  Review  at  that  day  was  conducted  by  a 
 number  of  young  literary  gentlemen,  united  under 
 the  name  of  the    North  American  Club.    A  com- 
 mittee of  publication  managed  the  business  affairs 
 of  the  periodical,  while  two  members,  Richard  H. 
 Dana   and   Edward   Tyrell   Channing,   had   the 
 editorial    department     in    charge.      Dana    read 
 "  Thanatopsis"  carefully  when  it  was  submitted, 
 and  turned  it  over  to  his  associate  with  the  re- 
 mark that  it  could  not  possibly  be  the  work  of  an 
 American.     There  was  a  completeness,  an  artistic 
 finish  about  it,  added  to  the  grandeur  and  beauty 
 of  the  ideas,  to  which,  in  his  opinion,  none  of  our 
 native  writers  had  attained.  Channing,  and  others 
 of  the  club  through  whose  hands  the  manuscript 
 was  passed,  concurred  in  this  view.     One  day, 
 while  the  poem  was   still  under   consideration, 
 Dana  received  intelligence  at  his  Cambridge  home 
 that  the  mysterious  author  was  a  member  of  the 
 Massachusetts   State  Senate,  which  was  then  in 
 session.      Throwing   everything   else  aside,    the 
 editor  seized  his  hat  and  cane  and  set  out  for 
 Boston  on  foot.     Arrived  at  the  State  House,  he 
 sought  the  Senate  Chamber,  and  had  pointed  out 
 to  him  the  person   he  was  looking  for — a  tall, 
 middle-aged  man,    with    a   business-like    aspect. 
 Plainly,  this  was  not  the  author  of  "  Thanatopsis," 
 and    without    waiting    for    an   introduction,   he 
 started  for  home  again  in  great  disappointment. 
 The  mistake  on  the  part  of  his  informant  was  the 
 result  of  a  similarity  of  names  between  the  poet 
 and  the  Senator ;  but  it  soon  led,  by  a  roundabout 
 course,  to  the  identification  he  desired,  and  a  cor- 
 respondence was  opened  which  brought  the  two 
 young  men  into  those  relations  of  friendship  and 
 respect  which  each  has  cherished  through  life. 
 
 "  Thanatopsis  "  appeared  in  the  North  Ameri- 
 can Review  in  1816.  In  the  next  year  it  was 
 followed  by  the  "  Inscription  for  an  Entrance  into 
 a  Wood,"  written  in  1813.  After  tliat  Bryant 
 contributed  prose  papers  from  time  to  time  ;  and 
 it  was  chiefly  through  the  influence  of  Dana  and 
 his  coadjutors  that  he  was  invited  in  1821  to  de- 
 liver a  poem  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society 
 at  Harvard  College.  The  response  to  this  invita- 
 tion was  the  well-known  didactic  poem,  ''The 
 Ages."^  ^In  the  same  year  a  collection  of  Bryant's 
 
21 
 
 writings  was  made,  and  published  in  a  small  vol- 
 ume of  forty-four  pages  at  Cambridge, 
 
 Before  taking  leave  of  this  period  it  may  be 
 worth  noting  that  Mr.  Dana  was  among  the  earli- 
 est of  the  race  of  critics  to  oppose  the  arbitrary 
 conclusions  of  Jeffrey,  and  give  to  Wordsworth 
 and  Coleridge  the  position  of  men  of  genius  and 
 great  poets.  His  views  were  in  so  little  accord 
 with  those  of  most  of  his  associates  in  the  North 
 American  Club  that  he  was  relieved  of  the  edit- 
 orship of  the  Revieiv,  and  Edward  Everett  was 
 installed  ip  his  place.  Some  time  later  Mr.  Bry- 
 ant reviewed  Dana's  "  Idle  Men,"  and  sent  the 
 manuscript  to  Mr.  Everett,  who  "  respectfully 
 declined  "  it.  But  the  end  was  not  yet;  Everett 
 was  himself  succeeded  by  Sparks,  who  was 
 friendly  to  Dana,  and  who,  when  the  latter's 
 "Buccaneer"  was  published,  wrote  straightway 
 to  Mr.  Bryant,  reminding  him  that  the  time  for 
 his  revenge  had  arrived.  Accordingly  an  early 
 number  of  the  Review  contained  an  able  criticism 
 of  the  "Idle  Man"  and  the  "Buccaneer,"  in 
 which  the  author  of  both  books  received  the 
 meed  of  credit  for  which  a  petty  spite  had  kept 
 him  waiting  so  long. 
 
 When  "The  Ages"  appeared,  in  1821,  a  very 
 commendatory  notice  of  it  was  printed  in  the 
 New  York  American,  a  periodical  edited  by 
 Charles  King,  afterward  President  of  Columbia 
 College.  The  article  was  from  the  pen  of  Gulian 
 C.  Verplanck,  a  leading  spirit  in  the  literary  soci- 
 ety ot  New  York,  who  had  written  two  or  three 
 excellent  addresses  for  the  Historical  Society  of 
 this  city,  and  was  known  as  a  wit  througli  his 
 political  satire,  "  The  Bucktail  Bards."  Mr.  Ver- 
 planck used  frequently  to  visit  the  house  of  Mr. 
 Henry  D.  Sedgwick,  about  whose  fireside  the  lit- 
 erary men  of  that  day,  including  Hillhouse,  Dun- 
 lap,  Halleck,  Percival,  Cooper  and  others  less 
 known  to  fame,  were  wont  to  assemble  from  time 
 to  time.  Mr.  Sedgwick,  who  was  a  warm  admirer 
 of  Bryant,  longed  to  secure  the  presence  of  his 
 favorite  in  this  charmed  circle;  and  to  him,  per- 
 haps, more  than  to  any  other  person,  New  York 
 owes  her  possession  of  the  great  poet  and  jour- 
 nalist for  the  best  part  of  his  life.  With  Ver- 
 planck's  assistance,  Mr.  Sedgwick  procured  for 
 Bryant  the  co-editorship  of  the  projected  New 
 Yoi'k  Review  and  Athenceicm  Magazine,  his  associ- 
 
 ate being  Henry  J.  Anderson,  afterward  Pro- 
 fessor of  Mathematics  in  Columbia  College.  This 
 was  in  the  winter  of  1824-5  ;  and  on  the  arrival 
 of  the  despatch  containing  the  announcement  in 
 Great  Barrington,  our  young  lawyer  closed  his 
 musty  tomes  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  turned  over 
 his  briefs  to  a  brother  attorney,  and  set  his  affairs 
 in  order  with  all  speed  for  a  removal  to  the  city. 
 In  view  of  the  later  relations  sustained  by  Mr. 
 Bryant  to  this  journal,  the  following  paragraph 
 from  the  Evening  Post  of  April  21st,  1825,  pre- 
 sumably written  by  Mr.  William  Coleman,  the 
 editor-in-chief,  is  of  no  little  interest : 
 
 "  New  York  Review  and  Atheneum  Magazine. — 
 Yesterday  a  person  called  on  me  to  solicit  a  sub- 
 scription to  a  periodical  work  under  this  title ; 
 and  on  looking  at  the  prospectus  I  perceived  it 
 was  to  be  a  continuation  of  the  Atlantic  Maga- 
 zine, to  be  conducted  by  Henry  James  Anderson 
 and  William  Cullen  Brj-ant,  under  this  new 
 name.  I  therefore  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  to 
 enrol  myself  among  the  number  of  those  who  en- 
 gaged to  patronize  this  undertaking.  We  have, 
 from  its  early  appearance,  taken  a  more  than 
 common  interest  in  the  success  of  the  Atlantic 
 Magazine,  which  early  gave  promise  of  becoming 
 a  useful,  able,  and  even  elegant  vehicle  for  the 
 improvement  of  literar}^  taste,  and  the  advance- 
 ment of  sound  doctrines  in  the  science  of  political 
 economy,  and  of  just  and  acute  criticism  ;  — nor 
 have  our  expectations  been  disappointed.  We 
 now  anticipate  still  additional  excellence,  from 
 the  well-known  talents  of  the  gentleman  now  as- 
 sociated with  the  former  editor ;  and  from  '  the 
 co-operation  (which  is  alluded  to  in  the  pros- 
 pectus,) of  several  gentlemen,  amply  qualified  to 
 furnish  the  departments  of  Intelligence,  Poetry 
 and  Fiction.'  With  such  encouragement,  we 
 cannot  consent  to  compound  for  anything  short 
 of  a  decided  superiority  in  the  various  walks  of 
 letters.  If  it  is  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  what 
 we  expect  it  will  be,  to  suppose  it  can  want  the 
 most  liberal,  and  indeed  splendid  patronage, 
 would  be  a  libel  on  the  more  refined  of  our  cit- 
 izens." 
 
 In  glancing  over  the  body  of  this  number  of 
 the  Evening  Post,  we  cannot  pass  without  re- 
 mark some  of  its  striking  features,  indicative  of 
 the  condition  in  which  Mr.  Bryant  found  jour- 
 nalism on  his  first  entry  into  New  York  in  the 
 capacity  of  editor,  and  suggesting  the  wonderful 
 changes  that  took  place  during  his  long  career. 
 Here,  for  example,  are  extracts  from  English 
 newspapers  of  the  24th  of  March ;  news  from 
 the  State   Legislature  in  Albany  as  late  as  the 
 
22 
 
 l9th  of  April;  a  dispatch  from  Halifax,  N.  C, 
 dated  April  8th,  announcing  that  "  a  main  of 
 cocks  will  be  fought  at  Northampton  Court 
 House  on  Monday  next ;"  an  editorial  rebuke  to 
 a  contemporary  which  had  insinuated  that  the 
 EvExixG  Post  possibly  manufactured  a  news- 
 letter that  appeared  in  its  columns  the  evening 
 before ;  and  the  advertisements  of  stage-coach 
 lines  between  New  York  and  Buffalo,  Philadel- 
 phia and  other  points  North,  West  and  South. 
 The  spirit  of  partisanship  in  national  affairs  so 
 seriously  deplored  in  "  The  Embargo,"  seems  to 
 be  manifesting  itself  now  in  State  matters ;  and 
 the  EvExixG  Post  calls  one  of  its  neighbors 
 sharply  to  account  for  rejoicing  over  the  probable 
 rejection  by  the  State  Senate  of  the  Governor's 
 nomination  of  a  resident  phj-sician  for  New  York 
 City,  adding :  "  What  can  be  more  absurd,  more 
 repugnant  to  common  sense,  than  to  permit  pol- 
 itics to  have  an  influence  over  rational  men  when 
 the  health  and  safety  of  the  community  is  con- 
 cerned." 
 
 In  the  Evening  Post  of  the  11th  of  June, 
 1825,  appears  Fitz  Greene  Halleck's  poem 
 "  Marco  Bozarris,"  with  the  simple  signature 
 "  H."  The  facts  that  Mr.  Bryant  was  in  some 
 way  connected  with  the  first  j)ublication  of  this 
 poem,  and  that  it  was  printed  in  the  EvE>nNG 
 Post  shortly  after  its  composition,  have  misled 
 many  persons  to  believe  that  it  was  written  for 
 this  journal  originally.  The  first  editorial  par- 
 agraph, however,  of  the  number  in  which  the 
 stirring  lyric  occurs,  will  at  once  disabuse  the 
 reader's  mind  of  that  impression,  and  show  just 
 bow  much  of  a  foundation  in  truth  it  had  : 
 
 Tlie  Nev)  York  Revieicand  Atheneum  Magazine. 
 — We  have  had  lying  on  our  desk  for  some  time, 
 the  first  number  of  this  work,  and  have,  from 
 day  to  day,  intended,  in  compliance  with  our 
 feelings,  and  a  strong  sense  of  duty,  to  express 
 our  opinion  of  its  superior  merits  at  some 
 length,  by  way  of  urging  it  upon  our  readers 
 to  show  a  liberal  patronage  on  the  first  buddings 
 of  a  flower  wliich  gives  promise  that  it  will  be 
 an  ornament  to  our  city.  We  have  not  time  to 
 do  tliis  now  ;  we  will,  therefore,  only  say,  that 
 its  poetic  de^jartment  is  suj)ported  in  a  style  that 
 extorts  our  unfeigned  and  unqualified  admiration. 
 As  a  8j)ecimen,  we  extract,  this  evening,  an 
 efFunion  of  the  loftiest  character,  entitled  Marco 
 Bozarris,  the  eminent  beauties  of  which  do  not 
 lie  u])(m   tlie  surface,  but  with  which,  on   every 
 
 new  reading,  we  are  charmed,  and  also  sur- 
 prised, that  they  had  escaped  us  on  a  former 
 perusal.  We  shall  take  an  early  opportunity  to 
 give  another  piece  from  this  number,  entitled 
 Pikairn's  Island — one  of  the  sweetest  pictures 
 that  a  highly  cultivated  fancy  ever  drew." 
 
 A  later  number  of  the  Evening  Post  fulfilled 
 the  promise  of  this  closing  sentence,  and  copied 
 Mr.  Bryant's  "  Song  of  Pitcairn's  Island,"  with 
 its  modest  signature  "  B." 
 
 The  galaxy  of  talent  engaged  in  this  literary 
 enterprise,  though  it  included  such  bright,  par- 
 ticular  stars  as  Willis,  Dana  and  Bancroft,  be- 
 side Ilalleck  and  Bryant,  could  not  save  it  from 
 the  fate  which  has  swallowed  up  many  another 
 setting  out  with  the  brightest  prospects.  Mr. 
 Bryant  ard  his  associate  did  not  continue  their 
 labors  many  months ;  and  in  the  Evening  Post 
 of  the  17th  of  March,  1826,  we  find  a  card, 
 copied  from  the  latest  number  of  the  New  York 
 Literary  Gazette,  and  signed  by  James  G.  Brooks 
 and  George  Bond,  announcing  the  union  of  the 
 two  periodicals,  conducted  by  them  respectively, 
 in  one,  to  bear  the  joint  name.  The  Ncv)  York 
 Literary  Gazette  and  American  Atheneum.  In 
 Jul}'  of  the  same  year  this  magazine  was  con- 
 solidated with  the  United  States  Literary  Gazette, 
 the  lesser  title  being  sunk  in  the  greater,  and  in 
 September  the  United  States  IMerary  Gazette  lost 
 its  identity  in  turn  and  became  the  United  States 
 Heview,  with  simultaneous  publication  in  New 
 York  and  Boston. 
 
 In  1826,  Bryant  was  invited  to  share  with 
 Coleman  the  editorship  of  the  Evening  Post,  and 
 soon  made  his  utterances  a  matter  of  political 
 and  social  consequence. 
 
 The  story  of  his  long  connection  with  the 
 newspaper  press,  and  the  course  which  his  own 
 sheet  followed  during  that  period,  will  be  told  in 
 its  proper  place.  We  ma}^  remark  here,  how- 
 ever, that  his  notion  of  the  educational  aspects 
 of  journalism  extended  to  the  forms  of  literary 
 expression  as  well  as  to  the  collection  of  facts 
 and  the  moulding  of  public  opinion.  On  the  11th 
 of  May,  1827,  the  Evening  Post  contained  the 
 following  editorial  paragraph,  which  there  is 
 every  reason  to  ascribe  to  its  late  chief: 
 
 "  Affectations  of  Expression. — We  are  tired  of 
 the  affectations  which  are  often  to  be  met  with 
 in  some  of  our  newspapers,  and  cannot  but  ex. 
 
23 
 
 press  a  hope  that  they  will  be  totally  discarded, 
 since  they  cannot  be  justified — such,  for  instance, 
 as  'over'  a  signature,  in  the  "Washington  news- 
 papers ;  '  consolate,'  in  those  of  Kentucky  ;  '  was 
 being  built,'  a  late  innovation  of  some  English 
 authors,  and  copied  here  ;  '  the  Misses  Gilling- 
 liam,'  in  several  publications.  These  are  all  that 
 offer  themselves  at  this  time,  and  ought  to  be  cor- 
 rected, as  being  neither  correct  English  nor 
 pleasant  to  the  ear,  nor  expressive  of  any  new 
 idea." 
 
 This  was  but  the  beginning  of  a  half  century's 
 crusade  against  inelegance  and  inaccuracy  in  the 
 use  of  our  mother  tongue.  Outside  of  the  line  of 
 his  professional  duty  he  sometimes  wielded  his 
 literary  pruning  knife,  and,  as  an  example  of  the 
 good  use  he  made  of  it,  we  may  quote  this  letter, 
 which  was  sent  to  a  young  man  who  asked  for  a 
 criticism  upon  an  article  he  had  written  : 
 
 "  My  young  friend,  I  observe  that  you  have 
 used  several  French  expressions  in  your  letter.  I 
 think  if  j'ou  will  study  the  English  language 
 that  you  will  find  it  capable  of  expressing  all  the 
 ideas  that  you  may  have.  I  have  always  found 
 it  so,  and  in  all  that  I  have  written  I  do  not  recall 
 an  instance  where  I  was  tempted  to  use  a  foreign 
 word  but  that,  on  searching,  I  have  found  a  bet- 
 ter one  in  my  own  language. 
 
 "  Be  simple,  unaffected ;  be  honest  in  j'our 
 speaking  and  writing.  Never  use  a  long  word 
 when  a  short  one  will  do  as  well. 
 
 "  Call  a  spade  by  its  name,  not  a  well-known 
 oblong  instrument  of  manual  labor ;  let  a  home 
 be  a  home  and  not  a  residence  ;  a  place,  not  a  lo- 
 cality, and  so  on  of  the  rest.  "When  a  short  word 
 will  do  you  will  always  lose  by  a  long  one.  You 
 lose  in  clearness  ;  you  lose  in  honest  expression 
 of  meaning  ;  and,  in  the  estimation  of  all  men 
 who  are  capable  of  judging,  you  lose  in  reputa- 
 tion for  ability. 
 
 "  The  only  true  wa3-  to  shine,  even  in  this  false 
 world,  is  to  be  modest  and  unassuming.  False- 
 hood may  be  a  thick  crust,  but  in  the  course  of 
 time  truth  will  find  a  place  to  break  through. 
 Elegance  of  language  may  not  be  in  the  power  of 
 us  all,  but  simplicity  and  straightforwardn^s 
 are." 
 
 Beside  his  regular  journalistic  duties,  Bryant 
 found  time  to  do  a  good  deal  of  literary  work. 
 He  was  associated  with  Verplanck  and  Robert  C. 
 Sands  in  editing  the  Talisman,  a  very  success- 
 ful annual,  during  the  years  from  1827  to  1830. 
 He  also  contributed  two  stories,  entitled  respec- 
 tively "  Medfield"  and  "The  Skeleton's  Cave" 
 to  the  "  Tales  of  the  Glauber  Spa,"  a  compi- 
 lation  including  in  its  list  of   authors  Messrs. 
 
 Paulding,  Leggett  and  Sands,  and  Miss  Sedg- 
 !  wick.  In  1832,  the  literary  circle  with  which  he 
 was  most  intimately  connected  was  broken  by 
 the  death  of  Sands,  and  Verplanck  and  Bryant 
 jointly  edited  his  works. 
 
 In  the  same  year  a  complete  edition  of  Bryant's 
 j  poems  was  published  in  N'ew  York,  and  Mr. 
 Verplanck,  who  was  acquainted  with  ^Vashington 
 Irving,  then  Secretary  of  the  American  Legation 
 I  in  London,  sent  a  copy  to  the  latter, with  a  private 
 i  note  requesting  his  patronage  in  introducing  the 
 I  young  poet  to  the  British  public.  Irving  under- 
 i  took  the  task  with  an  almost  affectionate  interest, 
 I  although  his  literar}^  ward  was  quite  unknown  to 
 !    him.     With   the   little   volume  of  verses  in  his 
 
 I  pocket,  he  traversed  the  streets  of  London  seek- 
 j  ing  a  publisher.  Murray  was  visited  in  due 
 j  course.  He  ran  his  thumb  over  the  edge  of  the 
 I  pages,  glanced  at  a  line  here  and  another  there, 
 paused  a  moment  over  a  stanza  that  caught  his 
 eye  with  some  familiar  name,  and  then  handed 
 the  book  back.  "  Thank  you,  no,"  he  said,  with 
 a  polite  smile.  "  Poetry  does  not  sell  at  present ; 
 I  don't  think  I  can  use  this."  Murray  was  a  man 
 w4io  always  had  money  to  invest  in  a  w^ork  that 
 showed  any  promise  of  success,  and  a  less  per- 
 sistent advocate  than  Irving  would  have  left  his 
 presence  with  a  sinking  heart.  Not  so  Geoffrey 
 Craycn,  Gent.  To  his  credit  be  it  said  that 
 when  he  could  not  get  what  he  wanted  he  resolved 
 to  take  the  next  best  thing ;  and  after  a  tedious 
 hunt  he  hit  upon  a  bookseller  in  Bond  street, 
 named  Andrews,  who  looked  askance  at  the  ven- 
 ture, but  agreed  to  go  into  it  if  Irving  would  put 
 his  own  name  on  the  title  page  of  the  book  as 
 editor.  The  offer  was  accepted  under  the  im- 
 pression that  the  editor's  duties  would  be  merely 
 nominal.  Delusive  hope  !  The  loyal  Briton  had 
 got  his  types  almost  ready  for  the  press,  when 
 he  drove  in  hot  haste  to  Mr.  Irving's  house 
 one  morning,  and  requested  a  moment's  inter- 
 view. 
 
 "  This  will  never  do,  sir  ! "  he  cried,  with  some 
 warmth.  "  We  cannot  sell  a  dozen  copies  in  all 
 England  if  this  stands  as  it  is  now.  It  would  be 
 as  much  as  my  trade  is  worth  to  let  such  a  thing 
 go  out  of  my  shop  ! " 
 
 Irving,  much  astounded  at  the  excitement 
 manifested  by  his  visitor,  followed  the  latter's 
 
M 
 
 index  finger  with  liis  eye,  and  read  the  line  on 
 which  it  rested — 
 
 "  The  Britisli  soldier  trembles" — 
 in  the  "  Song-  of  Marion's  Men," 
 
 "  There,  sir,"  continued  Mr,  Andrews,  in  the 
 triumphant  tone  of  a  noan  who  has  carried  con- 
 viction to  the  mind  of  an  adversary  in  debate, 
 "  what  do  you  tliink  of  that  ?  '" 
 
 "  "Well."  said  Irvinf^,  "  what  do  you  suggest?" 
 
 "  You  must  alter  it,  sir  ;  you  must  cut  out  either 
 the  '  British  soldier/  or  the  '  trembles ' — I  don't 
 care  which.  There  are  the  seeds  of  war  in  the 
 line  as  it  stands,  and  I  would  rather  destroy  the 
 whole  edition  than  put  my  name  on  it  as  it  is 
 now." 
 
 Irving  could  ill  conceal  a  grimace  of  amuse- 
 ment at  the  mountain  that  had  grown  up  in  this 
 patriot's  mind  from  so  little  a  molehill ;  but  his 
 merriment  changed  to  indignation  when  the 
 bookseller  picked  out  three  or  four  other  lines 
 which  could  possibly  be  tortured  into  a  slur 
 upon  British  bravery,  and  demanded  that  they 
 also  be  "edited"  with  severity.  After  an  ex- 
 tended colloquy,  a  compromise  was  reached, 
 Irving  agreeing  to  remodel — 
 
 "The  British  soldier  trembles—" 
 so  that  it  should  read — 
 
 "  The  foeman  trembles  in  his  camp — " 
 
 and  to  make  an  insignificant  alteration  in  anoth- 
 er place,  in  deference  to  the  supposed  sensitive- 
 ness of  the  British  public  a  half  century  after 
 Marion's  men  had  beaten  their  swords  into 
 l)loughshares  and  resumed  the  arts  of  peace. 
 
 This  first  London  edition  was  dedicated  by 
 Irving  to  Samuel  Rogers,  the  poet,  in  a  note, 
 saying  that,  during  an  intimacy  of  some  years' 
 standing,  the  writer  had  remarked  the  interest 
 which  Rogers  had  taken  in  the  rising  fortunes 
 and  character  of  America,  and  the  disposition  he 
 had  to  foster  American  talent,  whether  in  litera- 
 ture or  art :  "The  descriptive  writings  of  Mr, 
 Bryant,"  the  note  goes  on,  "are  essentially 
 American.  They  transport  us  into  the  depths  of 
 the  solemn,  primeval  forest — to  the  shores  of  the 
 lonely  lake — to  tlic  banks  of  the  wild,  nameless 
 stream,  or  the  brow  of  the  rocky  upland,  rising 
 like  a  promontory  from  amidst  a  wide  ocean  of 
 foliage;    while  they  shed  around  us  the  glories 
 
 of  a  climate  fierce  in  its  extremes,  but  splendid 
 in  all  its  vicissitudes."  The  volume  was  gener- 
 ously reviewed  by  John  Wilson  in  BJackioood's 
 Magazine,  and  from  that  day  Bryant  had  a  Euro- 
 pean reputation. 
 
 In  1825  the  Sketch  Club  was  founded  in  New 
 York,  as  a  social  reunion  of  artists  and  ama- 
 teurs. Among  its  original  members  were  Morse, 
 Verplanck,  Weir,  Huntington,  Ingraham,  Wall, 
 Durand,  Cummings,  Inman,  Verbruyck,  Agate 
 Cole  and  Gourlie.  To  several  of  these,  and  also  to 
 sundry  members  of  the  Academy  of  Design, 
 Bryant  sat  for  his  portrait.  Morse's  painting 
 was  preserved  in  the  Academy's  collection ;  In- 
 man's  was  engraved  for  the  Deynocratic  Review, 
 and  one  by  Gray  went  into  the  possession  of  the 
 New  York  Historical  Society.  This  was  not 
 the  only  encouragement  given  to  art  by  the 
 young  poet  and  journalist.  When  the  Academy 
 of  Design  was  in  its  infanc}'^,  one  of  its  duties 
 was  the  support  of  a  series  of  lectures  on  various 
 subjects  pertaining  to  art,  partly  for  the  benefit 
 of  its  own  members,  but  more  particularly  for 
 the  advantage  of  persons  who  were  studying  art 
 as  an  occupation  for  life;  and  Br3"ant  delivered 
 a  course  on  Greek  and  Roman  Mythology — the 
 fruits  of  the  deep  research  in  classic  lore  which 
 began  with  his  school  days,  had  continued  with 
 unabated  interest  up  to  that  time,  and  found  a 
 fitting  conclusion,  when  the  scholar  was  well  on 
 toward  eighty  years  of  age,  in  the  translation 
 of  Homer's  immortal  epics.  Although  a  con- 
 noisseur in  art,  Bryant  never  owned  a  very  large 
 collection  of  pictures  or  statuary,  enjoj'ing  the 
 study  of  a  painting  or  a  marble  quite  as  much 
 in  the  possession  of  a  friend  as  if  it  ornamented 
 his  own  drawing-room. 
 
 Soon  after  Bryant  came  to  New  York,  Cooper 
 went  to  Europe  and  travelled  for  some  years. 
 When  he  returned  he  selected  Cooperstown,  N. 
 Y.,  for  his  home,  so  that  in  his  later  life  he  and 
 Bryant  saw  little  of  each  other.  Then  occurred 
 that  battle  of  words  between  the  novelist  and 
 the  newspaper  press  which  some  of  our  older 
 readers  will  doubtless  recall,  in  which  Mr. 
 Cooper  exhibited  a  good  deal  of  unnecessary 
 spleen.  Bryant,  though  conducting  a  journal 
 which  was  looked  to  as  an  authority  in  matters  of 
 literary  news  and  criticism,  forbore  to  take  any 
 
25 
 
 part  in  the  quarrel,  loyalty  to  his  friend  on  the 
 one  side  and  to  his  adopted  profession  on  the 
 other  disposing  him  to  maintain  a  dignified 
 silence, 
 
 Mr.  Coleman's  death,  in  1829,  left  Mr.  Bryant 
 in  sole  editorial  control  of  the  Evening  Post,  and 
 he  shortly  after  engaged  as  an  assistant  William 
 Leggett,  a  young  journalist  of  some  reputation 
 for  both  industry  in  the  routine  duties  of  his  pro- 
 fession and  a  rather  aggressive  advocacy  of  any 
 cause  which  had  awakened  his  interest.  Having 
 been  made  a  zealous  freetrader  and  democrat  by 
 his  chief,  this  gentleman  became  one  of  the  pro- 
 prietors of  the  journal.  This  left  Mr.  Bryant  free 
 to  think  of  some  other  things  beside  daily  labor 
 at  the  desk,  and  in  1834  he  sailed  for  Europe  with 
 his  family,  intending  to  pass  a  few  years  in  liter- 
 ary study  at  the  foreign  capitals,  and  superintend 
 the  education  of  his  children.  He  travelled  ex- 
 tensively for  two  years  in  France,  Italy  and  Ger- 
 many, and  was  enjoying  his  recreation  to  the  ut- 
 most when  news  reached  him  from  America  that 
 Mr,  Leggett  was  very  ill.  Returning  home  with 
 all  haste,  he  arrived  in  New  York  just  in  time  to 
 check  the  Evexing  Post  in  a  career  of  adversity, 
 brought  upon  it  by  the  unnecessary  vehemence 
 with  which  its  temporary  conductor  thrust  sun- 
 dry unpopular  opinions  of  his  own  in  the  faces  of 
 its  readers  and  advertisers.  Convinced  by  this 
 experience  that  what  one  wants  done  well  he 
 must  do  himself,  and  having  to  unravel,  tediously, 
 the  entanglements  into  which  his  partner  had  led 
 their  journal,  Mr,  Bryant  made  no  further  at- 
 tempt at  a  tour  of  the  old  world  till  1845,  though 
 in  the  meantime  he  visited  various  parts  of  his 
 own  country,  including  Florida  and  the  Valley  of 
 the  Mississippi. 
 
 On  his  second  voj-age  to  Europe  he  was  ac-    ^ 
 companied  by  his  friend,  Mr,  Charles  M,  Leupp, 
 a  wealthy  merchant  of  this  city  and  a  connois- 
 seur and  patron  of  the  fine  arts.     Edward  Ever-    | 
 ett,  who  was  then  the  American  minister  at  the 
 court  of  St.  James,  gave  a  breakfast  in  his  honor, 
 at  which  were  present  Thomas  Moore,  Kenyon, 
 and  Samuel  Rogers,     A  friendship  sprang  up  at 
 once  between  Rogers  and  Bryant,  which  lasted 
 until  the  death  of  the  former.     It  began  when 
 Bryant  remarked  to  the  older  poet  that  he  had    i 
 brought  a  letter  of  introduction  to  him  which  he    | 
 
 would  have  the  honor  to  present,  and  was  inter- 
 rupted by  a  kindly  wave  of  the  hand  and  the 
 reply,  "  It  is  quite  unnecessary,  I  have  long 
 known  j-ou  through  your  writings,"  These 
 cordial  words  were  followed  by  an  invitation  to 
 breakfast  with  Rogers,  which  was  promptly  ac- 
 cepted ;  and  at  his  friend's  board  he  made  the 
 acquaintance  of  Poole,  the  author  of  "  Paul  Pry," 
 Sir  Charles  Eastlake  and  Richard  Moncton 
 Milnes,  now  Lord  Houghton. 
 
 When  he  was  about  leaving  England  after  this 
 visit,  Rogers  bade  him  farewell  with  no  little 
 emotion,  saying  that  they  would  never  meet 
 again.  On  his  return  a  few  years  later  he  re- 
 minded Rogers  of  this,  "  I  remember  it,"  was  the 
 answer;  "I  have  no  business  here ;  but  I  shall 
 not  stay  long,"  This  was  indeed  their  last  in- 
 terview. 
 
 It  was  not  till  after  his  second  sojourn 
 in  Europe  that  Mr.  Bryant  set  about 
 the  improvement  of  his  newly  purchased 
 country  house  at  Roslyn,  L.  I.,  now  known 
 as  "  Cedarmere."  The  building  was  put 
 up  in  178V  by  Richard  Kirk,  a  Quaker,  whose 
 taste  was  satisfied  with  a  simple  square  structure 
 containing  a  number  of  large  rooms.  Under  a 
 later  owner  a  portico  was  added,  adorned  with  a 
 heavy  cornice  and  columns.  When  Mr,  Bryant 
 came  into  possession  of  the  propertj^  he  took 
 away  these  sombre  ornaments  and  filled  their 
 places  with  a  lattice-work  for  training  vines 
 upon,  threw  out  bay  windows  on  either  side,  and 
 added  some  irregular  outbuildings.  Thus  it 
 remains.  Of  late  years,  its  owner  has  divided 
 his  summers  between  Roslyn  and  Cummington. 
 entertaining  his  city  friends,  and  taking  an 
 active  part  in  both  places  in  all  the  village  enter- 
 prises which  look  to  the  moral  or  intellectual  cul- 
 ture of  the  people.  Voice  and  purse  have  always 
 been  enlisted  without  difiiculty  in  aid  of  any 
 movement  to  better  the  condition  of  his  "  fellow 
 townsmen"  of  a  season,  as  the  public  institutions 
 endowed  by  him  in  both  places  will  testify. 
 
 The  Atlantic  was  crossed  for  the  last  time  in 
 the  year  1867,  but  not  until  a  more  thorough 
 acquaintance  with  the  eastern  half  of  this  coun- 
 try and  with  Cuba  had  been  gained  by  a  long 
 and  careful  personal  survey  of  them. 
 
