lecturer, poet, essayist, novelist; and such were his brilliant gifts that he attained eminence in them all.

Right or wrong, most persons distrust the judgment and earnestness of a man of wit. Accustomed to laugh at his play of fancy, they feel more or less injured when he talks in a serious strain. They seek his society for entertainment rather than for counsel. Holmes well understood this popular prejudice; but he was far too faithful to his genius to affect a solemnity he did not feel. In his delightful poem "Nux Postcœnatica," he excuses himself from a public dinner :

"Besides - my prospects — don't you know that people won't employ A man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a boy? And suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot, As if wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its root?"

Holmes was a firm believer in heredity. No small part of his writings is devoted to a discussion or illustration of inherited tendencies. Yet he did not take a special interest in his own ancestry, though they were of the best New England stock. He had, to use his own words, "a right to be grateful for a probable inheritance of good instincts, a good name, and a bringing up in a library where he bumped about among books from the time when he was hardly taller than one of his father's or grandfather's folios." He was born in Cambridge, Aug. 29, 1809; another annus mirabilis, it has been called, as the birthyear also of Lincoln, Darwin, Tennyson, and Gladstone. His father, the Rev. Abiel Holmes, was a Congregational minister of scholarly tastes and attainments. His "Annals of America" is a careful and useful history. Holmes's mother is described as a bright, vivacious woman, of small figure, social tastes, and sprightly manners characteristics that reappeared

in the son.

In his "Autobiographical Notes," only too brief and fragmentary, Holmes has given us glimpses of his childhood. He was a precocious child, thoughtful beyond his years. He made a good record at school, and was fond of reading. Among his

favorite books was Pope's "Homer," which never lost its charm for him. His reading was fragmentary. "I have always read in books," he says, "rather than through them, and always with more profit from the books I read in than the books I read through; for when I set out to read through a book I always felt that I had a task before me; but when I read in a book it was the page or the paragraph that I wanted, and which left its impression, and became a part of my intellectual furniture."

After a preparatory course at Andover, Holmes entered Harvard College in 1825, graduating four years later in what became "the famous class of '29." There are scant records of his college days. Whatever may have been his devotion to study, it is certain that he was not indifferent to convivial pleasures. His talent for rhyming led to his appointment as class poet. The class feeling was stronger in those days than it is now; and, after a time, the "class of '29" held annual dinners in Boston. No one entered into these reunions with greater zest than Holmes. Beginning with the year 1851, he furnished for twenty-six consecutive years one or more poems for each reunion. The best known of these class poems is "Bill and Joe," which contains, in the poet's happiest manner, mingled humor and pathos:

"Come, dear old comrade, you and I

Will steal an hour from days gone by,
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago,

When you were Bill and I was Joe."

After graduation, Holmes began the study of law, and attended lectures for a year. But he found that he was on the wrong track, and gave it up for medicine. He attended two courses of lectures in Boston, and then went abroad to complete his course. He took time to do some sight-seeing, and visited England, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. But he spent most of his two years abroad in Paris, where he gave himself diligently to professional study. He had exalted

ideas of his profession

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a little better than he carried out. Medicine," he said, "is the most difficult of sciences and the most laborious of arts. It will task all your powers of body and mind, if you are faithful to it. Do not dabble in the muddy sewers of politics, nor linger by the enchanted streams of literature, nor dig in far-off fields for the hidden waters of alien sciences. The great practitioners are generally those who concentrate all their powers on their business."

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There is an incident in his life while yet a law-student that must not be passed over. He had been writing for The Collegian a good many verses that were well received. Indeed, to borrow his phrase, he had become infected with the leadpoisoning of type-metal." One day he read that the Navy Department had issued orders for the breaking up of the old frigate Constitution, then lying at Charlestown. His soul was deeply stirred; and, seizing a scrap of paper, he dashed off the passionate lines of "Old Ironsides:

"Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;

Beneath it rang the battle shout,

And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more!"

The stirring words of the poem, copied in the press throughout the country, found a response in the heart of the people. Under the sudden blaze of indignation, the astonished Secretary revoked his order, and the gallant vessel was spared for half a century. This result was a remarkable achievement for a young man who had just attained his majority.

In 1836 Holmes opened an office in Boston as a practising physician. He was sympathetic, painstaking, and conscientious; and in a reasonable time he gained a fair practice. In spite of his fondness for literature, he continued his professional studies with unusual diligence and success. He won

several prizes by medical essays. But his scholarly tastes fitted him better for a medical lecturer than for a practitioner; and in 1838 he was much gratified to be elected Professor of Anatomy at Dartmouth College, a position that required his presence there only three months of the session.

The year he opened his office in Boston, he published his first volume of verse. From a professional standpoint it was, perhaps, an unwise thing to do. People are instinctively averse to going to poets for prescriptions. But he was far from indifferent to his reputation as a poet. As between the two, he would probably have chosen to go down to posterity famed for his gifts in poetry rather than for his skill in medicine. The slender volume contained several pieces that have since remained general favorites. His poetic powers matured early; and, among all the productions of his subsequent years, there is nothing better than "The Last Leaf". - that inimitable combination of humor and pathos. One of its stanzas is a perfect gem:

"The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has prest

In their bloom,

And the names he loved to hear

Have been carved for many a year

On the tomb."

His jolly humor nowhere else finds better expression than in "My Aunt," "The September Gale," and "The Height of the Ridiculous."

In 1840, the year his connection with Dartmouth College ceased, Holmes thought himself well enough established to end his bachelorhood. His tastes were strongly domestic. Accordingly, he married Miss Amelia Lee Jackson, a gentle, affectionate, considerate woman, who appreciated her husband's talents, and, with a noble devotion, helped him to make the most of them. For nearly fifty years her delicate tact shielded him from annoyances, and her skilful manage ment relieved him of domestic cares.

In 1847 Holmes was elected Professor of Anatomy and Physiology in Harvard University. The chair was afterwards divided, and he had charge of anatomy. He held this position for the long period of thirty-five years. He recognized the danger of falling into an unprogressive routine. “I have noticed," he wrote to a friend, "that the wood of which academic fauteuils are made has a narcotic quality, which occasionally renders their occupants somnolent, lethargic, or even comatose." But he escaped this danger; and, taking a deep interest in his department, he remained a wide-awake, progressive teacher to the end. His lectures were illumined with a coruscating humor that made them peculiarly interesting.

About the middle of the century the popular lecture was in great vogue in New England. Men of distinguished ability did not disdain this means of disseminating wisdom and replenishing their pockets. Like Emerson, Holmes made lecturing tours. Though not imposing in person nor gifted in voice, he was much sought after for his unfailing vivacity and wit. In the "Autocrat" he makes a humorous reference to his experience as a lecturer. "Family men," he says, "get dreadfully homesick. In the remote and bleak village the heart returns to the red blaze of the logs in one's fireplace at home.

'There are his young barbarians all at play.'

No, the world has a million roosts for a man, but only one nest."

The founding of The Atlantic Monthly, the name of which he suggested, was an important event in the life of Holmes. He was engaged to write for it; and the result was "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," perhaps the best of all his works. He here revealed himself as a charming writer of prose. The "Autocrat" talks delightfully on a hundred different subjects, presenting with a careless grace and irrepressible humor the accumulated wisdom of years of observation and study. Noth ing is too small or too great for his reflections.

"There are