Old Age. I do. I left my card on you longer ago than that, but I am afraid you never read it; yet I see you have it with you. Professor.--Where?

Old Age. Not at home. Then I leave a card
and go.
Next year
I call; get the same answer;
leave another card. So for five or six-sometimes
ten-years or more. At last, if they don't let me in,

I break in through the front door or the windows.
We talked together in this way some time. Then
Old Age said again,-Come, let us walk down the
street together, and offered me a cane,—an eye-glass,

Old Age. There, between your eyebrows,-three straight lines running up and down; all the probate courts know that token,-" Old Age, his mark." Put your forefinger on the inner end of one eyebrow, and your middle finger on the inner end of the other eye-a tippet, and a pair of overshoes.—No, much obliged brow; now separate the fingers, and you will smooth out my sign manual; that's the way you used to look before I left my card on you.

to you, said I. I don't want those things, and I had a little rather talk with you here, privately, in my study. So I dressed myself up in a jaunty way and walked

Professor. What message do people generally send out alone;-got a fall, caught a cold, was laid up with a back when you first call on them? lumbago, and had time to think over this whole matter.

MY LAST WALK WITH THE SCHOOLMISTRESS.

CAN'T say just how many walks she and It was on the Common that we were walking. I had taken before this one. I found The mall, or boulevard of our Common, you know, the effect of going out every morning was has various branches leading from it in different decidedly favorable on her health. Two pleasing directions. One of these runs downward from oppodimples, the places for which were just marked when site Joy Street southward across the whole length of she came, played, shadowy, in her freshening cheeks the Common to Boylston Street. We called it the when she smiled and nodded good-morning to me long path, and were fond of it. from the schoolhouse steps. ***

I felt very weak indeed (though of a tolerably robust habit) as we came opposite the head of this path on that morning. I think I tried to speak twice without making myself distinctly audible. At last I got out the question,-Will you take the long path with me? Certainly, said the schoolmistress,—with much pleasure. Think,—I said,—before you answer: if you take the long path with me now, I shall interpret it that we are to part no more! The schoolmistress stepped back with a sudden movement, as if an arrow had struck her.

The schoolmistress had tried life. Once in a while one meets with a single soul greater than all the living pageant that passes before it. As the pale astronomer sits in his study with sunken eyes and thin fingers, and weighs Uranus or Neptune as in a balance, so there are meek, slight women who have weighed all which this planetary life can offer, and hold it like a bauble in the palm of their slender hands. This was one of them. Fortune had left her, sorrow had baptized her; the routine of labor and the loneliness of almost friendless city-life were One of the long granite blocks used as seats was before her. Yet, as I looked upon her tranquil face, hard by, the one you may still see close by the gradually regaining a cheerfulness which was often Gingko-tree. Pray, sit down,—I said. No, no,--she sprightly, as she became interested in the various answered softly, I will walk the long path with matters we talked about and places we visited, I you! saw that eye and lip and every shifting lineament The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walkwere made for love,-unconscious of their sweet office ing, arm in arm, about the middle of the long path, as yet, and meeting the cold aspect of Duty with the and said, very charmingly," Good-morning, my natural graces which were meant for the reward of dears!" nothing less than the Great Passion.

**

W

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

POET, CRITIC, AND ESSAYIST.

HILE the popularity of Lowell has not been so great as that of Whittier, Longfellow or Holmes, his poetry expresses a deeper thought and a truer culture than that of any one of these; or, indeed, of any other American poet, unless the exception be the "transcendental philosopher," Emerson. As an anti-slavery poet, he was second only to Whittier.

James Russell Lowell was born in Cambridge, Mass., February 22, 1819, and died in the same city on August 12, 1891, in the seventy-third year of his age. He was the youngest son of the Rev. Charles Lowell, an eminent Congregational clergyman, and was descended from the English settlers of 1639. He entered Harvard in his seventeenth year and graduated in 1838, before he was twenty. He began to write verses early. In his junior year in college he wrote the anniversary poem, and, in his senior year, was editor of the college magazine. Subsequently, he studied law and was admitted to the bar in 1840; but, it seems, never entered upon the practice of his profession. If he did it is doubtful if he ever had even that first client whom he afterwards described in a humorous sketch.

His first appearance in literature was the publication, in 1839, of the class poem which he had written, but was not permitted to recite on account of his temporary suspension from College for neglect of certain studies in the curriculum for which he had a distaste. In this poem he satirized the Abolitionists, and the transcendental school of writers, of which Emerson was the prophet and leader. This poem, while faulty, contained much sharp wit and an occasional burst of feeling which portended future prominence for its author.

Two years later, in 1841, the first volume of Lowell's verse appeared, entitled "A Year's Life." This production was so different from that referred to above that critics would have regarded it as emanating from an entirely different mind had not the same name been attached to both. It illustrated entirely different feelings, thoughts and habits, evinced a complete change of heart and an entire revolution in his mode of thinking. His observing and suggestive imagination had caught the tone and spirit of the new and mystical philosophy, which his first publication had ridiculed. Henceforth, he aimed to make Nature the representative and minister of his feelings and desires. Lowell was not alone, however, in showing how capricious a young author's character may be. A notable parallel is found in the great

Englishman, Carlyle whose "Life of Schiller" and his "Sator Resartus," are equally as unlike himself as were Lowell's first two publications. In 1844, came another volume of poems, manifesting a still further mark of advancement. The longest in this collection-"The Legend of Brittany "-is, in imagination and artistic finish, one of his best and secured the first general consent for the author's admission into the company of men of genius.

