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among the mute witnesses of the larger part of his life。 As I have
suggested in my own case； it did not matter much whether you brought
anything to the feast or not。 If he liked you he liked being with you；
not for what he got； but for what he gave。 He was fond of one man whom I
recall as the most silent man I ever met。 I never heard him say
anything； not even a dull thing； but Lowell delighted in him； and would
have you believe that he was full of quaint humor。
V。
While Lowell lived there was a superstition； which has perhaps survived
him； that he was an indolent man； wasting himself in barren studies and
minor efforts instead of devoting his great powers to some monumental
work worthy of them。 If the robust body of literature； both poetry and
prose； which lives after him does not yet correct this vain delusion； the
time will come when it must； and in the meantime the delusion cannot vex
him now。 I think it did vex him； then； and that he even shared it； and
tried at times to meet such shadowy claim as it had。 One of the things
that people urged upon him was to write some sort of story； and it is
known how he attempted this in verse。 It is less known that he attempted
it in prose； and that he went so far as to write the first chapter of a
novel。 He read this to me； and though I praised it then； I have a
feeling now that if he had finished the novel it would have been a
failure。 〃But I shall never finish it；〃 he sighed； as if he felt
irremediable defects in it； and laid the manuscript away； to turn and
light his pipe。 It was a rather old…fashioned study of a whimsical
character； and it did not arrive anywhere； so far as it went； but I
believe that it might have been different with a Yankee story in verse
such as we have fragmentarily in 'The Nooning' and 'FitzAdam's Story'。
Still； his gift was essentially lyrical and meditative； with the
universal New England tendency to allegory。 He was wholly undramatic in
the actuation of the characters which he imagined so dramatically。 He
liked to deal with his subject at first hand； to indulge through himself
all the whim and fancy which the more dramatic talent indulges through
its personages。
He enjoyed writing such a poem as 〃The Cathedral；〃 which is not of his
best； but which is more immediately himself； in all his moods； than some
better poems。 He read it to me soon after it was written； and in the
long walk which we went hard upon the reading （our way led us through the
Port far towards East Cambridge； where he wished to show me a tupelo…tree
of his acquaintance； because I said I had never seen one）； his talk was
still of the poem which he was greatly in conceit of。 Later his
satisfaction with it received a check from the reserves of other friends
concerning some whimsical lines which seemed to them too great a drop
from the higher moods of the piece。 Their reluctance nettled him；
perhaps he agreed with them； but he would not change the lines； and they
stand as he first wrote them。 In fact； most of his lines stand as he
first wrote them； he would often change them in revision； and then； in a
second revision go back to the first version。
He was very sensitive to criticism； especially from those he valued
through his head or heart。 He would try to hide his hurt； and he would
not let you speak of it； as though your sympathy unmanned him； but you
could see that he suffered。 This notably happened in my remembrance from
a review in a journal which he greatly esteemed； and once when in a
notice of my own I had put one little thorny point among the flowers； he
confessed a puncture from it。 He praised the criticism hardily； but I
knew that he winced under my recognition of the didactic quality which he
had not quite guarded himself against in the poetry otherwise praised。
He liked your liking； and he openly rejoiced in it； and I suppose he made
himself believe that in trying his verse with his friends he was testing
it； but I do not believe that he was； and I do not think he ever
corrected his judgment by theirs； however he suffered from it。
In any matter that concerned literary morals he was more than eager to
profit by another eye。 One summer he sent me for the Magazine a poem
which； when I read it； I trembled to find ；in motive almost exactly like
one we had lately printed by another contributor。 There was nothing for
it but to call his attention to the resemblance； and I went over to
Elmwood with the two poems。 He was not at home； and I was obliged to
leave the poems； I suppose with some sort of note； for the next morning's
post brought me a delicious letter from him； all one cry of confession；
the most complete； the most ample。 He did not trouble himself to say
that his poem was an unconscious reproduction of the other； that was for
every reason unnecessary； but he had at once rewritten it upon wholly
different lines； and I do not think any reader was reminded of Mrs。
Akers's 〃Among the Laurels〃 by Lowell's 〃Foot…path。〃 He was not only
much more sensitive of others' rights than his own； but in spite of a
certain severity in him； he was most tenderly regardful of their
sensibilities when he had imagined them： he did not always imagine them。
VI。
At this period； between the years 1866 and 1874； when he unwillingly went
abroad for a twelvemonth； Lowell was seen in very few Cambridge houses；
and in still fewer Boston houses。 He was not an unsocial man； but he was
most distinctly not a society man。 He loved chiefly the companionship of
books； and of men who loved books； but of women generally he had an
amusing diffidence； he revered them and honored them； but he would rather
not have had them about。 This is over…saying it； of course； but the
truth is in what I say。 There was never a more devoted husband； and he
was content to let his devotion to the sex end with that。 He especially
could not abide difference of opinion in women； he valued their taste；
their wit； their humor； but he would have none of their reason。 I was by
one day when he was arguing a point with one of his nieces； and after it
had gone on for some time； and the impartial witness must have owned that
she was getting the better of him he closed the controversy by giving her
a great kiss； with the words； 〃You are a very good girl； my dear；〃 and
practically putting her out of the room。 As to women of the flirtatious
type； he did not dislike them； no man； perhaps； does； but he feared them；
and he said that with them there was but one way； and that was to run。
I have a notion that at this period Lowell was more freely and fully
himself than at any other。 The passions and impulses of his younger
manhood had mellowed； the sorrows of that time had softened； he could
blamelessly live to himself in his affections and his sobered ideals。
His was always a duteous life； but he had pretty well given up making man
over in his own image； as we all wish some time to do； and then no longer
wish it。 He fulfilled his obligations to his fellow…men as these sought
him out； but he had ceased to seek them。 He loved his friends and their
love； but he had apparently no desire to enlarge their circle。 It was
that hour of civic suspense； in which public men seemed still actuated by
unselfish aims； and one not essentially a politician might contentedly
wait to see what would come of their doing their best。 At any rate；
without occasionally withholding open criticism or acclaim Lowell waited
among his books for the wounds of the war to heal themselves； and the
nation to begin her healthfuller and nobler life。 With slavery gone；
what might not one expect of American democracy！
His life at Elmwood was of an entire simplicity。 In the old colonial
mansion in which he was born； he dwelt in the embowering leafage； amid
the quiet of lawns and garden…plots broken by few noises ruder than those
from the elms and the syringas where
〃The oriole clattered and the cat…bird sang。〃
From the tracks on Brattle Street； came the drowsy tinkle of horse…car
bells； and sometimes a funeral trailed its black length past the corner
of his grounds； and lost itself from sight under the shadows of the
willows that hid Mount Auburn from his study windows。 In the winter the
deep New England snows kept their purity in the stretch of meadow behind
the house； which a double row of pines guarded in a domestic privacy。
All was of a modest dignity within and without the house； which Lowell
loved but did not imagine of a manorial presence； and he could not
conceal his annoyance with an over…enthusiastic account of his home in
which the simple chiselling of some panels was vaunted as rich wood…
carving。 There was a graceful staircase； and a good wide hall； from
which the dining…room and drawing…room opened by opposite doors； behind
the last； in the southwest corner of the house； was his study。
There； literally； he lived during the six or seven years in which I knew
him after my coming to Cambridge。 Summer and winter he sat there among
his books； seldom stirring abroad by day except for a walk； and by night
yet more rarely。 He went to the monthly mid…day dinner of the Saturday
Club in Bos