 Each   of   the  foreign  tours  mentioned  in  this 
 
26 
 
 sketch  has  borne  abundant  fruit  for  the  public. 
 Letters  were  sent  from  every  important  place  to 
 the  Evening  Post,  and  many  of  these  were  after- 
 ward gathered  into  books  for  preservation  ;  but 
 eveu  more  practical  results  may  be  found  in  the 
 first  suggestion  of  a  great  park  for  this  city,  a 
 project  conceived  by  Mr.  Bryant  during  his 
 earliest  travels  abroad,  and  taking  shape,  after 
 many  modifications,  in  the  Central  Park  as  we 
 now  have  it.  The  site  which  commended  itself 
 to  him  at  first  was  Jones's  Woods;  but  this 
 seemed  for  some  reasons  ineligible,  and  was  re- 
 linquished in  favor  of  a  point  more  easy  of  access 
 from  all  parts  of  Manliattan  Island. 
 
 The  nickel  cent  in  our  coinage  owes  its  origin 
 to  a  desire  of  Mr.  Bryant's,  after  his  first  visit  to 
 Germany,  to  replace  the  old  fashioned  copper 
 cent  with  something  more  nearly  resembling  the 
 kreutzer. 
 
 In  the  course  of  his  long  career  as  a  jour- 
 nalist and  man  of  letters,  the  subject  of  this 
 sketch  was  frequently  called  upon  to  de- 
 liver addresses  in  memory  of  distinguished 
 persons  with  whom  lie  bad  been  associated.  The 
 funeral  of  Cole,  the  artist,  in  1848,  was  probably 
 the  first  occasion  of  this  sort.  Four  years  later 
 he  delivered  a  discourse  on  the  life  and  writings 
 of  James  Fenimore  Cooper,  and  in  1860  paid  a 
 like  tribute  to  the  departed  Irving.  At  the  ded- 
 ication of  the  Morse,  Shakspeare,  Scott,  Goethe 
 and  Halleck  monuments  in  the  Central  Park,  also, 
 he  was  a  prominent  speaker.  His  last  effort,  as 
 our  readers  know,  was  in  honor  of  ]Mazzini,  the 
 Italian  statesman. 
 
 Beside  the  editions  of  his  poems  which  have 
 already  been  named  in  this  article  there  was  one 
 entitled  "The  Fountain  and  Other  Poems,"  pub- 
 lished in  1842;  and  another  in  1844,  under  the 
 title,  "The  White-Footed  Deer  and  Other  Poems." 
 In  1846  all  his  poems  were  collected  and  printed 
 in  Philadelphia  in  handsome  style,  with  illustra- 
 tions by  the  artist  Leutze.  In  1855,  a  two  vol- 
 ume edition  appeared;  in  1863,  the  "Thirty 
 Poems"  latest  produced  by  his  pen;  in  1870,  his 
 translation  of  the  Iliad,  and  in  1871,  the  Odys- 
 sey; and  in  1876,  a  very  fine  illustrated  edition 
 brought  his  poetical  works  down  to  that  date. 
 His  letters  from  foreign  parts  have  appeared 
 under  the  titles,    "  LetAcrs   of   a  Traveller"   and 
 
 "  Letters  from  Spain,"  with  the  exception  of  those 
 written  from  Mexico  in  the  winter  of  1871-2' 
 The  latest  prose  work  which  bears  his  name  is 
 a  "  History  of  the  United  States,"  now  in  course 
 of  publication. 
 
 Though  often  solicited,  Mr.  Bryant  steadily  re- 
 fused to  accept  any  public  office  higher  than  that 
 of  Justice  of  the  Peace,  save  the  purely  honorary 
 one  of  Presidential  Elector  in  1860.  He  was  once 
 offered  a  place  on  the  Board  of  Regents  of  the 
 University,  but  declined  it.  Presidents  Lincoln 
 and  Grant  are  said  also  to  have  mentioned  his 
 name  in  connection  with  important  foreign  mis- 
 sions, but  he  could  not  be  induced  to  permit  the 
 nomination  to  come  before  the  Senate. 
 
 Retiring  in  disposition  even  to  the  point  of 
 bashfulness,  he  avoided  notoriety  of  all  sorts, 
 and  until  within  comparatively  recent  years  fled 
 from  every  danger  of  "lionizing."  When  he 
 was  at  last  forced  to  submit  to  the  popular  de- 
 mand and  appear  as  the  chief  figure  on  occasions 
 of  social  importance,  he  used  to  surprise  all  ob- 
 servers by  the  diffidence  with  which  he  met  the 
 well-intended  but  often  effusive  advances  of 
 strangers,  and  the  joy  he  would  manifest  at  com- 
 ing again  into  the  narrow  circle  of  personal 
 friendship  and  out  of  the  noise  of  the  crowd. 
 
 In  1864,  the  Century  Club,  of  which  he  was 
 one  of  the  earliest  members,  celebrated  the  seven- 
 tieth anniversary  of  his  birth  with  a  festival,  the 
 proceedings  of  which  were  published  in  a  little 
 volume.  In  1874,  the  entire  press  of  the  country 
 united  with  the  citizens  of  New  York  in  another 
 birthday  celebration,  whose  chief  outcome  was 
 the  presentation  to  the  aged  poet,  two  years  af- 
 terward, of  a  beautiful  silver  vase,  now  in  the 
 possession  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art. 
 
 On  these  occasions  were  quoted  b}^  many  a 
 tongue  and  pen  the  well-known  lines  of  Halleck's, 
 as  beautifully  true  to-day  as  when  their  author 
 first  committed  them  to  paper  : 
 
 "  Bryant,  whose  songs  are  tboughte  that  bless 
 The  heart— its  teacher  and  its  Joy, 
 
 As  Mothers  blend  with  their  caress 
 
 Lessons  of  truth  and  gentleness 
 
 And  virtue  for  the  listening  boy. 
 
 Spring's  lovelier  flowers  for  many  a  day 
 
 Have  blossomed  on  his  wandering  way, 
 
 Beings  of  beauty  and  decay. 
 
 Thev  slumber  in  their  autumn  tomb; 
 
 But  those  that  gra(;ed  his  own  Green  River 
 And  wreathed  the  lattice  of  his  home, 
 Charmed  by  his  song  from  mortal  doom, 
 
 Bloom  on,  and  will  bloom  on  forever." 
 
THE  MAN  OF  LETTERS. 
 
 By  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 
 
 I. 
 
 The  general  pause  and  hush,  in  this  reanimate 
 season,  show  us  how  deep  and  positive  is  the 
 feeling  created  by  the  loss  of  such  a  man  as 
 William  Cullen  Bryant.  Not  a  feeling  of  unex- 
 pectedness, though  it  well  might  be — for  so  live 
 and  free  from  decrepitude  his  old  age  has  seemed, 
 that  we  thought  a  deity  more  potent  than  Aurora 
 had  bestowed  upon  him  the  gift  of  immortality 
 without  decay.  Not  of  sorrow,  for  he  lived  be- 
 yond the  usual  range  of  life,  and  long  has  been 
 among  us  like  one  already  transfigured.  Not  the 
 feeling  which  arises  when  some  man  of  rank, 
 office,  entanglement  in  great  affairs,  suddenly  has 
 passed  away ;  no  vast  disturbance  in  matters  of 
 national  or  civic  moment  is  caused  by  his  de- 
 parture, nor  of  this  could  it  be  said  that  we  found 
 our  lares  shivered  on  the  hearth. — 
 "  The  roof-tree  fallen,— all 
 That  could  affright,  appall  1" 
 
 Yet  the  position  of  Bryant  was  absolutely 
 unique,  and  his  loss  is  something  strange  and 
 positive.  No  other  man  could  die  for  whose 
 sake  might  be  revived  so  aptly  that  Indian  meta- 
 phor of  the  sound  of  the  fall  of  a  great  oak  in  the 
 still  forest.  He  stood  alone ;  in  some  respects  an 
 incomparable  figure.  He  grew  to  be  not  only  a 
 citizen,  journalist,  thinker,  poet,  but  the  beautiful, 
 serene,  majestic  ideal  of  a  good  and  venerable 
 man.  The  purpose  of  this  article  is  to  seek  for 
 a  general  estimate  of  his  literary  character  and 
 services.  "With  these,  and  the  acts  of  his  life,  the 
 public  is  familiar  as  with  the  pictures  of  an  open 
 
 gallery.  A  hundred  pens  are  transcribing  the 
 record.  His  countrymen  long  have  delighted  to 
 honor  him,  one  and  all.  But  every  life,  grand  or 
 little,  has  in  the  end  a  meaning,  an  essential 
 quality  of  its  own.  To  discover  this,  with  the 
 passing  of  such  a  writer  as  Bryant,  the  offices  of 
 the  critic  are  called  forthwith  into  service.  He 
 is  at  his  post,  and  of  counsel  for  the  inheritors  ; 
 since,  when  poets  and  thiakers  die,  they,  like  the 
 Caesars,  make  the  people  at  large  their  heirs. 
 
 And  in  the  present  exercise  of  his  office,  the 
 critic,  however  sudden  the  call,  well  may  be  more 
 clear  and  settled  in  judgment  than  when  regard- 
 ing others  whose  work  was  long  since  ended.  For 
 the  writer  we  now  mourn  has  been  before  the 
 world  from  a  time  near  the  beginning  of  the  cen- 
 tury, and  so  changeless  through  all  changes  that 
 in  estimating  the  poet  just  dead  we  really  are 
 judging  the  poet  of  fifty  years  ago,  and  scarcely 
 are  attempting  to  forecast  the  verdict  of  time 
 upon  his  gift  and  its  manifestations. 
 
 II. 
 
 Howsoever  this  and  that  writer  may  differ  be- 
 tween themselves  as  to  the  measure  of  Bryant's 
 faculties,  and  of  Bryant  the  man,  one  thing  is 
 sure: — no  ordinary  personage  can  gain  and  re- 
 tain to  the  last  so  extraordinary  a  hold  upon 
 human  interest,  affection,  reverential  esteem. 
 Others,  endowed  with  length  of  years,  have  had 
 their  rise  and  decline,  outlasting  themselves,  and 
 finding  occasion  to  declare  with  Cato  Major,  "  It 
 is  a  hard  thing,  Romans,  to  render  an  account 
 before  the  men  of  a  period  different  from  that  in 
 
28 
 
 which  one  has  lived  !"  But  here  was  one  who, 
 by  that  subtle  process  through  which  certain  men 
 come  at  the  end  even  more  fully  to  their  own, 
 steadily  grew  to  be  the  individual  emblem  of  our 
 finest  order  of  citizensliip,  possibly  its  rarest  and 
 most  acceptable  t3'pe.  This,  as  constantly  was 
 evident,  became  impressed  even  upon  coarse  and 
 ordinary  persons,  singly  or  associated  in  office, — 
 scarcely  judges,  one  would  think,  of  such  a  mat- 
 ter, but  accepting  without  cavil  the  popular  con- 
 ception and  the  estimate  of  the  thoughtful  and 
 refined. 
 
 Now,  there  is  sound  reasoning  at  the  base  of 
 every  sustained  opinion  of  this  sort.  What 
 thing  gave  Bryant  just  this  shade  of  special  emi- 
 nence ?  Not  alone  that  he  was  a  wise,  good, 
 virtuous  man  ;  not  that  he  was  a  patriot,  in  the 
 deepest  and  broadest  sense ;  not  that  he  was  a 
 journalist,  however  strong  and  notable ;  not 
 merely  that  he  was  a  clear  and  vigorous  writer  or 
 original  sayer  and  thinker ;  nor  even  because  he 
 was  a  serene  and  reverend  old  man,  most  sound 
 of  body  and  mind.  True  he  was  all  these,  and 
 in  their  combination  occupied  a  rank  excelled  by 
 none  and  attained  only  by  the  excepted  few.  But 
 be3'ond  and  including  all  these  he  was  a  poet. 
 To  the  lasting  praise  and  glory  of  the  art  of 
 song  it  may  be  said  that  being  an  American  of 
 those  distinguished  attributes,  the  superaddition 
 of  the  poetic  gift  made  him  a  bright  particular 
 star.  Above  all,  then,  it  is  as  a  poet  that  we 
 should  observe  and  estimate  him.  In  what  did 
 the  quality  and  limitations  of  his  poetic  genius 
 consist  ? 
 
 Yet  again,  in  order  justly  to  answer  this  ques- 
 tion, he  must  be  studied  not  only  as  an  American 
 poet  who  represents  his  country  and  his  time, 
 but  as  a  man  who  represents  himself.  With  re- 
 spect to  the  former,  he  cannot  but  represent 
 tliem.  But  the  critic  is  wrong  who  asserts  that 
 a  poet  can  do  no  more.  He  can  mould  them, 
 certainly  can  anticipate  them  and  even  prophesy 
 of  their  future ;  furthermore,  he  may  express  his 
 own  nature  and  originality  in  a  way  differing 
 from  theirs,  in  some  fashion  to  which  they  have 
 not  yet  attained. 
 
 And  in  this  wise  first  seeking  a  key  to  his 
 poetic  value,  we  say  that  he  had  grown  to  be  a 
 most  satisfying  type  of  our  ideal  citizen,  joining 
 
 for  us  the  traditional  gravity,  purity  and  patri- 
 otic wisdom  of  the  forefathers  with  the  modern- 
 ness  and  freshness  of  our  own  day.  His  life, 
 public  and  private,  was  in  exact  keeping  with 
 his  speech  and  writings.  We  often  say  of  a  poet 
 or  artist  that  he  should  not  be  judged  like  other 
 men  by  his  outward  irrelevant  mark  or  habitude; 
 that  to  see  his  best,  his  truest  self,  you  must  read 
 his  poem  or  study  his  paintings.  But  in  reading 
 Br3'ant's  prose  and  verse,  and  in  observing  the 
 poet  himself,  our  judgments  were  the  same.  Al- 
 ways he  held  in  view  liberty,  law,  wisdom,  piety, 
 faith  ;  his  sentiment  was  unsentimental ;  he  never 
 whined  or  found  fault  with  condition  or  nature ; 
 he  was  virile  but  not  tyrannical ;  frugal,  but  not 
 too  severe  ;  grave,  yet  full  of  shrewd  and  kindly 
 humor.  Absolute  simplicity  characterized  him. 
 Ethics  were  always  in  sight.  He  was  a  stoic  in 
 the  generous,  Christian  meaning  of  the  term,  his 
 bearing  in  our  modern  life  being  somewhat  com- 
 parable to  that  of  Antoninus  in  the  antique.  He 
 was,  indeed,  an  "  old  man  for  counsel ;"  what  he 
 learned  in  youth  from  the  lives  and  precepts  of 
 Washington,  Hamilton  and  their  compeers,  that 
 he  taught  and  practised  to  the  last.  His  intel- 
 lectual faculties,  like  his  physical,  were  balanced 
 to  the  discreetest  level,  and  this  without  abasing 
 his  poetic  fire.  His  genius  was  not  shown  by  the 
 advance  of  one  faculty  and  the  impediment  of 
 others  ;  it  was  the  spirit  of  an  even  combination, 
 and  a  fine  one. 
 
 It  seemed  as  if  it  was  with  a  gracious  and  in- 
 stinctive sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  that  he 
 latterly  bore  his  picturesque  and  stately  part  in 
 the  festivals  and  processions  of  our  social  life. 
 To  this  extent  he  was  conventional,  but  he 
 made  conventionalism  itself  imaginaJve  and  the 
 renewer  of  thought  and  art. 
 
 III. 
 
 Here,  then,  has  gone  from  us  a  minstrel  who, 
 in  appearance,  more  than  others  of  a  strictly 
 lyrical  genius,  was  the  very  semblance  of  the 
 legendary  bard  of  Gray : 
 
 "The  poet  stood 
 (Loose  his  beard  and  hoary  hair 
 Streamed,  like  a  meteor,  to  the  troubled  air), 
 And  with  a  master's  hand  and  prophet's  fire. 
 Struck  the  deep  sorrows  of  his  lyre  !" 
 
29 
 
 Look  at  the  extent  of  the  period  through  which 
 he  flourished.  He  began  in  the  early  springtime 
 of  Wordsworth,  and  long  outlived  new  men  like 
 Baudelaire  and  Poe.  The  various  epochs  of  his 
 career  do  not  affect  this  examination  of  its  pro- 
 duct, which,  after  his  escape  from  the  manner  of 
 Pope,  was  of  an  even  quality  during  seventy 
 years.  In  this  he  was  fortunate  and  unfortunate. 
 The  former,  because  his  early  pieces  were  so 
 noteworthy  that,  in  the  dearth  of  A.merican 
 poetry,  they  at  once  became  home  classics  for  a 
 homely  people  ;  they  passed  into  the  few  school 
 readers  then  compiled,  and  one  generation  after 
 another  learned  them  admiringly  by  heart.  At 
 this  time,  even  though  composed  in  the  latter- 
 day  fashion  and  of  equal  merit  with  Bryant's,  an 
 author's  pieces  might  not  obtain  for  him  such 
 recognition  of  fame.  But  his  genius,  owing  to 
 this  otherwise  good  fortune,  worked  under  re- 
 strictions from  which  it  never  was  measurably 
 freed.  These  we  presently  shall  consider.  Mean- 
 time it  again  may  be  noted  that  his  poetic  career 
 had  neither  rise,  height,  nor  decline.  He  formed 
 certain  methods  wholly  natural  to  him  in  early 
 youth,  and  was  at  once  as  admirable  a  poet  as 
 he  ever  afterwards  became.  Throughout  his 
 prolonged  term  of  life  he  sang  without  haste  or 
 effort  and  always  expressed  himself  rather  than 
 the  varying  theories  of  the  time. 
 
 From  the  outset  he  was  in  full  sympathy  with 
 the  aspect,  feeling  and  aspirations  of  his  own 
 land  and  people.  His  tendency  and  manner  were 
 determined  during  the  idyllic  period  of  this  Re- 
 public, when  nature,  and  the  thoughts  which  she 
 suggested,  were  themes  for  poets,  rather  than  the 
 dramatic  relations  of  man  with  man.  His  senti- 
 ment was  afi'ected  by  the  meditative  verse  of 
 Cowper  and  "Wordsworth,  who  rose  above  didac- 
 ticism, or  made  it  etherial  and  imaginative  by 
 rare  poetic  insight.  Emerson  said  of  Bryant, 
 when  the  Century  Association  met  to  celebrate 
 the  latter's  seventieth  year,  "  This  native,  origi- 
 nal, patriotic  poet.  I  say  original :  I  have  heard 
 liim  charged  with  being  of  a  certain  school ;  I 
 heard  it  with  surprise,  and  asked,  what  school  ? 
 For  he  never  reminded  me  of  Goldsmith,  or  Words- 
 worth, or  Byron,  or  Moore.  I  found  him  always 
 a  true  painter  of  the  face  of  this  country,  and  of 
 the  sentiments  of  his  own  people."     This  is  finely 
 
 said,  and  in  a  sense  true  ;  yet  there  can  be  little 
 doubt  that  in  some  respects  Wordsworth  was  the 
 master  of  his  youth.  All  pupils  must  acknowl- 
 edge masters  at  the  beginning,  but  Murillo  was 
 Murillo  none  the  less,  although  he  ground  colors 
 for  Castillo  and  studied  with  Velasquez.  Bryant, 
 it  is  true,  ground  his  colors  in  the  open  air.  His 
 originality  consisted  in  deriving  from  his  studies 
 a  method  natural  to  his  own  genius  and  condi- 
 tion. And  it  is  of  interest  to  recall  that  the  elder 
 Dana  describes  him  as  saying  that,  "  upon  open- 
 ing Wordsworth,  a  thousand  springs  seemed  to 
 gush  up  at  once  in  his  heart,  and  the  face  of  Na- 
 ture of  a  sudden  to  change  into  a  strange  fresh- 
 ness and  life."  Certainly  he  was  not  cradled  into 
 poetry  by  wrong,  nor  perturbed  by  the  wild  and 
 morbid  passions  of  a  wayward  youth.  We  can 
 imagine  him  a  serious  and  meditative  lad,  direct- 
 ed by  the  guidance  of  a  scholarly  father,  well 
 versed  in  the  favorite  poets  of  that  day.  Pope, 
 Thomson,  Akenside,  Cowper — and  at  first  accept- 
 ing them  as  models ;  finally,  obtaining  for  him- 
 self the  clues  to  a  true  perception  of  nature,  and 
 with  his  soul  suddenly  exalted  by  a  sense  of  her 
 "  something  far  more  deeply  interfused." 
 
 His  blood  was  stirred  by  the  landscape, 
 throughout  the  changing  year,  of  the  pastoral 
 region  of  Massachusetts  in  which  he  had  his 
 growth.  Three  of  Hugo's  works  illustrate  the 
 three  grand  conflicts  by  which  man  progress- 
 es to  his  enfranchisement — conflicts  with  na- 
 ture, tyranny  and  society.  From  the  second 
 of  these  opponents  our  fathers  fled  to  a  new 
 continent,  choosing  to  found  a  nationality,  and 
 entering  upon  that  primeval  conflict  with  nature 
 which  to  an  already  civilized  people  is  not 
 without  its  compensation.  It  results,  like  a  quar- 
 rel between  generous  lovers,  with  a  betrothal  of 
 the  one  to  the  other,  and  of  such  an  alliance 
 Bryant  was  our  high-priest.  The  delights  of 
 nature,  and  the  awe  and  mystery  of  life  and 
 death,  withdrew  him  from  the  study  of  the  indi- 
 vidual world.  Thus  he  became  a  philosophic 
 minstrel  of  the  woods  and  waters,  the  foremost 
 of  American  landscape-poets.  In  the  contact 
 with  primeval  nature,  man  signalizes  his  victories 
 by  educating  and  rendering  more  beautiful  his 
 captive ;  she,  in  turn,  gains  a  potent  influence 
 over  him,  for  a  long  while  driving  her  rivals  from 
 
30 
 
 his  heart,  and  compels  him  in  his  art  and  song  to 
 express  her  features  and  her  inspiration.  There- 
 fore the  first  enduring  American  school  of  paint- 
 ing was  a  landscape  school,  and  only  at  this 
 moment  are  we  groping  our  way  to  an  idyllic, 
 then  to  a  more  dramatic,  method  in  art. 
 
 There  is  a  sweet  analogy  between  the  poetry 
 of  Bryant  and  the  broad,  cool  canvas  of  the 
 founders  of  our  landscape  school — the  works  of 
 Durand,  Cole,  Kensett,  Inness,  various  as  they 
 may  be  in  depth,  tranquility,  or  imaginative 
 power — such  a  harmony  as  exists  between  the 
 soil,  the  climate,  the  fauna  and  the  flora  of  an 
 isothermal  zone.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
 Bryant,  who  at  once  became  eminent  in  his 
 special  walk,  therein  has  excelled,  has  outlasted, 
 and  will  outlast,  all  his  compeers  and  follow- 
 ers. Others  group  together  details,  compose 
 with  true  enthusiasm,  but  are  deficient  in  tone, 
 sentiment,  imaginative  receptivity.  Tone  is  the 
 one  thing  needful  to  a  true  interpretation  of 
 nature.  Thoreau  felt  this  when  he  wrote  in  his 
 diary:  "  I  have  just  heard  the  flicker  among  the 
 oaks  on  the  hillside  ushering  in  a  new  dynasty. 
 *  *  Eternity  could  not  begin  with  more  se- 
 curity and  momentousness  than  the  Spring.  All 
 sights  and  sounds  are  seen  and  heard  both  in  time 
 and  eternity ;  and  when  the  eternity  of  any 
 sight  or  sound  strikes  the  eye  and  ear,  they  are 
 intoxicated  with  deliglit.  *  *  *  It  is  not  im- 
 portant thai  the  poet  should  say  some  par-ticular 
 thing,  hut  that  Ice  should  speak  in  harmony  with 
 nature.  The  tone  and  pitch  of  his  voice  is  the 
 main  thing."  It  is  true  that  Bryant  is,  in  one 
 respect,  unmodern.  Thoreau,  despite  his  own 
 language,  caught  and  observed  every  detail. 
 Our  poet's  learning  was  not  scientific ;  he  lacked 
 the  minor  vision  which,  an  added  gift,  makes 
 Tennyson  and  others  give  such  charm  and 
 variety  to  their  work.  The  ancients  knew  fewer 
 colors  than  ourselves.  Byron,  among  moderns, 
 painted  nature  in  her  simple,  broad  manifesta- 
 tions— the  sea,  the  mountains,  the  sky — subor- 
 dinating her  spirit  to  his  own  passion,  as  Bryant 
 allies  it  with  his  own  tenderness  and  wisdom, — 
 but  even  he  was  not  her  poet  in  the  delicate,  mi- 
 crocosmic,  recent  sense.  Both  certainly  lacked 
 the  exact  cleverness  and  infinite  variety  of  the 
 new   school.    Bryant  regarded  nature  in  its  phe- 
 
 nomenal aspect,  careless  of  scientific  realities. 
 What  he  gained  in  this  wise  was  the  absence  of 
 disillusionizing  fact,  and  a  fuller  understanding 
 of  the  language  of  nature's  "  visible  forms ; " 
 what  he  lost  was  the  wide  and  various  range 
 opened  by  the  endless  avenues  of  new-found 
 truth. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And  right  here  it  is  well  for  us  to  observe  the 
 limitations  of  his  genius  as  a  poet:  limitations 
 so  well-defined  as  to  be  a  stumbling-block  in  the 
 way  of  those  who  lightly  examine  it,  and  some- 
 times to  have  thrown  him  out  of  the  sympathetic 
 range  of  elegant  and  impartial  minds.  His 
 longevity  was  not  allied  with  intellectual  quick- 
 ness and  fertility,  but  seemed  almost  to  be 
 the  physiological  result  of  inborn  slow- 
 ness and  deliberation.  He  was  not  flexible, 
 facile  of  ear  and  voice.  He  con- 
 sorted with  nature  in  its  still  or  majestic 
 moods,  and  derived  wisdom  and  refreshment  from 
 its  tenderness  and  calm.  His  genius,  as  express- 
 ed by  its  product,  was  not  affluent,  and  scarcely 
 availed  itself  of  his  length  of  years.  His  reticence 
 in  verse  seemed  habitual.  In  old  age,  poets  are 
 apt  to  write  the  most,  and  often  to  the  least  ad- 
 vantage, but  his  pen  through  much  of  this  period 
 was  chiefly  devoted  to  translation.  How  little 
 of  his  own  poetry  he  produced  in  seventy  years  ! 
 A  few  thin  volumes.  Think  of  Milton,  Landor, 
 Wordsworth,  Tennj^son,  Hugo,  Longfellow — of 
 the  impetuous  work  of  Scott  and  Byron — of  what 
 Shelley,  who  gave  himself  to  song,  accomplished 
 before  he  died  at  twent3'-nine,  Bryant  was 
 thought  to  be  cold,  if  not  severe,  of  temperament. 
 The  most  fervent  social  passions  of  his  song  are 
 those  of  friendship,  of  filial  and  fraternal  love ; 
 his  intellectual  passion  is  always  under  re- 
 straint, even  when  moved  by  patriotism, 
 liberty,  religious  faith.  There  is  still  less 
 of  action  and  dramatic  quality  in  his  verse. 
 Humor,  the  overflow  of  strength,  is  almost 
 absent  from  it,  or,  when  present,  sufficiently 
 awkward ;  yet  it  should  be  noted  that  in  conver- 
 sation, or  in  the  after-dinner  talks  and  speeches 
 so  frequent  in  his  later  years,  his  humor  was 
 continuous  and  charming — full  of  kindl}^  gossip, 
 wisdom  and  mirth.  He  made,  as  we  have  seen, 
 little    advance    upon  the   early   standard  of  his 
 
81 
 
 work.  It  would  seem  as  if,  under  the  lessons  of 
 a  father,  "  who  taught  him  the  value  of  correct- 
 ness and  compression,  and  enabled  him  to  dis- 
 tinguish between  poetic  enthusiasm  and  fustian,'" 
 he  there  and  then  matured,  reached  a  certain 
 point,  and  became  set  and  stationary.  There  are 
 few  notable  expressions  and  separable  lines  in 
 his  poetry.  Finally,  it  has  been  observed  that 
 his  diction,  when  not  confined  to  that  Saxon  Eng- 
 lish at  every  man's  use,  is  somewhat  bald  and 
 didactic, — always  admirable  and  sententious,  but 
 less  frequently  rich  and  full.  He  had  a  limited 
 vocabulary  at  command  ;  I  should  think  that  no 
 modern  poet,  approaching  him  in  fame,  has  made 
 use  of  fewer  words.  His  range  is  like  that  of 
 Goldsmith,  restricted  to  the  simpler  phrases  of 
 our  tongue.  Other  poets,  of  an  equally  pure  dic- 
 tion, show  here  and  there,  by  rare  and  fine  words, 
 the  extent  of  their  unused  resources,  and  that 
 they  voluntarily  confine  themselves  to  "  the 
 strength  of  the  positive  degree." 
 
 In  the  face  of  all  this,  Bryant's  poetry  has  had, 
 and  will  continue  to  have,  a  lasting  charm  for 
 many  of  the  noblest  minds.  Since  this  is  not 
 due  to  his  length  of  years — for  he  is  not  alone  in 
 that  possession — nor  to  richness  of  detail  and 
 imagery — nor  because,  like  Whittier,  he  has 
 adapted  himself  to  successive  changes  of  thought 
 and  diction, — how  is  it  that  his  genius  triumphs 
 over  its  confessed  limitations  ?  To  understand 
 this,  his  poetry  must  be  judged  as  a  whole,  and 
 not  by  its  affluence  or  flexibility ;  and  it  is,  we 
 say,  eminently  of  that  kind  which  must  be 
 studied  in  connection  with  its  author's  surround- 
 ings and  career. 
 
 Be  it  again  remembered,  that  he  was  the  crea- 
 ture of  our  early  period.  He  did  not  give  him- 
 self to  poetry,  but  added  poetry  to  his  allotted  life 
 and  habitude.  The  reverse  of  this,  only,  can 
 make  the  greatest  poet.  Art  is  a  jealous  mistress. 
 His  lack  of  devotion  to  her  was  the  fault  of  his 
 time,  and  of  circumstances  which  decided  his 
 course  in  life.  To  him  the  parting  of  the  ways 
 came  early  ;  and  what  was  there  in  our  literary 
 atmosphere  and  opportunities,  sixty  years  ago, 
 to  make  a  poet  for  life  of  any  thorough-trained, 
 aspiring  and  resolute  man  ?    The  nation  called 
 
 for  workers,  journalists,  practical  teachers.  If, 
 after  accomplishing  their  daily  tasks,  they  found 
 time  to  sing  a  song,  it  thanked  them  and  did  lit- 
 tle more.  Poetry  was  the  surplusage  of  Bryant's 
 labors,  or,  more  likely,  their  restoring  comple- 
 ment. Possibly,  the  beauty  of  his  rarest  nature 
 would  not  have  expressed  itself  in  song  but  for 
 the  influence  of  those  early  readings  under  a  dis- 
 cerning father's  care.  Otherwise,  though  he  could 
 not  have  failed  to  become  a  writer,  as  a  poet  he 
 might  have  been  one  of  those  mute  oracles  whose 
 lot  was  mourned  by  Wordsworth : 
 
 "  OL  !  many  are  the  poets  that  are  80wn 
 By  Nature  ;  men  endowed  with  highest  gifts. 
 The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine  ; 
 Yet  wanting  the  accomplishment  of  verse, 
 Which,  in  the  docile  season  of  their  youth, 
 It  was  denied  them  to  acquire." 
 
 But  read  "  The  Evening  Wind,"  see  him  in  his 
 most  spontaneous  mood,  and  you  feel  that,  once 
 having  learned  the  art  of  verse^  all  the  poet  within 
 him  thereafter  must  break  out  from  time  to  time 
 in  song.  He  did  not  hoard  his  reputation.  But 
 his  passion  and  tenderness  did  not  so  readily  force 
 him  to  metrical  expression  as  a  feebler  amount 
 of  either  forces  many  a  lesser  but  more  facile 
 singer  trained  in  a  less  rude  and  unpoetic  age. 
 
 On  the  other  hand,  he  never,  by  any  chance, 
 afi"ected  passion  or  set  himself  to  artificial  song. 
 He  had  the  triple  gift  of  Athene,  "  self-reverence, 
 self-knowledge,  self-control."  He  was  incapable 
 of  afi"ecting  raptures  that  he  did  not  feel,  and  this 
 places  him  far  above  a  host  of  singers  who,  with- 
 out knowing  it,  hunt  for  themes  and  make  poetry 
 little  better  than  a  trade.  As  for  his  diction,  he 
 began  when  there  was  no  feast  of  Pentecost  with 
 its  gift  of  tongues.  I  think  that  the  available 
 portion  of  a  poet's  vocabulary  is  that  which  he 
 acquires  in  youth,  during  his  formative  period. 
 Is  it  harder  for  an  adult  to  learn  a  foreign  lan- 
 guage than  to  enlarge  greatly  his  native  range  of 
 words,  and  have  them  at  every-day  command  ? 
 Bryant's  early  reading  was  before  the  great  revi- 
 val which  brought  into  use  the  romance-words  of 
 Chaucer,  Spencer,  and  the  Elizabethan  age.  It  was 
 chiefly  derived  from  the  poorest,  if  the  smoothest, 
 English  period — that  which  began  with  Pope  and 
 ended  with  Cowper.  The  possibilities  of  a  wider 
 training  are  visible  in  Tennyson,  who  had  Keats 
 
32 
 
 and  Shelley  for  his  predecessors  ;  not  to  consider    | 
 Swinburne,  who,  above  his  supernatural  gifts  of 
 rhj'thm  and  language,  owes  much  to  his  youthful 
 explorations  in   classic  and  continental  tongues. 
 No  doubt  Brj-ant's  models  confirmed  his  natural 
 restrictions  of  speech.  But  even  its  narrow  range 
 has  made  his  poetry  strong  and  pure ;  and  now, 
 when  expression  has  been  carried  to  its  extreme, 
 it  is  an  occasional  relief  to  recur  to  the  clearness, 
 to  the  exact  appreciation  of  words,  discoverable 
 in  every  portion  of  his  verse  and  prose.     It  is    i 
 like  a  return  from  a  florid  renaissance  to  the  ear- 
 liest antique ;  and  indeed  there  was  something    ! 
 Doric  in  Bryant's  nature.     His  diction,  like  his 
 thought,  often  refreshes  us  as  the  shadow  of  a 
 great  rock  in  a  weary  land.  He  refused  to  depart 
 from  what  seemed  to  him  the  natural  order  of 
 English  verse,  that  order  which  comes  to  the  lips 
 of  childhood,  and  is  not  foreign  to  any  life  or 
 age.     The   thought  was  like  the   measure,  that 
 which  was  old  with  the  fathers,  and  is  young  in    j 
 our  own  time,  the  pure  philosophy  of  nature's    i 
 lessons.     Give  his  poems  a  study,  and  their  sim- 
 plicity is  their  charm.     How  easy  it  seems  to    | 
 write  those  natural  lines  !     Yet  it  is  harder  than    i 
 to  catch   a   hundred  fantastic  touches  of  word-    | 
 painting   and   dexterous  sound.     He  never  was 
 obscure,  because  he  dared  not  and  would  not  go 
 beyond  his  proper  sight  and  knowledge,  and  this 
 was  the  safeguard  of  his  poetry,  his  prose,  and 
 of  his  almost  blameless  life.  ! 
 