During this same year (1844) Mr. Lowell married the poetess, Maria White, an ardent Abolitionist, whose anti-slavery convictions influenced his after career. Two of Mrs. Lowell's poems, "The Alpine Sheep" and the "Morning Glory" are especially popular. Lowell was devotedly attached to his singularly beautiful and

sympathetic poet wife and made her the subject of some of his most exquisite verses. They were both contributors to the "Liberty Bell" and "Anti-slavery Standard, thus enjoying companionship in their labors.

In 1845, appeared Lowell's "Conversation on Some Old Poets," consisting of a series of criticisms, and discussions which evince a careful and delicate study. This was the beginning of the critical work in which he afterward became so famous, that he was styled "The First Critic of America."

Lowell was also a humorist by nature. His irrepressible perception of the comical and the funny find expression everywhere, both in his poetry and prose.

His

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"Fable for Critics" was a delight to those whom he both satirized and criticised in a good-natured manner. Bryant, Poe, Hawthorne and Whittier, each are made to pass in procession for their share of criticism-which is as excellent as amusing-and Carlyle and Emerson are contrasted admirably. This poem, however, is faulty in execution and does not do its author justice. His masterpiece in humor is the famous Biglow Papers." These have been issued in two parts; the first being inspired by the Mexican War, and the latter by the Civil War between the states. Hosea Biglow, the country Yankee philosopher and supposed author of the papers, and the Rev. Homer Wilber, his learned commentator and pastor of the first church at Jaalem, reproduce the Yankee dialect, and portray the Yankee character as faithfully as they are amusing and funny to the reader.

In 1853, Mrs. Lowell died, on the same night in which a daughter was born to the poet Longfellow, who was a neighbor and a close friend to Lowell. The coincident inspired Longfellow to write a beautiful poem, "The Two Angels," which he sent to Mr. Lowell with his expression of sympathy:

"'Twas at thy door, O friend, and not at mine
The angel with the amaranthine wreath,
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine
Uttered a word that had a sound like death.

"Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom,

A shaddow on those features fair and thin,
And slowly, from that hushed and darkened room,
Two angels issued, where but one went in.

"Angels of life and death alike are His;

Without His leave, they pass no threshold o'er:
Who then would wish, or dare, believing this,
Against His messengers to shut the door?"

Quite in contrast with Lowell, the humorist, is Lowell, the serious and dignified author. His patriotic poems display a courage and manliness in adhering to the right and cover a wide range in history. But it is in his descriptions of nature that his imagination manifests its greatest range of subtilty and power. "The Vision of Sir Launfal" is, perhaps, more remarkable for its descriptions of the months of June and December than for the beautiful story it tells of the search for the Holy Grail" (the cup) which held the wine which Christ and the Apostles drank at the last supper.

Lowell's prose writings consist of his contributions to magazines, which were afterwards gathered in book form, and his public addresses and his political essays. He was naturally a poet, and his prose writings were the outgrowth of his daily labors, rather than a work of choice. As a professor of modern languages in Harvard College (in which position he succeeded the poet Longfellow); as editor of the "Atlantic Monthly," on which duty he entered at the beginning of that magazine, in 1857, his editorial work on the "North American Review" from 1863 to 1872, together with his political ministry in Spain and England, gave him, he says, "quite enough prosaic work to do.'

It was to magazines that he first contributed "Fireside Travels," "Among My Books," and "My Study Window," which have been since published in book form. These publications cover a wide field of literature and impress the reader with a spirit of inspiration and enthusiasm. Lowell, like Emerson and Longfellow, was an optimist of the most pronounced type. In none of his writing does he express a syllable of discontent or despair. His "Pictures from Appledore" and "Under the Willows" are not more sympathetic and spontaneous than his faith in mankind, his healthful nature, and his rosy and joyful hope of the future.

In 1877, Mr. Lowell was appointed minister to Spain by President Hayes, and, in 1880, was transferred, in the same capacity to London. This position he resigned in 1885 and returned to America to resume his lectures in Harvard University. While in England, Mr. Lowell was lionized as no other minister at that time had been and was in great demand as a public lecturer and speaker. Oliver Wendell Holmes thus writes of his popularity with the "British Cousins:"

He delivered a memorial address at the unveiling of the bust of the poet Coleridge in Westminster Abbey. On his return to America, this oration was included with others in his volume entitled "Democracy and Other Addresses." (1887).

As a public man, a representative of the United States Government, in foreign ports, he upheld the noblest ideals of the republic. He taught the purest lessons of patriotism-ever preferring his country to his party-and has criticised, with energy, and indignation, political evils and selfishness in public service, regarding these as the most dangerous elements threatening the dignity and honor of American citizenship.

Among scholars, Lowell, next to Emerson, is regarded the profoundest of American poets; and, as the public becomes more generally educated, it is certain that he will grow in popular favor. To those who understand and catch the spirit of the man, noticeable characteristics of his writings are its richness and variety. He is at once, a humorist, a philosopher, and a dialectic verse writer, an essayist, a critic, and a masterful singer of songs of freedom as well as of the most majestic memorial odes. Unlike Longfellow and Holmes, Lowell never wrote a novel; but his insight into character and ability to delineate it would have made it entirely possible for him to assay, successfully, this branch of literature. This power is seen especially in his "Biglow Papers" as well as in other of his character sketches. The last of Lowell's works published was "Latest Literary Essays and Addresses," issued in 1892, after his death.