on the surface of their profound appreciation of each other's ability and character. Bryant's poetry has a quality of its own, as distinct and recognizable as that of Corot's paintings. Beyond all other verse produced in America, it has what may be called a classic quality. It is clear, calm, elevated, strong. Many of his poems, in their finished form and chastened self-restraint, resemble Greek statuary. His poetry is pervaded by a reflective, ethical tone. The objects of nature, which he dwells on with untiring fondness, convey to his mind some beautiful lesson of hope, comfort, courage. He looks, for instance, upon the North Star, and in its beams he beholds — "A beauteous type of that unchanging good, That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray The voyager of time should shape his heedful way." Though there are few that speak in praise of the wild, stormy month of March, he bids it a cordial welcome: "Thou bringst the hope of those calm skies, And that soft time of sunny showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, He does not sigh at the increasing speed with which the years pass by: To those who lament the degeneracy of their time, and are filled with gloomy forebodings of the future, he says, Oh, no! a thousand cheerful omens give In God's magnificent works his will shall scan, And love and peace shall make their paradise with man." // Bryant's poetry is not artificial. It sprang out of the depths of his soul; it is the natural expression of his deepest thoughts and feelings. It was inspired chiefly by the scenery, life, and history of his own country, a fact that makes him pre-eminently an American poet. "He never, by any chance," says Stedman, "affected passion or set himself to artificial song. He had the triple gift of Athene, 'self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control.' He was incapable of pretending to raptures that he did not feel; and this places him far above a host of those who, without knowing it, hunt for emotions, and make poetry but little better than a trade." 2 Bryant crowned his long literary life with a translation of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey." The former was undertaken in 1865, when the poet was in his seventy-first year, and it was completed four years later. His vigorous health and disciplined faculties had always enabled him to work with unusual regularity. He was never dependent on moments of happy inspiration. In translating Homer he set himself the task of forty lines a day. He found fault with the translations of Pope and Cowper, because of their lack of fidelity to the original. "I have sought to attain," he says, "what belongs to the original, a fluent narrative style which shall carry the reader forward without the impediment of unexpected inversions and capricious phrases, and in which, if he find nothing to stop at and admire, there will at least be nothing to divert his attention from the story and characters of the poem, from the events related and the objects described." Scarcely was the "Iliad" finished, when he began the "Odyssey." It was completed in two years. The entire translation, which was a credit to American talent and scholarship, met with a cordial reception. It satisfied the high expectations that had preceded its appearance. In fidelity to the original, in its admirable style and diction, and in its successful reproduction of the heroic spirit, it surpasses, perhaps, all other translations. Besides his city residence, Bryant had two houses in the country, one near the village of Roslyn, Long Island, commanding an extensive prospect of land and water; the other, the old Bryant homestead at Cummington. He was accus tomed, the latter part of his life, to spend about one-half his time at these country homes. He took great interest in beautifying them, and was "aye sticking in a tree." At his home near Roslyn, to which he gave the name of "Cedarmere," he did some of his best work. It was the abode of simplicity and taste, to which he welcomed many friends and distinguished guests. 3 Bryant was a deeply religious man; but he attached more importance to reverence, righteousness, and charity than to any ecclesiastical creed. Though brought up in the Calvinistic faith, his later theological sympathies were with the Unitarians. "The religious man," he wrote near the end of his life, "finds in his relations to his Maker a support to his virtue which others cannot have. He acts always with a consciousness that he is immediately under the eyes of a Being who looks into his heart, and sees his inmost thoughts, and discerns the motives which he is half unwilling to acknowledge even to himself. He feels that he is under the inspiration of a Being who is only pleased with right motives and purity of intention, and who is displeased with whatever is otherwise. He feels that the approbation of that Being is infinitely more to be valued than the applause of all mankind, and his displeasure more to be feared and more to be avoided than any disgrace which he might sustain from his brethren of mankind." He had a profound reverence for the character and teachings of Christ, whose sweetness and beneficence he exemplified in his own life with advancing years. " 66 The rich, full life of Bryant continued far beyond the allotted period of man; but the end came suddenly. In the latter part of May, 1878, he delivered an address at the unveiling of a statue to Mazzini, the Italian patriot, in Central Park. He had not been feeling well for several days, and exposure to the sun proved too much for his strength. On entering the house of a friend near the Park, he suddenly lost consciousness, and, falling backward, struck his head violently on the stone platform of the front steps. The terrific blow caused concussion of the brain, from which he died June 12, in the eighty-fourth year of his age. 'By reason of his venerable age," wrote Dr. J. G. Holland, "his unquestioned genius, his pure and lofty character, his noble achievement in letters, his great influence as a public journalist, and his position as a pioneer in American literature, William Cullen Bryant had become, without a suspicion of the fact in his own modest thought, the principal citizen of the great republic. By all who knew him, and by millions who never saw him, he was held in the most affectionate reverence. When he died, therefore, and was buried from sight, he left a sense of personal loss in all worthy American hearts." EDGAR ALLAN POE. IT is difficult to form a just and satisfactory estimate of Edgar Allan Poe. His genius is unquestionable; but then it was associated with poor judgment and a faulty character. It is not easy to get at the facts. Like Pope, he did not hesitate to mislead and mystify his readers. His biographers are generally either friendly or hostile partisans. If the latter paint his character and career in colors so dark as to be almost incredible, the former can at best only extenuate and apologize for his mistakes and vices. Poe occupies a peculiar place in American literature. He has been called our most interesting literary man. He stands alone for his intellectual brilliancy and his lamentable failure to use it wisely. No one can read his works intelligently without being impressed with his extraordinary ability. Whether poetry, criticism, or fiction, he shows extraordinary power in them all. But the moral element in life is the most important, and in this Poe was lacking. With him truth was not the first necessity. He allowed his judgment to be warped by friendship, and apparently sacrificed sincerity to the vulgar desire of gaining popular applause. He gambled and drank liquor; and for these reasons chiefly, though the fact has been denied by some, he was unable for any considerable length of time to maintain himself in a responsible or lucrative position. Fortune repeatedly opened to him an inviting door; but he constantly and ruthlessly abused her kindness. Edgar Allan Poe descended from an honorable ancestry. His grandfather, David Poe, was a Revolutionary hero, over whose grave, as he kissed the sod, Lafayette pronounced the words, “Ici repose un cœur noble." His father, an impulsive |