 His  work  is  the  reverse  of  "art  for  art's 
 sake," — which  too  often  bears  to  "art  for  ex- 
 pression's sake"  the  relation  of  "literary  paint- 
 ing" to  the  painting  which  is  executed  with  a 
 master  hand  and  eye.  Verse,  to  Bryant,  was 
 the  outflow  of  his  deepest  emotions ;  a  severe 
 taste  and  discreet  temperament  made  him  avoid 
 the  study  of  decoration.  Thus,  he  was  always 
 direct  and  intelligible,  and  appealed  to  the  com- 
 mon people  as  strongly  as  to  the  select  few. 
 I  have  compared  him  to  our  stately  men  of  an 
 older  time.  Among  others,  Webster  might  be 
 mentioned  as  one  whose  mood  and  rhetoric  are 
 in  keeping  with  the  poetry  of  Bryant.  Like 
 Webster,  our  poet  always  selected  the  leading, 
 essential  thought,  and  brushed  the  rest  aside. 
 This  he  put  in  with  a  firm  and  glowing  touch. 
 Many  have  thought  the  works  of  both  the  states- 
 
 man and  the  poet  conventional,  but  to  all  simple 
 and  essential  truth  and  diction,  the  adjective 
 might  be  brought  to  apply.  Adopting  Arnold's 
 distinction,  we  see  that  Bryant's  simplicity  was  not 
 simpleaae,  but,  simplicite.  Everett  pointed  to  the 
 fact,  that  poetry,  at  its  best,  is  "  easily  intelli- 
 gible, touching  the  finest  chords  of  taste  and 
 feeling,  but  never  striving  at  eff"ect.  This  is  the 
 highest  merit  in  every  department  of  literature, 
 and  in  poetry  it  is  well  called  inspiration.  Sur- 
 prise, conceit,  strange  combinations  of  imagery 
 and  expression,  may  be  successfully  managed, 
 but  it  is  merit  of  an  inferior  kind.  The  beautiful, 
 pathetic  and  sublime,  are  always  simple  and  nat- 
 ural, and  marked  by  a  certain  serene  uncon- 
 sciousness of  effort."  "  This,"  he  added,  "  is 
 the  character  of  Mr.  Bryant's  poetry." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Let  us  again,  then,  observe  its  forms  and 
 themes,  and  discover  clues  to  the  essential  quali- 
 ty of  the  genius  which  idealized  them.  Bryant's 
 chosen  measures  were  very  few  and  simple.  Two 
 were  special  favorites,  most  frequently  used  for  his 
 pictures  of  nature  and  his  meditations  on  the  soul 
 of  things,  and  in  their  use  he  was  a  master. 
 
 One  is  the  iambic-quatrain,  in  octo-syllabic 
 verse,  of  which  the  familiar  stanza,  "  Truth 
 crushed  to  earth  will  rise  again,"  may  be  recalled 
 as  a  specimen.  Many  of  his  best  modern  pieces  are 
 composed  in  this  measure,  so  evenly  and  firmly 
 that  the  slightest  change  would  mar  their  sound 
 and  flow.  "  A  Day  Dream,"  written  in  the  poet's 
 old  age,  is  perfect  of  its  kind,  and  may  rank  with 
 Collins's  nonpareil,  "  To  fair  Fidele's  Grassy 
 Tomb."     Witness  such  stanzas  as  these  : 
 
 ««  I  sat  and  watched  the  eternal  flow 
 
 Of  those  smooth  billows  toward  the  shore, 
 While  quivering  lines  of  light  below 
 Ran  with  them  on  the  ocean-flow." 
 
 *  *  *  * 
 
 ••  Then  moved  their  coral  lips  ;  a  strain 
 Low,  sweet,  and  sorrowful,  I  heard, 
 As  if  the  murmurs  of  its  main 
 Were  shaped  to  syllable  and  word." 
 
 His  variations  upon  the  iambic  quatrain,  as  in 
 the  celebrated  poems,  "To  a  Waterfowl,"  and 
 "  The  Past,"  are  equally  successful.  The  second 
 of  the  poems  referred  to  is  that  blank-verse  in 
 which    his   supremacy  always   was   recognized. 
 
33 
 
 Several  distinct  phases  of  our  grandest  English 
 measure  have  been  observed  in  literature.  1. 
 The  Elizabethan,  free  and  current,  matchless  for 
 dramatic  verse;  2.  The  Miltonic,  or  Anglo-Epic, 
 in  which  Latin  words  and  sonorous  pauses  and 
 inversions  are  so  frequent ;  3.  The  Reflective,  of 
 w^hich  Wordsworth,  succeeding  the  didacticians, 
 held  unquestioned  control ;  4.  That  of  Tennyson, 
 by  turns  epic  and  idyllic,  combining  Saxon 
 strength  and  sweetness  with  a  Greek  heroic 
 quality.  Bryant's  blank-verse  may  be  numbered 
 with  the  third  of  these  classes,  but  from  the 
 outset  was  marked  by  a  quality  unquestionably 
 his  own.  The  essence  of  its  cadence,  pauses, 
 rhythm,  should  be  termed  American,  and  it  is 
 the  best  ever  written  in  the  new  world.  Blank- 
 verse  is  the  easiest  and  the  most  difficult  of  all 
 measures  ;  the  poorest  in  poor  hands ;  the  finest, 
 when  written  by  a  true  poet.  Whoever  essays 
 it  is  a  poet  disrobed;  he  must  rely  upon  his 
 natural  gifts,  his  defects  cannot  be  hidden.  But 
 in  this  measure  Bryant  was  at  his  height,  and 
 owes  to  it  the  most  enduring  portion  of  his  fame. 
 However  narrow  his  range,  we  must  own  that  he 
 was  first  in  the  first.  He  reached  the  upper  air 
 at  once  in  "  Thanatopsis,"  and  again  and  again, 
 though  none  too  frequently, he  renewed  his  flights, 
 and,  like  his  own  waterfowl,  "  pursued  his  solitary 
 way." 
 
 The  finest  and  most  sustained  of  his  poems  of 
 nature  are  those  written  in  blank  verse.  At  in- 
 tervals, so  rare  throughout  his  life  as  to  resemble 
 the  seven-year  harvests,  or  the  occasional  wave 
 that  overtops  the  rest,  he  composed  a  series  of 
 those  pieces  which  now  form  a  unique  panorama 
 of  nature's  aspects,  moving  to  the  music  of  lofty 
 thoughts  and  melodious  words.  Such  are  "  A 
 Winter  Piece,"  the  "  Inscription  for  the  Entrance 
 to  a  Wood,"  "A  Forest  Hymn,"  "  Summer  Wind," 
 "  The  Prairies,"  "  The  Fountain,"  "  Hymn  of  the 
 Sea,"  '"A  Rain-Dream ;"  also  a  few  written  late  in 
 life,  showing  that  the  eye  of  the  author  of 
 "Thanatopsis"  had  not  been  dimmed  nor  his 
 natural  force  abated, — these  are  "The  Con- 
 stellations, "  The  Night  Journey  of  a  River,"  and 
 "  Among  the  Trees."  In  all  the  treatment  is 
 large  and  ennobling,  and  distinctly  marks  each 
 as  Bryant's.  The  method,  that  of  invocation, 
 somewhat  resembles  the  manner   of  Coleridge's 
 
 I  "  Hymn  to  Mont  Blanc ;"  when  in  a  less  enrap- 
 tured strain,  they  exhibit  repose,  feeling,  wise 
 and  reverent  thought. 
 
 In  the  same  eloquent,  sonorous  verse,  and  with 
 like  caesural  pauses  and  inflections,  we  find  his 
 more  purely  meditative  poems,  upon  an  equal  or 
 still  higher  plane  of  feeling.  "  Thanatopsis," 
 the  "  Hymn  to  Death,"  "  Earth,"  "  An  Evening 
 Revery,"  "The  Antiquity  of  Freedom,"  and  one 
 of  his  latest  and  longest,  "  The  Flood  of  Years," 
 Yet,  in  both  his  reflective  verse  and  that  devoted 
 to  nature,  he  often  employed  lyrical  measures 
 with  equal  excellence ;  as  in  the  breezy,  ex- 
 quisite poem  on  * '  Life,"  "  The  Battle  Field," 
 "The  Future  Life,  aod  "The  Conqueror's 
 Grave" — the  latter  one  of  his  most  elevating 
 pieces.  Especially  in  his  lyrics  he  seemed 
 like  a  wind-harp  yielding  tender  music 
 in  response  to  every  suggestion  of  the  great 
 mother  whom  he  loved.  Here  he  becomes  one 
 with  her,  and  with  all  her  moods  and  "  visible 
 forms."  Such  lyrics  as  "  June,"  "  The  Death  of 
 the  Flowers,"  and  "  The  Evening  Wind,"  show 
 this,  and  also  indicate  the  limits  within  which  his 
 song  was  spontaneous.  Each  is  the  genuine  ex- 
 pression of  a  personal  mood,  and  has  by  actual 
 merit  taken  a  permanent  place  in  metrical  litera- 
 ture. 
 
 VII. 
 At  last,  then,  we  are  brought  to  a  recognition 
 of  the  power  in  Bryant's  verse  which  has  given 
 him  a  station  in  the  poetic  hemicycle  far  above 
 that  which  he  could  hope  to  win  by  its  amount 
 or  range.  It  is  the  elemental  quality  of  his  sons^. 
 ^^ike  the  bards  of  old,  his  spirit  delights  in  fire, 
 air,  earth,  and  water, — the  apparent  structures  of 
 the  starry  heavens,  the  mountain  recesses,  and 
 the  vasty  deep.  These  he  apostrophizes,  but  over 
 them  and  within  them  he  discerns  and  bow^s  the 
 knee  to  the  omniscience  of  a  protecting  Father,  a 
 creative  God.  Poets,  eminent  in  this  wise,  have 
 been  gifted  always  with  imagination.  The  verse 
 of  Bryant  often  is  full  of  high  imaginings.  Select 
 any  portion  of  "Thanatopsis:" 
 
 "  Pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness, 
 Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods, 
 Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
 Save  his  own  dashings— yet  the  dead  are  there  !" 
 or  this,  from  "  The  Prairies  :" 
 
34 
 
 "  The  bee 
 
 ******** 
 
 Fills  the  savannas  with  his  murmurings, 
 
 And  hides  his  sweets,  as  in  the  golden  age. 
 
 Within  the  hollow  oak.     I  listen  long 
 
 To  his  domestic  hum,  and  think  I  hear 
 
 The  sound  of  an  advancing  multitude 
 
 Which  soon  shall  fill  these  deserts.  From  the  ground 
 
 Comes  up  the  laugh  of  children,  the  soft  voice 
 
 Of  maidens,  and  the  sweet  and  solemn  hymn 
 
 Of  Sabbath  worshippers.    The  low  of  herds 
 
 Blends  with  the  rustling  of  the  heavy  grain 
 
 Over  the  dark-brown  furrows.    All  at  once 
 
 A  fresher  wind  sweeps  by  and  breaks  my  dream, 
 
 And  I  am  in  the  wilderness  alone." 
 
 Read    the   entire   poem    of    "  Earth,"     Then 
 such  a  stanza  as  this,  from  "  The  Past  " : 
 "  Far  in  thy  realm  withdrawn 
 Old  Empires  sit  in  suUenness  and  gloom, 
 
 And  glorious  ages  gone 
 Lie  deep  within  the  shadow  of  thy  womb.  " 
 Such  a  phrase  as 
 
 "Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste;" 
 or,  from   "  A  Rain-Dream,  "  an  impersonation  of 
 
 "The  Wind  of  Night, 
 A  lonely  wanderer  between  Earth  and  cloud, 
 In  the  black  shadow  and  the  chilly  mist, 
 Along  the  streaming  mountain-side,  and  through 
 The  dripping  woods,  and  o'er  the  plashy  fields, 
 Roaming  and  sorrowing  still,  like  one  who  makes 
 The  journey  of  life  alone,  and  nowhere  meets 
 A  welcome  or  a  friend,  and  stili  goes  on 
 In  darkness." 
 
 Take  passages  like  these — and  they  are  frequent 
 in  Bryant's  poetry — make  allowance  for  the  law 
 by  which  any  real  poet's  work  is  sure  to  grow 
 upon  us  in  close  examination,  and  we  still  are 
 confronted  with  an  "elemental"  imagination 
 often  higher  than  that  of  more  productive  poets. 
 Younger  singers  excel  in  richness  of  phrase, 
 redundant  imagery,  elaborate  word-painting ; 
 but  every  period  has  its  forerunners  and  masters, 
 and  our  rising  men  must  acknowledge  Bryant  as 
 a  laurelled  master  of  the  early  American  School. 
 1  le  seldom  touched  the  keys,  yet  they  gave  out 
 an  organ  tone. 
 
 Indeed,  when  he  essayed  piano-music,  and  was 
 in  a  light  or  fanciful  mood,  he  often  was  unable 
 to  vie  with  sprightlier  and  defter  hands.  His 
 epics  in  swift  and  simple  measures  had  a  ringing 
 (jualit}',  noticeable  in  "The  Song  of  Marion's 
 Men  ",  the  best  of  them — and  in  "  The  Hunter  of 
 the    ]*rairies".     A    blithe  surprise    awaits  us   in 
 
 certain  later  pieces,  such  as  "  The  Planting  of 
 the  Apple-Tree,"  the  delicate  "  Snow-Shower," 
 and  "Robert  of  Lincoln" — so  full  of  bird-music 
 and  fancy.  Usually,  as  we  have  seen,  it  was 
 with  an  air  of  uncouthness  and  doubt  that  he 
 ventured  beyond  established  precedents,  as 
 if  he  were  in  strange  waters  and 
 would  gladly  touch  firm  land, — but 
 then,  he  seldom  ventured.  As  he  grew  older, 
 beyond  the  asperities  of  life,  he  became  less 
 brooding,  sad  and  grave.  His  fancy,  what  there 
 was  of  it,  came  in  his  later  years,  and  suggested 
 two  of  his  longest  pieces,  "  Sella  "  and  "The  Lit- 
 tle Children  of  the  Snow,"  tales  of  folk-lore,  in 
 which  his  lighter  and  more  graceful  handling  of 
 blank-verse  may  be  studied  with  pleasure. 
 
 vni. 
 
 In  nothing  was  his  wise  self-judgment  more 
 evident — his  exact  measure  of  a  prolonged  men- 
 tal and  physical  strength — than  in  the  task  of 
 translating  the  epics  of  Homer,  to  which  he  suc- 
 cessfully applied  himself  in  his  old  age.  The 
 power  that  accomplished  this  was  as  wonderful 
 as  Landor's  retention  of  creative  energy.  The 
 limits  of  this  paper  will  not  permit  of  an  analysis 
 of  this  heroic  performance.  Some  years  ago, 
 the  present  writer  prepared  an  extended  review 
 of  it  for  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  in  which  its  lead- 
 ing qualities  were  thought  to  be :  First.  Fidelity 
 to  the  Homeric  text ;  Second.  The  admirable 
 manner  in  which  the  translator's  characteristic 
 blank-verse  was  sustained,  with  an  increased  ele- 
 ment of  flexibility,  and  without  artifice,  to  the 
 end  of  the  long,  immortal  poems.  It  also  was 
 said  that  a  demand  for  such  a  blank-verse  rend- 
 ering of  Homer  had  existed  previously,  which 
 not  even  Cowper  had  been  able  to  meet.  Lord 
 Derby  had  failed  from  utter  lack  of  the  poetic 
 gift.  But  the  noblest  blank-verse  translation, 
 even  Bryant's,  faithful  as  it  was  and  in  the  grand 
 manner,  must  lack  the  Homeric  rush  and  swift- 
 ness, and  must  also  become  prosaic  in  its  substi- 
 tutes for  the  recurrent  and  connecting  phrases  of 
 the  Greek  text.  The  conclusion  was  that  no  new 
 English  Homer  would  "  tread  upon  the  renown  of 
 Bryant's  crowning  work,  until  the  English  hexa- 
 meter— with  all  its  compensating  qualities,  by 
 which  alone  we  can  preserve  delicate  shades  of 
 
35 
 
 meaning  and  the  epic  movement — has  been  firmly 
 established  among  us,  and  a  great  poet,  imbued 
 with  the  classical  spirit,  has  become  its 
 acknowledged  master.  Until  then  Bryant's 
 translation  has  filled  the  literary  void."  The 
 writer  has  seen  no  reason  to  change  this  estimate 
 of  the  unequalled  merits,  and  of  what  were  the 
 essential  and  unavoidable  deficiencies,  of  Bryant's 
 Homeric  work.  The  tendency  of  his  mind,  even 
 in  its  epic  mood,  was  slow  and  stately,  Latin 
 rather  than  Greek.  Hence,  as  a  translator  from 
 the  Spanish  he  was  peculiarly  successful,  repro- 
 ducing the  calm  and  royal  quality  of  Castilian 
 song. 
 
 American  j)oets — with  pride  be  it  remembered — 
 ever  have  been  true  to  their  own  land  in  express- 
 ing its  innate  freedom,  patriotism,  aspiring  re- 
 solve. Throughout  Bryant's  life  his  scattered 
 poems  upon  political  events,  at  home  and  abroad, 
 have  been  consecrated  to  freedom  and  its 
 devotees.  He  breathed  a  spirit  of  independence 
 with  the  wind  of  his  native  hills.  The  country 
 is  the  open  wild  of  liberty.  All  our  poets  of 
 nature  are  poets  of  human  rights.  Should 
 America  ever  become  monarchical  it  will  be  due 
 to  the  influence  of  cities  and  those  bred  in  them. 
 Bryant's  regard  for  law,  for  the  inheritance  of  just 
 political  and  social  systems,  was  unquestionable. 
 He  might  have  been  a  constitutionalist  in  France ; 
 here,  though  bred  a  federalist,  he  was  sure  to 
 oppose  undue  centralization.  After  all,  he  was 
 of  no  party  further  than  he  conceived  it  to  be 
 right.  Witness  his  contest  with  slavery  and  his 
 desertion  of  a  democracy  which  finally,  he 
 thought,  belied  its  name.  That  he  did  not,  with 
 Longfellow  and  Whittier,  summon  his  muse  to 
 oppose  the  greatest  wrong  of  our  history  was 
 owing  to  two  causes:  First,  it  was  his  lyrical 
 habit  to  observe  and  idealize  general  principles, 
 the  abstract  rather  than  the  concrete.  Whittier's 
 poems  are  alive  with  incident,  and  burn  with 
 personal  feeling.  Once,  only,  Bryant  wrote  a 
 mighty  poem  on  Slavery :  when  it  had  received 
 its  death-blow,  when  the  struggle  ended,  and  the 
 right  prevailed.  Jehovah  had  conquered.  His 
 children  were  free,  and  Bryant  raised  a  chant  like 
 that  of  Miriam : 
 
 "  O,  thou  great  Wrong,  that,  through  the  slow-paced 
 years 
 
 I    Didst  hold  thy  millions  fettered; 
 
 ,        *  *  *  *  ♦  *  * 
 
 "  Go,  now,  accursed  of  God,  and  take  thy  place 
 With  hateful  memories  of  the  elder  time  ! 
 
 *  ****** 
 
 •*  Lo !  the  foul  phantoms,  silent  in  the  gloom 
 Of  the  flown  ages,  part  to  yield  thee  room." 
 
 This  swelling  poem,  "  The  Death  of  Slavery," 
 was  not  needed  to  assure  us  that  the  cause  of 
 freedom  touched  his  heart.  For,  secondly,  his 
 true  counterpart  to  Whittier's  work  was  to  be 
 found  in  the  vigorous  anti-slavery  assaults  he 
 made  for  years  in  the  journal  of  which  he  died 
 the  editor.  There  it  was  that  he  wreaked  his 
 influence  and  mental  power  upon  "the  rebuke  of 
 fraud  and  oppression  of  whatever  clime  or  race." 
 
 His  prose  labors  were  an  outlet,  constantly 
 aff"orded  in  his  journalism,  through  which  much 
 of  that  energy  escaped  which  otherwise  would 
 have  varied  the  motives  and  increased  the  body 
 of  his  song.  It  was  in  every  way  as  perfect  as 
 his  verse,  as  clearly  prose  as  that  was  poetry. 
 Few  better  writers  of  simple,  nervous  Eng- 
 lish, His  phraseology  was  a  well  of  Eng- 
 lish undefiled.  He  used  it  for  half  a 
 century  as  the  instrument  of  his  every-day 
 thought  and  purpose  ;  as  a  leader-writer,  a  trav- 
 eller and  correspondent,  an  essayist  and  orator, 
 a  political  disputant.  His  polemic  vigor  and 
 acerbity  were  worked  off  in  his  middle-life  edi- 
 torials, and  in  defence  of  what  he  thought  to  be 
 right.  There  he  was  indeed  unyielding,  and 
 other  pens  recall  the  traditions  of  his  political 
 controversies.  He  never  confused  the  distinct 
 provinces  of  prose  and  verse.  Refer  to  anything 
 written  by  him,  of  the  former  kind,  and  you  find 
 plainness,  virility,  well-constructed  syntax,  free 
 from  any  cheap  gloss  of  rhetoric  or  the  "jingle 
 of  an  effeminate  rhythm."  For  example,  the  pre- 
 face to  his  "  Library  of  Poetry  and  Song."  This 
 is  a  model  of  expressive  English  prose,  as  simple 
 as  that  of  the  Spectator  essayists  and  far  more  to 
 the  purpose.  Like  all  his  productions,  it  ends 
 when  the  writer's  proper  work  is  done.  The  es- 
 say, it  may  be  added,  contains  in  succinct  lan- 
 o-uage  the  poet's  own  views  of  the  scope  and 
 method  of  song,  a  reflection  of  the  instinct  gov- 
 erning his  entire  poetical  career. 
 
 As  in  written  prose  and  verse,  so  in  speech  and 
 
36 
 
 public  offices.  The  long  series  of  addresses  on 
 civic  occasions  closed  with  one  which  brought 
 him  to  his  death.  Mastering  his  work,  in  its  in- 
 tegrity and  brightness,  to  the  very  end,  it  was 
 his  lot  at  last  to  bow,  as  became  a  poet  of  Nature, 
 before  her  own  life-nurturing,  life-destroying 
 forces,  and  thus  submit  to  her  kindest  universal 
 law.  The  question  of  a  passage  in  "  An  Even- 
 ing Revery  "  is  now  answered,  and  the  prophecy 
 fulfilled : 
 
 "0  thou  great  Movement  of  the  Universe, 
 Or  Change,  or  Flight  of  Time— for  ye  are  onel 
 That  bearest,  silently,  thy  visible  scene 
 Into  night's  shadow  and  the  streaming  rays 
 Of  starlight,  whither  art  thou  bearing  me  ? 
 I  feel  the  mighty  current  sweep  me  on, 
 Yet  know  not  whither.     Man  foretells  afar 
 The  courses  of  the  stars  ;  the  very  hour 
 He  knows  when  they  shall  darken  or  grow  bright 
 Yet  doth  the  eclipse  of  Sorrow  and  of  Death 
 Come  unforewarned  1 " 
 
THE     POET, 
 
 By  Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 
 
 "  Mr.  Pope's  father  (who  was  an  honest  mer- 
 chant and  dealt  in  Hollands  wholesale)  was  no 
 poet,  but  he  used  to  set  him  to  make  English 
 verses  when  very  young.  He  was  pretty  difficult 
 in  being  pleased,  and  used  to  send  him  back  to 
 new  turn  them.  '  These  are  not  good  rhymes  ;' 
 for  that  was  my  husband's  word  for  verses."  So 
 wrote  the  Rev,  Joseph  Spence  about  a  hundred 
 and  fifty  years  ago,  taking  down  the  words  as 
 they  dropped  from  the  garrulous  lips  of  Pope's 
 good  old  mother,  who  idolized  her  famous  son. 
 This  little  anecdote  occurs  to  me  in  writing  about 
 Bryant's  poetry,  the  cultivation  of  which  was 
 sedulously  fostered  by  his  father,  who  was  a 
 physician  of  repute  and  a  gentleman  of  educa- 
 tion and  literary  tastes.  The  childhood  of  Bryant 
 was  spent  in  the  town  of  Curamington,  where  he 
 was  born,  and  where  there  must  have  been 
 a  good  school,  if  it  be  true,  as  Dr,  Griswoldsays, 
 that  he  made  very  creditable  translations  from 
 the  Latin  poets  at  the  age  of  ten.  If  I  knew 
 what  books  the  library  of  Dr.  Bryant  contained, 
 I  could,  I  think,  readily  detect  the  influences 
 that  moulded  his  juvenile  compositions.  I  assume 
 that  Pope  was  among  the  English  poets  whom  he 
 possessed,  and  Gray,  and  possibly  Cowper,  who 
 passed  from  this  troubled  scene  of  existence  when 
 Master  Bryant  was  about  six  years  old.  If  Dr. 
 Bryant  cared  for  the  native  muse,  he  possessed 
 Freneau  (of  whose  poetical  works  three  editions 
 were  published  before  the  completion  of  the  first 
 decade  of  the  present  century),  Trumbull's  "  Mc- 
 Fingal,"  Dwight's  "Conquest  of  Canaan,"  and 
 "  Greenfield  Hill"  (which  was  published  in  the 
 
 year  that  Bryant  was  born),  and  that  once  famous 
 and  speedily  forgotten  epic,  Barlow's  "  Colum- 
 biad."  He  could  not  have  learned  much  from 
 any  American  poet  that  had  yet  appeared.  He 
 might  have  learned  something,  however,  from 
 Freneau,  who  was  a  popular  poet  on  account  of 
 the  Revolution,  whose  most  prolific  singer  he 
 had  been.  Patriotic  verse  was  highly  thought  of 
 then,  and  to  have  written  against  the  bold  Briton 
 was  to  have  effected  a  lodgment  in  public  esti- 
 mation. One  element  which  runs  through  Fre- 
 neau's  poetry  was  before  long  to  crop  out  in 
 young  Bryant's  poetry.  I  mean  Freneau's  recog- 
 nition of  the  fact  that  there  were  many  things  in 
 the  life  of  the  Indians  which  were  legitimate 
 themes  for  poetic  meditation.  What  I  mean  will 
 be  apparent  to  my  readers  if  they  will  turn  to 
 Griswold's  "  Poets  and  Poetry  of  America,"  and 
 glance  over  Freneau's  "  Dying  Indian"  and  "  The 
 Indian  Burying  Ground."  I  would  advise  them 
 to  read  the  last  carefully,  if  only  for  the  music, 
 which  I  think  influenced  Bryant  at  a  later  period. 
 Campbell  thought  so  well  of  this  poem  that  he 
 conveyed  a  line  of  it  into  his  "  O'Connor's  Child." 
 Br3^ant  could  not  have  missed  the  Indian  element 
 if  he  had  read  Dwight's  "  Greenfield  Hill,"  a  de- 
 scriptive, historical  and  didactic  poem  which  is 
 divided  into  seven  parts,  and  which  must  be 
 tedious  reading,  if  I  may  judge  by  the  extracts 
 quoted  by  Griswold.  This  element,  thickly  coat- 
 ed over  with  verbiage,  informs  a  section  of  five 
 stanzas  descriptive  of  an  Indian  temple,  and  pads 
 out  a  weak  example  of  the  noble  measure  of 
 Spencer.     Beside  this  measure  and  the  sing-song 
 
38 
 
 heroics  of  Pope,  "  Greenfield  Hill "  contains 
 an  example  of  American  blank  verse  which  is  not 
 to  be  commended.  It  is  heavy,  lumbering  and 
 unmusical. 
 
 Bryant's  first  appearance  in  print,  outside  of 
 the  "  Poets'  Corner  "  of  the  Northampton  news- 
 paper which  printed  his  translations  from   the 
 Latin  poets,  was  in  a  little  pamphlet  of  political 
 verse.     I  have  never  seen  it,  and  consequently 
 know  nothing  about  it  beyond  what  I  find  in 
 Griswold  and  Duyckinck.     It  was  entitled  "The 
 Embargo,"  and  was  published  in  1808,  his  four- 
 teenth year.     Griswold  calls  it  a  satire,  and  says 
 it  was  directed  against  President  Jefferson,  who 
 was   probably   not   injured   by   it.      He   quotes 
 eighteen  lines,  descriptive  of  an  old-time  caucus, 
 and   considers   them    remarkably    spirited    and 
 graphic,  a  commendation  in  which  I  cannot  con- 
 cur.    They  are  a  clever  imitation  of  the  average 
 evenly  balanced  manner  of  Pope,  w^ho  was  clearly 
 the  master  to  whom  the  young  poet  loo.ked  for 
 form,  no  doubt  at  the  suggestion  of  his  father. 
 The  little  Queen  Anne's  man  had  long  been  de- 
 tlironcd  in  England,  but  an  old-fashioned  country 
 doctor  in  the  northwest  corner  of  Massachusetts 
 was  not  sufficiently  aware  of  that  important  fact 
 in  the  history  of  English  poetry.     "  The  Embar- 
 go "  reached  a  second  edition,  which  was  publish- 
 ed in  Boston  in  1809,  and  contained  an  endorse- 
 ment of  the  youth  of  its  writer,  which  had  been 
 called  in  question  by  the  Monthly  Anthology.     It 
 also  contained  some   additional  pieces  of  verse, 
 one  of  which  on  "  Drought "  is  quoted  by  Duyck- 
 inck.    It  was  written  in  Bryant's  fifteenth  year, 
 and  entirely  from  books.     In  other  words,  it  is 
 artificial,  colorless,  and  of  no  poetical  value.     A 
 great  poet  had  been  born  in  New  England,  but  his 
 first  volume  amounted  to  nothing,  especially  in 
 the  walk  of  song  in  which  he  was  soon  to  be  un- 
 rivalled.    If  he  saw  nature,  it  was  not  with  his 
 natural  sight,  but  through  the  spectacles  of  books, 
 and    not   the   best  books  in   the   library  of  his 
 father,  if  its  shelves  were  enriched,  as  I   think 
 they   were,    with   Cowper.      A   single   page   of 
 "  The  Task,"  if  he  had  had  it,  would,  I  am  per- 
 suaded,  have   quickened   his   poetic  vision,  and 
 revealed  to  him  his  intense  love  of  the  natural 
 world. 
 The  life  of  Brvant  when  it  is   written   will  fill 
 
 — at  any  rate  it  ought  to  fill — the  intellectual 
 blank  which  separates  the  publication  of  "  The 
 Embargo  "  from  the   writing  of  "  Thanatopsis," 
 I  cannot  fix  the  date  of  "  Thanatopsis,"   nor  the 
 place  where  it  was  composed  ;  but  trusting  Gris- 
 wold, who  could  have  had  no  motive  for  inaccu- 
 racy, it  saw  the  light  in  manuscript  shortl}-  after 
 Bryant  had  completed  his  eighteenth  year.  This 
 young  man  in  his  nonage  had  done  what  many 
 men  never  do  at  all — he  had  emancipated  himself 
 from  books  and  models,  and  had  discovered  him- 
 self and  his  own  originality.     What  Pope  had 
 been  to  him  the  short   extract  from   "  The  Em- 
 bargo  "  quoted  by  Griswold  shows.     What  Eng- 
 lish poet  inspired  him  next?     One  of  the  greatest 
 of  the  moderns— "Words^vorth.  Strictly  speaking 
 I  should  not  say  that  Wordsworth  was  an  inspira- 
 tion to  him,  but  rather  a  discovery.     He  foimd 
 in  the  blank  verse  of  Wordsworth  the  clue  which 
 conducted  him  into  the  profoundest  recesses  of 
 his  being — the  sacred  places  where  Meditation  sits 
 in  darkness  brooding  over  the  solemn  mysteries 
 of  life  and  death.     The  two  volumes  of  Words- 
 worth's   "Lyrical    BallaHs"    were   reprinted    in 
 Philadelphia  in  the  eighth  year  of  Bryant's  age, 
 but  I  doubt  whether  a  copy  of  that  edition  found 
 its  way  to  Cummington,  and.  if  one  did,  I  am  cer- 
 tain that  Dr.  Bryant  did  not  know  what  to  make 
 of  it.     Wordsworth  did  not  write  for  gentlemen 
 cultured  as  he  was,  but  for  unconventional  minds 
 like  his  own.     The  boy  Bryant  would  have  seen 
 nothing  remarkable  in  his    poetry  ;   no  boy,  no 
 young  man  has  ever  yet  understood   his  serene 
 and  lofty  genius.     He  touches,  he  moves  no  man 
 until  years  have  brought  the  philosophic  mind. 
 It  comes  to  some  early,  to  some  late,  to  some  not 
 at  all.     It  came  to  Bryant  early,  and  it  never 
 left  him.     "  Thanatopsis"  struck  the  keynote  of 
 his  genius,  disclosed  to  him  the  growth  and  gran- 
 deur of  his  powers,  and  placed  him,  for  what  he 
 was,  before  all  American  poets,  past,  present  and 
 to  come. 
 
