literary boston as i knew it-第3章

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caused　him　to　part　with　the　periodicals；　but　he　professed　that　it　was　his
pleasure；　and　he　said　he　had　not　felt　so　light…hearted　since　he　was　a
boy。　　We　asked　him；　How　could　he　feel　gay　when　he　was　no　longer　paying　us
our　salaries；　and　how　could　he　justify　it　to　his　conscience？　　He　liked
our　mocking；　and　limped　away　from　us　with　a　rheumatic　easing　of　his
weight　from　one　foot　to　another：　a　figure　pathetic　now　that　it　has　gone
the　way　to　dusty　death；　and　dear　to　memory　through　benefactions　unalloyed
by　one　unkindness。




IV。

But　when　I　came　to　Boston　early　in　1866；　the　'Atlantic　Monthly'　and
'Harper's'　then　divided　our　magazine　world　between　them；　the　'North
American　Review'；　in　the　control　of　Lowell　and　Professor　Norton；　had
entered　upon　a　new　life；　'Every　Saturday'　was　an　instant　success　in　the
charge　of　Mr。　Aldrich；　who　was　by　taste　and　training　one　of　the　best
editors；　and　'Our　Young　Folks'　had　the　field　of　juvenile　periodical
literature　to　itself。

It　was　under　the　direction　of　Miss　Lucy　Larcom　and　of　Mr。　J。　T。
Trowbridge；　who　had　come　from　western　New　York；　where　he　was　born；　and
must　be　noted　as　one　of　the　first　returners　from　the　setting　to　the
rising　sun。　　He　naturalized　himself　in　Boston　in　his　later　boyhood；　and
he　still　breathes　Boston　air；　where　he　dwells　in　the　street　called
Pleasant；　on　the　shore　of　Spy　Pond；　at　Arlington；　and　still　weaves　the
magic　web　of　his　satisfying　stories　for　boys。　　He　merges　in　their
popularity　the　fame　of　a　poet　which　I　do　not　think　will　always　suffer
that　eclipse；　for　his　poems　show　him　to　have　looked　deeply　into　the　heart
of　common　humanity；　with　a　true　and　tender　sense　of　it。

Miss　Larcom　scarcely　seemed　to　change　from　date　to　date　in　the　generation
that　elapsed　between　the　time　I　first　saw　her　and　the　time　I　saw　her
last；　a　year　or　two　before　her　death。　　A　goodness　looked　out　of　her
comely　face；　which　made　me　think　of　the　Madonna's　in　Titian's
〃Assumption；〃　and　her　whole　aspect　expressed　a　mild　and　friendly　spirit
which　I　find　it　hard　to　put　in　words。　　She　was　never　of　the　fine　world　of
literature；　she　dwelt　where　she　was　born；　in　that　unfashionable　Beverly
which　is　not　Beverly　Farms；　and　was　of　a　simple；　sea…faring；　God…fearing
race；　as　she　has　told　in　one　of　the　loveliest　autobiographies　I　know；
〃A　New　England　Girlhood。〃　　She　was　the　author　of　many　poems；　whose　number
she　constantly　enlarged；　but　she　was　chiefly；　and　will　be　most　lastingly；
famed　for　the　one　poem；　'Hannah　Binding　Shoes'；　which　years　before　my
days　in　Boston　had　made　her　so　widely　known。　　She　never　again　struck　so
deep　or　so　true　a　note；　but　if　one　has　lodged　such　a　note　in　the　ear　of
time；　it　is　enough；　and　if　we　are　to　speak　of　eternity；　one　might　very
well　hold　up　one's　head　in　the　fields　of　asphodel；　if　one　could　say　to
the　great　others　there；　〃I　wrote　Hannah　Binding　Shoes。〃　　Her　poem　is
very；　very　sad；　as　all　who　have　read　it　will　remember；　but　Miss　Larcom
herself　was　above　everything　cheerful；　and　she　had　a　laugh　of　mellow
richness　which　willingly　made　itself　heard。　　She　was　not　only　of　true　New
England　stock；　and　a　Boston　author　by　right　of　race；　but　she　came　up　to
that　city　every　winter　from　her　native　town。

By　the　same　right　and　on　the　same　terms；　another　New　England　poetess；
whom　I　met　those　first　days　in　Boston；　was　a　Boston　author。　　When　I　saw
Celia　Thaxter　she　was　just　beginning　to　make　her　effect　with　those　poems
and　sketches　which　the　sea　sings　and　flashes　through　as　it　sings　and
flashes　around　the　Isles　of　Shoals；　her　summer　home；　where　her　girlhood
had　been　passed　in　a　freedom　as　wild　as　the　curlew's。　　She　was　a　most
beautiful　creature；　still　very　young　；　with　a　slender　figure；　and　an
exquisite　perfection　of　feature；　she　was　in　presence　what　her　work　was：
fine；　frank；　finished。　　I　do　not　know　whether　other　witnesses　of　our
literary　history　feel　that　the　public　has　failed　to　keep　her　as　fully　in
mind　as　her　work　merited；　but　I　do　not　think　there　can　be　any　doubt　but
our　literature　would　be　sensibly　the　poorer　without　her　work。　　It　is
interesting　to　remember　how　closely　she　kept　to　her　native　field；　and　it
is　wonderful　to　consider　how　richly　she　made　those　sea…beaten　rocks　to
blossom。　　Something　strangely　full　and　bright　came　to　her　verse　from　the
mystical　environment　of　the　ocean；　like　the　luxury　of　leaf　and　tint　that
it　gave　the　narrower　flower…plots　of　her　native　isles。　　Her　gift；　indeed；
could　not　satisfy　itself　with　the　terms　of　one　art　alone；　however　varied；
and　she　learned　to　express　in　color　the　thoughts　and　feelings　impatient
of　the　pallor　of　words。

