literary boston as i knew it-第2章

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give　a　personal　study　of　it　will　be　from　the　effect　it　made　upon　me　as
one　strange　in　everything　but　sympathy。　　I　will　not　pretend　that　I　saw　it
in　its　entirety；　and　I　have　no　hope　of　presenting　anything　like　a
kinetoscopic　impression　of　it。　　What　I　can　do　is　to　give　here　and　there　a
glimpse　of　it；　and　I　shall　wish　the　reader　to　keep　in　mind　the　fact　that
it　was　in　a　〃state　of　transition；〃　as　everything　is　always　and
everywhere。　　It　was　no　sooner　recognizably　native　than　it　ceased　to　be
fully　so；　and　I　became　a　witness　of　it　after　the　change　had　begun。　　The
publishing　house　which　so　long　embodied　New　England　literature　was
already　attempting　enterprises　out　of　the　line　of　its　traditions；　and　one
of　these　had　brought　Mr。　T。　B。　Aldrich　from　New　York；　a　few　weeks　before
I　arrived　upon　the　scene　in　that　dramatic　quality　which　I　think　never
impressed　any　one　but　Mr。　Bowles。　　Mr。　Aldrich　was　the　editor　of　'Every
Saturday'　when　I　came　to　be　assistant　editor　of　the　Atlantic　Monthly。
We　were　of　nearly　the　same　age；　but　he　had　a　distinct　and　distinguished
priority　of　reputation；　insomuch　that　in　my　Western　remoteness　I　had
always　ranged　him　with　such　elders　and　betters　of　mine　as　Holmes　and
Lowell；　and　never　imagined　him　the　blond；　slight　youth　I　found　him；　with
every　imaginable　charm　of　contemporaneity。　　It　is　no　part　of　the　office
which　I　have　intended　for　these　slight　and　sufficiently　wandering
glimpses　of　the　past　to　show　any　writer　in　his　final　place；　and　above　all
I　do　not　presume　to　assign　any　living　man　his　rank　or　station。　　But　I
should　be　false　to　my　own　grateful　sense　of　beauty　in　the　work　of　this
poet　if　I　did　not　at　all　times　recognize　his　constancy　to　an　ideal　which
his　name　stands　for。　　He　is　known　in　several　kinds；　but　to　my　thinking　he
is　best　in　a　certain　nobler　kind　of　poetry；　a　serious　sort　in　which　the
thought　holds　him　above　the　scrupulosities　of　the　art　he　loves　and　honors
so　much。　　Sometimes　the　file　slips　in　his　hold；　as　the　file　must　and
will；　it　is　but　an　instrument　at　the　best；　but　there　is　no　mistouch　in
the　hand　that　lays　itself　upon　the　reader's　heart　with　the　pulse　of　the
poet's　heart　quick　and　true　in　it。　　There　are　sonnets　of　his；　grave；　and
simple；　and　lofty；　which　I　think　of　with　the　glow　and　thrill　possible
only　from　very　beautiful　poetry；　and　which　impart　such　an　emotion　as　we
can　feel　only

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃When　a　great　thought　strikes　along　the　brain
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　flushes　all　the　cheek。〃

When　I　had　the　fortune　to　meet　him　first；　I　suppose　that　in　the　employ　of
the　kindly　house　we　were　both　so　eager　to　serve；　our　dignities　were　about
the　same；　for　if　the　'Atlantic　Monthly'　was　a　somewhat　prouder　affair
than　an　eclectic　weekly　like　'Every　Saturday'；　he　was　supreme　in　his
place；　and　I　was　subordinate　in　mine。　　The　house　was　careful；　in　the
attitude　of　its　senior　partner；　not　to　distinguish　between　us；　and　we
were　not　slow　to　perceive　the　tact　used　in　managing　us；　we　had　our　own
joke　of　it；　we　compared　notes　to　find　whether　we　were　equally　used　in
this　thing　or　that；　and　we　promptly　shared　the　fun　of　our　discovery　with
Fields　himself。

We　had　another　impartial　friend　（no　less　a　friend　of　joy　in　the　life
which　seems　to　have　been　pretty　nearly　all　joy；　as　I　look　back　upon　it）
in　the　partner　who　became　afterwards　the　head　of　the　house；　and　who
forecast　in　his　bold　enterprises　the　change　from　a　New　England　to　an
American　literary　situation。　　In　the　end　James　R。　Osgood　failed；　though
all　his　enterprises　succeeded。　　The　anomaly　is　sad；　but　it　is　not
infrequent。　　They　were　greater　than　his　powers　and　his　means；　and　before
they　could　reach　their　full　fruition；　they　had　to　be　enlarged　to　men　of
longer　purse　and　longer　patience。　　He　was　singularly　fitted　both　by
instinct　and　by　education　to　become　a　great　publisher；　and　he　early
perceived　that　if　a　leading　American　house　were　to　continue　at　Boston；
it　must　be　hospitable　to　the　talents　of　the　whole　country。　　He　founded
his　future　upon　those　generous　lines；　but　he　wanted　the　qualities　as　well
as　the　resources　for　rearing　the　superstructure。　　Changes　began　to　follow
each　other　rapidly　after　he　came　into　control　of　the　house。　　Misfortune
reduced　the　size　and　number　of　its　periodicals。　　'The　Young　Folks'　was
sold　outright；　and　the　'North　American　Review'　（long　before　Mr。　Rice
bought　it　and　carried　it　to　New　York）　was　cut　down　one…half；　so　that
Aldrich　said；　it　looked　as　if　Destiny　had　sat　upon　it。　　His　own
periodical；　'Every　Saturday'；　was　first　enlarged　to　a　stately　quarto　and
illustrated；　and　then；　under　stress　of　the　calamities　following　the　great
Boston　fire；　It　collapsed　to　its　former　size。　　Then　both　the　'Atlantic
Monthly'　and　'Every　Saturday'　were　sold　away　from　their　old　ownership；
and　'Every　Saturday'　was　suppressed　altogether；　and　we　two　ceased　to　be
of　the　same　employ。　　There　was　some　sort　of　evening　rite　（more　funereal
than　festive）　the　day　after　they　were　sold；　and　we　followed　Osgood　away
from　it；　under　the　lamps。　　We　all　knew　that　it　was　his　necessity　that　had
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　bette