 " Thanatopsis '  is  tome  the  most  remarkable 
 poem  that  was  ever  written  by  a  young  man.  1 
 know  of  nothing  like  it  in  English  literature, 
 nothing  that  is  at  once  so  grave,  so  sustained,  so 
 mature,  and  so  universal.  The  feeling  which  per- 
 vades it,  the  solemn  reflection  which  inspires  it, 
 belongs   to    all    liumanity    and   all  time,  and  is 
 
39 
 
 apart  from  and  beyond  all  religions.  The  truth- 
 ful lesson  of  the  nothingness  of  life  is  the  silent 
 teaching  of  nature.  It  could  not  have  been 
 written  in  the  Old  World,  where  the  conception 
 of  the  poet  would  have  been  limited  by  circum- 
 scribed areas  of  burial,  and  known  periods  of 
 time.  It  demanded  a  New  World,  of  vast  dimen- 
 sions and  unknown  antiquity,  a  primeval  wilder- 
 ness that  was  once  populous  with  forgotten  races 
 of  men.  Such  a  world  stretched  from  the  shores 
 of  the  Atlantic  to  those  of  the  Pacific  at  the  be- 
 ginning of  the  present  century,  and  waited  for  a 
 poet  to  grasp  the  secret  of  its  solitude.  The 
 little  churchyard  at  Stoke  Pogis  inspired  Gray's 
 immortal  "  Elegy  ;"  the  great  tomb  of  man  in  the 
 Xew  World  inspired  Bryant's  "  Thanatopsis," 
 which  is  larger  than  its  inspiration,  and,  if  a 
 contemporary  verdict  is  worth  anything,  will  be 
 as  lasting  as  the  language  which  it  has  enriched. 
 "  Thanatopsis"  saw  the  light  in  print  in  the 
 pages  of  the  North  American  Review  in  1817,  but 
 not  entirely  in  the  shape  that  we  know  it  now. 
 As  I  remember  the  first  version,  the  first  sixteen 
 and  the  last  fourteen  lines  were  wanting :  in 
 other  words,  the  poem  began  with  the  broken 
 line,  "Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee,"  and  ended  with 
 the  broken  line,  "  and  make  their  bed  with  thee." 
 As  originally  printed  the  poem  opened  with  four 
 four -line  stanzas,  which  are  far  inferior  to  the 
 solemn  blank  verse  of  which  they  were  the  pre- 
 lude.    They  are  as  follows  : 
 
 "  Not  that  from  life  and  all  its  woes 
 The  hand  of  death  shall  set  me  free  ; 
 Not  that  this  head  shall  then  repose 
 In  the  low  vale  most  peacefully. 
 
 "  Ah,  when  I  touch  Time's  farthest  brink, 
 A  kinder  solace  must  attend  ; 
 It  chills  my  very  soul  to  think 
 On  the  dread  hour  when  life  must  end. 
 
 "  In  vain  the  flattering  verse  may  breathe 
 Of  ease  from  pain,  and  rest  from  strife  ; 
 There  is  a  sacred  dread  of  death 
 Inwoven  with  the  strings  of  life. 
 
 "  This  bitter  cup  at  first  was  given, 
 
 When  angry  justice  frowned  severe  ; 
 And  'tis  the  eternal  doom  of  Heaven 
 That  man  must  view  the  grave  with  fear." 
 
 If  we  did  not  know  that  "Thanatopsis"  was 
 the  work  of  a  young  man,  we  would  never  guess 
 that  such  was  the  fact,  it  is  so  serious,  so  elevated, 
 80  noble.  Bryant  rises  to  his  theme,  putting  off 
 at  once  and  forever  all  immaturity  and  uncer- 
 
 tainty of  thought  and  expression,  and  speaks  as 
 one  having  authority.  He  is  oracular  in  his 
 knowledge  of  nature  and  her  ministrations  to 
 man.  She  lives  in  his  lines  as  in  those  of  no  other 
 American  poet,  before  or  since.  His  lightest 
 epithets  are  authentic,  and  his  glances  of  obser- 
 vation unerring.  He  takes  in  everything  at 
 once,  settles  the  value  of  all  things,  and  repro- 
 duces a  perfect  whole,  an  imperative  unity,  large, 
 imposing,  imperishable. 
 
 The  blank  verse  of  "  Thanatopsis"  is  masterly 
 and  original ;  I  can  trace  the  influence  of  no  Eng- 
 lish poet  in  its  varied  pauses  and  musical  ca- 
 dences. With  the  exception  of  "  The  Ages," 
 which  stands  at  the  head  of  the  collected  edition 
 of  "  Bryant's  Poems,"  his  poems  are  arranged  in 
 the  order  in  which  they  were  written.  "  Thana- 
 topsis" was  followed  by  the  simple  and  charming 
 lines  to  '*  The  Yellow  Violet,"  the  sentiment  and 
 melody  of  which  are  perfect.  He  returned  then 
 to  his  first  love,  blank  verse,  and  wrote  the  fault- 
 less "  Inscription  for  the  Entrance  to  a  Wood, ' 
 in  which  he  changes  the  broad  style,  the  grand 
 manner  of  *'  Thanatopsis,"  and  descends  to  min- 
 uter details  which  are  exceedingly  picturesque, 
 and  everywhere  subordinated  to  the  main  effect. 
 A  skillful  painter  ought  to  be  able  to  put  this  im- 
 mortal Wood  on  canvas  ;  for  it  is  already  painted 
 in  words  by  a  hand  of  a  great  master.  Try  to 
 read  any  of  Akenside's  "  Inscriptions  "  after  this 
 noble  one  and  you  will  see  how  inferior  they  are. 
 And  they  were  once  so  famous  !  A  pretty  melo 
 dious  "  Song,"  of  no  great  value,  leads  us  to  the 
 unforgetable  lines  "  To  a  Waterfowl,"  which  were 
 written,  I  imagine,  on  the  seashore  of  Massachu- 
 setts. They  were  published  in  the  North  American 
 Review  in  1818,  six  months  after  "Thanatopsis," 
 and  were  immediately  recognized  as  the  work  of 
 !  a  great  poet.  The  moralizing  stanza  at  the  close 
 added  weight,  with  minds  of  a  certain  cast,  to 
 I  the  picturesque  impressiveness  of  the  poem.  A 
 ;  comparison  between  the  third  line  of  the  second 
 I  stanza  as  it  was  originally  printed  and  as  it 
 j  stands  now  is  an  instructive  lesson  in  poetic  art. 
 I  The  first  version  reads : 
 j  "As  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky 
 
 Thy  figure  floats  along." 
 
 Perfect,  sang  the  chorus  of  reviewers,  and  were 
 wrong,  as  Bryant  saw,  for  a  painted  figure  can 
 
40 
 
 neither  float  nor  appear  to  float.     The  second    ! 
 version  runs: 
 
 "  As  darkly  limned  upon  the  crimson  sky," 
 
 wliich  was  open  to  the  same  objection  as  the  first 
 version.     The  line  stands  in  the  last  edition  : 
 
 "  As  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky,"  j 
 
 which    is    strictly  true  of  a  waterfowl    floating    | 
 against  a  background  of  twilight. 
 
 We  come  to  minute  picturesqueness  in  "  Green 
 River,''  and  a  lightness  of  touch  we  have  never 
 seen  before.  This  poem  is  the  most  autobiogra- 
 phic that  Bryant  has  written,  in  that  it  ex-  j 
 presses  his  regret  at  his  enforced  absences  from 
 nature,  and  his  dissatisfaction  with  the  law, 
 which  was  now  his  profession.  "  A  Winter 
 Piece  "  is  doubly  excellent — excellent  as  a  leaf 
 from  the  inner  life  of  the  poet,  and  excellent  as  a  | 
 picture  of  the  woods  at  all  seasons,  and  a  positive 
 picture  of  the  woods  in  winter.  The  thirty-seven 
 lines  beginning,  "  Come  -when  the  rains,''  are 
 unequalled  for  brilliancy  in  the  whole  range  of 
 English  poetr}-.  "  The  West  Wind  "  has  no  great 
 value,  although  it  is  a  pleasant  lyric.  "  The 
 Burial  Place"  is  so  good,  that  I  wish  Bryant  had 
 finished  it,  and  taken  the  chances  of  being  con- 
 sidered a  plagiarist  from  Irving,  who  was  not  to 
 be  named  in  the  same  day  with  him.  The  lyrics 
 "  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,"  and  "  No  man 
 Knoweth  his  Sepulchre,"  are  at  once  strong, 
 compact  and  graceful,  and  in  a  style  which  is 
 Bryant's  own.  "A  Walk  at  Sunset"  interests 
 me  greatly,  partly  on  account  of  its  revealment 
 of  Bryant's  poetic  personality,  and  partly  be- 
 cause it  marks  the  appearance  of  a  new  element 
 in  his  poetry,  hints  of  which  are  to  be  found  in 
 Dwight's  "  Greenfield  Hill,"  and  in  the  "Indian 
 Burying  Ground"  of  Freneau — the  element  of  In- 
 dian life  softened  by  the  mists  of  antiquity  and 
 the  haze  of  poetic  imagination. 
 
 "A  Walk  at  Sunset"  is  an  exquisitely  tender 
 picture  of  the  Housatonic  Valley  as  I  have  seen 
 it  on  summer  evenings  at  Stockbridge  when  it  is 
 8uff"us<!d  with  yellow  light,  and  the  eastern 
 heavens  are  colored  rosily.  The  peculiar  beauty 
 of  the  landscape  recalls  the  memory  of  those  who 
 looked  upon  it  in  earlier  days,  and  who  are  not 
 unnaturally   supposed  to   liave   felt  its  calmness 
 
 and  to  have  been  won  by  its  charm.  The  poet 
 sees  them  in  fancy,  and  reviews  for  the  moment 
 their  pleasing  belief  that  the  souls  of  their  war- 
 riors went  to  happy  islands  beyond  the  sunset, 
 where  the  winds  were  at  peace,  the  stars  were 
 fair, 
 
 '•'And  purple-skirted  clouds  curtain  the  crimson  air." 
 
 The  poet's  thoughts  wander  back  to  days  be- 
 fore the  red  man  came,  when  the  deer  fed  in  the 
 shade,  and  no  tree  in  the  wilderness  was  felled 
 except  b}'  the  tooth  of  the  beaver,  the  winds,  or 
 the  rush  of  floods.  Visions  of  their  coming,  their 
 deeds  in  the  chase  and  in  war  pass  before  his 
 eyes,  and  he  sees  the  green  sod  of  the  valley  and 
 the  silvery  waters  of  the  river  taking  the  first 
 stains  of  blood.  The}'  are  gone  now,  gone  like 
 the  sunset,  and  night  is  pressing  on.  All  that 
 tells  their  story  is  the  white  bone  which  the 
 plough  strikes  in  the  harvest  field.  The  off"spring 
 of  another  race,  he  stands  upon  their  ashes,  be- 
 side a  stream  they  loved ;  and  where  their  night- 
 fire  showed  the  gray  oaks  by  fits  and  their  war- 
 song  rang,  he  teaches  the  quiet  shades  the  strains 
 of  a  new  tongue.  He  bids  the  sun  farewell ;  his 
 light  will  shine  on  other  changes,  but  he  will 
 never  see  those  realms  again, 
 
 "  Darkened  by  boundless  groves  and  roamed  by  savage 
 men." 
 
 I  have  dwelt  upon  this  element  of  Bryant's 
 poetry  because  it  appeared  in  no  other  American 
 poet  to  the  same  extent  and  with  the  same  force. 
 His  mind,  always  a  tenacious  one,  never  suff"ered 
 it  to  escape,  but  referred  to  it  in  after  years 
 again  and  again.  The  publication  of  the  poems 
 that  I  have  enumerated  led  the  students  of  Har- 
 vard College  to  invite  Bryant  to  recite  a  poem 
 before  them  on  Commencement  Day.  This  was 
 in  1821,  his  twenty-seventh  year.  He  consented, 
 and  wrote  the  poem  with  which  every  edition  of 
 his  poems  commences,  "The  Ages."  It  is  a  rapid, 
 comprehensive,  philosophic  and  picturesqug-  sum- 
 mary of  the  history  of  mankind  from  the  earliest 
 periods,  a  shifting  panorama  of  good  and  evil 
 figures  and  deeds,  the  rising  and  falling  of  re- 
 ligions, kingdoms,  empires,  and  the  great  shajjes 
 of  Greece  and  Rome.  The  twentieth  stanza, 
 which  describes  the  lazy  convent  life  of  the  Ro- 
 mish orders,  is  a  masterpiece  of  quiet  sarcasm ; 
 
41 
 
 and  the  lines  which   convey  profoundly  the  in- 
 fluences of  the  Romish  Church  are  so  matchless 
 that  I  must  quote  them : 
 "  The  throne,  whose  roots  are  in  another  world, 
 And  whose  far-reaching  shadow  awed  our  own." 
 
 The  pictures  of  the  landscapes  of  this  western 
 world,  beautiful,  grand,  animated,  many-watered 
 and  sail-thronged,  the  glimpes  of  Indian  life, 
 the  appearance  of  the  white  race,  the  receding 
 of  forests  and  the  rising  of  towns — all  form 
 a  magnificent  gallery  of  life  and  action  and  emo- 
 tion. The  young  gentlemen  of  Harvard  were 
 wiser  than  they  knew  when  they  invited  Bryant 
 to  write  a  poem  for  them  ;  for  their  invitation 
 resulted  in  the  best  college  poem  that  ever  was 
 written. 
 
 The  a-ravity  of  Bryant's  genius,  which  is  every- 
 where apparent  in  "  The  Ages,"  deepens  in  the 
 poem  which  followed  it  (if  my  arrangement  of 
 the  order  in  which  they  were  composed  is  cor- 
 rect), and  which  is  a  very  touching  production. 
 I  refer  to  the  "  Hymn  to  Death,"  who  is  eulo- 
 gized as  the  friend  of  man,  in  that  he  delivers 
 him  from  the  hands  of  the  oppressor  and  the 
 wrong-doer.  The  reverie  of  the  poet,  which, 
 after  all,  was  an  idle  one,  was  broken  by  the 
 death  of  his  father,  and  the  strain  ends  sorrow- 
 fully: 
 
 "  It  must  cease— 
 For  he  is  in  his  grave  who  taught  my  youth 
 The  art  of  verse,  and  in  the  bud  of  life 
 Offered  me  to  the  muses." 
 
 Dr.  Bryant's  skill  as  a  physician  is  commemo- 
 rated, as  well  as  the  sorroAv  with  which  his  death 
 was  received  by  his  friends  and  neighbors : 
 
 ••This  faltering  verse,  which  thou 
 Shall  not,  as  wont,  o'erlook,  as  all  I  have 
 To  offer  at  thy  grave— this — and  the  hope 
 To  copy  thy  example,  and  to  leave 
 A  name  of  which  the  wretched  shall  not  think 
 As  of  an  enemy's,  whom  they  forgive 
 As  all  forgive  the  dead." 
 
 Bryant's  tribute  to  the  memory  of  his  good 
 father  is  to  me  very  touching,  and  all  the  more  so 
 because  it  is  expressed  in  guarded  language.  I 
 find  and  feel  a  world  of  pathos  in  Bryant's  poetry, 
 concerning  which  Mr.  Lowell  showed  his  crotch- 
 ets 80  singularly  in  his  "  Fables  for  Critics," 
 which  is  only  read — if  it  is  read — by  students  of 
 sarcastic  criticism. 
 
 The  key-notes  of  history  and  prophecy  which 
 were  struck  in  "  The  Ages "  reappear  in  "  The 
 Massacre  at  Scio,"  which  has  always  seemed  to 
 me  the  most  spirited  lyric  that  sang  itself  into 
 fiery  life  during  the  Greek  revolution,  and  in 
 saying  this  I  have  borne  in  mind  the  war  songs 
 of  Campbell  and  Halleck's  "  Marco  Bozzaris." 
 The  inspiration  of  "  A  Sunset  Walk "  glows 
 through  the  tenderness  and  the  picturesqueness 
 of  "  The  Indian  Girl's  Lament,"  which  is  simply 
 exquisite.  New  elements  of  meditation  underlie 
 the  compact  "  Ode  for  an  Agricultural  Celebra- 
 tion," and  "  Rizpah,"  which  is  far  superior  to  any 
 of  the  "  Scripture  Sketches  "  of  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis 
 that  were  written  about  the  same  time,  and  were 
 absurdly  popular.  The  feeling  of  man's  mortal- 
 ity which  Bryant  discovered  to  be  the  distinc- 
 tive mark  of  his  genius  in  "  Thanatopsis  "  rose 
 solemnly  again  in  "The  Old  Man's  Funeral," 
 tempered  with  a  philosophy  and  a  hope  which 
 had  hitherto  been  wanting  in  his  poetry.  The 
 spirit  of  personal  recollection  which  animated 
 the  fluent  numbers  of  "Green  River"  sparkles 
 with  youthful  light  in  "  The  Rivulet,"  which  re 
 fleets  the  early  life  of  the  poet  at  Cummington. 
 The  waters  of  Helicon  never  bubbled  more  mu- 
 sically than  the  waters  of  this  nameless  little 
 rill.  The  simplicity  and  the  perfect  melody  of 
 "  The  Yellow  Violet "  start  into  life  again  in 
 "  March,"  which  is  still  the  best  poem  ever  writ- 
 ten on  that  wild  and  stormy  month,  and  is  alike 
 perfect  in  description  and  suggestion.  The  sick- 
 ness of  a  beloved  sister  occasioned  Bryant's  first 
 essay  at  sonnet-writing,  an  essay  in  which  he  was 
 never  successful,  violating,  as  he  did,  then  and 
 later,  most  of  the  recognized  laws  of  the  sonnet. 
 "Consumption"  is  a  touching  poem,  with  an  ex- 
 quisite thought  in  the  twelfth  line, 
 
 ••  Detach  the  delicate  blossom  from  the  tree." 
 
 It  is  instructive  to  read  Bryant's  poems  in  the 
 order  in  which  they  were  written,  and  to  detect 
 the  different  elements  and  emotions  by  which  his 
 genius  was  swayed,  and  the  order  in  which  they 
 succeeded  each  other.  The  aboriginal  influence, 
 if  I  may  call  it  such,  slumbered  for  a  time  after 
 "The  Indian  Girl's  Lament,"  and  awakened  after 
 the  writing  of  the  quatorzain  on  his  sister's  illness 
 in  "  An  Indian  Story,"  which  possesses  no  great 
 
42 
 
 value,  though  it  is  melodious  and  picturesque. 
 The  impulse  to  write  blank  verse,  which  had 
 died  out  in  his  "  Hymn  to  Death,"  started  into 
 being  again  in  "  Summer  Wind,"  one  of  his 
 perfect  poems  of  nature,  sultry,  smothered,  and 
 alive  with  the  movements  of  the  landscape. 
 It  was  followed  by  the  best  of  his  aboriginal 
 poems — "  An  Indian  at  the  Burial  Place  of 
 his  Fathers."  If  it  has  a  fault,  I  have  yet 
 to  find  it,  for,  me  judice,  it  is  as  glorious  as 
 the  Berkshire  scenery  which  it  celebrates.  The 
 dramatic  situation  and  the  character  of  the 
 speaker  are  both  seized  and  retained  with 
 distinctness  and  strength.  The  "Song"  which 
 followed  it  ("Dost  thou  idly  ask  to  hear?")  is 
 pretty  and  picturesque,  but  no  more ;  the  genius 
 of  Bryant  was  averse  from  writing  songs  of 
 imaginary  amorousness.  We  detect  in  the  next 
 poem,  "  Hymn  of  the  Waldenses,"  the  first  out- 
 cropping of  the  religious  element  in  his  poetry. 
 It  is  manly  and  dignified,  but  in  no  sense  re- 
 markable ;  a  lesser  poet  might  easily  have  written 
 it.  Not  so  "Monument  Mountain,"  which  no 
 other  man  in  America  was  equal  to.  It  is  the 
 most  sustained  and  even  of  his  early  blank  verse 
 poems,  grand  in  its  sweep,  picturesque  in  its 
 groupings,  dramatic,  pathetic,  primitive,  a  fit- 
 ting monument  for  the  poor  Indian  girl  who  per- 
 ished among  its  precipices. 
 
 From  the  stern  and  stately  blank  verse  of 
 "Monument  Mountain,"  the  genius  of  Bryant 
 turned  in  "After  a  Tempest,"  and  painted  an 
 exquisite  series  of  pictures  of  outdoor  life  in  six 
 perfect  Spenserian  stanzas.  Every  line,  every 
 word  is  a  picture,  or  a  suggestion  of  a  picture, 
 and  the  manifold  details  are  everywhere  sub- 
 ordinate to  the  general  effect. 
 
 "The  butterfly, 
 That  seemed  a  living  blossom  of  the  air," 
 
 is  exceedingly  beautiful.  The  measure  of  the 
 lines  "To  a  Water  Fowl"  unbends  itself  in 
 "Autumn  Woods,"  whicli  are  fairly  radiant  with 
 color.  The  tint  and  tone  of  the  ninth  stanza  are 
 surprisingly  rich  and  brilliant: 
 
 "But  'neath  you  crimson  tree. 
 Lover  to  listening  maid  might  breathe  his  flame, 
 Nor  mark,  within  its  roseate  canopy, 
 
 Her  blush  of  maiden  shame. 
 
 Bryant   seldom  violated   the  minor  morals    of 
 
 verse,  for  which  I  honor  him ;  but  he  certainly 
 violated  one  when  he  wrote  "'neath,"  which  is 
 intolerable.  "  Mutation"  and  "  November"  call 
 for  no  special  comment ;  the  last  is  a  faithful  re- 
 flection of  the  season  described.  "  The  Song  of 
 the  Greek  Amazon"  fixes  the  date  at  which  it 
 was  written,  and  indicates,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
 that  it  was  written  for  an  illustration,  and  proba- 
 bly for  an  annual.  It  is  dramatic  in  intention, 
 heroic,  and  very  spirited.  "  To  a  Cloud"  does 
 not  impress  me  much,  for  I  cannot  forget  Shel- 
 ley's "  Cloud,"  which  is  gloriously  imaginative 
 in  spite  of  its  wanton  carelessness.  Bryant's 
 measure  is  weak  and  ineffective.  The  story  of 
 "The  Murdered  Traveller"  is  told  with  the 
 simplicity  which  characterizes  all  his  minor 
 poems,  and  with  an  indescribable  grace  and 
 pathos. 
 
 Next  in  point  of  time  came  the  "  Hymn  to  the 
 North  Star,"  which  Bryant  has  never  excelled. 
 I  know  not  whether  to  admire  it  for  its  sim- 
 plicity, its  grandeur,  its  imagination  and  its 
 intellectual  largeness,  or  for  the  fusion  and  union 
 of  all  these  qualities.  Campbell  is  a  compact 
 writer,  but  nothing  in  Campbell  will  for  a 
 moment  compare  with  the  greatness  of  this 
 stanza : 
 
 "  Alike  beneath  thine  eye 
 The  deeds  of  darkness  and  of  light  are  done  ; 
 
 High  toward  the  star-lit  sky 
 Towns  blaze,  the  smoke  of  battles  blots  the  sun  ; 
 The  night-storm  on  a  thousand  hills  is  loud, 
 And  the  strong  wind  of  day  doth  mingle  sea  and  cloud," 
 
 "  The  Lapse  of  Time"  is  very  interesting  to  me 
 in  many  ways.  I  see  in  it  touches  of  meditative 
 philosophy  which  I  have  not  before  discovered, 
 exquisite  melody  of  diction,  a  glimpse  of  Bry- 
 ant's paternal  tenderness  in  the  mention  of  the 
 little  prattler  at  his  knee,  his  belief  in  the  great- 
 ness of  his  countr}'^,  and  a  profound  truth  in  the 
 closing  couplet : 
 
 "  The  memory  of  sorrow  grows 
 A  lighter  burden  of  the  heart." 
 
 I  pass  "  The  Song  of  the  Stars"  as  not  worthy 
 of  his  genius,  and  come  to  the  most  impressive 
 and  reverential  poem  that  he  has  yet  written — a 
 poem  in  which  he  passed  from  the  pantheism  of 
 "  Thanatopsis"  into  the  pure  religious  spirit 
 which  looks  up  to  the  Creator  from  his  works. 
 
43 
 
 We  had  a  succession  of  woods  and  pictures  in 
 "  A  Winter  Piece,"  b  ut  the  possibility  of  such 
 forestry  as  we  find  in  Bryant's  next  poem,  "  A 
 Forest  Hymn,"  had  not  dawned  upon  us  as  we 
 read  it.  The  gravity,  the  dignity,  the  solemnity 
 of  natural  devotion,  were  never  before  stated  so 
 accurately  and  with  such  significance.  We  stand 
 in  thought  in  the  heart  of  a  great  forest,  under 
 its  broad  roof  of  boughs,  awed  by  the  eacred  in- 
 fluences of  the  place.  A  gloom  which  is  not 
 painful  settles  upon  us  ;  we  are  surrounded  by 
 mystery  and  unseen  energy.  The  shadows  are 
 full  of  worshippers  and  beautiful  things  that  live 
 in  their  misty  twilights.  That  delicate  flower 
 yonder,  that  looks  so  like  a  smile, 
 
 "  Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould, 
 An'  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 
 A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 
 That  are  the  soul  of  this  great  universe." 
 
 The  great  miracle  of  creation  goes  on  around  us ; 
 life  and  death,  and  life  again.  Life  mocks  at  the 
 hate  of  death,  seats  himself  on  his  throne,  and 
 nourishes  himself  on  his  triumphs.  Creator  ! 
 when  thou  dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests, 
 set  the  heavens  on  fire  with  thunderbolts,  or  fill 
 the  whirlpool  that  uproots  the  woods  and  drowns 
 cottages,  spare  us  and  ours,  for  we  need  not  the 
 wrath  of  the  elements  to  teach  us  who  rules 
 them, 
 
 "  Be  it  ours  to  meditate, 
 In  these  calm  shades,  thy  milder  majesty, 
 And  to  this  beautiful  order  of  thy  works 
 Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives." 
 
 If  my  study  of  Bryant's  intellectual  life  is  a 
 correct  one,  the  poems  of  which  I  have  spoken 
 were  all  written  before  his  thirty-firet  year,  and 
 while  he  was  scrawling  strange  words  with  the 
 barbarous  pen.  That  he  was  a  husband  and  a 
 father  we  have  seen  in  "  The  Lapse  of  Time  ;  " 
 that  he  loved  and  admired  his  wife  we  see  in  his 
 next  poem  ("  Oh,  Fairest  of  the  Rural  Maids"), 
 which  is  lovely — lovely  enough  to  win  the  ap- 
 probation of  Poe,  who  was  chary  of  good  words. 
 1  know  of  nothing  more  delicious  than  this 
 stanza : 
 
 '•  Thy  sports,  thy  wanderings,  when  a  child. 
 Were  ever  in  the  sylvan  wild  ; 
 And  all  the  beauty  of  the  place 
 Is  in  thy  heart  and  on  thy  face." 
 
 I  break  the  chronological  connection  of  this 
 imperfect  study  of  Bryant's  genius  to  say  that 
 this  estimable  lady  inspired  three  of  the  tender- 
 est  poems  that  were  ever  written  out  of  the  heart 
 of  a  loving  husband.  I  refer  to  "  The  Future 
 Life,"  which  was  written  in  his  forty -third  year 
 (1837),  "The  Life  that  Is,"  which  was  written 
 after  her  recovery  from  a  dangerous  illness  at 
 Naples  in  his  sixty-fourth  year,  and  the  solemn 
 requiem  written  shortly  after  her  death  and 
 headed  "October,  1866."  These  poems  are  full 
 of  deep  but  suppressed  feeling,  an  emotion  that 
 fears  to  trust  itself  to  words.  The  last  is  to  me 
 inexpressibly  touching.  "The  North  Pole"  of 
 Mr.  Lowell  has  melted  in  his  old  age,  if  not 
 before. 
 
 The  forty  poems  of  which  I  have  spoken  were 
 all  written,  I  believe,  before  Bryant  came  to 
 New  York  and  engaged  actively  in  literary  life. 
 I  detect  from  this  time  forward,  I  think,  other 
 and  riper  influences  at  work  in  his  mind.  What 
 I  mean  is  the  sense  of  beauty  and  cheerfulness 
 with  which  he  meditated  over  themes  in  them- 
 selves sombre  and  melancholy,  A  good  example 
 of  this  philosophic  sense  is  that  perfect  poem, 
 "June."  Another  and  better  known  example 
 is  the  pensive  dirge,  "  most  musical,  most  melan- 
 choly," in  which  he  has  embalmed  the  memory  of 
 his  sister,  and  which  will  always  rank  with  the 
 immortal  dirges  of  the  language,  "  The  Death 
 of  the  Flowers."  There  is  no  falling  off  of  his 
 imagination  as  he  goes  about  his  daily  work  in 
 town,  for  the  New  York  of  that  day  practically 
 ended  at  Canal  street.  A  short  walk  brought 
 Bryant  into  the  country,  or  enough  into  the 
 country  to  write  such  poems  as  "  The  Firma- 
 ment," "  The  New  Moon,"  "  The  Gladness  of  Na- 
 ture," "A  Summer  Ramble,"  and  "A  Scene  on 
 the  Banks  of  the  Hudson."  A  stanza  out  of  "A 
 Summer  Ramble  "  was  no  doubt  the  constant  cry 
 of  his  heart : 
 
 "Awayl  I  will  not  be,  to-day. 
 
 The  only  slave  of  toil  and  care. 
 Away  from  desk  and  dust !  away ! 
 
 I'll  be  as  idle  as  the  air." 
 
 And  he  is,  for  he  straightway  betakes  himself 
 to  a  long  ramble  along  the  banks  of  the  Hudson, 
 or  across  the  heights  of  Weehawken,  which  his 
 
44 
 
 friend  Halleck  had  recently  made  famous  in  his 
 humorous  poem  of  "  Fann3\" 
 
 Contact  with  other  men  of  letters  and  oppor- 
 tunities for  literary  employment  broadened  the 
 genius  of  Bryant  and  occasionally,  1  fear,  weak- 
 ened it.  I  see  it  broadened  in  such  poems  as  "'A 
 Song  of  Pitcairn's  Island,"  which  is  charmingly 
 turned  ;  in  "  Romero,"  which  is  animated  with 
 the  patriotism  of  Spanish  hearts  ;  in  "  The  Dam- 
 sel of  Peru,"  and  in  "  The  African  Chief,"  which 
 is  one  of  his  most  vigorous  productions.  I  see  it 
 weakened  in  the  lines  beginning  "  I  cannot  forget 
 with  what  fervid  devotion,"  and  in  the  poems, 
 "  To  a  Mosquito,"  "  A  Meditation  on  Rhode  Is- 
 land Coal  "  and  "  Spring  in  Town."  The  humor 
 of  these  elaborate  trifles  is  very  thin,  and  the 
 imagination  expended  on  them  is  uttterly 
 wasted.  Bryant  had  a  strong  sense  of  humor, 
 but  it  found  no  vent  in  his  verse.  His  regard 
 for  the  better  side  of  the  Indian  character 
 showed  itself  in  "The  Disinterred  Warrior,"  a 
 noble,  statuesque  poem ;  and  his  unquenchable 
 love  of  freedom  in  "  The  Greek  Partisan," 
 which  was  composed,  I  imagine,  for  a  picture. 
 He  gives  us  a  broad  view  of  his  native  hills  and 
 the  surrounding  country  and  his  eldest  daughter 
 in  his  "  Lines  on  Revisiting  the  Country,"  and 
 a  glimpse  of  an  aged  man  and  woman,  long 
 since  dead,  who  once  lived  in  the  neighborhood 
 of  his  father's  house.  "The  Two  Graves"  is 
 not  one  of  his  great  poems,  but  it  is  very  musi- 
 cal and  tender.  I  find  no  large  work  of  this  pe- 
 riod until  I  come  to  "  The  Past."  There  is  a 
 depth,  a  grandeur,  a  solemnity  in  this  poem 
 which  Bryant  had  not  before  attained,  and  an 
 imaginative  presentation  of  things  intangible 
 which  the  strong  art  of  the  poet  summons  before 
 us,  we  know  not  how.     He  contrives  to  repeople 
 
 "  The  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time  " 
 with  awful  and   sorrowful  and  beautiful  shapes 
 and  shadows. 
 
 "  They  have  not  perished— no ! 
 Kind  words,  remembored  voices  once  so  sweet, 
 
 Smiles,  radiant  long  ago, 
 And  features,  the  great  soul's  apparent  seat. 
 
 *  *  *  * 
 
 And  then  shall  I  behold 
 Him,  by  whose  kind  paternal  side  I  sprung, 
 
 And  her,  who,  still  and  cold, 
 Fills  the  next  grave— the  beautiful  and  young." 
 
