Lowell, James Russell

James Russell (1819-1891), an American author. He was born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, February 22, 1819, and died there August 12, 1891. He belonged to the eighth generation of American Lowells. Percival Lowell came from Bristol, England, to Newburyport, Massachusetts, in 1639. Lowell's grandfather, Judge John Lowell, caused the phrase, "All men are created free and equal," to be inserted in the constitution of Massachusetts, from which it found its way to the American Declaration of Independence. The poet's father, Charles Lowell, was a Unitarian clergyman in Boston, for fifty years pastor of the West Church. His mother, Harriet Spence, from whom he inherited his poetical and imaginative powers, was a gifted musician and linguist. The city of Lowell, Massachusetts, was named for an uncle. Lowell Institute, Boston, was named for another uncle. Lowell was the youngest of five children.

Elmwood, the family residence, was near Mt. Auburn Cemetery. It was an old Tory mansion, built just before the Revolutionary War by a "stamp" distributor. The grounds were spacious and were well set with fine English elms and ash trees. Lowell has described the birds and trees in one of his most delightful essays, My Garden Acquaintance. Longfellow, who lived in the Craigie House near by, wrote a poem on The Herons of Elmwood.

Lowell's father had a fine library. The lad grew up surrounded by literature. He was graduated at Harvard in 1838. He was wont to say that he read almost everything except the textbooks prescribed, by the faculty. He read in several languages fluently. His power of application was such that he could read twelve hours a day with profit. In one of his letters, he calls himself the "last of the great readers." He cared little for newspapers, but in literature he was beyond doubt the best read man of the century.

Lowell's first choice of a profession was the law. Like Irving, Scott, and many another, he neglected his business for reading and for society. He never practiced. Although of use, no doubt, when later he occupied public position, the only visible result of his legal studies was a prose sketch entitled My First Client. Lowell was made class poet at Harvard, but was prevented from taking part in the graduation exercises by reason of temporary suspension. He began literary work by contributing to the columns of various periodicals. His first volume of verse, a slender affair entitled A Year's Life, appeared in 1841. He dedicated it to Una, well understood to be Miss Maria White, the sister of a classmate. In 1844 he brought her home to Elmwood as his wife. She was a beautiful woman, a writer of no mean ability. She had a strong influence over her husband, and brought him around to strong abolition views. The Vision of Sir Launfal, The Fable for Critics, The Present Crisis, An Incident in a Railway Car, and Biglow Papers belong to this period of his life.

Mrs. Lowell died in the autumn of 1853. A child was born to Longfellow on the same night, bringing from the latter the poem entitled The Two Angels. Lowell and his wife had four children, three of whom died in infancy. Mabel, the fourth, is alluded to in the pathetic poem, The First Snowfall, beginning with the lines,

On sending this poem to his editor Lowell wrote, "Print that as if you loved it. Let not a comma be blundered. . . . May you never have the key which shall unlock the whole meaning of the poem to you." Years later, Lowell married a Miss Dunlap, Mabel's preceptress. In 1855 he was appointed professor of modern languages at Harvard to succeed Longfellow. He spent two years traveling and studying in Europe to prepare himself for the position. In 1857 he became the first editor of the Atlantic Monthly. His salary was $3,000 a year. He stipulated that Holmes should be a contributor. In 1862 he was succeeded by James T. Fields. He then became editor of the North American Review. His essays contributed to the latter were published in book form, Among My Books and My Study Window.

During President Hayes' administration, Lowell was appointed minister to Spain. In 1880 he was transferred to England. His literary reputation and genial ways made him a social favorite. A sparkling and ready wit brought him into demand as an after-dinner speaker. Probably no other foreign representative of the United States did more to convert the British people to the belief that it was possible for America to produce a scholar and a gentleman. He was chosen to make the address on Coleridge when a bust of that poet was unveiled at Westminster Abbey. During this period, he published a volume entitled Democracy and Other Essays.

On Lowell's return to America, he resumed his residence at Elmwood. Here he continued to reside amid his beloved trees. At death he was laid at rest in Mount Auburn Cemetery near Longfellow. Commemorative exercises were held in Westminster Abbey and a memorial window was set in the chapter of that venerable edifice. In more senses than one it is true that

Two worlds their wreaths of honor have entwined About an open grave.

As a lad Lowell had everything in his favor. He inherited ability, social standing, and old-fashioned integrity. He was ambitious to make something of himself and did not neglect his opportunities. He was a cultured, handsome, aristocratic, kindly man, full of humor and mother wit, one who attracted others to himself, a keen observer of men and public affairs. "In person, he was a broad-shouldered, full-bearded, strong, and cheery Anglo-Saxon." He was a sinewy, active man, with chestnut hair and beard. His face was expressive, his voice tender, clear, and crisp. Howells says of him: "His voice had as great a fascination for me as his face. . . . The perfect modulation, the clear enunciation, the exquisite accent, the elect diction,-these were the graces of one from whose tongue our rough English came as music, such as I should never hear from any other." Though born and brought up as one might say within sound of the ocean, Lowell was emphatically a poet of the land. He was a lover of trees, birds, and flowers. He preferred the garden or a meadow to the open sea; the shelter of a grove to a storm; the rippling of a brook to the roar of breakers.

The young reader desirous of making a pleasant acquaintance with Lowell may select The Heritage, To a Pine Tree, and To the Dandelion. The Vision of Sir Launfal, The Courtin', The First Snowfall, Indian Summer Reverie, and Under the Willows show Lowell's intense love of outdoor life. The Fable for Critics is interesting to the student of literature. The Biglow Papers give Lowell's frame of mind at the time of the Civil War. The Cathedral and Commemoration Ode are for mature readers. My Garden Acquaintance, Moosehead Journal, A Good Word for Winter, and Democracy are typical essays.

It is too early yet to speak of Lowell's rank in the republic of letters. British critics class Lowell, Poe, Irving, and Longfellow as our greatest four writers. As compared with Whittier, Lowell and his poetry are the product of the school, the library, and the college. Whether Americans a century hence will rank Lowell above or below Longfellow and the Quaker poet, time alone must determine.

Few minds have been active in so many different directions. He was eminent as a poet, an essayist, and an editor, and scarcely less so as a professor, a diplomatist, and a speaker. For all Lowell was an omnivorous reader of the literature of every land and nation, he was strikingly original. He wrote much and on many topics. Without doubt he was indebted deeply to other writers, but there is no trace of undue influence.

See Longfellow; Holmes; Whittier

SAID OF LOWELL.

But the very multiplicity of his endowments interfered with the complete expression of any one of them. His talents hampered his genius.--Professor Norton.

His plentiful and original genius was so rich that he was never compelled, like many writers, to hoard his thoughts, or be miserly with his bright sayings.--Stedman.

But epigrams and puns were the accompaniments, and not the end and aim, of his conversation; his perceptions were keen and just; his reading had been well-nigh universal; and, with his instant power of comparison, his judgments were like intuitions. His discourse often took on an airy and tantalizing form, and wreathed itself in irony, or flowered in simile, or exploded in artifices, until it ended in some merry absurdity. Such play of argument, fancy, humor, word-twisting, and sparkling nonsense was seldom witnessed, except in the talk of the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.--Underwood.