She　remains　in　my　memories　of　that　far　Boston　a　distinct　and　vivid
personality；　as　the　authoress　of　'Amber　Gods'；　and　'In　a　Cellar'；　and
'Circumstance'；　and　those　other　wild　romantic　tales；　remains　the　gentle
and　somewhat　evanescent　presence　I　found　her。　　Miss　Prescott　was　now　Mrs。
Spofford；　and　her　husband　was　a　rising　young　politician　of　the　day。　　It
was　his　duties　as　member　of　the　General　Court　that　had　brought　them　up
from　Newburyport　to　Boston　for　that　first　winter；　and　I　remember　that　the
evening　when　we　met　he　was　talking　of　their　some　time　going　to　Italy　that
she　might　study　for　imaginative　literature　certain　Italian　cities　he
named。　　I　have　long　since　ceased　to　own　those　cities；　but　at　the　moment　I
felt　a　pang　of　expropriation　which　I　concealed　as　well　as　I　could；　and
now　I　heartily　wish　she　could　have　fulfilled　that　purpose　if　it　was　a
purpose；　or　realized　that　dream　if　it　was　only　a　dream。　　Perhaps；
however；　that　sumptuous　and　glowing　fancy　of　hers；　which　had　taken　the
fancy　of　the　young　readers　of　that　day；　needed　the　cold　New　England
background　to　bring　out　all　its　intensities　of　tint；　all　its　splendors　of
light。　　Its　effects　were　such　as　could　not　last；　or　could　not　be　farther
evolved；　they　were　the　expression　of　youth　musing　away　from　its
environment　and　smitten　with　the　glories　of　a　world　afar　and　beyond；　the
great　world；　the　fine　world；　the　impurpled　world　of　romantic　motives　and
passions。　　But　for　what　they　were；　I　can　never　think　them　other　than　what
they　appeared：　the　emanations　of　a　rarely　gifted　and　singularly　poetic
mind。　　I　feel　better　than　I　can　say　how　necessarily　they　were　the
emanations　of　a　New　England　mind；　and　how　to　the　subtler　sense　they　must
impart　the　pathos　of　revolt　from　the　colorless　rigidities　which　are　the
long　result　of　puritanism　in　the　physiognomy　of　New　England　life。

Their　author　afterwards　gave　herself　to　the　stricter　study　of　this　life
in　many　tales　and　sketches　which　showed　an　increasing　mastery；　but　they
could　not　have　the　flush；　the　surprise；　the　delight　of　a　young　talent
trying　itself　in　a　kind　native　and；　so　far　as　I　know；　peculiar　to　it。
From　time　to　time　I　still　come　upon　a　poem　of　hers　which　recalls　that
earlier　strain　of　music；　of　color；　and　I　am　content　to　trust　it　for　my
abiding　faith　in　the　charm　of　things　I　have　not　read　for　thirty　years。




V。

I　speak　of　this　one　and　that；　as　it　happens；　and　with　no　thought　of
giving　a　complete　prospect　of　literary　Boston　thirty　years　ago。　　I　am
aware　that　it　will　seem　sparsely　peopled　in　the　effect　I　impart；　and　I
would　have　the　reader　always　keep　in　mind　the　great　fames　at　Cambridge
and　at　Concord；　which　formed　so　large　a　part　of　the　celebrity　of　Boston。
I　would　also　like　him　to　think　of　it　as　still　a　great　town；　merely；　where
every　one　knew　every　one　else；　and　whose　metropolitan　liberation　from
neighborhood　was　just　begun。

Most　distinctly　of　that　yet　uncitified　Boston　was　the　critic　Edwin　P。
Whipple；　whose　sympathies　were　indefinitely　wider　than　his　traditions。
He　was　a　most　generous　lover　of　all　that　was　excellent　in　literature；　and
though　I　suppose　we　should　call　him　an　old…fashioned　critic　now；　I
suspect　it　would　be　with　no　distinct　sense　of　what　is　newer　fashioned。
He　was　certainly　as　friendly　to　what　promised　well　in　the　younger　men　as
he　was　to　what　was　done　well　in　their　elders；　and　there　was　no　one
writing　in　his　day　whose　virtues　failed　of　his　recognition；　though　it
might　happen　that　his　foibles　would　escape　Whipple's　censure。　　He　wrote
strenuously　and　of　course　conscientiously；　his　point　of　view　was　solely
and