 "We  turn  from  the  haunted  darkness  of  "  The 
 Past"  to  "  The  Evening  Wind,"  which  is  the  first 
 of  a  series  of  poetns  of  which  the  humanities  of 
 earth  are  as  positively  the  theme  as  its  mortality 
 was  in  "  Thanatopsis."  This  great  poet  never 
 ceases  henceforth  to  remember  that  he  is  a  man 
 among  men,  and  that  all  that  concerns  them 
 concerns  him.  He  sees  the  regions  of  land  and 
 sea  that  the  wind  has  blown  over  on  its  journey 
 to  his  lattice.  He  knows  that  it  is  a  delight  to 
 others  as  well  as  to  himself;  to  the  higher  forms 
 of  nature  as  well  as  to  mankind  ;  that  it  rocks  the 
 little  bird  in  his  nest,  curls  the  still  waters,  sum- 
 mons the  forest  harmonies  from  innumerable 
 boughs,  and  takes  its  pleasant  way  over  the  clos- 
 ing flowers.  The  old  man  leans  his  silver  head  to 
 feel  it ;  it  kisses  the  sleeping  child  and  dries  the 
 moistened  curls  on  his  temples ;  and  those  who 
 watch  by  the  sick  man's  bed  part  his  curtains  to 
 allow  it  to  cool  his  burning  brow.  This  large,  far- 
 reaching  sympathy  with  his  fellow-creatures  is 
 a  marked  characteristic  of  Bryant's  poetry,  and 
 distinguishes  it,  I  think,  from  that  of  every  other 
 American  poet,  living  or  dead. 
 
 "The  Evening  Wind,"  is  the  first  of  a  remark- 
 able series  of  poems,  of  which  "  An  Evening 
 Revery,"  "  Noon,"  "  The  Crowded  Street,"  and 
 "  The  Night  Journe}'  of  a  River,"  are  noble  ex- 
 amples. The  heart  of  Bryant  went  out  to  the 
 human  race  as  the  heart  of  Burns  went  out  to 
 the  dumb  creation  in  "  The  Twa  Dogs,"  and 
 "  The  Farmer's  Salutation  to  his  Auld  Mare," 
 with  infinite  solicitation  and  pity.  The  still,  sad 
 music  of  humanity  was  ever  sounding  in  his  ears, 
 moaning  like  the  wind  in  the  forest.  To  his  eyes 
 humanit}'^  was  an  endless  procession  moving 
 along  the  earth,  in  sunshine  and  shadow,  out  of 
 the  darkness  of  birth  into  the  night  of  death. 
 They  repose  and  they  suffer,  these  fleeting,  van- 
 ishing figures,  but  not  for  long.  The  end  is  cer- 
 tain and  near.  This  philosophy  of  life  is  a  seri- 
 ous one,  but  it  admits  of  consolation  and  cheer- 
 fulness. It  is  dreary  in  Byron ;  it  is  awful  in 
 "  Ecclesiastes,"  but  it  is  neither  in  Bryant,  at 
 least,  not  to  me,  for  I  never  rise  from  the  perusal 
 of  the  poems  I  have  named,  and  others  belonging 
 to  the  same  class,  with  a  feeling  of  depression 
 and  gloom,  thanks  to  the  health  and  strength  and 
 serenity    of  his   genius,  which  carries  me  away 
 
45 
 
 out  of  myself,  and  elevates  me  above  the  sorrows 
 and  the  sufferings  of  mankind. 
 
 There  is  a  second  series  of  poems  equally  dis- 
 tinctive of  Bryant,  and  rather  difficult  of  classi- 
 fication. They  beg-an  with  "  A  Forest  Walk ;" 
 they  inspired  "  The  Ages ;"  they  gathered  darkly 
 in  the  lines  "  To  the  Apennines  "  and  "  Earth  ;" 
 and  they  were  radiant  and  picturesque  in  "  The 
 Fountain  "  and  "  The  Prairies."  They  may  be 
 said  to  concern  themselves  with  the  antiquity  of 
 nature  and  of  the  race. 
 
 A  third  and  much  larger  series  of  poems  may 
 be  roughly  described  as  poems  of  nature,  though 
 they  embrace  sentiments  of  affection,  philosophic 
 reflection,  meditation,  morality,  and  other  ele- 
 ments of  thought  and  emotion.  Such  poems  are 
 "  The  Yellow  Violet,"  "  Inscription  for  the  En- 
 trance to  a  Wood,"  "  Green  River,"  "  A  Winter 
 Piece,"  *'  The  Rivulet,"  "  March,"  "  After  a 
 Tempest,"  "  June."  "  The  New  Moon,"  and  a 
 score  of  others  which  will  readily  recur  to  the 
 readers  of  Bryant.  With  "  A  Forest  Hymn  " 
 commenced,  as  I  have  said,  a  series  of  poems  in 
 which  a  religious  element  predominated.  It  re- 
 appeared in  the  "  Hymn  to  the  North  Star," 
 "The  Firmament,"  "  Hymn  of  the  City,"  "The 
 Future  Life,"  "  The  Life  that  Is,"  and  perhaps 
 as  many  more  poems  of  a  later  date. 
 
 I  have  mentioned  the  lyrics  with  which  Bryant 
 ^red  the  hearts  of  his  readers  during  the  Greek 
 revolution,  which  cost  Byron  his  life,  and  roused 
 the  martial  energies  of  Campbell  and  Halleck, 
 They  were  spirited,  as  I  have  remarked  before, 
 but  not  of  so  much  value  to  us  as  the  poems 
 which  commemorated  the  patriotism  of  our 
 fathers,  and  awakened  the  patriotism  of  our  sons. 
 They  began  fairly  in  "The  Song  of  Marion's 
 Men,"  "  Seventy-Six "  and  "The  Green  Moun- 
 tain Boys ;"  they  ended  gloriously  in  "  Not  Yet," 
 and  "  Our  Country's  Call." 
 
 Another  class  of  poems  come  under  the  head  of 
 poems  of  imagination  and  fantasy.  They  began 
 with  the  rural  song,  if  I  may  call  it  such,  which 
 
 the  young  poet  addressed  to  the  lady  of  his  love  ; 
 they  culminated  in  "  The  Land  of  Dreams  "  and 
 "  The  Burial  of  Love."  I  know  of  nothing  more 
 poetical  than  these  exquisite  dreams  within 
 dreams,  which  haunt  the  memory  with  visions  of 
 loveliness.  The  genius  of  Bryant  was  as  beauti- 
 ful as  it  was  magnificent. 
 
 I  have  omitted  to  mention  Bryant's  transla- 
 tions, of  which  he  executed,  fi'om  first  to  last, 
 over  twenty,  from  the  Greek,  Latin,  Spanish, 
 German  and  Portuguese.  I  am  not  scholar 
 enough  to  judge  of  them,  but  my  sense  of  poetry 
 leads  me  to  prefer  the  translations  from  the 
 Spanish  to  all  the  other  tongues.  The  genius  of 
 Bryant  sympathized  profoundly,  I  am  convinced, 
 with  the  high,  grave  thoughts,  and  the  lofty, 
 sonorous  measures  of  the  Spanish  poets.  He  was 
 also  (if  the  opinion  of  an  unlettered  man  is  worth 
 anything)  completely  in  sympathy  with  the 
 primitive  greatness  of  Homer.  His  translations 
 of  the  "Iliad"  and  the  "Odyssey"  are  the  only 
 ones  that  I  have  been  able  to  read. 
 
 Bryant  at  his  best  was  a  great  poet,  and  when 
 j  not  at  his  best  was  still  a  poet.  He  had  a  capa- 
 cious intellect,  which  conceived  largely  and  exe- 
 cuted strongly,  clearly,  and  with  wonderful  force 
 of  imagination.  His  eye  was  never  awed  by  the 
 immensity  of  the  universe,  and  his  heart,  even 
 in  boyhood,  was  never  subdued  by  the  dread 
 thought  of  death,  which  was  always  in  his  mind. 
 He  was  the  truest  painter  of  American  scenery, 
 because  he  was  the  most  accurate  and  most  lov- 
 ing of  all  our  painters,  being  at  once  minute  and 
 comprehensive.  His  diction  was  at  all  times  in 
 keeping  with  his  theme,  adapting  itself  readily  to 
 every  turn  of  his  thought.  He  knew  the  value 
 of  words,  and  neither  stinted  nor  squandered 
 them.  Other  American  poets  may  have  been 
 more  popular  than  he  was,  but  none  has  had  his 
 reputation,  and  none  has  escaped  his  influence. 
 
 Such,  I  believe,  are  some  of  the  characteristics 
 of  the  poetry  of  my  good  friend  Bryant. 
 
THE    JOURNALIST 
 
 By  an  Editorial  Associate. 
 
 Mr,  Bryant  was  a  citizen  who  recognized  fully 
 the  duties  of  citizenship,  but  who  had  no  ambi- 
 tion to  fulfil  those  duties  as  a  holder  of  public 
 ofl&ce.  Had  he,  in  earlier  years,  not  turned  his 
 attention  to  journalism,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
 he  would  have  found  means  for  using  his  pen  in 
 behalf  of  the  measures  which  his  strong  convic- 
 tions so  earnestly  approved.  Having  assumed 
 the  editorial  control  of  a  leading  daily  newspaper, 
 he  found  in  that  position  the  fullest  opportunity 
 to  discuss  all  subjects  which  pertained  to  the 
 national  welfare,  and  for  more  than  half  a  cen- 
 tury the  Evening  Post  was  an  exponent  of  his 
 views.  Until  the  close  of  the  civil  war  he  was 
 almost  a  daily  contributor  to  its  columns,  and 
 since  that  time  he  has  exercised  a  general  super- 
 vision of  its  course — his  influence  being  none  the 
 less  active  because  usually  taking  the  form  of 
 criticism  after  the  deed.  In  the  highest  sense  of 
 the  term,  therefore,  Mr.  Bryant  was  a  politician. 
 For  every  low  phase  of  politics — the  struggle  for 
 office,  the  methods  of  party  managers,  or  the 
 demagogic  arguments  of  place  hunters—  he  had 
 the  heartiest  contempt. 
 
 The  political  history  of  an  editor  must  be 
 sought  in  the  journal  which  reflects  his  views, 
 and  we  therefore  turn  to  the  files  of  the  Evening 
 Post  to  learn  what  men  and  measures  Mr.  Bry- 
 ant supported  or  condemned.  During  the  period 
 embraced  in  his  editorial  career  the  most  impor- 
 tant questions  which  the  republic  has  had  to  de- 
 cide since  its  birth  came  up  for  discussion.  He 
 saw  slavery  contending  for  an  extension  of  power 
 and  territory,  succeeding  for  a  time  and  then 
 
 overwhelmed  in  final  disaster.  He  witnessed 
 the  struggles  over  the  United  States  Bank,  took 
 part  in  the  defence  of  the  Sub-Treasury  scheme, 
 and,  when  the  war  imposed  upon  the  country  an 
 irredeemable  paper  currency,  he  assisted  in  the 
 still  unfinished  effort  to  secure  a  return  to  the 
 system  which  the  founders  of  the  Republic  so 
 wisely  believed  to  be  the  best  for  the  nation.  He 
 early  discovered  the  evils  of  a  protective  tariff 
 system,  and  for  no  cause  did  he  labor  more  zeal- 
 ously and  constantly  than  for  that  of  striking 
 from  our  foreign  trade  the  shackles  which  still 
 embarrass  it.  During  his  editorial  career  he 
 was  called  upon  to  criticise  the  administrations  of 
 Presidents  Jackson,  Van  Buren,  Harrison,  Tyler, 
 Polk,  Taylor,  Fillmore,  Pierce,  Buchanan,  Lin- 
 coln, Grant,  and  Hayes.  This  bare  statement  is 
 sufficient  to  show  the  wide  extent  of  the  subjects 
 which  came  under  his  notice.  What  opinions 
 he  expressed,  what  schemes  he  opposed,  and 
 what  projects  he  supported  the  columns  of  the 
 Evening  Post  best  disclose.  More  characteristic 
 testimony  to  his  views  is  given  in  some  instances 
 in  speeches  which  he  made  and  letters  on  politi- 
 cal topics  which  appeared  under  his  own  signa- 
 ture ;  but  his  editorial  pen  was  his  most  common 
 means  of  comunication  with  the  public,  and, 
 as  we  have  said,  the  student  of  his  political 
 history  must  turn  to  the  pages  of  his  own  journal 
 to  find  the  views  which,  if  not  always  set  forth 
 directly  by  himself,  were  printed  subject  to  his 
 approval. 
 
 As  soon  as  Mr.  Bryant  accepted  an  editorial 
 connection  with  the  Evening  Post  it  began  to  at- 
 
48 
 
 tack  the  protective  system  and  to  advocate  the 
 principles  of  free  trade,  and  it  was  then  the  only 
 newspaper  north  of  the  Potomac  which  took  this 
 ground.  During  all  his  life  there  was  no  politl- 
 cal  subject  in  which  Mr.  Bryant  took  so  constant 
 an  interest  as  that  of  revenue  reform,  and  the  last 
 article  which  he  contributed  to  the  pages  of  this 
 journal  was  a  discussion  of  the  balance  of  trade. 
 So  prominent  has  been  his  position  as  a  free- 
 trade  advocate  that  we  need  not  dwell  further 
 upon  his  views  on  this  subject. 
 
 On  the  slavery  question  Mr.  Bryant  was  origi- 
 nally a  Free  Soil  Democrat.  In  February,  1837, 
 on  the  occasion  of  the  rejection  of  a  petition  of 
 colored  men  of  this  State  asking  the  Legislature 
 to  put  them  on  the  same  footing  with  the  whites, 
 the  Evening  Post  said : 
 
 "  It  appears  to  us  that  it  is  very  unwise  to  con- 
 nect this  question  with  that  of  the  principal  ob- 
 ject of  the  Abolitionists,  which  is,  to  do  away  with 
 slavery  in  the  Southern  States.  The  great  objec- 
 tion brought  against  their  course  hitherto  has  been 
 tliat  they  were  meddling  with  a  matter  with 
 which  tliey  had  no  concern,  and  which  their  in- 
 terference might  make  worse  for  both  master  and 
 slave.  There  is  not  the  least  ground  for  either  of 
 these  objections  in  the  case  of  the  petition  in 
 question.  Wc  recognize  the  blacks  as  citizens,  and 
 we  have  a  perfect  right  to  say  how  easy  we  will 
 make  the  condition  of  their  citizenship.  The  mo- 
 ment we  allow  ourselves  to  be  restrained  in  legis- 
 lating on  this  subject  by  a  regard  for  what  is  or 
 may  be  said  at  the  South  or  anywhere  else,  we 
 submit  to  external  interference,  we  allow  a  power 
 from  without  to  dictate  what  shall  be  the  quali- 
 fications of  our  voters.  For  our  own  part,  we  hesi- 
 tate not  to  say  that  the  prayer  of  the  petition 
 was  just." 
 
 From  February  6  to  11, 1837,  the  House  of  Rep- 
 resentatives kept  up  an  excited  debate  on  the 
 question  of  allowing  Mr.  Adams  to  present  anti- 
 slavery  petitions.  The  Evening  Post,  comment- 
 ing on  the  del)ate,  said  : 
 
 "The  whole  affair  is  a  striking  example  of  the 
 folly  of  attempting  to  muzzle  discussion  in  this 
 country.  Checked  in  one  direction,  it  will  break 
 out  in  another,  the  more  violently  on  account  of 
 the  attempt  to  repress  it." 
 
 Later  in  the  same  year,  when  there  was  an 
 angry  discussion  in  the  Senate  on  the  subject  of 
 receiving  a  petition  for  emancipation  in  the  Dis- 
 trict of  Columbia,  the  Evening  Post  said  : 
 
 "  Holding,  as  we  do,  that  Congress  has  the 
 constitutional  power  to  dispose  of  the   slavery 
 
 question  in  the  District  as  it  may  deem  fit,  we 
 regard  with  an  indignant  feeling  any  interfer- 
 ence with  the  right  of  the  citizens  of  the  United 
 States  to  make  it  the  subject  of  memorials  to  the 
 national  legislature.  To  repulse  such  applica- 
 tions in  silent  scorn  is  neither  the  way  to  con- 
 vince those  who  make  them  of  their  error,  if 
 they  are  in  one,  nor  to  make  them  desist  from 
 their  course." 
 
 Strong  as  were  Mr.  Bryant's  feelings  in  behalf 
 of  free  trade,  he  did  not  allow  those  feelings  to 
 excite  in  him  any  sympathy  with  the  Southern 
 nullifiers  who  proposed  to  set  the  United  States 
 authorities  at  defiance,  and  the  Evening  Post 
 spoke  out  early  and  forcibly  against  the  proposed 
 nullification  of  United  States  laws  by  any  State, 
 Thus,  on  the  23d  of  March,  1832,  it  protested 
 against  the  utterances  of  another  journal  which 
 it  referred  to  as  "  speaking  lightly  of  the  Union," 
 and  it  said : 
 
 "  The  moment  that  our  government  ceases  to 
 be  supported  by  the  force  of  opinion  in  any  con- 
 siderable portion  of  its  territory,  that  moment  it 
 is  at  an  end.  It  is  a  dangerous  experiment  that 
 some  politicians  are  making  to  discover  the  ut- 
 most limit  of  this  force  of  opinion,  and  at  what 
 point  it  will  cease  to  support  the  execution  of 
 the  laws  in  a  large  part  of  the  Union.  It  is  worse. 
 It  is  a  flagitious  experiment — a  danger  unneces- 
 sarily and  wantonly  incurred." 
 
 When  President  Jackson's  proclamation  of  De- 
 cember 10,  1832,  to  the  South  Carolina  nullifiers 
 appeared,  the  Evening  Post  commended  it,  say- 
 ing of  it : 
 
 "  The  fallacies  of  the  nullification  doctrine  are 
 exposed  in  language  of  remarkable  clearness  and 
 strength,  and  the  consequence  of  carrying  it  into 
 effect  are  depicted  in  a  manner  which  must  cause 
 all  those  in  South  Carolina  who  are  not  who-Uy 
 beside  themselves  with  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
 ment to  shrink  back  with  dread  from  tiie  step 
 which  in  the  height  of  their  infatuation  they  are 
 about  to  take." 
 
 In  the  same  connection  the  Evening  Pust 
 said : 
 
 "  That  question  (South  Carolina's  attitude) 
 must  be  managed  with  great  judgment  and  with 
 a  strict  desire  to  do  justice  and  to  })reserve  the 
 Union,  or  its  consequences  may  extend  beyond 
 the  State  of  South  Carolina.  That  the  President 
 and  his  Cabinet  will  so  manage  it  we  have  not  a 
 doubt,  and  their  course  thus  far  is  i)ledge  that 
 they  will  do  so.  But  the  administration  cannot 
 do  everything ;  it  must  be  sustained  by  Congress. 
 The  universal  South  is  looking  to  Congress  for  a 
 
49 
 
 removal  of  the  burdens  of  which  it  has  so  long    | 
 complained    now  that    the  plea  of  their  being 
 necessar}'  for  raising  a  revenue  can  no  longer  be 
 urged  in  their  excuse." 
 
 Mr.  Bryant  opposed  the  Whig  projects  of 
 internal  improvements  and  was  an  earnest 
 supporter  of  President  Jackson's  course  toward 
 the  United  States  Bank — disapproving  of  the 
 bank  and  favoring  the  removal  of  the  United 
 States  deposits.  We  find  in  the  columns  of  the 
 EvExiNG  Post  in  1833  complaints  of  the  govern- 
 ment's delay  in  ordering  the  deposits  to  be  re- 
 moved, and  when  the  order  for  the  removal  was 
 given  it  greatly  rejoiced.  Alluding  to  the  de- 
 spairing lamentations  of  the  journals  which 
 sided  with  the  bank,  it  said : 
 
 "  Like  the  mis-shapen  dwarf  in  the  Lay  of  the 
 Last  Minstrel,  they  wave  their  lean  arms  on 
 high  and  run  to  and  fro  crying  '  Lost  I  lost  I  lost  I' 
 Who  can  doubt  the  sincerit}-  of  their  lamenta- 
 tions at  the  ileath  blow  which  has  been  given  to 
 the  United  States  Bank,  when  it  is  remembered 
 how  munificent  a  patron  tliat  institution  has  been 
 to  them  ?  Who  can  wonder  that  they  appear  at  j 
 the  head  of  the  funeral  train  as  chief  mourners, 
 and  raise  so  loud  their  solemn  wul-wullahs  when 
 he  reflects  how  well  their  gi  ief  is  paid  for  ?  But 
 their  wailing  is  vain — 'vainly  they  heap  the  ashes 
 on  their  heads' — the  fate  of  the  bank  is  sealed; 
 and  we  w^ho  are  not  paid  to  wet  our 
 cheeks  with  artificial  tears,  who  have  no 
 cause  to  be  a  mourner,  must  be  permitted  to  con- 
 gratulate the  country  that  a  monopoly  which,  in 
 the  corrupt  exercise  of  its  dangerous  power, 
 threatened  to  sap  the  foundation  of  American 
 independence  has,  by  this  firm  and  timely -act  of 
 the  general  government,  been  reduced  to  a  state 
 of  feebleness  which,  we  trust,  is  only  the  pre- 
 cursor of  final  dissolution." 
 
 The  EvExixG  Post   was  a  steady  advocate  of 
 the  Sub-Treasury  scheme,  and  when  in  1841  the  • 
 act  closing  the   Sub-Treasury  in  this   city  went 
 into  efi"ect  it  said : 
 
 "Never  was  there  a  system  of  more  complete 
 and  more  expeditious  responsibility.  What 
 would  have  required  the  negotiations  and  ar- 
 rangements of  months  if  a  bank  had  been  the 
 depository  is  done  in  an  instant.  There  is  no 
 inconvenience,  no  alarm,  no  loss.  Wall  street 
 suffers  no  shock.  Front  street  does  not  hear  of 
 the  event.  The  merchants  obtain  their  accom- 
 modations as  usual.  We  doubt  whether  the  wit 
 of  all  our  Legislatures,  both  state  and  national, 
 has,  within  twenty  years,  devised  anything  so  \ 
 perfect  in  its   way  as  the  mode  of  keeping  and 
 
 paying  out  the   public   money  which   Congress 
 has  just  had  the  folly  to  abrogate." 
 
 On  the  4th  of  September,  183*7,  President  Yan 
 Buren  sent  in  his  message  to  Congress  on  its 
 meeting  in  extra  session.  The  message  treated 
 largely  of  the  safe-keeping  and  disbursement  of 
 the  public  money,  and  of  it  the  Evening  Post 
 said : 
 
 "  We  welcome  it  not  onl}'  with  the  satisfaction 
 which  the  members  of  a  political  party  feel 
 when  those  whom  they  have  placed  high  in  pub- 
 lic trust  redeem  worthily  and  fully  the  pledges 
 they  have  given,  but  with  a  peculiar  gratifica- 
 tion of  seeing  the  measure  of  separating  politics 
 from  banking,  for  which  we  have  long  contended, 
 earnestly  recommended  to  the  American  people." 
 
 In  August,  1841,  Mr.  Tyler  vetoed  the  Bank 
 bill  which  the  Whig  Congress  had  passed.  The 
 Evening  Post  predicted  that  he  could  not  sanc- 
 tion this  measure  consistently,  and,  commenting 
 on  the  result,  it  said : 
 
 "  It  becomes  the  Democratic  party  to  rejoice 
 at  this  event  for  more  reasons  than  one.  It  puts 
 an  end  to  our  apprehensions  about  a  national 
 bank.  It  is  a  matter  of  rejoicing  that  treachery 
 has  met  with  its  due  reward.  Such  is  the  pun- 
 ishment which  has  overtaken  the  conspirators 
 who  sought  to  establish  a  bank  without  consult- 
 ing the  will  of  the  people.  It  is  a  subject  of 
 congratulation  that  the  least  scrupulous  and  most 
 sordid  of  all  parties  which  ever  existed  in  this 
 country  is  broken  up,  prostrated  and  scattered 
 by  this  blow  from  the  hand  of  one  who  assisted 
 to  place  it  in  the  ascendancy," 
 
 Of  course  a  man  holding  Mr.  Bryant's  views 
 was  brought  constantly  in  conflict  with  the 
 opinion  of  Henry  Clay.  They  were  as  opposed 
 to  one  another  politically  as  two  political  stu- 
 dents could  be,  and  we  can  recall  but  one  ques- 
 tion about  which  they  agreed,  namely,  in  oppos- 
 ing the  war  with  Mexico.  But  when  the  Whig 
 National  Convention  at  Harrisburg,  Pa.,  in  De- 
 cember, 1839,  nominated  General  Harrison  for 
 the  Presidency  instead  of  Henry  Clay,  the 
 Evening  Post  made  the  following  generous  al- 
 lusion to  the  defeated  candidate  : 
 
 "  The  refusal  to  nominate  Mr.  Clay  affords  a 
 fair  presumption  that  the  Whig  party  is  unwil- 
 ling to  leave  the  next  Presidential  election  to  be 
 decided  by  the  popularity  of  their  own  principles. 
 Mr.  Clay  is  completely  identified  with  the  Whig- 
 party,  not  only  in  all  its  doctrines,  but  in  all  its 
 practices  and  measures.     He  is  one  of  the  fairest 
 
50 
 
 and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  most  favorable 
 impersonatiuus  of  that  party  which  can  be  found. 
 If  he  were  to  be  a  candidate  he  would  stand  be- 
 fore the  public  responsible  for  the  proceedings  of 
 his  party  through  a  long  course  of  years — pro- 
 ceedings quoriim  pars  magna  fuit.  His  party 
 have  preferred  a  man  who  has  taken  a  very  in- 
 significant part  in  civil  life,  a  man  of  pliant  and 
 easy  disi)osition,  who  Avas  never  remarkable  for 
 decided  opinions,  and,  in  fact,  whose  opinions 
 nobody  ever  thought  it  worth  while  to  inquire 
 about  before  he  was  nominated." 
 
 As  a  Free  Soil  Democrat  Mr.  Brj-ant  was  a 
 zealous  opponent  of  the  Texas  annexation  pro- 
 ject, and  he  denounced  it  in  the  Evening  Post  as 
 "  infamous."  He  was  one  of  the  vice-presi- 
 dents of  an  anti-annexation  meeting  held 
 in  the  Tabernacle  in  this  city  on  the 
 24th  of  April,  1844,  at  which  Albert  Gal- 
 latin presided,  and  resolutions  were  adopted 
 declaring  that  the  United  States  had  by  treaty 
 acknowledged  Texas  to  be  a  part  of  Mexico  ;  that 
 annexation  would  be  a  declaration  of  war  against 
 that  nation,  and  that  "  Texas  should  in  no  case 
 be  annexed  without  proper  guards  against 
 slavery."  He  favored  the  nomination  of  Van 
 Buren  for  the  Presidency  in  1844,  and  was  not 
 satisfied  with  Polk.  The  Evening  Post,  however, 
 supported  the  latter,  arguing  that  "if  the  dis- 
 satisfied part  of  the  party  should  withdraw  their 
 support  from  Mr.  Polk  the  effect  would  be  either 
 to  defeat  the  party  altogether  or  to  permit  the 
 advocates  of  unconditional  annexation  to  claim 
 the  victory  as  exclusivel}'  their  own."  But,  if 
 the  Van  Buren  Democrats  continued  their  alle- 
 giance to  the  party,  it  thought  that  "  the  Texas 
 (juestion  then  becomes  a  question  which  the  Dem- 
 ocrats are  to  settle  among  themselves,  on  prin- 
 ciples of  equity  and  justice,  in  the  determination 
 of  which  the  whole  party  will  be  consulted," 
 
 Texan  annexation  was  accomplished,  and  the 
 predicted  war  with  Mexico  followed.  We  find 
 the  Evening  Post  saying  on  the  8th  of  May, 
 1846,  a  short  time  before  General  Taylor  crossed 
 the  Rio  Grande : 
 
 "  We  were  assured  when  Texas  was  annexed  to 
 the  Union  that  it  would  draw  after  it  no  such 
 consequences  as  now  seem  imminent  if  our  rela- 
 tions with  Mexico  be  not  managed  with  great 
 delicacy  and  prudence.  We  have  a  right  to  ex- 
 pect of  our  government  that  it  shall  leave  no  hon- 
 orable method   unemployed  to  prevent  that    act 
 
 I    from  bringing   upon  us   hostilities  serious  to  our 
 j    commerce,  and    expenditures  burdensome  to  the 
 people." 
 
 \        When   the    war  actually  began   the    Evening 
 '    Post  said : 
 
 "  Whatever  may  be  the  varieties  of  opinion  in 
 regard  to  the  question  whether  this  war  could 
 have  been  avoided,  the  large  majorit}-  of  both 
 political  parties,  in  this  })art  of  the  country  at 
 least,  are  disposed  to  give  support  to  the  admin- 
 istration in  its  prosecution.  The  fact  is,  we  be- 
 lieve, the  people  are  wear}-  of  the  amphibious 
 state  in  which  our  relations  toward  Mexico  have 
 so  long  remained.  We  approve  of  making  such 
 demonstrations  of  vigor  as  shall  convince  Mexico 
 that  we  are  in  earnest,  and  that  we  are  resolved 
 upon  an  adjustment  of  the  difficulties  which  have 
 so  long  subsisted  between  us.  " 
 
 Mr.  Bryant  supported   Pierce  for  President  in 
 1852,  although  recognising  some  of  the  inconsis- 
 tencies of  the  platform  on  which    he  was  nomi- 
 nated.    He  was,  however,  disappointed  in  his  ad- 
 ministration, and  believing  that  it  w^as  irretrieva- 
 j    bly  allied  to  the  slave  power  he  became  one  of  its 
 !    opponents.     On  the  29th  of   April,  1856,  a  great 
 meeting  was  held    in  the  Tabernacle  in  this  city 
 "  to  oppose  the  measures  and    policy  of  the  pres- 
 ent national  administration    for    the  extension  of 
 slavery  over  territory  embraced  within  the  com- 
 pact of  the  '  Missouri  Compromise,'  and  in  favor 
 of  repairing  the  mischiefs  arising  from  the  viola- 
 j    tion  of  good   faith  in  its  repeal,  and  of  restoring 
 i    the  action  and  position  of  the  federal  government 
 I    on   the   subject   of  slavery  to   the  })rinciples   of 
 Washington    and    JefiFerson."     At   this   meeting 
 !    the  following  letter  from  Mr.  Bryant   was  read : 
 
 j  "  New  York,  April  28, 1856. 
 
 "  Gentlemen :   It  ma}-  not  be  in   my  power  to 
 I    be  present   at  the    meeting  at   which  you  have 
 I    done  me  the  honor  to  request  my  attendance,  but 
 I    I  fully  agree  with  you  as  to  the  importance  of  a 
 1    combined  effort  to  assert  the    right  of  the  great 
 body  of  American  citizens  against  the  encroach- 
 ments of  an  oligarchy — a  class  of  proprietors  who 
 seek  to  subject  all  other  interests,  even  the  most 
 sacred  and  dear,  to  their  own. 
 
 "  Even  if  tlie  question  were  merely  whether 
 wc  should  stand  by  our  old  neighbors — our 
 I  friends  and  kinsmen,  who  have  lately  left  us  for 
 t  a  new  home  west  of  Missouri,  the  occasion  would 
 I  be  a  fitting  one  to  call  forth  all  our  zeal  and  unite 
 ;  all  our  strength.  If  we  desert  them  in  their  hour 
 I  of  need  we  shall  be  justly  branded  as  cold-hearted, 
 ;    selfish  and  cowardly.     No  nation  in  the  history 
 
51 
 
 of  the  world  was  ever  so  faithless  to  the  obliga- 
 tions of  humanity  as  to  be  indifferent  to  the  fate 
 of  the  colonies  it  had  planted.  With  the  repub 
 lies  of  antiquity  it  was  a  matter  of  course  to  an- 
 swer the  call  of  their  colonies  with  instant  sym- 
 pathy and  aid.  England  would  cover  herself 
 with  infamy  if  she  were  to  allow  one  of  her  col- 
 onies, appealing-  to  her  for  protection,  to  be 
 brought  by  force  under  the  sway  of  an  absolute 
 government.  In  the  present  case  the  caU  made 
 upon  us  is  for  a  species  of  succor  which  will  cost 
 us  no  sacrifice,  the  cheap  and  peaceful  aid  of  our 
 votes.  The  votes  of  the  great,  prosperous  and 
 powerful  North  are  all  that  is  required  to  de- 
 liver the  settlements  on  the  Kansas  from  the 
 combination  of  fraud  and  violence  formed  to 
 wrest  from  them  their  rights  and  compel  them 
 to  submit  to  laws  which  their  representatives 
 never  enacted,  AVe  raise  committees,  we  organ- 
 ize a  system  of  charity  when  our  benevolence  is 
 appealed  to  by  the  people  of  a  foreign  country  in 
 distress.  Ought  we  to  do  less  for  our  country- 
 men ?  Let  us  organize  the  entire  region  of  the 
 free  States,  with  such  aid  as  we  can  obtain  from 
 the  just  and  well  disposed  of  the  slave  States,  in- 
 to a  great  association  for  breaking  up  the  con- 
 spiracy against  the  rights  of  our  countrymen  and 
 kindred  at  the  West  who  look  to  us  for  help. 
 Every  generous  feeling  allies  itself  with  the  sense 
 of  justice  in  favor  of  the  cause  in  which  you  are 
 engaged.  I  am,  gentlemen,  with  great  regard, 
 your  obedient  servant, 
 
 "  William  C,  Bryant," 
 
 From  this  time  Mr.  Bryant  acted  with  the  Re- 
 publican party.  He  sustained  Fremont  in  the 
 Evening  Post  in  1856,  was  a  Republican  Presi- 
 dential elector  in  1860,  gave  Lincoln  and  the 
 Union  cause  his  warmest  support  in  1861  and 
 during  the  war,  and  advocated  the  election  of 
 Grant  in  1868,  He  was,  however,  no  servile 
 follower  of  any  party  standard,  and  he  was  ever 
 ready  to  criticise  the  men  and  measures  of  the 
 Republican  party  when  they  were  opposed  to  his 
 judgment  as  he  was  ready  to  commend  the  men 
 and  measures  of  its  opponents  when  they  met  his 
 approval. 
 
