The leading characteristics of Whittier's poetry may be recognized in what has already been presented. We miss, for the most part, a classic finish of style. His verse is vital rather than statuesque. Sometimes we meet with false accents and faulty rhymes. He does not treat of the great questions started by modern research, nor undertake to solve existing social problems. From the start he takes his stand in the region of faith, which finds a solution of all problems in the love of God. He loved nature; and while his observation was confined chiefly to a part of New England, he has given us landscape pictures of almost matchless beauty. One of the charms of his verse comes from its sincerity. He was no mere artist in verse, seeking themes with prosaic calculation, and then polishing them into a cold, artificial lustre. With him poetry was not so much an end as a means. He used it as his principal weapon in his battle against wrong. He made it the medium of passionate truth. His verse has a vitality that brings it home to the hearts of men, inspiring them with new strength, courage, and hope. Modest to a marked degree, Whittier did not fully appreciate the grandeur of his life nor the worth of his verse. He had the true dignity of a noble nature. While scorning notoriety, he valued genuine sympathy. The loving spirit of his verse was exemplified in his daily life. He was sympathetic and helpful. His friendships were constant and beautiful. In social life he had a kindly humor that rarely found a place in his earnest verse. His genius was not eccentric. He was a man of conviction, of purpose, of courage. life of earnest struggle to a life of ignoble ease, He preferred a a sentiment to which he gave expression in the beautiful autobiographic poem "My Birthday": "Better than self-indulgent years The outflung heart of youth, The tumult of the truth." After many His last years, as was fitting, were serene. stormy years, he had at last won an honored place in the literature of our country, and, what is better, in the hearts of our people. The wisest and best delighted to do him honor. His home at Danvers, Mass., became a place of pilgrimage. After reaching a ripe old age, he passed away Sept. 7, 1892. In the slightly altered words of Longfellow, addressed to the "Hermit of Amesbury" on his seventieth birthday : "Thou too hast heard Voices and melodies from beyond the gates, And spoken only when thy soul was stirred." OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. HOLMES was the latest survivor of the remarkable group of writers who may be said to have created American literature. He was not the greatest of the group; but there is scarcely any other whose works are more widely read. Under the present stress of life in America, there are very many persons who would rather be amused than instructed. When an author succeeds in both amusing and instructing, he has a double claim upon the grateful affection of the public. This twofold end Holmes achieved more fully than any of his contemporaries. He stood aloof, in a remarkable degree, from the great movements in which the other New England writers of his day were more or less engaged. He had but little sympathy with transcendentalism. Instead of depending upon an "inner light," he placed his reliance, with true Baconian spirit, in observation, evidence, investigation. When, as rarely happened, he attempted to be profound in his speculations, he was not notably successful. Conservative in temperament, he did not aspire to the rôle of a social reformer. His indifference to the abolition movement brought upon him the censure of some of its leaders. Unswayed by external influences, he steadfastly adhered to the path he had marked out for himself. He was one of the most brilliant and versatile of men. Though far more earnest than is commonly supposed, he was not dominated, as was Emerson, by a profound philosophy. His poetry has not the power that springs from a great moral purpose. He did not concentrate all his energies upon a single department of literature or science. He was a physician, |