 The  administration  of  General  Grant  was  un- 
 satisfactory to  him  in  many  ways,  and  he  with 
 thousands  of  others  looked  to  the  Cincinnati  con- 
 vention of  1872  to  offer  to  the  country  a  candidate 
 and  a  platform  which  would  give  the  fullest 
 promise  of  an  administration  pledged  to  support 
 an  enlightened  revenue  system  and  a  reformed 
 civil  service.  The  nomination  of  Horace  Greeley, 
 the  leading  protectionist  of  the  country,  was  a 
 
 great  disappointment  to  him,  and  he  did  not  hesi- 
 tate in  refusing  to  accept  Mr,  Greeley  as  the 
 representative  of  the  ideas  which  the  promoters 
 of  the  Cincinnati  convention  favored.  On  the 
 30th  of  May,  1872,  a  meeting  was  held  in  Stein- 
 way  Hall  in  this  city  to  discuss  the  possibility  of 
 putting  in  the  field  a  ticket  which  would  repre- 
 sent those  ideas.  At  this  meeting  Mr.  Bryant 
 presided,  and  in  his  speech  on  that  occasion  he 
 said : 
 
 "  We  will  go  on  and  demand  of  Congress  that 
 it  shall  give  the  people  all  which  they  are  en- 
 titled to ;  that  is  to  say,  an  honest  revenue  tariff 
 and  nothing  else.  That  we  are  determined  to 
 have,  and  we  will  not  give  over  this  effort ;  we 
 will  not  cease  agitating  this  subject  until  we 
 shall  have  made  it  dangerous  for  any  political 
 party,  whatever  its  name,  to  ignore  this  import- 
 ant question  and  to  put  aside  the  demand  of  the 
 people  for  an  abrogation  of  this  duty,  these  in- 
 direct taxes,  whicli  are  burdensome  to  every 
 walk  of  life,  every  class,  and  which  paralyze  the 
 industry  of  the  country," 
 
 The  nomination  of  such  a  candidate  as  this 
 meeting  desired  was  not  secured,  and  the  Even- 
 ing Post  gave  its  support  to  the  re-election  of 
 President  Grant  as  the  best  thing  attainable  in 
 the  circumstances. 
 
 During  the  summer  of  1872,  there  were  rumors 
 that  Mr.  Bryant  himself  would  be  the  Presiden- 
 tial candidate  of  the  dissatisfied  members  of  the 
 Cincinnati  Convention.  To  silence  this  report 
 he  printed  the  following  card : 
 
 "  Certain  journals  of  this  city  have  lately 
 spoken  of  me  as  one  ambitious  of  being  nominat- 
 ed as  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency  of  the  United 
 States.  The  idea  is  absurd  enough,  not  only  on 
 account  of  my  advanced  age,  but  of  my  unfitness 
 in  various  respects  for  the  labor  of  so  eminent  a 
 post.  I  do  not,  however,  object  to  the  discus- 
 sion of  my  deficiencies  on  any  other  ground  than 
 that  it  is  altogether  superfluous,  since  it  is  im- 
 possible that  I  should  receive  any  formal  nom- 
 ination, and  equally  impossible,  if  it  were  offered, 
 that  I  should  commit  the  folly  of  accepting  it. 
 '•  William  C.  Bryant. 
 
 "  New  York,  July  8,  1872." 
 
 Mr,  Bryant's  last  appearance  at  a  political 
 meeting  was  in  1875,  when  on  the  12th  of  Janu 
 ary  he  presided  at  the  meeting  held  in  Cooper 
 Institute  to  denounce  the  interference  of  United 
 States  troops  with  the  Louisiana  Legislature,  In 
 his  speech  on  this  occasion  he  said : 
 
52 
 
 "  I  regard  this  question  solely  as  a  solemn 
 question  of  constitutional  law.  No  matter  who 
 desires  the  interference  of  the  militar}',  it  should 
 not  have  been  given  but  in  the  wa}'  of  the  Con- 
 stitution— otherwise  it  is  an  act  from  which  no 
 citizen  has  a  right  to  withhold  his  condemnation. 
 It  must  be  rebuked  the  instant  it  is  perpetrated. 
 The  evil  must  be  crushed  in  its  infancy,  while  its 
 bones  are  yet  in  gristle,  and  before  it  becomes 
 formidable  as  a  precedent.  These  practices, 
 which  contemplate  the  subjection  of  local  politics 
 to  the  federal  authorities  by  the  exercise  of  the 
 military  power,  must  be  stopped,  must  be  broken 
 up  forever." 
 
 Mr.  Bryant's  active  interest  in  all  the  political 
 questions  of  the  day  continued  up  to  the  time  of 
 his  last  illness,  and  although  he  was  not  called 
 on,  after  the  meeting  mentioned  above,  to  speak 
 on  political  subjects,  he  continued  from  time  to 
 time  to  use  his  pen  with  all  its  old  vigor.  An 
 editorial  article  by  him,  printed  in  the  Evenixg 
 Post  of  the  26th  November,  1876,  on  the  occa- 
 sion of  the  intervention  of  the  United  States 
 troops  in  the  Legislature  of  South  Carolina  illus- 
 trated his  vigor  of  thought  and  expression,  and 
 was  widely  copied.     In  this  article  he  said  : 
 
 "  We  protest  against  the  proceeding,  not  only 
 in  the  name  of  liberty  and  justice,  but  in  behalf 
 of  the  Republican  party,  whose  good  name  and 
 worthy  record  are  brought  in  question  by  the 
 
 resort  to  military  force  in  a  question  purely 
 political.  Here  is  already  incorporated  into  the 
 history  of  a  republic  a  precedent  of  as  arbitrary 
 a  nature  as  the  act  of  Cromwell  when  he  turned 
 the  British  Parliament  out  of  doors.  The  rule  of 
 all  representative  bodies,  that  they  are  judges  of 
 the  election  and  qualifications  of  their  members, 
 is  summarily  set  aside,  and  Mr.  Dennis  the  furni- 
 ture dealer,  with  federal  troops  at  his  back, 
 usurps  that  office.  Even  the  excuse  that  disturb- 
 ance and  bloodshed  were  dreaded,  and  insurrec- 
 tion so  formidable  that  Governor  Chamberlain 
 would  lack  the  means  to  quell  it,  does  not  ap- 
 pear to  have  been  made.  The  usurpation  is  not 
 masked  with  any  plausible  pretext ;  it  sweeps 
 away  every  restraint  of  usage  and  precedent  and 
 law,  and  substitutes  simple  force  for  the  quiet 
 formalities  of  ordinary  leijislation.  The  Repub- 
 lican party  is  not  powerful  enough  in  comparison 
 with  the  opposition  to  sustain  the  responsibility 
 of  such  measures,  and  it  becomes  every  member 
 of  it  who  desires  its  predominance  and  its  useful- 
 ness, to  disclaim  all  part  in  such  proceedings." 
 
 A  subject  in  which  he  took  great  personal  in- 
 terest in  late  years  was  reciprocity  treaties  with 
 other  countries,  and  particularly  with  Hawaii; 
 and  almost  the  onl}'  piece  of  consecutive  edi- 
 torial work  which  he  did  on  the  Evening  Post, 
 since  the  war,  was  the  series  of  articles  in 
 support  of  the  Hawaiian  treaty,  all  of  which 
 were  from  his  pen. 
 
THE    LAST    ORATION 
 
 Mr.  Bryant  appeared  for  the  last  time  in  pub- 
 lic on  the  29th  of  May,  1878.  He  then  took  part 
 in  the  ceremony  of  unveiling  the  bust  of  Maz- 
 zini,  the  Italian  statesman,  in  the  Central  Park, 
 in  New  York,  and  delivered  the  following  ad- 
 dress : 
 
 "  History,  my  friends,  has  recorded  the  deeds 
 of  Giuseppe  Mazzini  on  a  tablet  which  will  en- 
 dure while  the  annals  of  Italy  are  read.  Art  has 
 been  called  to  do  her  part  in  perpetuating  his 
 memory,  and  to-day  a  bust  is  unveiled  which  will 
 make  millions  familiar  with  the  divine  image 
 stamped  on  the  countenance  of  one  of  the  great- 
 est men  of  our  times. 
 
 "  The  idea  of  Italian  unity  and  liberty  was  the 
 passion  of  Mazzini's  life  ;  it  took  possession  of 
 him  in  youth,  it  grew  stronger  as  the  years  went 
 on,  and  lost  none  of  its  power  over  him  in  his 
 age.  N^or  is  it  at  all  surprising  that  it  should 
 have  taken  a  strong  hold  on  his  youthful  imagin- 
 ation. I  recollect  very  well  that  when,  forty- 
 four  years  ago,  I  tirst  entered  Italy,  then  held 
 down  under  the  weight  of  a  score  of  despotisms, 
 the  same  idea  forcibly  suggested  itself  to  my 
 mind  as  I  looked  southward  from  the  slopes  of 
 the  mountain  country.  There  lay  a  great  sister- 
 hood of  provinces  requiring  only  a  confederate 
 republican  government  to  raise  them  to  the 
 rank  of  a  great  power,  presenting  to  the  world 
 a  single  majestic  front,  and  parcelling  out  the 
 powers  of  local  legislation  and  government 
 among  the  different  neighborhoods  iu  such  a 
 manner  as  to  educate  the  whole  populatioa 
 in  a  knowledge  of  the  duties  and  rights  of 
 freemen.  There  were  the  industrious  Pied- 
 montese,  the  enterprising  Genoese,  among  whom 
 Mazzini  was  born — a  countryman  of  Colum- 
 bus— there    were  the   ambitious  Venetians   and 
 
 the  Lombards,  rejoicing  in  their  fertile  plains; 
 and,  there,  as  the  imagination  followed  the 
 ridge  of  the  Appenines  toward  the  Strait  of 
 Messina,  were  the  Tuscans,  famed  in  letters, 
 the  Umbrians,  wearing  in  their  aspect  the 
 tokens  of  Latin  descent,  the  Romans  in  their 
 centre  of  arts,  the  gay  Neapolitans,  and  further 
 south  the  versatile  Sicilians,  over  whose  valleys 
 rolls  the  smoke  of  the  most  famous  volcano  in  the 
 world.  As  we  traverse  these  regions  in  thought 
 we  recognize  them  all  as  parts  of  one  Italy,  yet 
 each  inhabited  by  Italians  of  a  different  charac- 
 ter from  the  rest,  all  speaking  Italian,  but  with  a 
 difference  in  each  province ;  each  region  cher- 
 ishing its  peculiar  traditions,  which  reach  back  to 
 the  beginning  of  civilization,  and  its  peculiar 
 usages  observed  for  ages. 
 
 "  Well  might  the  great  man  whose  bust  we  dis- 
 close at  this  time  to  the  public  gaze  be  deeply 
 moved  by  this  spectacle  of  his  countrymen  and 
 kindred  bound  in  the  shackles  of  a  brood  of  local 
 tyrannies  which  kept  them  apart  that  they  might 
 with  more  ease  be  oppressed.  When  he  further 
 considered  the  many  great  men  who  had  risen 
 from  time  to  time  in  Italy  as  examples  of  the 
 intellectual  endowments  of  her  people — states- 
 men, legislators,  men  of  letters,  men  eminent  in 
 philosophy,  in  arms,  and  in  arts — I  say  that  he 
 might  well  claim  for  the  birth-place  of  such  men 
 the  unity  of  its  provinces  to  make  it  great,  and 
 the  liberty  of  its  people  to  raise  them  uj)  to  the 
 standard  of  their  mental  endowments.  Who 
 shall  blame  him — who  in  this  land  of  freedom — 
 for  demanding  in  behalf  of  such  a  country  a  po- 
 litical constitution  framed  on  the  most  liberal 
 pattern  which  the  world  has  seen  ? 
 
 " For  such  a  constitution  he  planned;  for  that 
 he  labored ;  that  object  he  never  suffered  to  be 
 
54 
 
 out  of  his  sight.  No  proclaimer  of  a  new  religion 
 was  ever  more  faitliful  to  his  mission.  Here 
 where  we  have  latel}^  closed  a  sanguinary  but 
 successful  war  in  defence  of  the  unity  of  the 
 states  which  form  our  republic  ;  here  where  we 
 have  just  broken  the  chains  of  three  millions  of 
 bondmen,  is,  above  all  others,  the  place  where  a 
 memorial  of  the  great  champion  of  Italian  unity 
 and  liberty  should  be  set  up  amid  a  storm  of  ac- 
 clamation from  a  multitude  of  freemen. 
 
 "  Yet  earnestly  as  he  desired  these  ends  and 
 struggled  to  attain  them,  the  struggle  was  a 
 noble  and  manly  one ;  he  disdained  to  compass 
 these  ends  by  base  or  ferocious  means ;  he  ab- 
 horred bloodshed ;  he  detested  vengeance ;  he 
 spoke  little  of  rights,  but  much  of  duties,  resolv- 
 ing the  cares  of  an  enlightened  statesmanship 
 into  matters  of  duty.  The  only  warfare  which 
 he  would  allow,  and  that  as  a  sorrowful  necessit}^, 
 was  an  open  warfare  waged  against  that  brute 
 force  that  violates  human  duty  and  human  right. 
 In  that  warfare  his  courage  rose  always  equal  to 
 the  occasion — a  courage  worthy  of  the  generous 
 ])olitical  philosophy  which  he  professed.  For 
 there  was  no  trial  he  would  not  endure,  no  sacri- 
 fice, no  labor  he  would  not  undertake,  no  danger 
 he  would  not  encounter  for  tlie  sake  of  that  dream 
 of  his  youth  and  pursuit  of  his  manhood,  the 
 unity  and  liberty  of  Italy. 
 
 "  That  country  is  now  united  under  one  politi- 
 cal head — save  a  portion  arbitrarily  and  unjustly 
 added  to  France — and  to  the  public  opinion 
 formed  in  Italy  by  the  teachings  of  Mazzini  the 
 union  is  in  large  measure  due.  Italy  has  now  a 
 constitutional  government,  the  best  feature  of 
 which  it  owes  to  the  principles  of  republicanism 
 in  which  Mazzini  trained  a  whole  generation  of 
 the  young  men  of  Italy,  however  short  the 
 present  government  of  the  country  may  fall  of 
 the  ideal  standard  at  which  he  aimed. 
 
 "  One  great  result  for  which  he  labored  was 
 the  perfect  freedom  of  religious  worship.  Well 
 has  he  deserved  the  honors  of  posterity  who, 
 holding  enforced  worship  to  be  an  abomination 
 in  the  sight  of  God,  took  his  life  in  his  hand 
 and  went  boldly  forward  until  the  yoke  of  the 
 great  tyranny  exercised  over  the  religious  con- 
 science in  his  native  country  was  broken.  Such 
 a  hero  deserves  a  monument  in  a  land  where  the 
 government  knows  no  distinction  between  reli- 
 gious denominations  and  leaves  their  worship  to 
 their  consciences. 
 
 "  I  will  not  say  that  he  whose  image  is  to-day 
 unveiled  was  prudent  in  all  his  proceedings ; 
 nobody  is ;  timidit}'  itself  is  not  always  prudence. 
 But  wherever  he  went  and  whatever  he  did  he 
 was  a  power  on  earth.  He  wielded  an  immense 
 influence  over  men's  minds;  he  controlled  a  vast 
 agency,  he  made  himself  the  centre  of  a  wide 
 diff"usion  of  opinions;  his  footsteps  are  seen  in 
 the  track  of  history  by  those  who  do  not  always 
 reflect  by  whose  feet  they  are  impressed.  Such 
 was  the  celerity  of  his  movements  and  so  sure 
 the  attachment  of  his  followers  that  he  was  the 
 terror  of  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe.  Kings 
 trembled  when  they  heard  that  he  had  suddenly 
 disappeared  from  London,  and  breathed  more 
 freely  when  they  learned  that  he  was  in  his 
 grave.  In  proportion  as  he  was  dreaded  he  was 
 maligned. 
 
 "  Image  of  the  illustrious  champion  of  civil 
 and  religious  liberty,  cast  in  enduring  bronze  to 
 typify  the  imperishable  renown  of  th}^  original ! 
 Remain  for  ages  yet  to  come  where  we  place 
 thee,  in  this  resort  of  millions;  remain  till  the  day 
 shall  dawn — far  distant  though  it  may  be — when 
 the  rights  and  duties  of  human  brotherhood  shall 
 be  acknowledged  by  all  the  races  of  mankind." 
 
ILLNESS,    DEATH    AND    BURIAL 
 
 Mr.  Bryant  partook  of  a  very  light  luncheon 
 on  the  day  of  the  Mazzini  celebration,  and  was 
 driven  to  the  Central  Park  soon  afterward  in  his 
 carriage.  The  day  was  warm,  and  the  sun  was 
 shining  so  brightly  when  he  advanced  to  make 
 his  address  that  a  friend  insisted  upon  holding  an 
 umbrella  over  hira;  as  he  began  his  peroration, 
 however,  he  stepped  forth  and  stood  with  his  un- 
 covered head  exposed  to  the  full  glare  of  the  sun- 
 light, and  when  he  ceased  speaking  he  was 
 evidently  much  exhausted.  Disclaiming  all 
 fatigue,  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  visit  the 
 house  of  General  James  G.  Wilson  in  Seventy- 
 fourth  street  to  rest  and  partake  of  a  little  re- 
 freshment. This  was  at  about  half-past  three 
 o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  With  one  hand  on  the 
 arm  of  his  host,  and  the  other  holding  the  hand 
 of  General  Wilson's  little  daughter,  he  crossed 
 the  green  to  the  Halleck  statue,  in  front  of  which 
 he  paused  to  make  a  few  comments.  The  Morse 
 statue  and  the  Lenox  Library  building  also  at- 
 tracted his  attention  in  their  order,  and  called 
 forth  some  further  remark.  Between  the  Maz- 
 zini bust  and  the  Seventy-second  street  gate  a 
 number  of  birds  were  observed  flying  about  or 
 hopping  across  the  green.  Mr.  Bryant  asked 
 the  child  by  his  side  whether  she  knew  what 
 the  birds  were,  and,  on  receiving  correct  answers, 
 seemed  much  pleased.  He  then  asked  her  if  she 
 had  ever  heard  some  little  verses  about  the  Bob-o'- 
 Link.  She  replied  that  she  had,  and  she  also  knew 
 the  poet  who  wrote  them.  This  caused  him  much 
 amusement,  and  he  said :  "  I  think  I  shall  have 
 to  write  them  out  for  you  some  time," 
 
 Going  up  the  steps  of  the  house,  Mr.  Bryant 
 still  held  General  Wilson's  arm.  The  outer  door, 
 which  is  a  double  one,  stood  half  open.  Stepping 
 into  the  vestibule  with  his  daughter  to  open  the 
 
 inner  door  with  his  latch-key,  General  Wilson 
 left  his  guest  leaning  against  the  outer  door-post. 
 Scarcely  a  second  had  elapsed  before  a  sound 
 attracted  his  attention,  and,  turning,  he  caught 
 sight  of  Mr.  Bryant  just  as  his  head  ^truck  the 
 platform  step.  The  old  gentleman  had  fallen 
 directly  backward,  and  the  lower  part  of  his 
 body  lay  inside  the  vestibule.  Had  he  stepped 
 back  at  all  in  his  fall,  he  would  without  doubt 
 have  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps  ;  had  he 
 veered  to  either  side,  he  must  have  struck  the 
 edge  of  the  closed  door  or  the  stone  jam.  In 
 either  case  he  Avould  probably  have  been  killed 
 at  once,  or  received  a  wound  which  he  could  sur- 
 vive at  most  but  a  few  hours.  A  gentleman  who 
 was  passing  in  the  street  saw  the  accident  and 
 hastened  to  offer  his  services ;  at  the  same  time 
 the  servants  of  the  house  appeared,  and  Mr.  Bry- 
 ant was  carried  into  the  parlor  and  laid  on  a 
 sofa  in  a  state  of  insensibility.  Mrs.  Wilson  had 
 some  ice  water  brought,  with  which  she  bathed 
 his  head.  The  suff'erer  murmured  "  Don't !''  but 
 exhibited  no  signs  of  consciousness.  He  at  last 
 recovered  enough  to  sit  up,  and  a  glass  of  iced 
 sherry  was  offered  him,  which  he  drank.  This 
 seemed  to  revive  him  a  good  deal,  and  he  put  his 
 hand  to  his  head,  moaning,  "  My  head !  my 
 head !  I  don't  feel  well."  General  Wilson  sug- 
 !  gested  his  going  up  stairs  to  bed,  and  asked 
 where  his  medical  adviser  could  be  found,  but 
 all  offers  of  assistance  were  declined.  The  one 
 thought  that  seemed  to  possess  Mr.  Bryant's 
 mind  was  that  of  getting  home;  accordingly,  it 
 was  proposed  to  call  a  carriage,  but  he  expressed 
 a  preference  for  the  horse  cars. 
 
 He  was  taken  down  town  by  General  Wilson 
 in  a  Madison  avenue  car  as  far  as  Seventeenth 
 street,  where  a  passing  cab  was  hailed,   and  he 
 
56 
 
 was  driven  directly  to  his  house,  No,  24  West 
 Sixteenth  street.  During  all  this  time  he  would 
 use  connected  sentences  in  conversation,  but 
 lai)ses  would  occur  in  his  train  of  thought,  and 
 his  attention  would  wander  for  a  minute  or  two. 
 
 Arrived  at  his  home,  he  looked  curiously  at 
 the  house  and  up  and  down  the  street.  "  Whose 
 house  is  this  ?"  "  What  street  is  this  ?"  he  would 
 inquire,  apparently  unwilling  to  enter  a  place  so 
 unfamiliar  to  him  without  an  explanation.  Gen- 
 eral  Wilson  did  not  answer  these  questions 
 directly,  but  evaded  them  by  suggesting  that 
 they  should  go  in  together  and  rest  a  few 
 moments,  and,  having  helped  Mr.  Bryant  up  the 
 steps,  rang  the  bell.  The  servant  did  not  come 
 at  once ;  and  with  a  movement  which  had 
 evidently  become  mechanical  through  long  habit, 
 the  old  gentleman  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
 drew  thence  a  latch-key,  and  opened  the  door 
 himself.  The  two  passed  through  the  parlor 
 into  the  dining-room,  where  the  maid-servant 
 who  had  started  to  answer  the  bell  advanced 
 toward  them.  Mr.  Bryant  looked  dreamily  at 
 her  a  moment,  then  turned  to  General  Wilson, 
 and  inquired :  "  Would  you  like  to  see  Miss  Fair- 
 child  ?"  Receiving  an  affirmative  answer,  he 
 directed  the  servant  to  call  his  niece. 
 
 When  Miss  Fairchild  entered  the  parlor.  Gen- 
 eral Wilson  was  there  to  meet  her,  and  in  a  few 
 words  explained  what  had  occurred.  She  hast- 
 ened to  the  dining-room  and  spoke  to  Mr.  Bryant, 
 who  was  seated  in  a  large  easy  chair.  He  re- 
 cognized her  at  once,  and  she  proposed  sending 
 for  Dr.  Gray,  his  physician.  He  expressed  a 
 doubt  whether  the  doctor,  who  goes  out  but  very 
 little,  would  come  if  sent  for,  but  finally  con- 
 sented. After  his  removal  upstairs  to  his  library 
 he  was  left  for  a  moment  in  the  care  of  a  servant 
 a  fact  which  he  appreciated  well  enough  to  give 
 some  orders  to  her.  He  then  fell  into  a  semi- 
 conscious state.  Dr.  Gray,  on  his  arrival,  called 
 Dr.  Carnochan,  the  surgeon,  into  consultation  ; 
 a  careful  examination,  however,  having  dis- 
 covered no  cut  or  contusion  on  the  patient's 
 head,  and  the  disorder  having  been  decided  to 
 be  concussion  of  the  brain,  Dr.  Paine  was  called 
 in,  upon  whom,  jointly  with  Dr.  Gray,  thereafter 
 devolved  the  entire  conduct  of  the  case.  From 
 Di'.    I'aine,  on    tlie  dav  of  Mr.  I^ryant's  death  — 
 
 two  w^eeks   afterward — the  following  statement 
 was  obtained : 
 
 "  A  few  hours  after  the  accident,  and  while 
 Mr.  Bryant  was  in  his  own  house,  he  became  un- 
 conscious. From  this  comatose  state  he  rallied 
 occasionally,  at  times  reviving  sufficiently  to  en- 
 gage in  some  very  slight  conversation,  although 
 it  is  uncertain  how  far  he  was  able  to  recognize 
 his  friends.  He  made  no  remarks  upon  any 
 subject  except  a  few  in  reference  to  his  pre- 
 ferences in  the  matters  of  diet  and  air.  Once  in 
 a  while  he  would  ask  for  more  air.  Until  Sun- 
 day he  was  able  to  leave  his  bed,  and  some  hope 
 was  entertained  that  he  might  recover  his  phy- 
 sical health ;  but  on  that  day,  without  any  ap- 
 parent cause,  a  paralysis  of  his  right  side  in- 
 tervened, and  he  began  rapidly  to  fail.  His 
 coma  became  more  decided;  he  spoke  with  diffi- 
 culty, but  gave  no  signs  of  recognition  or  intel- 
 ligence ;  he  grew  weaker  and  weaker.  His 
 vitality  continued  to  diminish  until  5.35  o'clock 
 this  morning,  when,  without  struggle  or  disturb- 
 ance of  any  sort,  and  surrounded  by  his  famil}^, 
 he  died  while  asleep." 
 
 The  funeral  of  Mr.  Bryant  took  place  on  Fri- 
 day morning,  June  14th,  in  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bellows's 
 church,  at  the  corner  of  Fourth  avenue  and 
 Twentieth  street.  There  were  no  services  at  the 
 house. 
 
 The  coffin,  which  was  covered  with  black 
 cloth  and  mounted  with  silver,  bore  a  plate  with 
 the  inscription,  "  William  Cullen  Bryant.  Born 
 November  3,  1794.  Died  June  12,  1878."  Rest- 
 ing on  the  coffin  was  a  spray  of  palm  leaves, 
 fastened  together  by  a  knot  of  white  ribbon  ;  two 
 large  baskets  of  flowers  were  upon  the  commu- 
 nion table,  and  on  the  baptismal  font  was  a 
 beautiful  floral  pillar. 
 
 After  the  doors  were  opened,  at  ton  o'clock,  the 
 throng  in  waiting  moved  slowly  into  the  church, 
 which  was  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity,  the  gal- 
 leries being  as  crowded  as  the  main  floor.  When 
 all  the  pews  were  occupied  the  aisles  were  filled 
 with  persons  standing,  except  the  upper  part  of 
 the  centre  aisle,  which  was  kept  clear.  Many 
 who  came  to  the  church  were  obliged  to  turn 
 away,  finding  that  they  could  not  gain  admis- 
 
57 
 
 Large  delegations  were  present  from  the  Cen- 
 tury Club,  the  Union  League  Club,  the  New 
 York  Historical  Society,  the  Public  Schools  Aid 
 Society,  the  New  York  Press  Club,  the  Associated 
 Press,  and  other  organizations. 
 
 Four  different  Italian  Societies  were  represent- 
 ed, the  Mazzini  Monument  Committee,  the  Italian 
 Mutual  Benevolent  Society,  the  Italian  Brotherly 
 Society  and  the  Circolo  Italiano,  which  sent  a 
 committee  to  the  church,  of  which  C.  F.  Secchi 
 de  Casali,  editor  of  LEco  d' Italia,  was  chairman. 
 
 Among  the  well-known  persons  present  were 
 Messrs.  John  Bigelow,  Jackson  S.  Schultz,  Joseph 
 H.  Choate,  John  Jay,  E.  C.  Cowdm,  Cornelius  R. 
 Agnew,  Peter  Cooper,  Luther  R.  Marsh,  David 
 Dows,  Joseph  Seligman,  Charles  Lanier,  Josiah 
 M.  Fiske,  A  P.  Man,  Charles  W.  Griswold,  F. 
 D.  Tappen,  Lucius  Tuckerman,  J.  Langdon 
 Ward,  W.  H.  Lee,  F.  A.  Stout,  M.  M.  Beckwith, 
 C.  A.  Peabody,  Thomas  Hillhouse,  J.  B,  Kiddoo, 
 O.  P.  C.  Billings.  W.  H.  Fogg,  Charles  E.  Beebe, 
 James  Otis,  John  H.  Hall,  Daniel  Lord,  Jr., 
 George  C.  Magoun,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel  Osgood, 
 Chief  Justice  Daly,  Judge  Peabody,  Judge  How- 
 land,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Howard  Crosby,  John  H. 
 Gourlie,  John  A.  (rraham,  Henry  D.  Sedgwick, 
 Judge  William  E.  Curtis,  Professor  Youtnans, 
 Judge  Speir,  David  Dudley  Field,  Salem  H, 
 Wales,  Smith  E.  Lane,  Allan  Evarts,  Stephen  P. 
 Kash,  C.  C.  Beaman,  Edmund  C.  Stedman,  Walt 
 Whitman,  Eastman  Johnson,  John  Burroughs, 
 Daniel  Huntington,  Professor  Botta,  S.  R.  Gif- 
 ford,  R.  W.  Hubbard,  Professor  Drisler,  Pro- 
 fessor Van  Amringe,  Professor  Stengel,  Fire 
 Commissioners  King  and  Gorman,  James  W. 
 Pinchot,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Booth,  Charles  O'Conor, 
 Henry  Sedley,  Henry  A.  Oakley,  Governor 
 Tilden  with  Mrs.  Pelt  on,  Colonel  Pelton, 
 Mrs.  Cornelius  W.  Lawrence,  Charles  Butler, 
 Richard  Henry  Stoddard,  Dr.  T.  M.  Coan,  Row- 
 land Johnson,  Lewis  G.  Morris,  of  Fordham, 
 Ex-Governor  Morgan,  Edward  Cooper,  R.  H. 
 McCurdy,  D.  D.  T.  Marshall,  Dr.  L.  Hallock, 
 Colonel  T.  B.  Thorpe,  Sidney  Howard  Gay. 
 Charlton  T.  Lewis,  John  Savage,  Erastus  Brooks, 
 Cyrus  W.  Field,  Ellwood  E.  Thorne,  Wilson  G. 
 Hunt,  R.  W.  Gilder,  Whitelaw  Reid,  the  Rev. 
 Dr.  Prime,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Henry  M.  Field,  the 
 Rev.  Dr.  Potter,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Adams,  Thurlow 
 
 Weed,  Cephas  G.  Thompson,  Molyneux  Bell, 
 Addison  Brown,  W.  F.  Williams,  Dr.  Alexander 
 Wilder,  William  Ross  Wallace,  J.  M.  McLean, 
 the  Rev.  Dr.  Dowley,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Storrs,  the 
 Rev.  Dr.  Ormiston,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Rogers,  Bishop 
 Potter,  Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  Professor  Lovering 
 of  Harvard  College,  Drs.  Gray  and  Paine.  Henry 
 Bergh,  George  W.  Rose,  and  many  others. 
 
 Among  the  members  of  Mr.  Bryant's  family 
 present  were  Messrs.  John  H.  Bryant  and  Arthur 
 Bryant,  his  brothers;  Bryant  Godwin,  Harold 
 Godwin,  Miss  Minna  Godwin,  Miss  Nora  Godwin 
 and  Miss  Fanny  Godwin,  his  grandchildren ;  Miss 
 Fairchild,  his  niece;  and  Miss  Bryant,  his 
 daughter.  Mrs.  Parke  Godwin,  Mr.  Bryant's 
 elder  daughter,  who  is  travelling  with  her  hus- 
 band in  Europe,  received  the  sad  intelligence  too 
 late  to  admit  of  her  returning  to  attend  the 
 funeral. 
 
 Of  the  persons  who  have  been  associated  with 
 Mr.  Bryant  in  connection  with  the  Evening  Post 
 there  were  present,  among  others,  Mr.  Isaac 
 Henderson,  Mr,  Isaac  Henderson,  Jr.,  Mr.  William 
 G.  Boggs,  Mr.  N.  F.  Whiting,  Mr.  Albert  B. 
 King  and  Mr.  Watson  R.  Sperry. 
 
 The  services  began  with  a  prelude  on  the 
 organ,  the  selection  being  the  andante  from  Bee- 
 thoven's seventh  symphony.  This  was  followed 
 by  the  singing  of  Rooke's  "  Rest,  spirit,  rest," 
 the  singers  being  a  quartette  composed  of  Miss 
 Barton,  soprano ;  Miss  Bell,  alto ;  Mr,  Jamieson, 
 tenor,  and  Mr,  Clapp,  bass.  Mr.  Melvin  Brown 
 was  the  organist. 
 
 The  Rev.  Dr.  Bellows  read  the  King's  chapel 
 service  for  the  dead,  and  then  offered  prayer. 
 After  the  hymn  "  Come  unto  Him,"  by  Handel, 
 he  delivered  the  address  which  is  printed  else- 
 where in  full. 
 
 At  the  close  of  the  address  the  choir  sang  to 
 the  tune  of  Beethoven's  "  Germany  "  the  follow- 
 ing hymn,  of  which  Mr.  Bryant  was  the  author : 
 
 "  Deem  not  that  they  are  blest  alone 
 Whose  days  a  peaceful  tenor  keep; 
 The  God  who  loves  our  race  has  shown 
 A  blessing  for  the  eyes  that  weep. 
 
 "  The  light  of  smiles  shall  fill  again 
 The  lids  that  overflow  with  tears, 
 And  weary  hours  of  woe  and  paiu 
 Are  earnests  of  serener  years. 
 
58 
 
 "  Oh,  there  are  days  of  hope  and  rest 
 For  every  dark  aud  troubled  night  ! 
 
 And  grief  may  bide  an  evening  guest  ; 
 But  joy  shall  come  with  early  light. 
 
 "  And  thou  who  o'er  thy  friend's  low  bier 
 Dost  shed  the  bitter  drops  like  rain, 
 Hope  that  a  brighter,  happier  sphere 
 Will  give  him  to  thy  arms  again." 
 
 The  Lord's  Prayer  having  been  recited  in 
 unison  by  the  pastor  and  the  congregation,  Dr. 
 Bellows  announced  that  the  body  would  be  con- 
 veyed to  Roslj-n,  Long  Island,  for  burial.  He 
 then  pronounced  the  benediction. 
 
 Beethoven's  funeral  march  was  played  on 
 the  organ  and  the  vast  congregation  dispersed, 
 passing  slowly  by  the  coffin,  which  remained  un- 
 opened. 
 
 The  sjiecial  train  which  conveyed  the  body  of 
 ]\Ir.  Bryant  to  Roslyn,  Long  Island,  in  the  after- 
 noon, left  Hunters  Point  at  half-past  1  o'clock. 
 The  accompanying  party  occupied  two  passenger 
 cars.  Of  Mr.  Bryant's  family  there  were  present, 
 Miss  Bryant,  Arthur  Bryant,  John  H.  Bryant, 
 Bryant  Godwin,  Harold  Godwin,  Miss  Minna 
 Godwin,  Miss  Nora  Godwin,  Miss  Fanny  God- 
 win, Captain  Cullen  Br^-ant  and  Miss  Fairchild. 
 Among  the  accompanying  friends  were  Chief- 
 Justice  Daly,  Ex-Governor  Tilden,  Cyrus  W. 
 Field,  Judge  Howland,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Osgood, 
 Mrs.  Osgood,  Mrs.  John  J.  Monell,  Miss  Sands, 
 Charles  Butler,  Charles  F.  McLean,  J.  H.  Piatt, 
 John  A.  Graham,  John  Bigelow,  Mrs.  Bigelow, 
 S.  L.  M.  Barlow  and  Mrs.  Barlow,  James  \Yil- 
 liams,  the  Rev.  Horatio  N.  Powers,  Isaac  Hen- 
 derson, Isaac  Henderson,  Jr.,  F.  K.  Goddard, 
 General  Wilson,  Watson  R.  Sperry  and  Henry 
 Dithmar,  who  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century 
 has  b.een  foreman  of  the  Evening  Post  composing 
 room. 
 
 When  the  train  arrived  at  Roslyn  the  coffin 
 was  placed  in  a  hearse  and  borne  to  the  ceme- 
 tery, followed  by  the  mourners.  A  grave  had 
 been  dug  in  the  Bryant  burial  plot,  close  to  the 
 granite  monument  which  marks  the  resting-place 
 of  Mr.  Bryant's  wife.  While  the  attendants  were 
 placing  the  coffin  beside  the  open  grave  the 
 friends  gathered  near  its  head,  under  the  shadow 
 of  the  granite  monument  and  a  cluster  of  young 
 trees.     For  a  few  moments  there  was  a  pause. 
 
 Presently  Dr.  Bellows,  standing  at  the  head  of 
 the  grave,  spoke. 
 
 "  My  dear  friends,"  he  said,  "let  us  draw  les- 
 sons from  Mr,  Bryani's  life  ;  let  us  uncover  our 
 hearts,  not  our  heads,  to  the  sunshine.  We  have 
 left  the  city  behind  us  now,  where  we  have  done 
 all  that  was  possible  to  do  to  show  our  reverence 
 and  respect ;  but  here  let  us  pause  and  think  that 
 his  dust  might  rejoice  to  find  itself  in  the  coun- 
 try, amid  trees,  birds,  and  flowers.  While  we 
 breathe  the  pure  air,  may  we  not  have  a  fore- 
 taste of  the  happiness  he  enjoys  in  the  immortal 
 fields?  But  I  will  not  speak  to  you  out  of  my 
 own  mouth.  I  have  something  better — Bryant's 
 own  words — his  own  preparations  for  this  hour, 
 na}',  this  very  moment.  Seldom  has  it  happened 
 to  any  man  to  rehearse  beforehand  the  thoughts 
 and  words  appropriate  to  be  uttered  at  his  own 
 grave.  I  shall  read  to  you  these  extracts  pre- 
 pared by  the  loving  hands  of  one  who  shared 
 Bryant's  cradle — his  brother." 
 
 The  extracts  were  from  "  Thanatopsis,"  begin- 
 ning with  the  verse — 
 
 "  So  live  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join — " 
 
 and  from  the  poems  entitled,  "  To  a  Water- 
 fowl,*' "A  Hymn  to  Death,"  "The  Battlefield," 
 "  Waiting  by  the  Gate,"  stanzas  prefaced  to 
 "  Thanatopsis  "  when  first  published,  "The  Jour- 
 ney of  Life,"  a  poem  addressed  to  Mrs.  Bryant 
 in  her  last  illness,  "The  Life  that  Is,"  "Octo- 
 ber, 1866,"  "November  3,  1861,"  and  "The  Two 
 Travellers." 
 
 The  close  of  the  address  was  a  charge  to  the 
 villagers  present  to  "  cherish  tlie  precious  herit- 
 age of  dust,"  and  the  assurance  that  in  the  furure 
 the  best  fame  of  Roslyn  would  be  that  it  is  Bry- 
 ant's resting  place.  The  Scriptural  quotations  of 
 the  Episcopal  burial  services  were  read ;  a  brief 
 prayer  was  made,  and  the  coffin  was  lowered 
 into  its  place.  Then  a  number  of  little  children, 
 belonging  to  the  Sunday-school  of  the  village, 
 stepped  forward,  and,  walking  around  the  grave, 
 threw  flowers  into  it  until  the  box  enclosing  the 
 coffin  was  covered.  Several  branches  of  the 
 century  plant,  sent  by  the  Century  Club,  were 
 laid  with  the  flowers.  This  closed  the  burial 
 services,  and  the  mourners  slowly  left  the  com- 
 ctery. 
 
FUNERAL    ADDRESS. 
 
 Delivered  by  the  Rev.  HENRY  W.   BELLOWS,   D.D.,   at  All    Souls'  Chltich,  ix  New  York 
 
 City,  ox  the  14th  of  June,  1878. 
 
 The  whole  country  is  bending  with  us,  their 
 favored  representatives,  over  the  bier  that  holds 
 the  dust  of  Bryant !  Private  as  the  simple  service 
 is  that  consigns  the  ashes  of  our  illustrious  poet 
 and  journalist  to  the  grave,  there  is  public  mourn- 
 ing in  all  hearts  and  homes,  making  these  funeral 
 rites  solemn  and  imiversal  by  the  sympathy  that 
 from  every  quarter  flows  toward  them,  and 
 swells  the  current  of  gra<^eful  and  reverent  emo- 
 tion. Much  as  the  modest,  unworldly  spirit  of 
 the  man  we  mourn  shrunk  from  the  parade  of 
 public  rites,  leaving  to  his  heirs  the  duty  of  a 
 rigid  simplicity  in  his  funeral,  neither  his  wishes 
 nor  theirs  could  render  his  death  and  burial  less 
 than  an  event  of  general  significance  and  national 
 concern.  It  is  not  for  his  glory  that  we  honor 
 and  commemorate  him.  Public  fame,  for  more 
 than  half  a  century,  has  made  it  needless,  or  im- 
 possible, to  add  one  laurel  to  his  crown.  So  long 
 ago  he  took  the  place  he  has  since  kept  in  public 
 admiration,  respect,  and  reverence,  that  no  living 
 tongue  could  now  dislodge  or  add  to  the  security 
 and  mild  splendor  of  his  reputation.  For  three 
 generations  he  has  been  a  fixed  star  in  our  firma- 
 ment, and  no  eulogy  could  be  so  complete  as  that 
 which  by  accumulation  of  meaning  dwells  in  the 
 simple  mention  of  his  name. 
 
 Few  lives  have  been  as  fortunate  and  complete 
 as  his.  Born  in  1*794,  when  this  young  nation 
 was  in  its  teens,  he  has  been  contemporary  with 
 nearly  the  whole  first  century  of  its  life.  If  no 
 country  ever  experienced  in  the  same  period  such 
 a  miracle  of  growth,  if  none   ever  profited  so 
 
 much  by  discoveries  and  inventions — never  be- 
 fore so  wonderful  as  those  made  in  the  half  cen- 
 tury which  gave  us  steam-navigation,  the  rail- 
 road, and  the  telegraph — he  saw  the  birth,  he 
 antedates  the  existence  of  every  one  of  the 
 characteristic  triumphs  of  modern  civilization, 
 and  yet  he  has  not  died  until  they  became  wholly 
 familiar  and  nearly  universal  in  their  fruitful  in- 
 fluence !  Born  and  bred  in  New  England,  and 
 on  the  summits  of  the  Green  Mountains,  he  in- 
 herited the  severe  and  simple  tastes  and  habits  of 
 that  rugged  region,  and  having  sprung  from  a 
 vigorous  and  intellectual  parentage,  and  in  con- 
 tact with  a  few  persons  with  whom  nature  and 
 books  took  the  place  of  social  pleasures  and  the 
 excitements  of  town  and  cities,  his  native  genius 
 made  him,  from  a  tender  age,  the  thoughtful  and 
 intimate  companion  of  woods  and  streams,  and 
 constituted  him  nature's  own  darling  child.  It 
 was  a  friendship  so  unfeigned,  so  deep,  so  much 
 in  accordance  with  his  temperament  and  mental 
 constitution,  that  it  grcAV  into  a  determining 
 passion,  and  shaped  his  whole  life,  while  in  the 
 poetry  to  which  it  gave  birth  it  laid  the  founda 
 tions  and  erected  the  structure  of  his  poetic  fame. 
 What  Wordsworth  did  for  English  poetry,  in 
 bringing  back  the  taste  for  nature,  as  the  counter- 
 part of  humanity — a  world  to  be  interpreted  not 
 by  the  outward  eyes,  but  by  the  soul — Bryant 
 did  for  America.  One  who  knew  them  both,  as 
 I  did,  could  not  fail  to  observe  the  strong  resem- 
 blance in  character  and  feeling,  with  the  marked 
 difference  between  them  on  which  I  will  not  dwell. 
 
60 
 
 Both  were  reserved,  unsmiling,  austere,  or  irre- 
 sponsive men,  in  aspect ;  not  at  home  in  cities  or  in 
 crowds,  not  easy  of  access,  or  dependent  on  com- 
 panionship— never  fully  themselves  except  when 
 alone  witli  nature.  They  coveted  solitude,  for  it 
 gave  them  uninterrupted  intercourse  with  that 
 beautiful,  companionable,  tender,  unintrusive 
 world,  which  is  to  ordinary  souls  dull,  common, 
 familiar,  but  to  them  was  ever  new,  ever  mysteri- 
 ous, ever  delightful  and  instructive. 
 
 Few  know  how  small  a  part  intercourse  with 
 nature  for  itself  alone — not  for  what  it  teaches, 
 but  for  what  it  is,  a  revelation  of  Divine  beauty 
 and  wisdom  and  goodness — had  even  a  half  cen- 
 tury ago  for  the  common  mind.  Wordsworth  in 
 England,  Br3'ant  in  America,  awoke  this  sleeping 
 capacity,  and  by  their  tender  and  awed  sense  of 
 the  spiritual  meaning  conveyed  in  nature's  con- 
 summate beauties  and  harmonies,  gave  almost 
 a  new  sense  to  our  generation.  Before  their  day, 
 we  had  praises  of  the  seasons  and  passages  of 
 poetry  in  which  cataracts,  sunsets,  rainbows  and 
 garden  flowers  were  faithfully  described ;  but 
 nature  as  a  whole — as  a  presence,  the  very  gar- 
 ment of  God — was  almost  unheeded  and  un- 
 known. When  we  consider  what  Bryant's 
 poems — read  in  the  public  schools  in  happy 
 selection — have  done  to  form  the  taste  and  feed 
 the  sentiment  of  two  generations,  we  shall  begin 
 to  estimate  the  value  of  his  influence.  And 
 when  we  recall  in  all  his  writings  not  a 
 thought  or  feeling  that  is  not  pure,  uplifting  and 
 reverent,  we  can  partly  measure  the  gratitude 
 we  owe  to  a  benefactor  whose  genius  has  conse- 
 crated the  woods  and  fields  and  brooks  and  way- 
 side flowers,  in  a  way  intelligible  to  plainer 
 minds,  and  yet  above  the  criticism  of  the  most 
 fastidious  and  cultivated. 
 
 But  if  fortunate  in  passing  his  early  life  in  the 
 country,  and  forming  his  taste  and  bis  style  in 
 communion  with  nature,  a  few  good  books  and  a 
 few  earnest  and  sincere  people,  he  was  equally  for- 
 tunate in  being  driven  by  a  love  of  independence 
 into  the  study  of  the  law  and  a  ten  years'  prac- 
 tice in  a  considerable  town  in  Western  Massa- 
 chusetts, and  then  drawn  to  this  city,  where  he 
 drifted  into  the  only  form  of  public  life  wholly 
 suited  to  his  capacities — the  editorial  profession. 
 
 It  was  no  accident  that  made  Bryant  a  poli- 
 
 tician and  an  editor.  Sympathy  with  individual 
 men  and  women  was  not  his  strong  point — but 
 sympathy  with  our  common  humanity  was  in 
 him  a  religious  passion.  He  had  a  constitutional 
 love  of  freedom,  and  an  intense  sentiment  of 
 justice,  and  they  constituted  together  his  politi- 
 cal creed  and  policy.  He  believed  in  freedom, 
 and  this  made  him  a  friend  of  the  oppressed,  an 
 enemy  of  slavery,  a  foe  to  special  and  class  legis- 
 lation, an  advocate  of  free  trade— a  natural  demo- 
 crat, though  born  and  reared  in  a  federal  com- 
 munity that  looked  with  suspicion  upon  exten- 
 sions of  the  suffrage  and  upon  the  growth  •  of 
 local  and  State  rights.  But  his  love  of  freedom 
 was  too  genuine  to  allow  him  to  condone  the 
 faults  even  of  his  own  party,  when  freedom's 
 friends  were  found  on  the  other  side.  He  could 
 bear,  he  did  bear  the  odium  of  his  unpopular 
 conviction,  when  what  was  called  the  best  society 
 in  New  York  was  of  another  opinion  and  be- 
 longed to  another  party  ;  and  he  could  bear  with 
 equal  fortitude  the  ignominy  of  lacking  party 
 fidelity,  when  his  patriotic  spirit  felt  that  his 
 old  political  friends  were  less  faithful  than  they 
 should  be  to  freedom  and  union.  The  editorial 
 profession  enabled  his  shy  and  somewhat  unso- 
 cial nature  to  work  at  arm's  length  for  the  good 
 of  humanity  and  the  country ;  and  I  can  con- 
 ceive of  no  other  calling  in  life  that  would  have 
 economized  his  temperament  and  faculties  so 
 fully  in  the  public  service.  His  literary  skill, 
 his  industry,  his  humane  philosophy,  his  senti- 
 ments of  justice,  his  patriotism,  his  love  of  free- 
 dom here  found  full  scope  without  straining  and 
 tasking  his  personal  sympathies,  which  lacked  the 
 readiness,  the  tact  and  the  geniality  that  in  some 
 men  make  direct  contact  with  their  fellow  crea- 
 tures an  increase  of  power  and  of  influence. 
 What  an  editor  he  made,  you  all  know.  None 
 could  long  doubt  the  honesty,  the  conscientious- 
 ness, the  elevation  and  purity  of  his  convictions 
 or  his  utterances.  Who  believes  he  ever  swerved 
 a  line,  for  the  sake  of  popularity  or  pelf,  from 
 what  he  felt  to  be  right  and  true?  That  he 
 escaped  all  prostitution  of  his  pen  or  his  con- 
 science, in  his  exposed  and  tempted  calling,  we  all 
 admiringly  confess.  And  what  moderation,  can- 
 dor and  courage  he  carried  into  his  editorial 
 work.      Purity   of  thought,    elegance   and   sim- 
 
61 
 
 plicity  of  style,  exquisite  taste  and  high  morality 
 characterized  all  he  wrote.  He  rebuked  the 
 headlong  spirit  of  party,  sensational  extrava- 
 gances of  expression,  even  the  use  of  new-fangled 
 phrases  and  un-English  words.  He  could  see 
 and  acknowledge  the  merits  of  those  from  whom 
 he  widely  differed,  while  unbecoming  personali- 
 ties found  no  harbor  in  his  columns.  Young 
 men  and  women  never  found  anything  to  corrupt 
 their  taste  or  their  morals  in  his  paper,  and  fam- 
 ilies could  safely  lay  the  Evening  Post  upon  the 
 table  where  their  children  and  their  guests  might 
 take  it  up.  Uncompromising  in  what  his  con- 
 victions commanded,  and  never  evading  the 
 frankest  expression  of  his  real  opinion,  however 
 unpopular,  he  was  felt  to  be  above  mere  parti- 
 sanship, and  so  had  a  decided  influence  with 
 men  of  all  political  preferences.  His  prose  was 
 in  its  way  as  good  as  his  poetry,  and  has  aided 
 greatly  to  correct  the  taste  for  swollen,  gaudy 
 and  pretentious  writing  in  the  public  press.  He 
 was  not  alone  in  this  respect,  for  none  can 
 fail  to  recall  the  services  in  this  direction 
 of  Charles  King  and  Horace  Greeley,  not  to 
 name  less  conspicuous  instances.  But  Bryant's 
 poetic  fame  gave  peculiar  authority  to  his  edito- 
 rial example,  and  made  his  style  specially  help- 
 ful and  instructive.  That  he  should  have  suc- 
 ceeded in  keeping  the  poetic  temperament  and 
 the  tastes  and  pursuits  of  a  poet  fully  alive  under 
 the  active  and  incessant  pressure  of  his  journal- 
 istic labors — making  his  bread  and  his  imme- 
 diate influence  as  a  citizen  and  a  leader  of  public 
 sentiment  by  editorial  work,  while  he  "built 
 the  lofty  rhyme"  for  the  gratification  of  his 
 genius  and  for  the  sake  of  beauty  and  art,  with- 
 one  one  glance  at  immediate  suffrages  or  rewards 
 — if  not  a  solitary,  is  at  least  a  perfect,  example  of 
 the  union  in  one  man  of  the  power  to  work  with 
 nearly  equal  suf^cess  in  two  planes,  where  what 
 he  did  in  one  did  not  contradict  or  conflict  with 
 what  he  did  in  the  other,  while  they  were  not 
 mingled  or  confounded.  Nobody  detects  the 
 editor,  the  politician,  the  man  of  business,  in 
 Bryant's  poetry,  and  few  feel  the  poet  in  his 
 editorial  writings ;  but  the  man  of  conscience, 
 of  humanity,  of  justice  and  truth,  of  purity  and 
 honor,  appears  equally  in  both.  This  is  somewhat 
 the  more  remarkable,  because  affluence,  versatil- 
 
 ity and  humor  are  not  characteristic  of  his  genius- 
 It  is  staid,  earnest,  profoundly  truthful  and  pure, 
 lofty  and  perfectly  genuine — but  not  mercurial, 
 vivacious,  protean  and  brilliant.  Like  the  Jordan 
 that  leaps  into  being  full,  strong,  crystal-pure, 
 but  swells  little  in  its  deep  bed,  all  its  course  to 
 the  sea — admitting  few  tributaries  and  putting 
 out  no  branches,  Bryant's  genius  sprang  com- 
 plete into  public  notice  when  he  was  still  in  his 
 teens;  it  retained  its  character  for  sixty  years 
 almost  unchanged,  and  its  latest  products  are 
 marked  with  the  essential  qualities  that  gave  him 
 his  first  success.  Never,  perhaps,  was  there  an 
 instance  of  such  precocity  in  point  of  wisdom  and 
 maturity  as  that  which  marked  "  Thanatopsis," 
 written  at  eighteen,  or  of  such  persistency  in 
 judgment,  force  and  melody  as  that  exhibited  in 
 his  last  public  ode,  written  at  83,  on  occasion  of 
 "Washington's  last  birth-day.  Between  these  two 
 bounds  lies  one  even  path,  high,  finished,  fault- 
 less, in  which  comes  a  succession  of  poems.,  al- 
 ways meditative,  always  steeped  in  the  love  and 
 knowledge  of  nature,  always  pure  and  melodious, 
 always  stamped  with  his  sign-manual  of  flawless 
 taste  and  gem-like  purity — but  never  much  aside 
 from  the  line  and  direction  that  marked  the  first 
 outburst  and  the  last  flow  of  his  genius. 
 
 Happy  the  man  that  knows  his  own  powers — 
 their  limits,  and'  their  aptitudes — and  who  con- 
 fines himself  rigidly  within  the  banks  of  his  own 
 peculiar  inspiration.  Bryant  was  too  genuine, 
 too  real  a  lover  of  nature,  too  legitimate  a  child 
 of  the  muse,  ever  to  strain  his  own  gift.  He 
 never  made  verse,  but  allowed  his  verse  to  flow, 
 inspired  by  keen  observation  and  hearty  enjoy- 
 ment of  nature,  watching  only  that  it  flowed 
 smoothly  and  without  turbulence  or  turbidness, 
 which  his  consummate  art  enabled  him  perfectly 
 to  accomplish.  Never,  perhaps,  was  a  natural 
 gift  more  successfully  trained  and  cultured, 
 without  losing  its  original  raciness  and  simplicity. 
 Nothing  less  than  the  widest  and  deepest  study 
 of  poetry,  in  all  literatures  young  and  old,  in  all 
 languages  and  schools,  could  have  enabled  him 
 to  keep  his  verse  in  such  perfect  finish  for 
 sixty  successive  years.  He  knew  all  the  wiles  of 
 the  poet,  some  of  which  he  disdained  to  practise — 
 but  of  no  man  in  his  time  was  it  less  safe  to 
 assume   ignorance  or  neglect   of  anything  that 
 
62 
 
 belonged  to  the  poet's  art.  His  knowledge  of 
 poetry  was  prodigious,  his  memory  of  it  precise 
 and  inexhaustible.  He  had  considered  all  the 
 masters,  and  knew  their  quality  and  character- 
 istics. But  marked  as  his  own  style  is,  it  is 
 marked  only  with  its  native  hues.  There  is  no 
 trick  in  his  adroitness — no  artifice  in  his  art ; 
 nothing  that  tires,  except  it  be  the  uniformity  of 
 its  excellence.  Considering  how  long  his  genius 
 has  been  known  and  acknowledged,  and  how 
 thoroughly  he  represents  the  old  school  of  Dry- 
 den  in  his  purity  and  fastidiousness  of  language, 
 it  is,  perhaps,  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  his 
 popularity  as  a  citizen  and  a  man  has  even 
 somewhat  eclipsed  his  immediate  popularity  as  a 
 poet.  I  think  him  fortunate  in  not  having  the 
 popularity  of  novelty,  of  fashion,  of  sing-song 
 verse,  of  morbid  sentiment,  of  mere  ingenious 
 thinking,  or  some  temporary  adaptation  to  pass- 
 ing moods  of  popular  feeling,  whether  in  univer- 
 sities or  in  social  circles.  He  curiously  escaped, 
 if  indeed  his  truthful  genuineness  of  nature  did 
 not  give  him  an  original  defence  against  it,  from 
 the  introversive,  self-considering,  and  individual- 
 istic temper  which  has  characterized  much  of  the 
 poetry,  of  the  highest  academic  culture,  in  our 
 time.  Either  he  was  born  too  early,  or  he  emi- 
 grated from  New  England  too  early,  to  fall  under 
 the  influence  of  this  morbid  subjectiveness ;  or 
 his  active  and  practical  pursuits  kept  him  in  the 
 current  of  real  life,  and  near  to  the  universal 
 feeling  of  men.  At  any  rate — free,  rational,  as  his 
 genius  ever  was — there  is  not  a  suspicion  of  the 
 sceptical  or  denying  element  in  his  works.  He 
 is  not  sick  nor  morbid,  nor  melancholy,  nor  dis- 
 couraged. 
 
 Sentiment  enough  he  has,  but  no  sentimentality; 
 awe  of  the  Infinite,  but  no  agnosticism ;  a  re- 
 cognition of  all  human  sorrows  and  sins,  but  no 
 querulousness,  much  less  any  despair.  He  loved 
 and  honored  human  nature ;  he  feared  and  rev- 
 erenced his  Maker ;  he  accepted  Christianity  in 
 its  historic  character ;  he  believed  in  American 
 institutions ;  he  believed  in  the  church  and  its 
 permanency,  in  its  ordinances  and  its  ministry  ; 
 and  he  was  no  backward-looking  praiser  of  the 
 times  that  had  been,  and  a  mere  accuser  and  dc- 
 famer  of  the  times  that  are.  This  made  his 
 poetry,  as  it  made  his  prose  and   his  whole  in- 
 
 fluence, wholesome,  hopeful,  nutritious ;  young, 
 without  being  inexperienced,  ripe,  without  tend- 
 ing to  decay.  The  very  absence  of  those  false 
 colors  which  give  immediate  attractiveness  to 
 the  clothing  of  some  contemporary  poetry,  gives 
 his  undyed  and  natural  robes  a  fadeless  charm, 
 which  future  generations  will  not  forget  to 
 honor.  Every  one  must  notice  that  great  im- 
 mediate popularity  is  not  a  good  augury  for  en- 
 during fame ;  and  further,  that  poetry,  like  all 
 the  products  of  the  fine  arts,  must  have  not  only 
 positive  quality,  power  and  harmony,  but  must 
 add  to  these  freedom  from  defects.  It  is  strange 
 what  an  embalming  power  lies  in  purity  of  style, 
 to  preserve  thoughts  that  would  perish,  even 
 though  greater  and  more  original,  if  wrapped 
 in  a  less  perfect  vesture.  What  element  of  de- 
 cay is  there  in  Bryant's  verse  ?  How  universal 
 his  themes;  how  intelligible  and  level  to  the 
 common  heart;  how  little  ingenious,  vague  or 
 technical;  how  free  from  what  is  provincial, 
 temporary,  capricious;  how  unflawed  with 
 doubtful  figures  or  strained  comparisons  or  new 
 and  strange  words ;  how  unmarred  by  a  forced 
 order  or  weary  mannerisms  !  He  is  a  rigid  Puritan, 
 alike  in  his  morals  and  his  vocabulary  ;  there  is 
 scarcely  a  false  foot,  a  doubtful  ryhme,  a  luckless 
 epithet,  a  dubious  sentiment  anywhere  to  be 
 found  in  his  works.  And  perhaps  nature  with- 
 held from  him  what  is  called  an  ear  for  music 
 only  to  emphasize  his  ear  for  rhythm,  and  save 
 him  from  the  danger  of  a  clogging  sweetness  and 
 a  fatiguing  sing-song. 
 
 It  is  the  glory  of  this  man  that  his  character 
 outshone  even  his  great  talent  and  his  large  fame. 
 Distinguished  equally  for  his  native  gifts  and  his 
 consummate  culture,  his  poetic  inspiration  and 
 his  exquisite  art,  he  is  honored  and  loved  to-day 
 even  more  for  his  stainless  purity  of  life,  his 
 unswerving  rectitude  of  will,  his  devotion  to  the 
 higher  interests  of  his  race,  his  unfeigned  pa- 
 triotism, and  his  broad  humanity.  It  is  remark- 
 able that  with  none  of  the  arts  of  popularity 
 a  man  so  little  dependent  on  others'  apprecia- 
 tion, so  self-subsistent  and  so  retiring,  who  never 
 sought  or  accepted  office,  who  had  little  taste 
 for  co-o})eration,  and  no  bustling  zeal  in  ordinary 
 philanthropy,  should  have  drawn  to  himself  the 
 confidence,  the  honor  and  reverence  of  a  great 
 
63 
 
 metropolis,  and  become,  perhaps  it  is  not  too 
 much  to  say,  our  first  citizen.  It  was  in  spite 
 of  a  constitutional  reserve,  a  natural  distaste  for 
 crowds  and  public  occasions,  and  a  somewhat 
 chilled  bearing  towards  his  kind,  that  he  achieved 
 by  the  force  of  his  great  merit  and  solid  worth  this  I 
 triumph  over  the  heart  of  his  generation.  The 
 purity  of  the  snow  that  enveloped  him  was  more 
 observed  than  its  cold7iess,  and  his  fellow-citizens 
 believed  that  a  fire  of  zeal  for  truth,  justice  and  } 
 human  rights  burned  steadily  at  the  heart  of 
 this  lofty  personality,  though  it  never  flamed  or 
 smoked.  And  they  were  right  !  Beyond  all 
 thirst  for  fame  or  poetic  honor,  lay  in  Bryant 
 the  ambition  of  virtue.  Reputation  he  did  not 
 despise,  but  virtue  he  revered  and  sought  with 
 all  his  heart.  He  had  an  intense  self-rever-  \ 
 ence,  that  made  his  own  good  opinion  of  his 
 own  motives  and  actions  absolutely  essen- 
 tial. And  though  little  tempted  by  covet- 
 ousness,  envy,  worldliness,  or  love  of  power, 
 he  had  his  own  conscious  difficulties 
 to  contend  with,  a  temper  not  without  turbu- 
 lence, a  susceptibility  to  injuries,  a  contempt  for 
 the  moral  weaknesses  of  others.  But  he  labored 
 incessantly  at  self-knowledge  and  self-control, 
 and  attained  equanimity  and  gentleness  to  a 
 marked  degree.  Let  none  suppose  that  the  per- 
 sistent force  of  his  will,  his  incessant  industry, 
 his  perfect  consistency  and  coherency  of  life  and 
 character,  were  not  backed  by  strong  passions. 
 With  a  less  consecrated  purpose,  a  less  reverent 
 love  of  truth  and  goodness,  he  might  easily  have 
 become  acrid,  vindictive  or  selfishly  ambitious. 
 But  he  kept  his  body  under,  and,  a  far  more  dif- 
 ficult task  for  him,  his  spirit  in  subjection.  God 
 had  given  him  a  wonderful  balance  of  faculties 
 in  a  marvellously  harmonious  frame.  His  spirit 
 wore  a  light  and  lithe  vesture  of  clay,  that  never 
 burdened  him.  His  senses  were  perfect  at  four- 
 score. His  eyes  needed  no  glasses  ;  his  hearing 
 was  exquisitely  fine.  His  alertness  was  the  won- 
 der of  his  contemporaries.  He  outwalked  men 
 of  middle  age.  His  tastes  were  so  simple  as  to 
 be  almost  ascetic.  Milk  and  cereals  and  fruits 
 were  his  chosen  diet.  He  had  no  vices,  and  no 
 approach  to  them,  and  he  avoided  any  and  every 
 thing  that  could  ever  threaten  him  with  the 
 tyranny  of  the  senses  or  of  habit. 
 
 Regular  in  all  his  habits,  he  retained  his  youth 
 almost  to  the  last.  His  power  of  work  never 
 abated,  and  the  herculean  translation  of  Homer 
 which  was  the  amusement  of  the  last  lustre  of 
 his  long  and  busy  life  showed  not  only  no  sen- 
 ility or  decline  in  artistic  skill,  but  no  decrease 
 of  intellectual  or  physical  endurance. 
 
 Perhaps  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  have 
 made  him  nearer  and  dearer  to  his  fellow-citizens 
 than  any  previous  decade ;  for  he  had  become 
 at  last  not  only  resigned  to  public  honors,  but 
 had  even  acquired  a  late  and  tardy  taste  for 
 social  and  public  gatherings.  Who  so  often 
 called  to  preside  in  your  public  meetings  or  to 
 speak  at  your  literary  or  social  festivals  ?  who 
 has  pronounced  as  many  hearty  welcomes  to 
 honored  strangers,  unveiled  as  many  statues, 
 graced  as  many  occasions  of  public  sympathy; 
 who  so  ready  to  appear  at  the  call  of  your  public 
 charities,  or  more  affectionately  welcomed  and 
 honored  on  your  platforms  ?  All  this,  coming 
 late  in  life,  was  a  grateful,  I  might  almost  say  a 
 fond  surprise.  He  had  wrapped  himself  in  his 
 cloak  to  contend  with  the  winter  wind  of  his 
 earlier  fortunes,  and  the  harder  it  blew  (and  it 
 was  very  rough  in  his  middle  life)  the  closer  he 
 drew  it  about  him.  But  the  sun  of  prosperity 
 and  honor  and  confidence  that  warmed  and 
 brightened  the  two  closing  decades  of  his  life, 
 fairly  melted  away  his  proud  reserve  toward  the 
 public,  and  he  laid  himself  open  to  the  warm  and 
 fragrant  breeze  of  universal  favor.  He  was 
 careful,  however,  to  say  that  he  did  not  hold 
 himself  at  the  public's  high  estimate.  In  a  long 
 conversation  I  had  with  him  at  Roslyn,  two 
 years  ago,  he  showed  such  a  surprising  self- 
 knowledge  and  such  a  just  appreciation  of  popu- 
 lar suffrages,  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  his 
 genuine  humility,  or  jealous  determination  not 
 to  be  deceived  by  any  contagious  sentiment  of 
 personal  reverence  or  honor  springing  up  in  a 
 generation  that  was  largely  ignorant  of  his  writ- 
 ings. Yet  he  fully  and  greatly  enjoyed  these 
 tributes — and  more  and  more,  the  longer  he  lived. 
 
 Of  Mr.  Bryant's  life-long  interest  in  the  Fine 
 Arts ;  his  large  acquaintance  with  our  older  ar- 
 tists and  close  friendship  with  some  of  them ;  of 
 his  place  in  the  Century  Club,  of  which  he  was 
 perhaps  the  chief  founder,  and  of  which  he  died 
 
64 
 
 the  honored  President,  I  could  speak  with  full 
 knowledge ;  but  artists  and  centurions  both  are 
 sure  to  speak  better  for  themselves,  in  due  time, 
 as  the  city  and  the  nation  surely  will. 
 
 I  must  reserve  the  few  moments  still  left  me 
 to  bear  the  testimony  which  no  one  has  a  better 
 right  to  offer,  to  Mr.  Bryant's  strictly  religious 
 cliaracter.  A  devoted  lover  of  religious  liberty, 
 he  was  an  equal  lover  of  religion  itself — not  in 
 any  precise  dogmatic  form,  but  in  its  righteous- 
 ness, reverence  and  charity.  What  his  theology 
 was,  you  may  safely  infer  from  his  regular  and 
 long  attendance  in  this  place  of  Christian  wor- 
 ship. Still,  he  was  not  a  dogmatist,  but  preferred 
 practical  piety  and  working  virtue  to  all  modes 
 of  faith.  What  was  obvious  in  him  for  twenty 
 years  past  was  an  increasing  respect  and  devo- 
 tion to  religious  institutions,  and  a  more  decided 
 Christian  quality  in  his  faith.  I  think  he  had 
 never  been  a  communicant  in  any  church  until 
 he  joined  ours,  fifteen  years  ago.  From  that 
 time,  nobody  so  regular  in  his  attendance  on 
 public  worship,  in  wet  and  dry,  cold  and  heat, 
 morning  and  evening,  until  the  very  last  month 
 of  his  life.  The  increasing  sweetness  and  benefi- 
 cence of  his  character,  meanwhile,  must  have 
 struck  his  familiar  friends.  His  last  years  were 
 his  devoutest  and  most  humane  years.  He  be- 
 came beneficent,  as  he  grew  able  to  be  so,  and 
 his  hand  was  open  to  all  just  need,  and  to  many 
 unreasonable  claimants. 
 
 The  first  half  or  even  two-thirds  of  his  life  had 
 been  a  hard  struggle  with  fortune.  And  he  had 
 acquired  saving  habits,  thanks  chiefly  to  the  pru- 
 dence of  his  honored  and  ever  lamented  wife. 
 But  the  moment  he  became  successful  and  ac- 
 quired the  means  of  beneficence,  he  practised 
 it  bountifully,  indeed,  perhaps  often  credulously. 
 For  he  was  simple-hearted  and  unsuspecting, 
 easily  misled  by  women's  tears  and  entreaties, 
 and  not  always  with  the  fortitude  to  say  No — 
 when  only  his  own  money  was  at  stake.  Indeed 
 he  had  few  defensive  weapons  either  against  in- 
 trusion or  supplication,  and  could  with  difficulty 
 withstand  the  approaches  of  those  that  fawned 
 upon  him,  or  those  that  asked  his  countenance 
 for  selfish  purposes.  Perhaps  he  understood 
 their  weaknesses,  but  he  had  not  the  heart  to 
 medicine  them  with  brave  refusal. 
 
 He  endowed  a  public  library  in  Cummington, 
 his  birth-place,  at  a  cost  of  many  thousands.  He 
 built  and  gave  a  public  hall  to  the  village  of 
 Rosyln,  L.  I.,  the  chosen  and  beloved  summer 
 home  of  his  declining  j^ears.  When,  at  his  re- 
 quest, I  went  to  dedicate  it  to  public  use,  and  at 
 a  proper  moment  asked  "  What  shall  we  call 
 this  building  ?"  the  audience  shouted  "Bryant 
 Hall  !"  No,  said  the  modest  benefactor,  let  it 
 be  known  and  called  simply  "  The  Hall,"  and  The 
 Hall  it  was  baptized. 
 
 I  shall  have  spoken  in  vain,  if  I  have  not  left 
 upon  your  hearts  the  image  of  an  upright,  sin- 
 cere, humane  and  simple  yet  venerable  man- 
 hood— a  life  full  of  outward  honors  and  inward 
 worth.  When  I  consider  that  I  have  been 
 speaking  of  one  whose  fame  fills  the  world,  I 
 feel  how  vain  is  public  report  compared  with  the 
 honor  of  God  and  the  gratitude  and  love  of  hu- 
 manity !  It  is  the  private  character  of  this  un- 
 affected. Christian  man  that  it  most  concerns  us 
 to  consider  and  to  imitate.  He  was  great  as  the 
 world  counts  greatness — he  was  greater  as  God 
 counts  it. 
 
 He  is  gone !  and  the  city  and  the  country  is 
 immeasurably  poorer,  that  his  venerable  and 
 exalted  presence  no  more  adorns  and  crowns 
 our  assemblies.  But  Heaven  is  richer !  The 
 Church  of  Christ  adds  one  unaffected,  unsancti- 
 monious  saint  to  its  calendar.  The  patriarch  of 
 American  literature  is  dead.  The  faithful  Chris- 
 tian lives  ever  more  : — 
 
 "  Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
 Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form ;  yet  on  my  very  heart 
 Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given 
 And  shall  not  soon  depart." 
 
 —Bryant's  lines  "  To  a  Waterfowl." 
 
 We  are  about  to  bear  his  remains  to  their 
 quiet  and  green  resting-place,  by  the  side  of  his 
 beloved  wife — the  good  angel  of  his  life — in 
 Roslyn,  L.  I,  Let  me  read  in  conclusion  the 
 warrant  for  this  step  in  his  own  poem  called 
 "  June,"  which  I  am  persuaded  you  will  feel  to 
 be  the  only  fit  conclusion  of  these  memorial 
 words : — 
 
 I  gazed  upon  the  glorious  sky, 
 
 And  the  green  mountains  round, 
 And  thought  that  when  I  came  to  lie 
 
 At  rest  within  the  ground, 
 
65 
 
 'Twere  pleasant  that  in  flowery  June, 
 When  brooks  send  up  a  cheerfiil  tune, 
 
 And  groves  a  cheerful  sound, 
 The  sexton's  hand,  my  grave  to  make. 
 The  rich,  green  mountain- turf  should  break. 
 
 A  cell  within  the  frozen  mould, 
 
 A  coffin  borne  through  sleet. 
 And  icy  clods  above  it  rolled, 
 
 While  fierce  the  tempests  beat- 
 Away  I— I  will  not  think  of  these  ; 
 Blue  be  the  sky  and  soft  the  breeze. 
 
 Earth  green  beneath  the  feet. 
 And  be  the  damp  mould  gently  pressed 
 Into  my  narrow  place  of  rest. 
 
 There,  through  the  long,  long  summer  hours. 
 
 The  golden  light  should  lie, 
 And  thick  young  herbs  and  groups  of  flowers 
 
 Stand  in  their  beauty  by. 
 The  oriole  should  build  and  tell 
 His  love-tale  close  beside  my  cell ; 
 
 The  idle  butterfly 
 Should  rest  him  there,  and  there  be  heard 
 The  housewife  bee  and  humming  bird. 
 
 And  what  if  cheerful  shouts  at  noon 
 Come  from  the  village  sent, 
 
 Or  song  of  maids  beneath  the  moon 
 
 With  fairy  laughter  blent  ? 
 And  what  if,  in  the  evening  light, 
 Bethrothed  lovers  walk  in  sight 
 
 Of  my  low  monument  ? 
 I  would  the  lovely  scene  around 
 Might  know  no  sadder  sight  nor  sound. 
 
 I  know  that  I  no  more  should  see 
 
 The  season's  glorious  show. 
 Nor  would  its  brightness  shine  for  me, 
 
 Nor  its  wild  music  flow  ; 
 But  if,  around  my  place  of  sleep, 
 The  friends  I  love  should  come  to  weep. 
 
 They  might  not  haste  to  go. 
 Soft  airs,  and  song,  and  light  and  bloom 
 Should  keep  them  lingering  by  my  tomb. 
 
 These  to  their  softened  hearts  should  bear 
 The  thought  of  what  has  been, 
 
 And  speak  of  one  who  cannot  share 
 The  gladness  of  the  scene; 
 
 Whose  part,  in  all  the  pomp  that  fills 
 
 The  circuit  of  the  summer  hills. 
 Is  that  his  grave  is  green; 
 
 And  deeply  would  their  hearts  rejoice 
 
 To  hear  again  his  living  voice. 
 
REMINISCENCES 
 
 By  an  Editorial  Associate. 
 
 I  suppose  that  none  of  us  who  have  had  the 
 privilege  of  being  Mr.  Bryant's  associates  and 
 helpers  in  his  daily  work,  especially  during  these 
 placid  last  years  of  his  life,  will  ever  be  able  to 
 think  of  him  at  all  without  thinking  of  his  goings 
 and  comings  among  us,  of  the  kindly  words  and 
 pleasant  ways  with  which  he  lightened  our  la- 
 bors, the  uniform  equability  of  temper  with 
 which  he  conducted  business,  the  philosophical 
 calm  with  which  he  contemplated  affairs  of  a  dis- 
 turbing nature,  and  the  modest  simplicity  of 
 bearing  with  which  he  prevented  the  reverence 
 that  all  of  us  felt  for  him  from  finding  expression 
 in  our  treatment  of  him. 
 
 I  suppose  that  he  must  have  known  how  pro- 
 foundly we  respected  and  honored  him,  not  as 
 the  most  gifted  poet  of  our  country  only,  or  even 
 chiefly,  but  still  more  as  a  man  of  ideal  character 
 worthy  of  a  reverence  which  no  other  man  could 
 have  won  from  us.  I  say  I  suppose  he  must  have 
 known  that  we  honored  him  thus,  but  there  was 
 never  a  sign  of  such  consciousness  in  his  bearing. 
 He  was  reserved  always  by  nature,  but  his  re- 
 serve was  rather  that  of  shy  modesty  than  that 
 of  conscious  worth,  and  in  his  intercourse  with 
 his  associates  in  the  office  of  the  Evening  Post 
 he  was  always  singularly  frank  and  easy.  He 
 even  avoided  that  appearance  of  superior  au- 
 thority which  is  almost  inseparable  from  the 
 exercise  of  control  over  the  working  of  a  news- 
 paper staff.  His  few  and  infrequent  commands 
 were  requests  always,  and  not  only  so,  they  were 
 requests  framed  in  the  language  and  uttered 
 in  the  tone  of  one  who  asks  a  favor,  not  of  one 
 who  merely  wishes  to  disguise  a  command. 
 
 Notwithstanding  his  age  and  his  chiefship  in 
 the  office,  he  never,  to  my  knowledge,  sent  for 
 any  member  of  his  staff  to  come  to  him ;  if  he 
 had  aught  to  say  he  went  to  the  person  to  whom 
 he  wished  to  say  it.  He  would  pass  through 
 the  editorial  rooms  with  a  cheery  "  good  morn- 
 ing ;"  he  would  sit  down  by  one's  desk  and  talk 
 if  there  was  aught  to  talk  about ;  or,  if  asked  a 
 question  while  passing,  would  stand  while  an- 
 swering it,  and  frequently  would  relate  some 
 anecdote  suggested  by  the  question  or  offer  some 
 apt  quotation  to  illustrate  the  subject  under  dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 When  Tupper  wrote  his  play,  "  Washington," 
 and  all  the  newspaper  wits  were  pricking  the 
 author  of  "  Proverbial  Philosophy"  with  sharp 
 pens,  an  article  was  written  in  the  office  in  which 
 it  was  urged  that  Tupper,  having  done  no  harm 
 in  the  world,  having  written  what  a  large  class 
 of  readers  wanted  to  read,  and  having  sought  to 
 the  best  of  his  ability  to  pay  a  tribute  to  Wash- 
 ington and  to  America,  was  entitled  to  mercy  at 
 the  hands  of  all  Americans.  There  was  a  frank 
 declaration  in  the  article  of  its  writer's  convic- 
 tion that  Tupper's  works  were  as  worthless  as 
 they  were  harmless,  and  the  plea  for  him  was 
 generally  a  plea  for  innocent  feebleness.  As  it 
 was  known  that  Mr.  Bryant  had  met  Tupper  in 
 England,  the  managing  editor  thought  it  best  to 
 submit  the  article  in  proof  to  Mr.  Bryant  before 
 using  it  as  an  editorial  utterance.  Mr.  Bryant 
 read  it,  and  came  in  laughing  over  some  of  its 
 playful  points. 
 
 "  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  that  you  had  used  this 
 without   showing  it   to  me ;  then  I  could  have 
 
68 
 
 said  truly  that  it  was  printed  without  ray  knowl- 
 edge. It  ought  to  be  printed ;  but,  now  that  I 
 know  of  it,  I  scarcely  see  how  it  can  be,  for  Tup- 
 per  is  coming  to  New  York  next  year,  and  I  shall 
 have  to  entertain  him  at  ray  house." 
 
 "  But  that  is  a  3^ear  hence,"  replied  the  man- 
 aging editor,  "  and  Mr.  Tupper  will  not  know  that 
 such  an  article  appeared." 
 
 "  Oh,  yes  he  will,"  said  Mr.  Brj-ant,  "you  re- 
 member the  line  about  '  some  daraned  good- 
 natured  friend,'  who  is  sure  to  direct  his  atten- 
 tion to  it." 
 
 His  quotations  in  conversation  were  from  a 
 great  variety  of  sources,  but  the  raost  extensive 
 one  I  ever  heard  him  make  was  from  Cowley,  of 
 whose  poetry  Mr.  Bryant  made  a  special  study 
 during  the  latter  part  of  his  life.  I  do  not  re- 
 member now  what  the  occasion  was  or  from 
 what  poem  he  quoted,  but  I  shall  never  forget 
 the  effect  it  produced.  He  was  standing  by  a 
 form  around  which  the  printers  were  gathered, 
 hastily  getting  it  ready  for  the  press.  Sorae  cas- 
 ual word  was  spoken  which  suggested  the  lines, 
 and  Mr.  Bryant,  locking  his  hands  before  hira, 
 repeated  the  verses  with  wonderful  force  and 
 tenderness,  causing  the  printers,  hurried  as  they 
 were,  to  pause  and  listen.  As  he  finished  he 
 turned  to  the  woodwork  around  the  elevator,  and, 
 tapping  it,  said,  "There is  very  little  wood  there 
 to  raake  trouble  in  case  of  fire."  There  was  a 
 look  of  alraost  boyish  abashment  in  his  face  as  he 
 recovered  from  the  fine  enthusiasm. 
 
 Mr.  Bryant's  tenderness  of  the  feelings  of  other 
 persons,  and  his  earnest  desire  always  to  avoid 
 the  giving  of  unnecessary  pain,  were  very  marked. 
 Soon  after  I  began  to  do  the  duties  of  literary 
 editor,  Mr.  Bryant  who  was  reading  a  review 
 of  a  little  book  of  wretchedly  halting  verse,  said 
 to  me: 
 
 "  I  wish  you  would  deal  very  gently  with 
 poets,  especially  with  the  weaker  ones. " 
 
 Later  I  had  a  very  bad  case  of  poetic  idiocy 
 to  deal  with,  and  as  Mr.  Bryant  happened  to 
 come  into  my  room  wliile  I  was  debating  the 
 tiiatter  in  my  mind,  I  said  to  hira  that  I  was  em- 
 barrassed by  his  injunction  to  deal  gently  with 
 poets,  and  pointed  out  to  him  the  utter  impossi- 
 bility of  finding  anything  to  praise  or  even 
 liirlitiv  to  coiidernu  in  the  book  before  me.    After 
 
 I  had  read  some  of  its  stanzas  to  him  he 
 answered :  "  No,  you  can't  praise  it,  of  course ; 
 it  won't  do  to  lie  about  it,  but " — turning  the 
 volume  over  in  his  hand  and  inspecting  it — 
 "you  might  sa}'  that  the  binding  is  securely  put 
 on,  and  that — well,  the  binder  has  planed  the 
 edges  pretty  smooth, " 
 
 There  is  a  large  class  of  hopeless  versifiers  who 
 have  been  in  the  habit  of  sending  their  poetic 
 wares  to  Mr.  Bryant  and  asking  his  judgment 
 upon  them,  and,  between  his  tender  conscience, 
 which  would  not  permit  him  to  trifle  with  the 
 truth,  and  his  keen  reluctance  to  give  pain,  he 
 was  soraetimes  sorely  perplexed.  These  things 
 imposed  upon  him,  too,  an  amount  of  labor  for 
 others  which  was  an  unfair  burden,  and  on  one 
 occasion  he  came  into  ray  roora  with  a  parcel  of 
 letters  and  papers  in  his  hand  and  in  a  tone  of 
 dejection  asked  rae:  "Do  people  send  you  their 
 raanuscripts  to  read  in  this  way  ? "  I  replied 
 that  a  good  many  of  them  did,  and  showed  him 
 the  manuscript  of  a  novel  or  an  epic  poem  which 
 a  Pennsylvanian  youth  had  modestly  requested 
 me  to  revise  for  the  press. 
 
 "  What  do  you  write  to  them  ? "  he  asked. 
 Then  he  sat  down  and  told  rae  how  sorely  he 
 suffered  from  the  perplexity  already  mentioned, 
 and  I  ventured  to  suggest  that  a  letter  of  even 
 seeming  commendation  from  him  to  an  ambitious 
 incapable  might  spoil  a  good  blacksmith  and 
 make  a  ridiculously  poor  poet;  that  perhaps  a 
 good  many  of  his  correspondents  sought  his  ap- 
 proval in  this  way  as  a  bolster  to  their  vanity ; 
 and  that  the  greatest  kindness,  in  very  many 
 cases,  that  he  could  do  to  his  correspondents 
 would  be  frankly  to  tell  them  that  they  could  not 
 write  poetry.  He  admitted  the  correctness  of 
 this  view,  with  something  like  a  shudder,  and  the 
 matter  ended  by  his  acceptance  of  my  suggestion 
 that  he  should  refer  the  letters  and  poems  of  his 
 unknown  correspondents  to  the  staff  for  examin- 
 ation, and  that  we  should  report  directly  to  the 
 writers. 
 
 They  continued  to  task  him  in  this  way,  how- 
 ever, to  the  end.  On  the  morning  of  that  sad 
 day  on  which  he  met  with  his  mishap  he  csvrae 
 into  my  room  with  a  pair  of  poems  sent  to  him 
 by  a  person  whom  he  knew  and  asked  me  to  read 
 
69 
 
 them.  I  did  so  and  found  them  to  be  extremely 
 poor  stuff. 
 
 "  I  supposed  so,"  he  said ;  "  and  now  I  suppose 
 I  shall  have  to  write  to  her  on  the  subject.  Peo- 
 ple expect  too  much  of  me — altogether  too 
 much." 
 
 It  was  like  a  wail,  and  when  the  news  of  his  fall 
 and  of  his  illness  came  the  words  rang  in  my  ears 
 with  a  terrible  sadness. 
 
 The  conversation  that  morning  was  the  longest 
 I  ever  had  with  him,  and  it  was  one  which  would 
 have  no  little  value  to  the  public  if  I  might  here 
 report  it  in  full.  I  had  always  taken  pains  to 
 profit  by  his  casual  comments  upon  literature 
 and  literary  subjects,  for  although  his  tenderness 
 always  restrained  him  from  writing  criticisms, 
 our  literature  has  had  no  sounder,  no  more  acute, 
 no  more  wisely  appreciative  critic  than  he.  On 
 that  fatal  morning  something  in  our  conversation 
 brought  u})  the  subjects  of  American  literature 
 and  American  criticism,  and  he  talked  for  nearly 
 an  hour  in  review  of  the  whole  field,  classifying 
 and  arranging  the  different  branches  of  the  subject 
 as  skilfully  as  he  would  have  done  it  in  an  essay, 
 and  expressing  some  unconventional  opinions 
 which  startled  nie  by  their  vigorous  originality, 
 and  by  the  apparent  care  with  which  they  had 
 been  wrought  out  in  his  mind.  His  conversation 
 was  a  critical  history  of  American  literature  in 
 miniature,  and  some  of  the  opinions  expressed 
 would  shock  that  class  of  critics  whose  admira- 
 tion of  anything  American  is  tempered  by  a 
 truly  Nazarene  conviction  of  the  un worthiness  of 
 Nazareth. 
 
 It  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  recalling  these  con- 
 versations, guided  as  they  always  were  by  the 
 circumstances  of  the  moment,  and  spontaneous 
 as  his  utterances  were,  I  cannot  recall  a  single  in- 
 stance in  which  Mr.  Bryant  said  a  harsh  or  even 
 a  mildly  condemnatory  thing  of  any  human  being. 
 He  was  vigorous  in  his  condemnation  of  un- 
 w^orthy  things,  unworthy  acts  and  unworthy  prin- 
 ciples of  action ;  but  nothing  that  he  ever  said  in 
 my  presence  indicated  his  dislike  for  any  man, 
 although  I  have  heard  him  talk  of  men  whom  he 
 must  have  detested,  unless  he  was  free  from  the 
 otherwise  universal  human  tendency  to  detest 
 the  man  who  does  detestable  acts. 
 
 No  man  probably  ever  contemplated  death 
 with  more  philosophical  placidity  than  Mr.  Bry- 
 ant did.  Having  sung  death's  praises  in  his 
 "  Hymn  to  Death,"  he  proved  the  sincerity  of 
 his  verse  in  his  life.  His  calmness,  however, 
 was  not  the  morbid  calmness  of  one  who  has 
 worn  out  his  love  of  life  and  his  fear  of  death  in 
 contemplating  its  coming.  His  interest  in  life 
 and  the  affairs  of  life  was  keen  to  the  last ;  he 
 never  talked  of  death  except  when  the  subject 
 naturally  arose,  and  then  his  words  were  always 
 those  of  unfaltering  trust,  always  those  of  a 
 healthful  nature  to  which  life  and  death  are 
 alike — not  indifferent,  but  right.  The  only  di- 
 rect reference  he  ever  made  to  his  own  end 
 within  my  knowledge  was  on  the  day  when 
 the  news  came  of  the  late  Pope's  death.  Mr. 
 Bryant  happened  to  be  in  the  office  on  that  day, 
 and  the  managing  editor  of  the  Evexixg  Post 
 carried  the  news  to  him. 
 
 "  I  am  glad  he  is  dead,"  said  Mr.  Bryant ;  and 
 then  he  added,  by  way  of  explanation,  "  I 
 wanted  to  see  what  they  would  do  over  there  be- 
 fore making  my  own  bow."  It  was  said  in  the 
 cheeriest  way  possible,  and  the  reference  to  the 
 approach  of  his  own  end  was  made  precisely  as 
 might  have  been  a  reference  to  an  approaching 
 change  from  his  city  house  to  his  Roslyn  home. 
 I  think,  indeed,  that  he  contemplated  death  very 
 much  in  that  way.  He  told  me,  when  Canon 
 Farrar  s  "  Eternal  Hope  "  was  published,  that  he 
 had  fully  satisfied  himself  years  ago  on  the  sub- 
 ject of  a  future  life  ;  that  he  had  gone  carefully 
 over  the  whole  ground,  and,  he  added,  "  I  have 
 a  confidence  that  is  not  to  be  shaken,  that  if  con- 
 sciousness exists  at  all  beyond  the  tomb,  it  is  the 
 consciousness  of  life,  not  of  death.  If  we  are 
 awakened  after  that  sleep,  I  cannot  doubt  that 
 the  awakening  will  be  for  our  good,"  Then  he 
 laughingly  referred  to  the  care  with  which  the 
 Evening  Post  had  avoided  the  expression  of  an 
 opinion  on  the  theological  question  in  reviewing 
 the  book,  and  related  the  anecdote  of  a  woman 
 who,  after  hearing  her  somewhat  heterodox  pas- 
 tor preach  a  sermon  setting  forth  a  doctrine  of 
 limited  future  punishment,  went  to  him  and 
 thanked  him,  saying,  "  That  is  so  much  better 
 than  no  hell  at  all." 
 
THE    FLOOD    OF    YEARS 
 
 By  William  Cullen  Bryant. 
 
 A  Mighty  Hakd,  from  an  exhaustless  urn, 
 Pours  forth  the  never-ending  Flood  of  Years 
 Among  the  nations.     How  the  rushing  waves 
 Bear  all  before  them !     On  their  foremost  edge, 
 And  there  alone,  is  Life  ;  the  Present  there 
 Tosses  and  foams  and  fills  the  air  with  roar 
 Of  mingled  noises.     There  are  they  who  toil. 
 And  they  who  strive,  and  they  who  feast,  and  they 
 Who  hurry  to  and  fro.    The  sturdy  hind — 
 "Woodman  and  delver  with  the  spade — are  there, 
 And  busy  artisau  beside  his  bench. 
 And  pallid  student  with  his  written  roll. 
 A  moment  on  the  mounting  billow  seen — 
 The  flood  sweeps  over  them  and  they  are  gone. 
 There  groups  of  revelers,  whose  brows  are  twined 
 With  roses,  ride  the  topmost  swell  awhile. 
 And  as  they  raise  their  flowing  cups  to  touch 
 The  clinking  brim  to  brim,  are  whirled  beneath 
 The  waves  and  disappear.    I  hear  the  jar 
 Of  beaten  drums,  and  thunders  that  break  forth 
 From  cannon,  where  the  advancing  billow  sends 
 Up  to  the  sight  long  files  of  armed  men, 
 That  hurry  to  the  charge  through  flame  and  smoke. 
 The  torrent  bears  them  under,  whelmed  and  hid. 
 Slayer  and  slain,  in  heaps  of  bloody  foam. 
 Down  go  the  steed  and  rider ;  the  plumed  chief 
 Sinks  with  his  followers;  the  head  that  wears 
 The  imperial  diadem  goes  down  beside 
 The  felon's  with  cropped  ear  and  branded  cheek. 
 A  funeral  train — the  torrent  sweeps  away 
 Bearers  and  bier  and  mourners.     By  the  bed 
 Of  one  who  dies  men  gather  sorrowing, 
 And  women  weep  aloud  ;  the  flood  rolls  on  ; 
 The  wail  is  stifled,  and  the  sobbing  group 
 Borne  under.    Hark  to  that  shrill  sudden  shout — 
 The  cry  of  an  applauding  multitude 
 Swayed  by  some  loud-tongued  orator  who  wields 
 The  living  mass,  as  if  he  were  its  soul. 
 The  waters  choke  the  shout  and  all  is  still. 
 Lo,  next,  a  kneehug  crowd  and  one  who  spreads 
 The  hands  in  prayer;  the  engulfing  wave  o'ertakes 
 
 And  swallows  them  and  him.    A  sculptor  wields 
 
 The  chisel,  and  the  stricken  marble  grows 
 
 To  beauty;  at  his  easel,  eager-eyed, 
 
 A  painter  stands,  and  sunshine,  at  his  touch 
 
 Gathers  upon  the  canvas,  and  life  glows  ; 
 
 A  poet,  as  he  paces  to  and  fro, 
 
 Murmurs  his  sounding  line.    Awhile  they  ride 
 
 The  advancing  biUow,  till  its  tossing  crest 
 
 Sti-ikes  them  and  flings  them  under  while  their  tasks 
 
 Are  yet  unfinished.    See  a  mother  smile 
 
 On  her  young  babe  that  smiles  to  her  again — 
 
 The  torrent  wrests  it  from  her  arms;  she  shrieks, 
 
 And  weeps,  and  midst  her  tears  is  carried  down. 
 
 A  beam  like  that  of  moonlight  turns  the  spray 
 
 To  glistening  pearls;  two  lovers,  hand  in  hand, 
 
 Rise  on  the  billowy  swell  and  fondly  look 
 
 Into  each  other's  eyes.    The  rushing  flood 
 
 FUngs  them  apart;  the  youth  goes  down;  the  maid. 
 
 With  hands  out-stretched  in  vain  and  streaming  eyes. 
 
 Waits  for  the  next  high  wave  to  follow  him. 
 
 An  aged  man  succeeds;  his  beuding  form 
 
 Sinks  slowly;  mingling  with  the  sullen  stream 
 
 Gleam  the  white  locks  and  then  are  seen  no  more. 
 
 Lo,  wider  grows  the  stream;  a  sea-like  flood 
 Saps  earth's  walled  cities;  massive  palaces 
 Crumble  before  it;  fortresses  and  towers 
 Dissolve  in  the  swift  waters;  populous  realms 
 Swept  by  the  torrent,  see' their  ancient  tribes 
 Engulfed  and  lost,  their  very  languages 
 Stifled  and  never  to  be  uttered  more. 
 
 I  pause  and  turn  my  eyes  and,  looking  back, 
 Where  that  tumultuous  flood  has  passed,  I  see 
 The  silent  Ocean  of  the  Past,  a  waste 
 Of  waters  weltering  over  graves,  its  shores 
 Strewn  with  the  wreck  of  fleets,  where  mast  and  hull 
 Drop  away  piecemeal;  battlemented  walls 
 Frown  idly,  gi-een  with  moss,  and  temples  stand 
 Unroofed,  forsaken  by  the  worshipers. 
 There  lie  memorial  stones,  whence  time  has  gnawed 
 The  graven  legends,  thrones  of  kings  o'erturned, 
 The  broken  altars  of  forgotten  gods, 
 
72 
 
 Foundations  of  old  cities  and  long  streets 
 
 Where  never  fall  of  human  foot  is  heard 
 
 Upon  the  desolate  pavement.     I  behold 
 
 Dim  glimmerings  of  lost  jewels  far  within 
 
 The  sleeping  waters,  diamond,  sardonyx, 
 
 Eiibj-  and  topaz,  pearl  and  chrysolite. 
 
 Once  glittering  at  the  banquet  on  fair  brows 
 
 That  long  ago  were  dust;  and  all  around, 
 
 Strewn  on  the  waters  of  that  silent  sea. 
 
 Are  withering  bridal  wreaths,  and  glossy  locks 
 
 Shorn  from  fair  brows  by  loving  hands,  and  scrolls 
 
 O'erwritten, — haply  with  fond  words  of  love 
 
 And  vows  of  friendship— and  fair  pages  flung 
 
 Fresh  from  the  printer's  engine.    There  they  lie 
 
 A  moment  and  then  sink  away  from  sight. 
 
 I  look,  and  the  quick  tears  are  in  my  eyes, 
 For  I  behold,  in  every  one  of  these, 
 A  blighted  hope,  a  separate  history 
 Of  human  sorrow,  telling  of  dear  ties 
 Suddenly  broken,  dreams  of  happiness 
 Dissolved  in  air,  and  happy  days,  too  brief. 
 That  sorrowfully  ended,  and  I  think 
 How  painfully  must  the  poor  heart  have  beat 
 In  bosoms  withoiit  number,  as  the  blow 
 "Was  struck  that  slew  their  hope  or  broke  their  peace. 
 
 Sadly  I  turn,  and  look  before,  where  yet 
 The  Flood  must  pass,  and  I  behold  a  mist 
 Where  swarm  dissolving  forms,  the  brood  of  Hope, 
 Divinely  fair,  that  rest  on  banks  of  flowers 
 Or  wander  among  rainbows,  fading  soon 
 And  reappearing,  haply  giving  place 
 To  shapes  of  grisly  aspect,  such  as  Fear 
 Molds  from  the  idle  air;  where  serpents  lift 
 The  head  to  strike,  and  skeletons  stretch  forth 
 The  bony  arm  in  menace.    Further  on 
 
 A  belt  of  darkness  seems  to  bar  the  way. 
 
 Long,  low  and  distant,  where  the  Life  that  Is 
 
 Touches  the  Life  to  come.    The  Flood  of  Years 
 
 Rolls  toward  it,  nearer  and  nearer.    It  must  pass 
 
 That  dismal  barrier,    "^Tiat  is  there  beyond  ? 
 
 Hear  what  the  wise  and  good  have  said.    Beyond 
 
 That  belt  of  darkness  still  the  years  roll  on 
 
 More  gently,  but  with  not  less  mighty  sweep. 
 
 They  gather  up  again  and  softly  bear 
 
 All  the  sweet  lives  that  late  were  overwhelmed 
 
 And  lost  to  sight — all  that  in  them  was  good. 
 
 Noble,  and  truly  great  and  worthy  of  love — 
 
 The  lives  of  infants  and  ingenuous  youths. 
 
 Sages  and  saintly  women  who  have  made 
 
 Their  households  happy— all  are  raised  and  borne 
 
 By  that  great  current  on  its  onward  sweep, 
 
 Wandering  and  rippling  with  caressing  waves 
 
 Around  green  islands,  fragrant  with  the  breath 
 
 Of  flowers  that  never  wither.     So  they  pass, 
 
 From  stage  to  stage,  along  the  shining  course 
 
 Of  that  fair  river  broadening  like  a  sea. 
 
 As  its  smooth  eddies  curl  along  their  way. 
 
 They  bring  old  fi'iends  together;  hands  are  clasped 
 
 In  joy  unspeakable ;  the  mother's  arms 
 
 Again  are  folded  round  the  child  she  loved 
 
 And  lost.    Old  sorrows  are  forgotten  now, 
 
 Or  but  remembered  to  make  sweet  the  hour 
 
 That  overpays  them ;  wounded  hearts  that  bled 
 
 Or  broke  are  healed  forever.     In  the  room 
 
 Of  this  grief-shadowed  Present  there  shall  be 
 
 A  Present  in  whose  reign  no  grief  shall  gnaw 
 
 The  heart,  and  never  shall  a  tender  tie 
 
 Be  broken — in  whose  reign  the  eternal  Change 
 
 That  waits  on  growth  and  action  shall  proceed 
 
 With  everlasting  Concord  hand  in  hand.